Page 47 of The Legend of Meneka
A small tent stands amidst the trees. Magic undulates around the cloth, overpowering, moving in waves, confusing my senses. I blink several times to clear my vision, but I can see its tangles as though the tent itself is constructed of white light, shimmering and pure, and the cloth is an illusion.
Kaushika directs us to tie our horses to one of the trees, and we follow him as he leads us into the tent. I am surprised to see no more than three men waiting inside, seated on unadorned rugs. Do these men all have a common opinion? Have the rest of the absent rishis decided about Kaushika already?
I recognize the sages from the discussions of the others in the hermitage. Vashishta is the one with hair as pale as the moon tied into a topknot, a tuft escaping it. His beard reaches all the way down to his chest, and the vibhuti on his forehead is white against his dark skin. Deep in conversation with him is another man, younger by some appearances but no less austere. Sage Agastya is shorter and stockier, his quiet voice gentle. He is the same guru I overheard at the lake by the hermitage, warning Kaushika of this very meeting. His aura shines behind his eyes, contained and relaxed. I expect Kaushika to greet him first, but his attention is taken up by the very last man, Sage Gautama, who is tall and skinny, his bare chest covered with seed necklaces.
Kaushika utters a joyful bark of a laugh and leaps forward to enclose Gautama in a hug. Then, as though remembering himself, he bows low, prostrating himself in front of all of them as they stand. Each of the men bends to pull him up, Agastya patting Kaushika’s shoulder and smiling, though I notice Vashishta’s frigidity, as though he is being forced to welcome Kaushika.
I take a deep breath to steady myself. The charge I’d felt in the air is tenfold within the tent. Over time, I have become used to Kaushika’s magic, but seen here now, in this confluence of auras, a swirl of colors and scents batters me, visible to me and me alone. The strength of all the sages’ chakras and the half-moon radiance behind their heads are akin to the auras of the devas. It makes me breathless and lightheaded, and I sway a little. Anirudh wraps an arm around my shoulder, watching me in concern.
We are all of us still standing at the threshold, watching the sages from a distance, and I feel unable to keep my balance, too overwhelmed by the magic here. My knees begin to shake as fear darts through me. What am I doing here? I should have told Kaushika I could not come. Made some sort of excuse. I should have told Kaushikamyself that I am an apsara. Controlled the conversation in a moment when he was most pliable. Any one of these sages could reveal me, of course, but some stories say that Vashishta wasbornof an apsara. I have heard in the hermitage how he holds no true love for Kaushika, their difference of opinion often coming to an alarming battle of magics. He will undo the both of us instantly. This is it. The end I have been fearing.
Anirudh squeezes my shoulder. I say nothing, panic making me too nauseous. None of the other yogis look at us, having not noticed my discomfiture.
“Good,” Romasha says, her eyes shining as she watches the sages. “This is good.”
I glance at her, searching for any signs of deception, but she seems intent on the Mahasabha, her moment of sorrow on seeing Kaushika and me together clearly forgotten. What is going on in her mind?
“What do you mean?” Eka asks, but she glances at Anirudh. “I thought you said the more sages the better, but there are only three rishis who have come.”
His hand still supports me, but Anirudh nods. “The others must be intent on their meditation. Had theyallcome, disturbing their tapasya, this would have been a more serious matter. As it is, we could not have picked a better contingent if we wished it.”
“These sages never show a united front together,” Romasha explains in a low, excited voice. “All of them feel differently about Indra, and that is our true purpose here—to unite them in their thinking. The deva king tried to seduce Gautama’s own wife, hundreds of years ago. The guru hates Indra, perhaps more than Kaushika himself. Sage Agastya believes in reconciliation and the peaceful approach. Time and again, he has prayed to Indra, seeking refuge from droughts or inclement weather. He will not be swayed easily, but hewilllisten to reason. Vashishta alone holds neither love nor hate for the deva lord.He is as likely to support Indra as to thwart Kaushika, but to see one sage of each predilection here is an opportunity, and—”
“So these are your disciples?” Agastya says, and Romasha abruptly quietens.
“Yes,” Kaushika replies. “Only a few of many, the ones I believe are most worthy. They will become sages one day, once I am done training them.” He steps aside, and the rest of us fall to our knees, prostrating ourselves, foreheads to the floor.
“Oh, get up, get up,” one of the sages says impatiently. “Approach us, all of you.”
Nervously, my friends and I rise. Agastya gestures to Eka and Parasara, who can barely meet his eyes. Gautama waves a hand to Anirudh and Romasha, smiling. It is Vashishta himself who beckons to me with an imperious crook of his finger.
I can feel Kaushika’s gaze burning into me as I approach the rishi, but I dare not look at him. I try to remember what I know of Vashishta. During Kaushika’s ascension to sage, it was he who put him through the most arduous trials. He is Kaushika’s greatest rival, yet his poetry and wisdom are debated in Kaushika’s hermitage, hymns he wrote praising Indra even as he censured the lord. Does he believe in Indra the essence more than Indra the lord too? My body trembles so hard, knowing I am perhaps moments from being exposed, that I stumble as I approach, nearly falling to the floor and back on my knees again.
“Guruji,” I murmur, pressing my palms together and dropping my gaze. My shoulders shake in terror.
“Daughter,” he intones quietly. He straightens me and tips my chin up. His eyes crinkle in silent mirth, like he can see deep inside me and is amused by what he sees. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Youareunique, aren’t you? He has certainly picked a worthy disciple, you who are discovering secrets of magic even without any true training. Wouldthat I could take you to my own hermitage to train you, but that is not your purpose here, is it?”
I cannot hold his gaze. My mind buzzes, unable to understand whether his words are a compliment or a taunt. Can he see the violence of my heart? Does heknow? I shirk back, laid bare, wondering what his agenda is and what he is about to do, but Vashishta does not elaborate.
He turns from me and raises his voice. “Very well, then. Let us be about it. Rishi Kaushika,” he says, and there is amusement in his voice again, the iron edge of it sharp and bitter, “tell us your grievance.”
“It is not a grievance,” Kaushika answers quietly. “It is a duty.”
He gestures to the rest of us from the hermitage, and we retreat. The other sages sit down as well, and Kaushika takes a seat in front of them. Anirudh, Romasha, Parasara, Eka, and I are all but forgotten. A look I have never seen before enters Kaushika’s face: part yearning, part hope, part anger. His breathing slows even as I watch his aura become stronger. I understand enough of mortal magic to know what he is doing—silently filling himself with as much of his power as possible, radiating his influence out in waves. The other sages blink. Even Vashishta cocks his head, stroking his beard and listening. The silence is so strong that I can hear the quiet hum of magic emanating from the gathering, like an undercurrent of electricity.
“I will not waste your time, great sages,” Kaushika says quietly. “I have already written to you informing you of everything I have found. For years, the three realms have suffered Indra’s tyranny. How long ago was it that you yourself cursed him, Rishi Gautama, for what he attempted with your own wife? Nary a few hundred years have passed. You thought to teach the storm lord a lesson, yet even though you stripped him of his manhood, he simply found a way to regrow it.”
Gautama nods slowly, fingering one of his bead necklaces. Hislined face draws into a frown, and I think with mingled horror and wonder,One.One of the rishis at least is persuaded by Kaushika’s words.
Kaushika’s gaze moves to the next. “And you, Sage Agastya,” he says. “When the battle between Indra and the Maruts occurred, you had to break from your own meditation to negotiate peace. Yet the lord of heaven did not listen until you prayed to Shiva to intervene, knowing Indra would destroy the world in his arrogance. Do you truly think he is worthy?”
Agastya’s forehead crinkles. It is clear that Kaushika has made this argument to him before, and that is perhaps why the rishi has been so closely allied with Kaushika all along.Two, I think. My breathing grows shallow. If Kaushika convinces them all that Indra needs to be punished, it could mean war unlike any the realms have seen in recent times.
“As for you, Sage Vashishta”—Kaushika transfers his gaze to the bearded man, who watches him, eyes cold—“did you not once tell me that my own path to enlightenment was corrupted? Yet where would we be if it weren’t for the meadow I created?”
A silence breathes with his words.
Agastya and Gautama turn to look at Vashishta. His face is unreadable. For a long moment, he studies Kaushika, then in a glance so swift that I wonder if I am imagining it, his eyes flicker to me. I inhale sharply.
