Page 54 of The Legend of Meneka
More power than I have ever felt before radiates from the ornament, filling me. The tug behind my navel grows into a sharp pull, telling me this is no ordinary circlet. This belongs to Indra.
I look up at Rambha, bitterness entering my mouth.
It is the same crown she once said she wanted to see on me.
“I won’t tell you what to do,” she says quietly. “But for your own sake, think of what you can live with for the rest of your immortal life, and what will haunt you forever. I will be back at dawn tomorrow to see how you have fared. Make the right choice, Meneka. Once I tell the lord everything you have told me, he will wish to act. He has been waiting to use his vajra to behead this mortal. This could be your last chance.Kaushika’s last chance.”
I open my mouth to speak, but she has already faded away on Amaravati’s wind, and I am alone again in the forest.
For a long moment, I stare at the package in my hands, the circlet winking innocuously, bidding me to obey her and my lord. I close my eyes, trying to block its power, but the tug behind my navel is too strong, a tether and leash tying me to Indra.
Make my choice? There is no choice.
A shudder passes through me.
As though in a dream, I approach the pond and begin to undress, carefully folding my garments from the hermitage and stowing them behind the stone obelisk. I walk into the water, the coldness bringing goose bumps to my skin. A small part of me hopes that the chill will wake me up from the horror of what I am about to do, that it will clear my mind. But everything seems to occur in a frozen shard of nightmare. I bathe in the manner of the apsaras, praying to Lord Indra, cupping the water in my hands and pouring it over my head as I murmur, but the prayer is by rote; the words do not incite any devotion—not right now when I act out of coercion. Instead, my heart beats rapidly in terror and shame. The instant I create my first illusion, Kaushika will see me for who I am. He will despise me, he will destroy me, and I will be unable to do anything about it, lost in my chaos. And if I do not go through with this … if I do not attempt to seduce Kaushika now …
A choked sob builds in my throat as I imagine the vajra slicing his head from his body. Isn’t life—even life as a thrall—better than nolife at all? If I truly love him, isn’t this the only way to save him? My face grows warm with tears, and I feel paralyzed, unable to think of an alternative.
Slowly, I emerge from the pond, my skin glistening. From the package Rambha brought, I remove the oils and the perfumes. I massage them into my hair and skin, each action slow, knowing that no matter what occurs, I will never do this again. A small mirror accompanies the cosmetics, but I cannot bear to look at myself, so without its assistance I line my eyes with kohl and paint my lips red with creamy hibiscus dye. I do not need the mirror; I can do these things in my sleep. The sob finally escapes me, for I know that what should be a move of empowerment is really just evidence of my shame.
When I remove the clothes from the package, my hands tremble hard enough to almost lose my grip on the silk. I don my blouse, and it hugs my breasts tightly, constricting me. I wrap the glinting silver sari around my waist, and though it is trapped moonlight, its texture delicate, I cannot breathe. Indra’s presence chokes me, tightening with every ornament I place on myself. The pearl necklaces. The crystal armbands. The light-as-air jhumkas. At one time these reminders of Indra’s own power would have given me joy and peace. Now everything is a leash, pulling me toward inevitability. Amaravati’s power burgeons in me and my heart shrinks.
Celestial magic sparkles on my fingertips. It electrifies my skin.
I am a prisoner of my own making. I am a stream of starlight. I am ethereal, otherworldly, dreamlike.
The woods churn around me, responding to all the magic in the jewels. Leaves stir, the trees themselves creating their own music. Indra’s circlet glimmers on my head, sinking into my hair. Kaushika’s wooden comb presses against the circlet, and though my celestial magic is too powerful to compare with my prana magic, the wild prana waits too.
I use it now, uttering first a whispered call to Kaushika, then the chant for strength and movement. I draw the runes, and fallen logs lift silently from around the pond. They create a bridge that leads me to the center, where water solidifies into shining ice.
I do not feel the cold under my bare feet. I kneel at the center like an offering, breathing the forest in, bathed in moonbeams. I am a gleaming figure in the middle of this silent pond. I am a dream, a secret. Mudras tingle on my fingertips, wanting to form, but I hold them back. Not yet—I won’t start my illusion yet.
Kaushika will be here soon. My call to him demanded urgency and privacy. Desperation beats its wings inside me, needing him to be close to me, but there is fear there too—for the both of us and our lives. At least, there will be no more deceptions. I will finally let him in on my secrets, with all my shame and glory. He will do what he will, just as I will do what I must.
I close my eyes, listening to my own heartbeat. I wait.
CHAPTER 20
My eyes fly open when I scent the rosewood in the air. I know it is him; I would recognize Kaushika anywhere. Only a couple months, and he has already become as familiar to me as the rhythms of my own breath.
Still, I scan the trees when I do not see him—and I stare in shock at the silent transformation of the forest. The trees circling the pond are aglow with beams of light, resembling berries of golden dust, luscious fruit ripe and ready to be picked. Soft music rims the air—not a true melody but ahum, like the one that always exists at the hermitage. The breeze, the water lapping, the chirping of a distant animal … all are like notes to this silent song.
My own beauty enhances this strange magic. Rainbows glimmer off my jewelry, catching the moonshine, the chips of ice, the light of my own aura. They splay around me, their angles falling on my eyelashes and throat, illuminating my waist and my slightly parted mouth.
Slowly, I stand. Is this my doing? I have not begun any illusions, nor curled any mudras. I have not made any runes either, but I search inside me, and I see the golden tether of Amaravati braiding with my prana. Both my powers harmonize in a strange enchantment, and I realize that whatever has done this, it is not any simple combination of the two magics. In this moment of danger and destruction, power itself has made up its mind on what it must be. It is the same as what I used with the halahala, the mirrored force that reflected Kaushika back to me, a magic that exists far beyond my own ken.
Then I see him.
Standing on the shore opposite me, still dressed in the clothes from only a few hours ago.
Even from this distance I can tell that his face is unreadable.
The mission, Rambha’s words, the chant I used to call him here—all come crashing back to me, weighing me down. The moment of wonder surrounding the magic evaporates. I stare at him, unable to say anything, unable even to move, terror making my heart pound. How long before he ends me? How long before I betray him? I should begin my dance, create my mudras, but I stand there, frozen, a statue made of silver and shimmer, watching him come closer.
He approaches the bridge I built. His own power and grace, his fluidity as he comes closer, overwhelm me, making my breathing uneven. He is almost upon me, and belatedly I raise my chin, trying hard not to tremble. He is only a whisper away, curiosity in his eyes, eyes that are clear of seduced lust, not a speck of the hollowness in them that I have come to expect from my marks.
“Meneka,” he murmurs, and glances around us at the beams of light ricocheting off the trees. “Did you do this?”
