Page 14 of The Legend of Meneka
Someone gasps. Kalyani utters a half-startled laugh. Anirudh mutters that I am already achieving what it took him a lifetime to do. I do not know what he means, but I see the way Kaushika’s eyes glint on hearing it.
I am aware I am pushing, yet urgency races through my veins, like heaven’s chariots. What do I care for learning mortal magic? The sun beats down on us, and I imagine Lord Surya watching me and reporting to Indra—but of course, the camp is probably warded against prying eyes, even the eyes of a deva. It is why Indra has not learned anything significant yet. I am alone here, surrounded by enemies. Perhaps I should be more careful, but the realization only angers me further. This man has cut me off from everything I love. If I do not succeed, he will destroy it all.
Kaushika’s lips turn into a thin smile, like he can read my thoughts. Like heagrees. “Careful, Meneka,” he murmurs. “You should not ask questions you would not understand the answers to.”
I do not drop my gaze. “I am only here to learn.”
“Are you? Let’s see how willing you are.”
A chant flows from him, the very same one he used last night before declaring I could do magic. My bond to Amaravati flares, yet this time instead of subsiding immediately, it continues to grow. My skin grows hot, burning. My body lights from within, and I feel myself float though my feet still touch the ground.
My voice grows high-pitched. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you how much magic you contain.” Kaushika stops chanting, but the mantra takes over, consuming me. I am radiant, golden, bursting with power.
Suddenly I know that everyone can see how much magic I have.It is more than any one of them, short only of Kaushika. Gasps echo from the crowd. Kalyani looks awed. Even Anirudh’s eyes are wide. Are they threatened by my power? Is this what Kaushika intends with such a display—to make me a target, to alienate me? All of these people aim to destroy maya. They will attempt to kill me now simply because I am more powerful. They will see that Indra is my lord, that my magic is celestial. My panicked breath reverberates in my ears. My eyes dart between their faces. I try to move, but I cannot, held by terrible fear.
“Do you see yourself?” Kaushika whispers. “Can you reach inside of you?”
Amaravati’s tether blooms in me, luminous, and Kaushika’s warmth engulfs me. I try to ease my heart, but it only beats more rapidly. I have trapped myself here with him. This is what destroyed my sisters.
Slowly, painfully, I raise my arms against his magic. He is close enough for me to touch his chest, and I feel the solid muscle of it, the unyielding pressure.
Then I push,hard. He raises his brows.
His enchantment comes to a stop.
He steps back, opening more distance between us.
All around us is silence, the solemn looks of the other students, the amazement and disbelief. Kaushika smiles, and his eyes glint in vindication. My hands drop as we stare at each other.
“You are afraid of yourself,” he says. “Powerful though you are, you are no use to us here in the hermitage.” He looks around, and his next words are louder, carrying into the crowd. “Consider this a lesson. Magical strength is secondary. Self-knowledge comes first. If I were you, I would not get used to her.” Kaushika’s eyes cut toward me, and his voice is hard. “Meneka will not last a month.”
CHAPTER 6
The power of a yogi comes from arduous meditation,” Romasha says. “Tapasya, as it is known.”
Seated on a pedestal circling the massive bael tree, Romasha is as beautiful as to rival many an apsara. Her thick hair is tied into a topknot, but tendrils escape to frame her heart-shaped face. Her eyes are focused on a small ball of fire sparking between her fingers. The fire flickers from between her hands, then races up her arms to her shoulders, curling around her neck like a snake. It coils and uncoils around her chest before coalescing into a contained ball of flames again.
I kneel on the grass in front of her, along with Anirudh and Kalyani. A soft breeze blows through the hermitage, carrying with it the scents of rain. We are gathered with the other hundred or so students of the hermitage, seated in the garden. Beyond are sheds where the horses and cows are stabled; behind, the open-pillared pavilion.
The three of us are the only ones to sit in a group, a concession shown to me because I am new. Fire flickers everywhere as students follow Romasha’s instructions. Some of these disciples use runes, others mantras. Parasara’s flames look like a dark eclipsed sun with a golden corona around it. Eka bounces playful blue sparks from one finger to another. Kalyani creates wispy embers, more like air than fire, but no less hot for it. Anirudh, who is more practiced, easily balances a lavalike orb with golden waves on its surface.
I alone hold nothing. Vacuum tingles between my fingers.
“Focus,” Kalyani whispers beside me, sensing my frustration. “Visualize the fire inside you. Aim that into the rune you’re attempting.”
I nod stiffly, but my fingers twitch, wanting to curl into the mudra of Agni’s Laughter. With it, I can create an illusion of flames so powerful, it would rival any of these yogis’ magic. Would these people know it is not true fire?
The golden tether tempts me to try, but I do not have my jewels to augment my magic. An illusion to fool this many people would tax me too much. I dare not deplete myself. I will need my magic once I break through Kaushika’s shield, even if my efforts to do so have been futile thus far. Besides, the mortals have not been able to tell my magic is celestial; power is simply power to them. An illusion of this size could expose me.
“Tapasya is no ordinary meditation,” Romasha continues. “It is the ember that kindles a spiritual fire, connecting a yogi to the prana magic of the universe. With it, we access the very same cosmic power the devas in swarga do. Devas rely on prayers to sustain their magic, but with intense tapasya, we yogis take the universe’s infinite power into ourselves. We are vessels of the universe, a part of it and the whole of it. Infinity both contains and does not contain parts.”
Since that first training session, I have fallen into a prescribed routine, similar to the other disciples. I am up before dawn—milking cows, collecting firewood, kneading dough, and washing floors. Then it is practicing in the courtyard, sessions that so far have resulted in nothing but frustration. Afterward, I break fast within a large communal shed, a meal of almonds and ghee-filled kichdi, or spiced millets with a tall glass of sanjeevani, which I pretend to relish, all the while missing the soma and wines of Amaravati. Then it is more lessons, either in a shed or the pavilion, or right here in the garden under a tree, each of them useless to me.
Romasha’s gaze shifts to me like she can hear that thought. “Lookinside yourself,” she says. “Accept that you belong here, that you have a place here. Feel your breath flowing through you and know that it is simply a sheath for the universe’s magic. Access it.”
I return her look, trying not to laugh rudely.
