Page 29 of The Legend of Meneka
The next day, Shailesh and his husband, Daksh, openly hold hands, touching each other incessantly during the courtyard practice. Two days later, I see Sagara and Narmada sneak off to the forest, giggling while undoing their topknots. A week after, Sharmisha falls upon Advik in gratitude and triumph after mastering a particularly tricky mantra, brazenly kissing him as though she is in an apsara grove instead of in a communal pavilion within an austere sage’s hermitage. Laughter breaks out at this instead of censure, other students clapping and whooping, and this time I have no need to hide my smile. Mantras are hummed, the lingam is adorned in flowers, and once I even see Ineshina and Leela dancing within the pavilion, their forms crude but no less beautiful, as they offer their performance to Shiva.
I expect Anirudh or Romasha to chastise me for my encouragement of these students, but neither of them say a word, even though Romasha’s demeanor grows frigid toward me. I wonder if it is because she suspects I am an apsara, but perhaps she is simply a prudish creature. I have encountered many a puritan in my missions, afraid of their own bodies’ reactions to me, and if ever there is one to exist, it would be within an ascetic hermitage. I steer clear of her, offering her nothing but the mildest of conversations.
Yet with everyone else, my power grows, an electricity charging through me like currents of Indra’s power. Once or twice, I even nudge the disciples toward cleaner forms, knowing that to do so is reckless but feeling the same sense of pride they undoubtedly felt for me when I finally created runes.
All this time, the image of Kaushika’s seduction burns behind my eyes. I see myself, hands buried in his hair, his eyes shut in exquisite agony. Each time I relive it, my skin feels on fire, as though I am on the precipice of a revelation. For no other mark has this final imageof seduction formed so quickly; it ought to have taken months of dancing and manipulation of his original lust for me to see myself in his mind. How did this form in him without any provocation? Has he been thinking of me all this time? Is he not as indifferent to my beauty as he pretends to be? The thought makes me shiver as I reinterpret my every interaction with him. As I think of how close my mission is to completion.
If I already saw this image—the final image of seduction—I need only to adjust its contours before I charm him completely. I need only to investigate his preferences and create illusions of those over and over again in different forms, so that one day all he can think about is me. Each illusion will need to be more pinpointed, more accurate, the mudras I use a beautiful blend to create the exact vision he sees in his mind. Each revelation of his lust will need to inform the next illusion. Will he like my nails tracing his skin? How should my expression be in those visions? Should I be excited, ashamed, nervous? Each of these are decisions I must make to find the heart of his desire—yet this phase is truly the most enjoyable one of an apsara’s mission, even perhaps the easiest.
Eventually, with each illusion an unmissed arrow to weaken him, he will finally become my thrall. Night or day, waking or sleeping, every other thought and concern will abandon him. Just like Tara. Just like any other successful mark. Could it be that this mission, after everything, really is the simplest one?
I can go home, I think, my mind dizzy with the implications. I can be with Rambha, never leaving Amaravati again.She smiles in my memory, but the images of Kaushika’s seduction interrupt the victory the closer I come to achieving it.
I am invited to help lead the prayers, becoming second only to Anirudh and Romasha when it comes to answering philosophical questions. When I conduct the sessions, I imagine Kaushika watching me.I imagine the hunger in his eyes, the whisper of his fingers and what it would feel like if he should interlace his hands in mine again. The shape of his seduction dances within me, and excitement and adrenaline flow in my veins at how close I am to conquering him. At how I am destroying him though he does not know it.
During practice, I blend my runes with mudras again to entrance the others. We all watch the shapes spark in the air. Each time I wonder how this is possible. Prana isIndra’spower. If I am able to channel it like him, can other apsaras too? And if so, what does it mean for our service to Amaravati, and to the lord himself? My thoughts are tangled, each of them overrun with memories and hopes. I see Indra on his throne promising me,You shall be a goddess.Kaushika’s breath burns on my cheek, the way his hands squeezed my fingers.You’re unbearably beautiful.
I am surrounded one afternoon by a dozen other students, listening to them speak of their families, the longing to return to their homes apparent in their voices, when I finally see Kaushika. The mortals and I are making our way to one of Romasha’s lessons to learn yet another powerful mantra, but Renika, a young attractive woman with gaps in her teeth, shakes her head.
“Do we need to listen to Romasha anymore?” she says. “It is clear she does not see the value of love in our paths.”
“Her mantras are supposed to help us with the Initiation Ceremony,” Kalyani says while others mutter. “Is that not what you want?”
Renika shrugs moodily. I say nothing, but she is only one of the many disciples who no longer care about the ceremony, who might even wish to fail and return home. She is one of those who has taken to dancing in order to offer devotion to Shiva, claiming that he is—after all—the Lord of Dance.
“What about you, Meneka?” Kalyani asks. “Will your demonstration at the ceremony be a confluence of runes? Or do you have a specific powerful rune in mind?”
She pauses, and her gaze shifts beyond me to the bael tree, where the rest of the students are collected. Romasha is not leading the class; it is another disciple called Viraj. The usual crowd is collected under the tree, students settling themselves, chatting in quiet voices, but Kaushika steps through, Romasha and Anirudh on his heels. Two other disciples trail them, Eka with the serious brown eyes and a deep knowledge of nadi channels, and Parasara, with an aura so strong it occasionally rivals Kaushika’s own.
There is a strange look on Kaushika’s face as he stops in front of my group. His clothes are crumpled, and his hair is in slight disarray. There are bags under his eyes, and he looks haggard beyond recognition.
My palm rises, almost as though to cup his cheek before I arrest the movement, both shocked that my body should think to make it and shocked that he seems to need it.
Where has he been since that night in the temple, and what has made him return in this condition? Will he chastise me for what I have done to his hermitage in his absence? Will he simply ask me to leave?
I brace myself to fight, exchanging a nervous glance with Kalyani, reading the same thought on her mind. The others slink away, reprimanded by Kaushika’s very presence. I see them from the corner of my eye, glancing toward me and Kalyani before melting into the crowd. Viraj begins the class, but Kaushika does not seem to notice any of this. He stands there, assessing me and Kalyani.
My anxieties climb with his silence. Romasha must have told him what I’ve been doing. He is going to expel not just me but Kalyani too. My friend and I laughed about Romasha’s primness while trading magical learning, but perhaps we were overheard. Perhaps she has told him about our insolence, about her suspicions of my true nature as an apsara. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, and Kalyani squeezes my hand.
“Your help is needed,” Anirudh says. His voice is unusually somber, his eyes flat.
“Help for what?” Kalyani says.
“Are you sure?” Kaushika turns to Romasha. His voice is frayed thin. “These two are very new. There are more accomplished yogis here.”
She nods. “They are our strongest. Along with Eka and Parasara. The magic they have inside of them, at this very moment, is more than anyone else’s. You need raw power, do you not?”
“Power for what?” Kalyani asks. “Help what?”
No one replies, and Kalyani and I exchange another look, this one more disturbed. Parasara and Eka shrug at us. They do not know what is going on either.
A thrill of fear climbs through me, anticipation and nervousness making my muscles tight. I realize that whatever is to come next, it will influence my mission in untold ways.
Kaushika’s gaze is grim. “Prepare them. We ride in one hour.”
CHAPTER 13
We take all the horses. There are six old mares and seven of us. None of the rides look like they can cover long distances, but Kaushika chants a quiet mantra, and all the animals whicker and snort, their ears snapping back. I realize belatedly this is what he must have done on our own return from Shiva’s temple to energize the horse. Little wonder then that we reached the hermitage so quickly. He helped me as much as hindered me—giving me sincerity with the offering of his magical comb, yet taking away time I could have used to prove my magic. I study him, this man known to me only in fractured and conflicting pieces in the incomplete lights of a prism.A mark, I remind myself.Nothing more.
