Page 33 of The Legend of Meneka
I bolt to my feet, seeing the yogis clearly for the first time. All of them removed from me. Each of them an enemy I have forgotten.
Anirudh looks distressed at my reaction, but Romasha watches me indifferently. “You are overreacting,” she says, and her voice is cold. “I understand it is unsettling if your kingdom has always worshiped Indra. But we—Anirudh and Kaushika and I—we hear from the outside world. Rumors come to us of kings and queens who have been destroyed by Indra. So many have come to Kaushika too, seeking refuge from Indra’s manipulations. King Samar of the Kosala kingdom. Queen Dhriti of Videha. Queen Tara of Pallava. And that’s only in the last few months. There are more, many more. Several of them were once Indra’s devotees.”
My eyes go wide, shifting from her to Kaushika, who is unmoving, still studying me.
Tara.
Queen Tara.
She came to Kaushika. When? Surely after I arrived at the hermitage. I told Kaushika I hailed from her kingdom. Why didn’t he tell me of it?
Romasha’s eyes are still emotionless, but Kaushika’s face softens as though he has heard my question. “Knowing of Queen Tara would have only distracted you from your tapasya,” he says. “From the very reason you came to the hermitage. To help your home in Pallava.”
Anirudh nods slowly, comprehension flooding him as he understands my defense of Indra. Romasha frowns, throwing Kaushika an irritated look, perhaps curious why a sage of his caliber should debase himself by providing an explanation to a mere disciple. The other yogis exchange sympathetic glances as understanding washes over them. Kalyani reaches out to hug me, her own anger forgotten in the face of my distress, but I flinch back from her.
Chaos takes over my mind. Tara’s lovesick face when I last sawher. Indra’s charge to complete this mission. Kalyani speaking such hateful words about my kind. And me. The weapon the lord sent to destroy these people.
Is anything they said here a lie? This is who Indra is.
This is who I am.
A part of me has always known this.
I move in a daze, turning away from them all.
“Meneka, wait,” Kalyani begins, and Anirudh calls out too.
I walk away from the mortals, making for the banks of the river.
THE TINKLING OF THE QUIET WATER WASHES OVER ME LIKE Ahymn.
I sit down, removing the woven slippers we use in the hermitage. My feet sink into the dark, soaked soil by the riverbed. I dig my fingers in too, uncaring of the dirt. My mind buzzes, and Amaravati’s tether twists around my heart. I want to take a deep breath, hush the uproar within me, but my thoughts flit like bees in a garden. I don’t fight it. I stare into the glistening river and breathe in the calming pattern they’ve taught me at the hermitage.
Eventually, I hear movement behind me. One of the others comes to call me back, perhaps Romasha, telling me my behavior is unbecoming of a yogi and the dispassion we must feel. Or Kalyani trying to win me over with soothing words and soft-spoken apologies. I prepare to ask them to leave me be, but it isn’t either of the women. Kaushika pushes aside a few tall weeds, his frame backlit by the campfire. He moves slowly, as though not to startle me, and when he sits down, he makes sure to give me enough room to move away.
“May I?” he asks quietly, extending his hand.
I stare at it, still in shock that he is here instead of one of the others.
He waits patiently, neither pushing, nor withdrawing.
Slowly, I remove my hand from the moist earth and offer it to him.
Kaushika’s touch is tender, careful. As though tending to a small bird, his big hand engulfs mine. He begins to brush the soil from my fingers, his own intertwining briefly between mine, sending tingles spiraling up through my arm into my heart. I can’t do anything but stare at the silhouette of his face—the sharp, aquiline nose, the high cheekbones, the lips that look soft enough to bite.
This close, his aura warms me. Scents of camphor and rosewood linger above the scent that is wholly his. I inhale deeply, mesmerized that I should be able to separate the layers of his perfume. The rosewood and camphor come from the rituals he performs, ingredients he clearly favors—but beneath them, that musky scent is simplyhim. It comforts me, reminding me of dawn and dance, of a whispering forest and the taste of salt on fruit. Not even with Rambha have I been able to separate such subtleties. A sigh escapes me as Kaushika’s thumb moves over my wrist, rubbing it back and forth. My pulse skitters, and I meet his serious eyes. Some of the tension dissipates from my body. My mind calms enough to tell me, in deep honesty, that I am enjoying his touch and our closeness. That he is bringing me peace.
“I still sense so much power in you,” he says. “I’m glad you did not need to use it all.”
Gently, he lets go of my hand. My fingers curl as I become bereft of him. Confusion swirls through me again, this time tinged with disappointment, coloring the brief moment of peace. I twist my hands together, brushing off the remaining dirt from them onto my clothes. I try to brush his touch off as well, but it lingers as though it has sunk past my skin into something deeper.
“The others are tired,” he continues. “That’s why they said those things. Kalyani’s temper is frayed and that has always been her challenge to her tapasya, one that I understand only too well. Romasha’spath has always been of austerities and dispassion—” Kaushika cuts himself off, aware as I am that the secrets of the two women are their own, not ours, even if it reminds Kaushika of himself. “I will train them,” he says, to cover up the moment of indiscretion. “All of the ones who came today, lending their power. But you do not need it. You are already so powerful.”
“You did not dispute what they said about Indra,” I say quietly.
“No.” His answer is just as quiet. Almost wary.
“And what Romasha said about other kings and queens joining your cause?”
