Page 5 of The Legend of Meneka
Indra leans back sullenly. He snaps his fingers. The shattered chunks of crystal disappear from around his clothes, and another wine cup appears in its place, filled to the brim. He takes a moody sip from it.
My nervousness pitches higher. Devas get angry. It is their due. They are creatures of the elements, responsible for the fates of the three realms. Indra himself is the lord of sky and storm, volatile in nature, true to his essence. I know this and love this about him. Yet I have never seen the lord and his queen fight in such a public manner.
Is this because of the Vajrayudh? The celestial event occurs once every thousand years, and it is a stark reminder of Indra’s limitations. King of heaven he might be, but even he cannot control all the powers of the universe. During the Vajrayudh, all celestials grow weaker. Amaravati shuts her gates, and no souls are allowed in or out. The devas rest, and Indra himself retires to his palace in the comfort of gandharvas and apsaras to lose himself in song and dance until theevent has passed. It is essential that the devas and devis are in harmony, and Amaravati peaceful, during the Vajrayudh. Without that, heaven itself can implode, eaten up by rising magical chaos.
Next to me, Rambha seems frozen, staring at Indra. I clutch her hand with my sweaty one and pull her away to the shadow of a pillar, grateful we have not yet been seen in the hubbub.
“Rambha,” I whisper urgently. “What is going on?”
“It’s Kaushika,” she whispers back, tearing her gaze away from the lord. She looks stricken but shakes her head to clear herself of the emotion. “The prince is becoming stronger each day. When first he declared himself a sage, other sages came to pay him their respects. Indra too sent gandharvas to treat with him as per tradition. But Kaushika only laughed at the singers and dismissed them. The lord is reasonable—he has bent to sages before—but this unprovoked insult? Indra could not abide it. He sent his followers to challenge Kaushika in combat, but Kaushika is of warrior stock, and he defeated the kshatriya devotees with ease, humiliating Indra again. It was then that the lord sent apsaras to Kaushika—yet those apsaras haven’t returned. Shachi is furious they are missing.”
Rambha quietens and memories of Shachi flood me. Running in her garden, chased by her laughing handmaidens. The first jewel I was given, a thin gold chain the queen removed from her own neck. Sweetmeats and ambrosia she brought to the apsara girls while we crowded around her, pawing at her sari. Apsaras are Shachi’s daughters, in a way. The oldest of us were born of the Churning of the Oceans, from which Shachi herself came—but the younger ones like me were born from the union of other celestial beings. I have never known my parents, but I have not needed to. An apsara’s birth is a blessing for all of Amaravati. I grew up with other girls in Shachi’s grove, was sent to train for Indra’s army on my maturation. The day I left the grove, the queen’s eyes followed me with sadness. I thoughtshe was melancholy because I had outgrown the innocence of my childhood. Yet perhaps she did not like turning me over to Indra? Did she fear our missions? Does she fear Kaushika too?
“Can Indra not simply smite this sage with the vajra?” I ask. Not even immortals can survive a strike of celestial lightning from Indra’s bolt, after all.
But Rambha shakes her head, anxiety pooling in her eyes. “Indra cannot directly harm Kaushika, not unless the sage performs an unquestioned act of war against heaven first. If we had any evidence of Kaushika killing our sisters, that would be enough for the lord, but the mortal covers his tracks well. He is devoted to Shiva, the Destroyer, and Indra dare not make a careless move. Yet if this sage continues to spread irreverence for the lord …”
“All of our magic could vanish,” I finish grimly. “Our dance. Our illusions.”
The thought turns my stomach, filling my mouth with sourness. I have struggled with how my dance is used, but who will I be without it? Despite my uncertainties, I have always been devoted to the lord—it is why I dare to come here with an agenda of my own. Yet mortals are so shortsighted and fickle. Indra is the lord of rain and water, of storm and sky. Without him, the mortal realm would suffer, crops die, lands grow arid. Shouldn’t a sage know this? How can one be a sage yet be so misguided? This ridiculous man is threatening everything I love. The ceiling darkens, the lord’s anger pressing beneath my veins, soaking my own resentment.
I am about to speak, to ask my questions, when thunder rolls overhead. “Rambha,” Indra’s deep voice calls out, and my knees shake without my volition. “Why are you here?”
Rambha falters in front of me, the tiniest of pauses, before she steadies herself. Straightening, she continues toward the throne, and I follow, the lord watching the both of us approach. Nervousness crawlsover me in a beelike hum, and I try to repeat my justifications for what I am about to do, but the closer we come, the more my mind scatters. It is all I can do to put one foot in front of the other.
Lord Indra raises his brows, irritated at our intrusion, but sighs when Rambha bows deeply to him. Rambha’s hands move in subtle dance mudras. Her necklaces and rings shine brighter. She is using magic, creating a delicate illusion for Indra himself, perhaps to calm him, and Indra must surely understand this. Yet far from being annoyed that she is attempting to manipulate his mood, he looks amused. Distractedly, I wonder what she is showing him. I wonder at their relationship, and the way his divinity coats her.
“Well, Rambha?” he asks.
“Meneka has returned, my lord,” she answers quietly. “From another successful mission in the mortal realm. Your devotees are still protected.”
Indra’s eyes travel to me, noticing me fully for the first time. I am absorbed by his intense scrutiny.
“One of the ones you sent to Kaushika?” he demands. “What did you find, girl?”
“No, my lord,” Rambha interjects hurriedly. “A different mission. One to Queen Tara of the nation of Pallava. She who terrorized many, including your devotees. Who was on a crusade to gain power beyond her reach. This has been a difficult journey for Meneka, my lord, but she has done as you commanded. As per tradition, she is here for her boon.”
Indra leans back, his expression already bored now that he realizes I’m an ordinary apsara. “You’re blessed, daughter. Go take the rest that is your due before you have to prove your devotion to me again.”
He plucks a few rings from his own fingers and tosses them toward me. I catch them, feeling their weight. I can tell how powerful the rings are, how much of Amaravati’s magic they hold. This is a treasure beyond expectation for any apsara, one the lord has stripped from hisown body in front of his devas. I know I should take the gems and leave. That my chance is already lost. But desperation floods me, spilling into panic. How long will it take, how many more missions, until the time is right? I nursed the possibility of my boon through my time with Queen Tara like it were a beloved child. I endured the trials of my wretchedness because of this one faint hope. I cannot take another hollow mission, another disappointment.
I know it is a mistake. I know I am being foolish. Yet I step forward, the careful words I prepared, the strategy I planned, flying from my mind like startled birds.
“Please, my lord,” I blurt out, and my voice is a croak. “I don’t want these amulets. I would beg you allow me to remain in Amaravati instead. I would ask you allow me relief from any future missions.”
Indra is half-turned back toward his devas. One of them has already begun speaking. Echoing in my ears, my words sound so coarse that I can scarcely believe I have uttered them. I think the lord has not heard me. Ihopehe hasn’t heard me.
Then Rambha’s jaw drops.
Lord Indra turns back to me, his face incredulous.
“What did you say?” he hisses.
So strong is his magic that the very air congeals with his anger, ramming me down to my knees. I thump inelegantly, my breath slammed out of me. Above, the ceiling crackles and the stars disappear. Storm clouds take over fully. The coolness of the chamber is replaced with a horrible, suffocating heat.
All my thoughts twist inside me. The tether connecting me to Amaravati blooms, radiant despite Indra’s anger, or perhaps because of it. I want to be diplomatic, but in reaction to his power, truths tumble out of me without my permission.
“All apsaras are granted a boon of their choice, my lord,” I whisper. “I only want what is mine.”
