Page 81 of The Legend of Meneka
The image rises above the both of us, clear for every mortal and celestial to see. It is a vision of me as I crouch in prayer by the kalpavriksh to make my wish. My voice echoes across the battlefield.Help me find devotion.
My story, my own legend, shines in waves. The journey to the mortal realm. The seduction of mortals. Falling in love with Kaushika. Exile and losing myself. I stare at my own lore, shocked with my power, and how it has always resided within me, waiting. It is there, laid naked, for everyone else to see as well—and beyond it, the kalpavriksh blooms, fruit forming with every step of my own journey. Fruits that are the realization of my own incoherent, vulnerable, honest, foolish wish. To stay true to myself.
In swarga, the kalpavriksh flowers.
Its leaves rain down along with Indra’s rain. Forest and sky swirl, receiving its blessing.
And in that moment, I understand. The kalpavriksh never needed to fulfill that wish of mine. In the acceptance of myself is my reward, the fulfillment of my wish.
I sought devotion. I searched for it in Indra, in Kaushika, in Shiva.
I found it in myself.
My mistakes, my confusion, my indecision, my faith and my doubt—they have always been mine. A part of who I am. And at their foundation, something more, something unmoving exists. Something that shines with the power of a hundred universes, in that space between illusion and reality, between anger and righteousness. It is there, in that space between me and Kaushika.Thatis who I am.
Kaushika’s pulse stutters.
Love, he says.
Love, I confirm.
Tears fill his eyes as he understands, as he accepts.
His chant wavers, then changes shape. The Chant to the Goddess. The Mantra of Devotion. Magic spins from him, but this time it does not hold the heat of battle. Instead, it holds the balm of care, of comfort.
Power spreads from us through the forest and the skies. It coats the army he has brought with him. It instructs them and guides them. It carries the magic of my friends and the illusion I have built with the apsaras. Mortal magic becomes stronger, calmer. It pushes gently and firmly against the devas. Indra, who is still staring at Rambha as she dances, blinks again. Storm and glory coat him, the vajra golden and sharp in his hand.
Rambha pushes the magic with her power and my illusion. She dances, leading other apsaras, changing the illusion, molding it from the vision of Shachi into a vision of herself. Now I see what she is showing Indra. The love he bears for her, hurt but ever-patient. The love he has borne for the world and all his devotees, forgotten, jaded, but present nevertheless. The love he has always felt for the mortals, even if it has cooled in recent times.
Indra’s eyes widen in shock.
He glances at the devas in formation, their own warring paused.Agni, the last of the titans still on the battlefield, gives Indra a small nod. The lord of fire clicks his fingers, and the celestial army returns to where they started, apsaras, gandharvas, and all the other survivors of the battle arrayed again behind the other devas.
Indra lingers in the sky, vajra still spinning. A beat, where my heart claws up to my throat and he joins his devas, at the lead. Then he relents, ending the fighting now that Kaushika has ended it too. Airavat trumpets once, the great elephant swinging its trunk. Everything stills with suddenness, as though battle has not occurred at all.
Rambha is already floating toward the lord, but this time instead of watching her, Indra’s eyes are on me. The vajra still glitters in his hand, aimed for me and Kaushika. It singes me in memory, from when the lord placed it at my neck.
I peel myself away from Kaushika, but he squeezes my hands, arresting me.
Don’t go, he says.
Wait for me, I reply.
For a heartbeat, he holds on to me. Then he lets go.
I approach Indra.
BEHINDINDRA, THE DEVAS AWAIT HIS COMMAND.AGNI’S ARMORstill radiates fire, smoke curling from his fingertips. Surya is gone, but the rays of his sun are still sharp, the heat sizzling my skin.
Yet Samudra, lord of the oceans, nods at me in a sign of respect. He exhales a whisper, and a wave of dampness washes over my skin, cooling me as I levitate toward Indra.
Next to me, Rambha ascends as well. I press my palms together. I do not bow my head.
For a long moment, Indra studies me, his eyes like lightning shards. The lord does not look even remotely tired. I think of howclose we came to the end. I think of how the mortals, and Kaushika, and so many celestials—apsaras, gandharvas, and kinaras alike—still dangle on the precipice. My tongue twists in my mouth, Indra’s power potent and dangerous.
Perhaps I should incline my head, but instinct tells me it would be a mistake.
Please, I think. Indra’s eyes flicker to the devastation below. To the skies still raining down storm. His chest rises and falls, the vajra still spinning.
