Page 82 of The Legend of Meneka
Then he glances at Rambha next to me. Her head is bowed. She is submissive, powerful, beautiful.
Indra sighs, a quiet sound. The vajra disappears without warning.
“I will allow a pause to this battle today, daughter,” he says to me coldly. “See to your injured.”
I don’t reply. Questions trouble me. Is this enough? Will Kaushika begin this war again? Was this merely first blood? Nothing has been resolved. Kaushika is still bound by his vow. Indra still has not agreed to change his laws. We could be here again, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in a few years.
I open my mouth to ask again for a parley, but Rambha shakes her head in a very subtle movement. I understand. Now is not the time. I will have another opportunity.
Indra watches this exchange, his eyes missing nothing. He frowns.
“Come, Rambha,” he says.
Rambha glances at me, a quick, searching look. Her hand accepts Indra’s extended one, and he pulls her to him. The both of them gaze back at me, and in Indra’s face I see the calculation that Rambha has made. The choice.
The devas, apsaras, and other celestials are already disappearing, blinking out of sight. My heart seizes to see Rambha go, as both her and Indra’s lips move to call to Amaravati.
I speak before they are gone, my words slow and careful. “My lord. Amaravati is my home. You are still my king. I intend to return there.”
Indra’s brows draw together. I have issued neither a challenge nor a relinquishing of my own control. I do not demand. I do not beg.
It is still audacious. Lightning flashes near me once in warning.
Indra glances at the disappearing forms of his other devas. I know that now that the heat of the battle has passed, the very same questions must circle him. Who sent the halahala? How is he to survive the Vajrayudh with unrest in his own court? The mortal realm is losing its reverence for him—what will happen to his power? I have no answers, but Indra’s eyes meet mine and he sees that I will not rest until I know. Not after my mission and life were embroiled in this without my say-so. The lord knows that I share his secret too—that he has been hoarding magic. Amaravati’s power returned to me without his explicit permission, just like my wild prana did. Indra might have cut me off from both of them—but I am acelestialwith or without him. My words now are a threat but they are an offer too, rolled into one perilous move that can makemea mark. My intention is clear to him.I can be an ally, or I can be your nemesis. The choice is yours, my lord.
A strange moment of understanding passes between us.
Indra gives me a curt nod.
Then they are gone, all the celestials winking out of the sky.
CHAPTER 29
Ifloat back to the ground.
My friends wait, having watched this exchange in the skies.
Nanda leaps forward to embrace me. Her chest heaves up and down in gasps. She is wrung out with the magic she performed; she is relieved like I am. Pain and sorrow will follow soon for both of us, for the fallen sisters who were forced into this battle. We do not yet know their names, but apsara fighting apsara has never happened before. She strokes my hair, and in the absence of Rambha I lean on her, tears filling my eyes for all that we have endured.
More bodies surround us, of the mortals who defended us. Anirudh squeezes me to him, and his eyes are blurred too. Kalyani’s lips press my forehead. I clasp her to me, relieved she is alive. All of us embrace one another. Shock is written on everyone’s faces, but laughter comes too, first from Nanda, then Anirudh.
Slowly, we untangle. Bit by bit, we clean the area around us, picking up stray arrows, vanquishing errant magic still remaining from the battle, creating funeral pyres for the dead. The mortals stop for food, but Nanda and I continue until the mortals join us again. I lose myself in the work. It is as though I am in the hermitage again, undertaking chores that silence my mind.
Noon rises, and I realize that we have been joined by someone else.
He comes to the camp silently, and next to me Nanda stiffens, part in terror and part in rage. I follow her gaze, and my heart skips a beat as Kaushika enters.
The other mortals stop what they’re doing, wariness in their eyes, but none of them speak. Kaushika makes for Anirudh and they speak quietly. Anirudh glances at me, then shrugs. He points Kaushika to where the earth lies ruptured. Without a word, Kaushika approaches it and begins to smooth it with his own magic. It ripples, dust and root flaking, until grass begins to grow.
“Why is he here?” Nanda asks me angrily, but I don’t respond.
I turn away, back to our own task, but my concentration and fragile peace are gone.
Kaushika stays with the group for the next two days. We do not speak to each other, though I am aware of his presence. Like planets orbiting the same sun, like lovers star-crossed, we move around each other, always in each other’s line of sight yet never acknowledging each other. Camphor and rosewood make my throat dry. I want to go to him, to ask him questions and to answer any he has, but grief from the battle holds me back. How many bodies have we discovered already? So many mortals, but so many immortals too. I have even clutched the remains of apsara sisters, their forms dissipated into golden dust, returning to pure celestial power as soon as I touched them. I cannot forgive Kaushika what he has done. But why doesn’thecome to me seeking forgiveness? We came to an understanding of each other during the battle, but it was never a full understanding. I wonder if any of it will ever be enough.
I do not seek him, and Kaushika doesn’t relent either. In the daytime, he goes where Anirudh directs him. He never takes the lead but works silently in the background, never looking at me, but never consciously avoiding me either. I catch Nanda’s hardening gaze. She does not speak to him, but her movements grow wooden when he is around. I suggest to her gently that she should return to swarga, but she shakes her head. She and I watch, our hands full of wood that can never go back to growing while the others build a hut as a symbol of awar sanctuary. I study the long lines of Kaushika’s body, and the topknot on his head. His simple clothes still never quite hide the muscle of his kshatriya build. Does he feel no remorse? Or is this work now a gesture of regret? I do not know what to make of him.
Anirudh and Parasara step back from the pile of rocks, and after a moment, Kaushika joins them. All three of them begin chanting, and their voices reverberate around us all. Nanda pauses next to me, and the other mortals stop their work on the hut, mesmerized. The voices of the men are tragic, beautiful. All of us watch as the pile of rocks begins to glow. It takes shape, becomes of one piece, almost fluid for an instant.
