Page 14 of The Legend of Meneka (The Divine Dancers Duology #1)

CHAPTER 14

T he return is slower. After such an exhausting night, the others need rest. Yogis of immense power though they are, they are mortal, bound by their bodies. Even I feel a bone-deep weariness pressing my shoulders down. Kaushika alone looks like he can go on, but he glances at all of us, the hunched shoulders, the listless expressions, the hanging heads. He stops to make camp by a nameless tributary of the River Alaknanda.

We are silent as we tie our horses in the small copse. Anirudh starts a fire and Romasha begins to distribute rice cakes. Eka and Parasara are already in their bedrolls. For some time, the only sounds are those of quiet chewing and the gentle breathing of the horses.

I bite into my rice cake, surprised to find it still warm. It is stuffed with finely chopped vegetables with a sweet, creamy sauce that bursts in my mouth. This was made hours ago, before we left the hermitage. By rights, it should not be this fresh. Preserved through magic, of course. It is a passing thought, though no less informative for it. Yogis use their magic for significant matters, knowing it can deplete them. They do not waste it on ensuring food remains tasty; food must nourish, that is all. It is the way of the hermitage. That Romasha should make this concession for the rest of us, using her magic this way to keep the food warm, to keep us comforted, while knowing that she would need her tapasya for healing … She, Anirudh, and Kaushika anticipated many of the choices the others and I made today. They know far more than they have told us. They always have.

I study the three of them now, their heads bent together, their murmurs quiet. A tendril of hair slips free from Romasha’s topknot and she tucks it behind her ear impatiently. Kaushika is deep in conversation with her and Anirudh, and I wonder again if hers is the kind of beauty he prefers. Quiet, unassuming, stealthy, it is so different compared to an apsara’s exquisiteness, but powerful nonetheless. I think of my fingers touching his hand instead of Romasha’s when she passes him a rice cake. I think of their closeness and the secrets they share, the trust that exists in such an unspoken way . It is this trust I need from him.

The last few hours rush through me in a blur. I am still forming the words to ask the right questions when Kalyani leans forward.

“Indra needs to pay for this,” she says, her voice hard.

The murmuring stops. Eka and Parasara scramble up from their bedrolls to look at Kalyani. Kaushika does not move, but Anirudh and Romasha exchange a glance. I try to keep my expression neutral, but I cannot help sitting up as well.

“How could he do this to his own devotees?” Kalyani continues, and her eyes blaze in anger. “He is supposed to be the lord of heaven, but all he cares for is to get drunk on soma and be a nuisance for the mortal realm. He meddles in our affairs, his every act only for his own gain. This senseless punishment, these years of callous violence . How many deaths did we see today that could have been prevented?”

Eka nods, her expression grave. “The celestials are powerful and manipulative, and mortals are but pawns in their games. Yet the celestials don’t understand true power. Or Shiva would not scorn the devas.”

“It’s because of Indra,” Parasara adds, his voice somber. “Heaven is meant to be pure. A reward for mortals after a life well lived. But Indra has corrupted it with his hedonistic pursuits. He is a tyrant. He has always been.”

“They know nothing about true enlightenment,” Kalyani spits out. “None of the devas do—whether they control wind or fire or storm. None of the celestials.” She makes a disgusted sound in her throat, her face drawing into a scowl.

My heart sinks. I knew Kaushika was swaying others from Indra, but these awful words from people I began foolishly thinking of as friends pierce my heart like thorns. I have not been as successful in my influence at the hermitage as I thought.

I blurt my words out, uncaring of what I am giving away of myself. “The celestials are not all bad. Music comes from the devas, as does dance. The arts, even the magic we do—all of it has roots and foundations in swarga.”

“Does one good erase all bad ones?” Kalyani challenges me. She must surely see the shock on my face, to be confronted by her , the one person I thought of as a friend, but still she continues, consumed by her own anger. “How much damage has Indra already wrought?” she asks. “How many people have suffered? He does not even respect his own devas—forget respecting mortals. He crushed the chariot of the dawn goddess Ushas, so that dawn itself was delayed for years in the mortal realm. He pursued Sage Agastya’s wife, knowing she could not bed him, all because he enjoyed the chase. Indra has been interfering in the affairs of every realm, and look what has happened to Thumri. His inaction—his abdication of his responsibility—Meneka, do you not remember their wasted faces?”

A sharp ache spreads through my chest at her words. How foolish I have been to begin trusting these people. We cannot be friends. We never were.

I turn to Kaushika. “You prayed to Indra. I heard you. He listened, did he not?”

Kaushika studies me. He has been silent through the yogis’ anger, and from his expression it does not look like he intends to answer me, but I refuse to back down.

“I recognized your chant,” I go on, chin lifted. “That is why it rained in Thumri, is it not?”

Kaushika watches me like he is seeing into my depths. Slowly, he nods.

“Then do you think Indra is a tyrant too? That he is evil?” I insist.

“Do you ?” he asks softly. “After what you saw?”

I frown. He is dissembling. My thoughts on Indra are not what we are discussing here. Still, if that is what will get him to admit his own rancor, I will play the game.

My gaze takes in the other mortals. “In my country, Indra is revered. He brings rain to relieve us. He protects our soldiers. We are told he is the slayer of a hundred asura demons, and his power keeps them within the hell of naraka, unable to run amok in the three realms.”

“That’s what you have been taught,” Kaushika says. “But what do you think? For yourself?”

My frown deepens at his words. The lord glitters in my mind as I saw him last, magnificent on his throne, gloriously powerful. I see him lift me to my feet, his smile benign as he sends me on this suicide mission—yet now his smile changes in my memory, its edges sly, the light of his magic obscuring the hidden pits of darkness in his soul, mesmerizing me so I cannot think clearly. I think of the lord seducing me. Indra darkens in my memory, trapping me with my own devotion and na?veté.

I stare at Kaushika. Anger floods through me at his presumption, at his honesty. These are tricks. Kaushika wants something, just like my other mortal marks. Reveal your lust , I command, not a whispered persuasion, but a hurled weapon intent on one destination. To cleave through his lies and see the shape of his desire. To see how he wants power over me, a vision that will reveal to me his true nature.

The command locks on him without resistance from his shield this time. By piercing it once, I have pierced it forever. I barely register this, because my throat catches. For I see not a vision of his power but my own. I see myself naked on the grass, my hands buried in Kaushika’s hair. His fingers part my thighs, and his breath is a whisper on the delicate skin just there. Tell me what you like, Meneka , he says. Command me. I am yours.

There , I reply, breathy. Kiss me there. Lick me softly.

The sound in my throat becomes a whimper, an echo of the sound the Meneka in the vision makes.

I dispel the vision, but my heart hammers in my chest, so loud I am afraid the mortals can hear me. Confusion rocks me. Kaushika sits there, fully in his mind, yet displaying a vision of seduction only a thrall should display. How can this be? What is happening to me? What has he done ?

Suddenly, I cannot stand to be around him any longer. How dare he make me doubt myself in this way? How dare he make me question my devotion to my lord and my own magic? It’s true I have my problems with Indra—every daughter has issues with her father, and though Indra is not truly my sire, he is the closest I have ever had to one. Indra, for all his faults, has kept me anchored to Amaravati. Knowing that my missions protect the lord and our city is the only way I can endure them. It is he who gives me my magic, and believing in my magic is the only way I have survived this long in the mortal realm. Kaushika is deliberately planting sedition in my head.

Rambha’s voice echoes in my mind. He is cunning and devious. Now I can see just how devious he is, if with a few words he has made me question everything I know. The ride back from Shiva’s temple circles me. How easily he made me forget Indra as I performed mortal magic. Maybe that demonstration of wild prana was a trick too, placed there by Kaushika so my tether to Amaravati would weaken. He is maneuvering me just like he did my sisters. How dare he?

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 saw her. 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.

T HE TINKLING OF THE QUIET WATER WASHES OVER ME LIKE A hymn.

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 simply him . 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’s path 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?”

“Thumri is the worst I’ve seen yet,” he says, nodding. “But many lands are suffering, whether they are Indra’s devotees or not. The lord of heaven is not endearing himself to many at the moment.”

His answers are clear, but underneath it, the moment of hesitation burns. He is unsure of how much to tell me. Maybe I should weigh this decision, see how best to draw him out, but I am too exhausted for games now, and unwilling to slowly unfurl him.

I speak bluntly, meeting his gaze. “Romasha mentioned my own country. You knew that is why I came here, but you didn’t think to tell me.”

“It would not have helped you to know,” he says again, but when he notices my hurt expression, his face grows withdrawn. He rubs at his eyes once. “It is your home. I am sorry to have kept this a secret.”

“Will you tell me now?”

Kaushika hesitates. My question is not a demand. It is obvious he has a choice, despite his apology and admission. Yet it is obvious that his choice shall have a consequence, even if the only true consequence of staying silent is how I will regard him in the future. Maybe it should not matter to him, but I know instinctively that it does. He would not have come to me otherwise. He would not be explaining himself.

I hold the silence, letting it sharpen until Kaushika finally sighs. “You asked me once where I go when I leave the hermitage,” he says at last. “This is where I go, Meneka. To find people who have been wronged by the devas—by the king of devas more than any of the others. Your queen was attacked by Indra. You told me yourself how she was acting erratically when you left. It is because she was seduced. The work of an apsara, if I must guess, though my investigations are limited. Queen Tara is too distraught, and the accounts vague. There is chaos in your homeland. I am truly sorry.”

I stare at him. Horror, fear, and guilt crash through me, seizing my heart in their currents. The sympathy in Kaushika’s eyes feels like a lie—not because he is insincere but because I am. I want to refute him. Tara was Indra’s devotee, but I was sent to her because she lost faith in the lord. Her seduction was part punishment and part peace, to dissuade her from her path of violence. Yet the words stick in my throat like bone. Even before Tara, there were other marks—some mine, some heard tell from other apsaras—mortals who had once been Indra’s followers. I did not question my missions then, believing in the lord’s intentions, but no matter the reasons, the lord has been attacking his own devotees. This even I cannot deny.

I know I should ask questions to preserve my identity. I should ask Kaushika what became of Tara, and try to investigate whether he suspects me of playing a part in it. But all the lies and pretensions die in my throat, unformed.

When I speak, my voice is a croak. “How do you know it was an apsara?”

Kaushika’s face darkens. “I’ve had some experience with them. I am familiar with their methods.”

I wrap my arms around my knees. I look away from him, unable to meet his gaze. It is clear he does not suspect me of being an apsara, a victory I should exult in, yet I cannot. The question burns in me about what he means by his experience. If he will truly admit that he killed my sisters, then it would be an act of war against swarga, and Indra would be able to retaliate. I would finish my mission here and now with such confirmation.

But suddenly I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know.

“You think heaven is corrupt,” I say instead.

“I think Indra is,” Kaushika replies, still frowning. “The lord of the skies and I have a history.”

Shadows shift around us as clouds weave in and out of moonlight. Dread buries its claws into me. Kaushika’s jaw moves as though tasting unspoken words, weighing the measure of them. I go very still. I want him to tell me more, but I do not know if it is for the mission or for myself.

“I used to be a prince,” he says at last, his voice so soft that I wonder if he is speaking for me or for himself. “I was an only son, heir to the kingdom of Kanyakubja. Ours was not a big kingdom. We were small and peaceful, trading in flowers and perfumes. I remember playing in those flower fields, and the gardeners singing. I remember Anirudh and I getting into trouble. I remember … happiness.”

Kaushika pauses, and his gaze centers ahead of us, lost in memory. Behind us, I hear the conversation of the others at the camp. Kaushika inhales deeply, and his words grow even softer. I scoot closer, inches away from him, so I don’t miss a word, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“A great drought came to our kingdom,” he says quietly. “I was young, so very young. Ten? Perhaps eleven? Our flowers dried. My parents grew sick. They died of their illness as did many others. I found myself named king, but what did I truly know of ruling? My ministers and I consulted great gurus. We prayed to Indra in a puja we could not afford, a yagna with the last of our flowers, with whatever magic the kingdom could spare. We called and we called. But Indra did not come.”

I remain silent. In my mind, I picture him—a young Kaushika, the laughter of his dimples replaced with sorrow. I must have been a child myself then, running around Shachi’s grove. Indra flashes in my head, an image from my childhood, reigning in his court, concerned with petty politics, drunk so often in the company of older apsaras and gandharvas. All while Kaushika and his kingdom starved for rain.

“Indra’s indifference to my kingdom made outcasts of us,” Kaushika continues. “No one wanted to aid us. What if Indra punished them too? The devas could not be understood, their minds capricious, their wills beyond the ken of simple mortals. The gods abandoned my kingdom and so did our neighbors. Only one king responded to our pleas for help. He would help us with grain and medicines, even protecting us from the wrath of the gods, if I folded my kingdom into his own. I would become a vassal, but my people would be safe. Of course I agreed to his terms. Any king would have taken the same decision. I agreed, but my path became clear then. I needed to become powerful enough that such a thing could not happen again. Kings and queens were just pawns in the great cosmic game. I needed to learn to stand up to the devas. I left when I came of age, traveling from kingdom to kingdom, learning from different sages. It was they who taught me of Shiva’s way. Eventually, I began my own tapasya. I have been on the ascetic path since I turned twenty.” Kaushika turns to me with a lopsided smile. “I left to help my people, just like you. Somewhere along the way, I found more purpose within my own self. You and I, we are not so different.”

Thoughts collide within me, one after another. What spurred him to tell me this now? His sudden confession warms me, shames me, empowers me. I still want to defend Indra, but what can I say after everything Kaushika has told me? I think of the first time I met him in the woods and how he relented when I told him I came to the hermitage to help my people. I think of the warnings Rambha gave me before my mission—of how Kaushika scorned Indra’s emissaries when he became a sage. Kaushika’s hate for Indra makes too much sense now, but how far will such hate go? Does his wrath for my lord justify the crimes he has committed against my apsara sisters?

“You despise Indra so much,” I finally say. “Yet you prayed to him in Thumri?”

His shoulder lifts lightly, an evasion of my question. “We all pray to the deities for our magic. Yogis call to the gods in ancient syllables, constructing the mantras just so. That’s how Anirudh made the fire tonight, by asking it of Agni. Romasha’s light from before was a gift from Surya.”

“Have you forgiven Indra, then?” Has he forgiven you ? I add silently.

Kaushika shakes his head. “What we do as yogis is not mere prayer. We pray to the natural essence of the devas and devis, their bonding with the creative force that is prakriti. To commonfolk, prakriti simply means nature—rain or sunshine or air. They think that the devas of swarga possess and manipulate these powers. In a way, it is even true, but yogis know the subtle truth. It is prakriti—nature itself—that came first as a primordial force of all reality. The divinities of swarga are simply manifestations of prakriti’s own power. In his foundational form, Indra is a natural energy, formless and divine. But he presents himself as a man, with all of a man’s follies and pride. We can separate Indra the power from Indra the lord. We pray to Indra, the elemental force. Indra as a lord has much to answer for.”

Shock silences me.

I should know this , I think.

All I have ever known is Indra, the sire of Amaravati, the owner and keeper of my own celestial magic, but of course, he is so much more than simply that. He is the first of all devas, ancient and impenetrable. He is a power that formed and became sentient at the dawn of creation. I am dazzled suddenly by the realization of his age.

“ Lord Indra did not answer my prayer,” Kaushika says quietly. “It was Indra in his purest essence. That force of the universe had no choice but to answer my prayer, as a simple cause and effect.”

I wonder if Indra felt this in his throne room. I imagine his face furious and scared while the vajra trembled in his hand. I imagine Indra on the receiving end of a power he himself wields to make celestials like me bow to him, controlled without his will like he himself has controlled us.

“That’s why you did not help us with the healing,” I say, understanding. “All your power was used to convince Indra in his essence while Lord Indra resisted the rain.”

“It is where I was needed. The rest of you would not have been able to help me, not with this.”

Kaushika’s eyes are free from any deception. His words are said simply, without arrogance. A deep kinship forms in me in recognition of this. This is how I have felt about my dance, a moment of purity with my own skill and power, which nothing could snatch away. No one else has understood it. Even around Rambha, I have felt lesser, unsure of myself. Yet Kaushika’s acceptance of his own power reminds me that even I separate Indra and Amaravati and my own missions from the joy my dance gives me. That is how I began down this road. In wanting to dance with freedom.

Kaushika meets my eyes. His fingers move as though to reach for me again, but he stills. “I want to thank you,” he says. “Not just for what you did tonight at Thumri, but for what you taught me at Shiva’s temple and what you have been teaching the others. Anirudh and Romasha have told me of your assistance. If you had not spoken to these students about the path of the Goddess, I would never have been able to ask them to come to Thumri. You saved lives tonight.”

My eyebrows rise. “I thought you’d be angry,” I whisper.

“I was,” he replies, smiling slightly. “But not at you. This was always the risk. I knew it all along. That night you arrived in the forest, the warding of intent told me you’d be dangerous. I knew you would change the hermitage in some way—it is perhaps why I have been so hostile. You are indeed a threat to the ascetic path, but not all things that threaten us are harmful.” He utters a self-deprecating laugh and presses the side of his neck with one hand. The gesture is so boyish that I want to squeeze him in comfort. “I am hoping Romasha will see this too,” he adds. “She does not wholly approve of what you are doing at the hermitage, but I think she is starting to understand. Many paths can lead to the same outcome. That is essential knowledge for a yogi. For a sage.”

“She does not approve,” I repeat quietly. “But you do?” I follow the movement of his hands, the way his long fingers steeple on his knees.

“Approve,” he repeats slowly, as though measuring my question, trying to see the intention behind it. “I am not sure you need approval. Least of all mine. It has always been about your own.”

Slowly, with enough time to allow me to stop him, his fingers reach out to take my hand again. He traces the outline of my palm, and I can do nothing but stare at him, my heart racing. His voice is quiet. It rolls over my body like honey. Excitement and hunger ache within me.

“I am a yogi, Meneka,” he says. “A sage . You came to the hermitage to learn more about your magic. But I came to this path to devote myself to the pursuit of the one truth, the one universal power. I made oaths to asceticism. I believed it was only through the strict denial of material possessions and sensual pleasures that I could do the kind of tapasya required to grow my own spiritual power. To make my mind strong like a diamond, so that one day the universe would reflect back to me.”

Mesmerized, I say nothing. This is what sages pursue. It is one reason Indra fears them so much, for they seek a knowledge even Indra is not capable of fully understanding. I stare at Kaushika, and his breath shudders again. He is close enough to ruffle my hair. I am not sure if he moves or I do. Perhaps it is the both of us, leaning closer, propelled by the intimacy of this moment, the intimacy of his admissions. His eyes glow, and I can make out each individual lash, each groove of a laugh line.

“You opened me up to a part of myself I had been denying,” he says. “To a part of Shiva I had been neglecting. You reminded me of why I am doing this at all. That enlightenment is love too. If it weren’t for you, I might have walked away from Thumri. I would have chosen detachment, in pursuing the ascetic path. But tonight, when even my tapasvin power failed me …” His lips lift, and my own feel suddenly dry. I lick them lightly, but it is the taste of his scent I trap. “It was the power of the Goddess that came to my aid. You are making me rethink many, many things.”

I do not know what to say. My heart strums a quiet tune, spellbound by this man. I suddenly understand his look when he brought down the rain. It was my wisdom he tapped into then. It was me he remembered.

In the back of my mind, I am aware of the danger. Is he saying these words simply to lure me into revealing myself? Is this an elaborate scheme to expose me? I feel strangely excited, to be the hunted rather than the hunter. Heat enters my belly, rising to my chest, tingling over my neck. The challenge floods in me to be with him, a mark who is as powerful as I am, maybe more. I want to seduce him suddenly, not because of Indra, but for myself. I want him to know I am seducing him, to know me and my danger and want it anyway, in the same way that I want him now.

I squeeze Kaushika’s hand. He squeezes back; a quiet smile.

“Should you pass the Initiation Ceremony,” he says, “I will introduce you to other sages, as is tradition. You will have a choice to stay with me or go to one of their schools to learn from them. Undoubtedly, Gautama and Bhardwaj and even Vashishta will covet you.” Kaushika smiles again, and I understand his words are not to pull away from me. They are to ensure I know I have a choice. He reaches to tuck a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. It is amazing, this understanding that flows between us in this moment, free of small anxieties, drenched with trust. It is as though I have always known this man, a mirror to my own light, a shadow of my own heart.

My fingers tremble. It is all I can do not to touch his face and trace the contours of his jaw with my nails. It is all I can do not to lean in and find the taste of his dimples.

“I know I have not given you much reason for it,” Kaushika says softly. “But I hope, Meneka, that you decide to stay with me.”

A sigh escapes me, sweet with satisfaction. I fight the urge for closeness no longer. I rest my head on his shoulder, and after a hesitant moment, his own head nestles mine. Kaushika takes a deep breath, warming me and making me tingle at the same time. A silence braided with unspoken words wraps around us, comforting.