Page 15 of The Legend of Meneka (The Divine Dancers Duology #1)

CHAPTER 15

B y the next day, that moment has already faded to a dream. We arrive at the hermitage late in the morning, but I leave at once. Throughout the ride, I have been chanting a prayer, an ancient one that works as a call for help when citizens of Amaravati are stranded away from swarga. Once it was used by every celestial, but for years now only apsaras sent on missions use it, and then only rarely. Sometimes assistance is sent, either in the form of Indra’s jewelry, or as a gandharva who comes to take a message. Often, there is no response. Once an apsara is sent on a mission, it is understood that she is on her own. It is to protect Indra and Amaravati—if we are caught, Lord Indra can deny he sent us at all. He can claim we acted without his knowledge as rogue agents.

Yet even as we enter the stables, a vision comes to me. Behind my eyes, a clifftop overlooks the River Alaknanda. I recognize the spot as one marked on a map within the hermitage. It is half a day’s ride, but it will be safe, far as it is from here. I am not merely getting assistance. An emissary from heaven is arriving to hear me and take my report. As the others pull off their mares, I turn mine back and head toward the road.

Kaushika throws me a thoughtful look but does not challenge me. He can hardly claim I am not allowed to interact with the world outside, not after Thumri. I glimpse his wariness, and guilt gnaws at me, to leave without an explanation after everything he has told me. Still, having a mark pine for you is one of the earliest tricks an apsara learns; I have him exactly where I want him. I offer him a cool nod, ignore the questions from the others, and ride back out of the stables.

The sun is overhead completely by the time I arrive in the woods. The energy here is quieter compared to the forest by the hermitage. There, the trees hum with power, a result of being so close to tapasvin magic. I know this now, aware as I have become of prana, but I am still surprised by how clearly I can tell the difference after only a few weeks at the hermitage.

The celestial vision I received guides me. I weave through the trees, climbing higher, thinking of what I will say to the emissary who has answered my call. My own questions must be careful, discreet. I know I must share what Kaushika has told me about his past, but I feel sick with the thought of relating it when my own mind regarding those truths is not made up.

Did he do it to manipulate me? Even if he did, does it take away the veracity of what I myself have learned at Thumri? How can I make a report now, sharing all of this without context, when the consequences could be so damaging? When Indra will use what I am revealing only to attack Kaushika, without understanding that Kaushika had reasons for his hate?

And if Kaushika killed my sisters because of his hate, does it even matter what his reasons were? Can anything justify such a crime, and can I defend it? I have been the one to summon the emissary, but I feel unprepared, each step only increasing my anxiety, my mind going in circles. Yet when I arrive at the cliff, a familiar face greets me and I feel my doubts fly away as though they never existed.

She sits on a rock just ahead of the cliff face. Her expression is thoughtful as she stares at the silver band of the river below. She is so breathtaking that for a moment I can only stare at her, the green sari wrapped sensuously around her waist, the jewelry that glints on her wrists, her arms, her swan neck. Twinkles from her thick braid and her own aura brighten the blades of grass around her. It is her scent that undoes me, star-anise and dewdrops, cracking me open like a ripe fruit.

I utter a soft whimper of relief, dismounting.

Rambha looks up and stands. “Meneka,” she says, smiling as she approaches me, but she can’t get any other words out. I stagger to her, crushing her to me. We both fall to the grass, our limbs entwined. A laugh escapes her, but it is cut short as she catches my expression. I bury myself in her arms, trying to control my sudden anguish.

“Meneka, what happened?” she asks urgently. “Did he hurt you? Are you in trouble?”

I shake my head, but I cannot answer immediately. A flood of emotions consumes me. I am not just going to make a report to Indra’s agent, trying to understand the edges of my own devotion to the lord. This is Rambha . Her hair tickles my cheek. Her scent envelops me, full-bloomed roses, honey, and peppery star-anise. I have missed her so deeply .

Gently, she sits me down on the grass. “Meneka,” she says, putting an arm over my shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

I stare at the ribbon of water beyond. I have so much to relate, and no map for where to begin. The last few weeks flash through me. The disastrous meeting where Kaushika spotted me for the first time. His charm, and my confusion. The fear I have been living in, which has morphed into reason—that Kaushika might truly have a point about Indra’s cruelties. His admission of his past, the conversation in Shiva’s temple, my performance of prana magic, the lack of any answers regarding my missing sisters. All of these tumble and swirl in me, pulling me toward a different part of the puzzle, never completing the picture. I think of the freedom that awaits me if I can only clear my head. Confusion, pain, and hope bubble to the surface.

Maybe it is that I have been lonely for so long. Maybe it is because the emissary they sent is Rambha. The truth of the last few weeks pours out of me, haphazard and winding. Once I begin talking, I cannot stop, and Rambha does not interrupt. I even come to telling her about Kaushika’s past—the most important thing that I have to share—yet something holds me back. I trip over my words, telling her about Thumri instead to cover my lapse. Shadows change around us, the afternoon growing warm. My voice becomes hoarse, and when I finish, there is a small silence.

Leaves swish, and wind ruffles my hair—hair that is still bound in a sage’s topknot. Rambha stares beyond the cliff, lost in thought. Slowly, she extracts herself from me. She stands and begins to pace back and forth, never once looking at me.

I watch her, but do not disturb. I know this expression well. I have told her so much. She is trying to sort through everything, alternating between Rambha my friend and Rambha my handler. Anything more I say now will only hinder her honesty and will.

She nods decisively once to herself, then comes back to sit next to me. She takes my hand, and I squeeze it. Her voice is soft and kind, and I interlace my fingers with hers, relieved even though I cannot tell why.

“Kaushika does not know you are an apsara,” she begins. “That is good. Very good. You have already been successful where Nanda and Sundari and Magadhi were not.”

I bow my chin in acknowledgment of her compliment, but I cannot lie to her. “When I first arrived … the things he said, the way he acted … I thought he must surely suspect what I am.”

“Yet everything you have done since then has allayed his suspicion. You have been devious. The words you said about the Goddess—that was inspired, my love.” Rambha utters a rich laugh, and even though it is as melodious as ever, something within me chills. The memory of my conversation within Shiva’s temple grows sullied. I spoke those words in purity and grace, even if my actions to sabotage the rest of the hermitage since then have been deceptive. Yet that moment with Kaushika was real. Surely, I related as much to Rambha?

My disturbed gaze meets hers. “How did I do prana magic, Rambha? How is this possible?”

There is true confusion in her eyes, but it flickers only for an instant. “Indra must have allowed it so you could succeed in your mission. That is the only way. It is unheard-of for an immortal to do this, but your mission is the most important one any apsara can undertake. Indra made an exception for you—he temporarily gave you the powers of a deva . It is something to be celebrated, Meneka. I do not think it has happened before.”

I consider her explanation. I did pray to Indra to intervene on that ride with Kaushika. Perhaps the lord sensed my desperation. Perhaps he understood it as his own. Yet why is it that if he gave me this power, he would allow me to make a rune using my wild prana but not using the golden power of Amaravati? I open my mouth to ask this, but Rambha forestalls me, reading the doubt in my face.

“ All our power comes from Indra,” she says. “You know this. Think of the blessing he gave to you before you left. Do you not remember feeling intoxicated with it? Perhaps he was permitting you more than you could know then.”

Her words are sensible, and I recall the way Indra pulled me from my knees, bathing me in his radiance. I recall the feeling of possibilities that flooded through me, as though I were suddenly capable of the most arcane of magics. Who am I to deny what the lord can do, and what he has made me capable of? He is Indra. He is the lord of heaven.

Still … Still …

“You doubt it was him,” Rambha says, seeing my hesitation. “Surely you do not think that you have discovered that which no other immortal has ever been able to do, Meneka? That you are like the devas themselves? Has Kaushika and his arrogance affected you so much that you’ve forgotten your own true nature as a celestial? Mortal wisdom is not something to pay too much attention to, my love—” Rambha cuts herself off and pauses.

She tilts her head, studying me.

“Of course,” she says softly in understanding. “It is not Kaushika. You’re disturbed by what you saw in Thumri. You think the lord cruel for what he did to that village. You doubt him now, his intent, his power.” Her face grows colder, her eyes narrowing. “Perhaps you even doubt his divine nature. After all, if you can do such magic yourself, then surely he is not any more divine than you? Surely you have as much power as him?”

I do not speak. To utter any confirmation of these things, even to Rambha, could get me exiled. I lower my eyes, unwilling to challenge her but unable to lie and deny her either.

Yet I do not need to reply. Rambha knows me too well. She watches me for a long moment, then the coldness melts away from her voice. I hear her sigh. “I told you, you must keep your devotion pure,” she says.

My body jerks. I look at her, distraught, shrinking away, unable to believe that she should call out my weakness of devotion so blatantly, but she holds my hand tightly, and I realize her words are not said to punish me. Only to remind me.

“Thumri,” she says thoughtfully. “I remember it. Those mortals do not know their own history, but that is to be expected. Their memories are short, but in swarga we know the truth. Thumri used to once be a great, thriving kingdom. I remember their prayers, the scents of incense that would drift to Amaravati. The condition that plagues them is not new. It began at the time of the last Vajrayudh, a thousand years ago.”

A quiet wonder blooms in me to be reminded of how Rambha truly is so much older than I am, to remember an event so ancient. Her wrists curl effortlessly. An illusion forms from the tips of her fingers, and I see the lord she loves, distraught at his powerlessness to help his devotees. I see Indra in a way I have never seen before—a lord, kind and compassionate, who is driven only by service to mortals so they may live in prosperity. This is an illusion, but it is nevertheless true. Rambha sees the deva king with a gaze I can only aspire to, understanding him like no other. I watch the mirage, transfixed. Lord Indra bleeding golden blood as he breaks his fingernails, trying to squeeze prana from the universe so he may succor the mortal realm. Lord Indra fighting a thousand demons, unseen, unappreciated, while the mortals forget his magnanimity. Lord Indra brokering alliances with the asuras, in order to protect his kingdom and prevent devastation to humanity.

“During the last Vajrayudh, Indra retired to Amaravati to rest,” Rambha says gently, still molding the illusion. “Heaven closed its doors, and Indra did not answer prayers. Not because he did not want to, but because he could not, weakened as he is during every Vajrayudh. This was what caused the first drought in Thumri, and in many other places too. Many lives were lost. But Thumri survived, did it not?”

Survived , I think, picturing the dying old man and the sickening bodies littered on cracked soil.

“It’s been a thousand years,” I say quietly. “Why did the lord not help after the Vajrayudh ended?”

Rambha shrugs. She collapses the vision. “Mortals will pray to their gods to receive what they want, but when they do not get it, they turn so easily. When the first draught came, they blamed Indra and cast him aside. And so the droughts continued. You can hardly blame Indra for punishing them for their impiety.”

I shake my head. “Those people—they wanted his favor again. Indra could have saved them.”

“That is not for us to question. We are mere apsaras. These decisions are for Indra and his council.”

“But it is our actions that determine these decisions too,” I say. My fists clench into the grass. I cannot believe how Rambha is missing the point. My voice grows stronger, more insistent. “Rambha, in heaven we do not question anything. As apsaras we are told to obey without doubt. I am sent to marks who would be a danger to the lord, but we are never allowed to ask who else might be hurt with our actions. I think you underestimate the lord—if we only told him about all this, it would change his mind, and shouldn’t that be the form of our devotion, to counsel him when he cannot see—”

“Stop it.”

Rambha stands abruptly, and the sharp edge of warning scalds me, the end of her patience with my arguments. My sudden burst of courage dies.

“These are indiscreet thoughts,” she says. “The lord asked for Thumri to be faithful to him even when times were hard—and that should have been enough. Just like it should be enough for you . Devotion is a twofold path, Meneka. What good is love, what good devotion, if it is only transactional? If it can be taken away so easily, if it has so many dependencies , is it even love at all? The lord has granted you great gifts and power, yet you question his intent because a few mortals have told you their tragic stories. Have you lost faith?”

I flinch. My words lock in my throat.

My devotion to the lord has suffered; it always does in the mortal realm. I was afraid of this very thing occurring. It is why I wanted to remain in Amaravati, never to be sent on another mission. Rambha has reminded me, with nothing but a few choice words, that I can never be like her. She has shown me the impurity of my nature.

Misery sweeps into my heart, and my vision trembles. I drop my gaze.

Rambha’s shadow moves. She sits down next to me again and strokes my cheek. Despite myself, I lean into her touch, too distressed to do anything but take the comfort she is offering me.

“You are a celestial, Meneka,” she says, and her voice is soft. “You are an apsara of Indra’s own court. Do not forget where you come from. Mortals are frail, their faith so often weak. After every Vajrayudh, Indra must work hard to restore their conviction in him, but the fewer prayers they offer, the less he can do for them in return. People like this Kaushika only ruin the cosmic bond between devas and devotees. Indra is growing weaker with each passing day as this Vajrayudh approaches. Should it come and go without Kaushika thwarted, the poison the sage spreads will weaken Indra further even after it passes. All the realms will suffer, and Amaravati will be irrevocably destroyed. You alone can stop this from happening. You understand this, don’t you?”

I nod wretchedly. Rambha pulls me closer, and her breath warms my forehead.

“Please, Meneka,” she whispers, and her voice breaks a little on my name. I lift my head to see the pain and fear on her face that she has desperately been trying to hide. “You are so close. Kaushika is growing infatuated with you; you already know this. You are succeeding in shifting him from the ascetic path. All it will take is one more push.”

I shake my head. I want to tell her how Kaushika became more powerful with the acknowledgment of Shakti. Though he is amenable to how I have been conducting myself in the hermitage, his intent and dislike for Indra have only grown tenfold after what I’ve done. But Rambha’s lips linger on my ear, then drift lower, her tongue flashing out to taste the delicate skin on my neck. I shiver, knowing this is everything I have ever wanted. Everything I can have if I only complete my mission. I cannot bring myself to raise any more objections. My eyes drift, closing, and a soft sigh builds in me as her fingers trace gentle patterns on my back.

“You promised me you would give it your everything,” Rambha reminds me, and once again her lips hover over my neck, raising goose pimples. “Fulfill your promise. Now is not the time to worry about your trivial rules. He will give himself over to you if you stop holding back. Kiss him to unlock his secrets. Sleep with him if you need to. I do not care. Just—”

My eyes fly open. I pull away from Rambha, scooting backward, staring at her. “You do not care?” I ask hoarsely.

Rambha studies me, puzzled. “We are apsaras,” she says, shrugging. “Sex is merely sex. It does not need to be any more than simple pleasure. You would even be giving Kaushika what he wants. You did say you saw yourself when you looked into his lust, even though you needed no illusions to create that lust. It sounds like he has simply fallen for your beauty. Would it be so wrong to fulfill his want?”

I withdraw further away from her. I can still feel her touch, but her words are cold water thrown over our moment together. I stare at her, confused, not knowing why I am confused. Is any of this a surprise at all?

Kaushika’s lust did show me my own image, not once but several times. That I did nothing to form that image consciously means only one thing—he desires me. He has always desired me. There is a kind of freedom in that; I am not to blame for what happens to him.

Yet my feelings for Rambha tangle in the roots of duty and the dreams of lust. I want her to tell me she desires me for herself. I want her to feel upset with the idea of me giving myself over to him, even if it is for the mission. In the depths of my own foolish na?veté, I want her to care . Care more about me than her love and duty for Indra.

Yet even beyond that, I want her to understand me. I want her to see why the prospect of sleeping with Kaushika, even if that is what his lust shows, feels abhorrent to me when I have come to him masked by trickery. I have felt this way about all my marks; it is the reason I do not lie with them. It is the one thing that has always bothered me about my own identity as an apsara. The one thing Rambha has never understood.

She tilts her head, searching my silence. “Are you truly so prideful?” she asks, and I am surprised that she can see my thoughts so clearly. “You have always held it in such high esteem, to never involve yourself with a mark, but this is our skill as apsaras, and using it does not take away from your talent as a dancer. How can you hold back the most powerful tool at your disposal? Find that perfect shape he desires and end this mission. Is that not the most important thing?”

I say nothing, doubts choking my throat. Of course she says this. She has always been more an apsara than I have ever been. She has been a true creature of lust, as Indra has decreed us to be. To Rambha, sleeping with a mark is no different from speaking to one, all of it done for the singular intent of serving Indra. Can I do this with Kaushika, after what he has shown me of himself? Is this the true meaning of being an apsara—and why I have never felt I was enough? Am I denying my true nature? One final act … Will this finally teach me who I am?

Rambha gazes at me, her eyes beseeching. “You can end this, Meneka,” she says. “Once and for all. Find your opportunity. Seduce him before the Vajrayudh arrives. For your sake, and the sake of the world. Promise me you will not back down, not when you are so close.”

Her words, Kaushika’s scent, Indra’s pride, all of them cloud me. I think of Kaushika and the shape of his seduction. The feel of his legs against mine and the image of my own pleasure at his center. He desires me—but what did it mean that I looked into his lust only to find my own? Was that image truly his, or did his warding somehow reflect my magic back toward me? What does any of it even matter, if it is giving me what I need for my mission? Am I not here for one purpose?

The afternoon stifles me, each question a barb burrowing under my skin. I cannot speak, but Rambha still gazes at me expectantly. My mouth feels filled with rocks, but I cannot deny the reason in her words.

Slowly, very slowly, I nod.