Page 16 of The Legend of Meneka (The Divine Dancers Duology #1)

CHAPTER 16

T he day of the Initiation Ceremony dawns with storm clouds wrapping the sky. Kaushika meant to conduct the ceremony in the courtyard, but Anirudh tells me that tapasya cannot be wasted today in creating shields from the rain. Arrangements are made inside the pillared pavilion. A platform is raised in the center, wide enough for each disciple’s performance to be viewed. The air is thick with the scent of camphor and woodchips, and Romasha chants in her clear voice, thumping at a hand drum. The rest of us sit crosslegged on the floor, awaiting our turn.

I thread the flower garland I made through my fingers, forcing myself not to crush the petals in my nervousness. Next to me, Kalyani clutches her own offering to the ceremony, a thin gold bracelet she acquired as a blessing for helping the nearby village of Rastha only a few days ago. After Thumri, word spread of our aid, and more yogis were given leave to help. Other disciples hold their own gifts, flowers and fruits, gold coins and small jewels—all of these either acquired personally or given as thanks for pious acts performed. As each disciple steps forward to Kaushika on the platform, they offer these up to him. I watch Kaushika place the gifts at Shiva’s altar before anointing the disciple with vibhuti, the sacred ash made of burned wood.

I cannot stop looking at him. Days have passed since my meeting with Rambha, days in which I have not seen Kaushika, though that is hardly surprising. He has been busy preparing for the ceremony. I myself have not come to any conclusion on my feelings, but I know my spiraling questions have no place here. That Rambha is right is indisputable. I am here in the mortal realm, not to learn to be a sage but to complete a sacred task, a heavenly mission. I am here to save my home.

Yet it is hard to remember that now, when the chants to Shiva fill my ears and the air is heavy with spiritual intention. Not even in Amaravati have I felt such depth of connection to my own ineffable soul. Amaravati is gold and glimmer, pomp and pageantry, luxury and ostentation. The hermitage, by contrast, is a searing look into my own heart. The ceremony now, coated in formality, still retains an element of abandon and freedom. We come to give Shiva what we can, surrendering ourselves so we may free ourselves.

Beside me, Kalyani bumps my arm. I tear my eyes away from Kaushika, who is accepting Ananta’s offering, and smile at my friend.

We have barely spoken the last few days, the both of us caught up in preparation for the ceremony, but there is no awkwardness between us. I expected her to still be angry with me for my defense of Indra, but she sat next to me this morning, nervously showing me the thin bracelet she brought as an offering.

“Are you sure this will do?” she whispers now.

“Yes,” I reply, smiling. “It is quite powerful. You consecrated it, didn’t you?”

Kalyani nods mournfully. “Many times. But I don’t sense any power in it. Maybe I am not strong enough. Maybe I used too much in Thumri.”

I make no reply but squeeze her fingers in comfort. The bracelet does indeed hold power; I can sense it clearly, but it feels deeply buried. Perhaps she attempted to consecrate it using a chant to one of the devas in their natural form. There is something wild about its magic—sharp, dangerous, almost veiled. It reminds me of Amaravati, but of course that is hardly something I can tell her.

I turn my attention back to the platform. One by one, Kaushika calls out the names of different students. Durvishi burns herbs for her demonstration. Outside, storm clouds clear just for an instant, her power forcing Surya’s sunshine to glow, forcing a deva. Kaushika nods, then bids her return to her seat. Sharmisha and Advik—lovers who opened themselves up to each other’s affection after speaking with me of Shakti—perform their magic together. Through a series of yogic postures that resemble part warrior forms, part dance, the two of them move around the gathering, their eyes trained only on each other. Flowers blossom in thin air, showering all of us in petals of roses, tulips, and jasmines. Advik tucks a small bud behind Sharmisha’s ear. The two nod at me from the stage, and a thrill shoots through me; this is because of what I said to them. Aypan comes next, chanting the entire time during their presentation. The arrows they unleash pierce through Kaushika’s own shield. Everyone can see how powerful they truly are.

One after another, disciples demonstrate their magic, each of their displays impressive. A deep gravity wraps around us all, holding our excitement and nervousness. So far, Kaushika has sent no one away—not even the students I cultivated with my lectures about the Goddess. Even Renika, who was most vocal about returning to her family, has stayed. I am reminded that though my sabotage wormed doubt into their minds, Kaushika still is a rishi, commanding more respect than me. They do not want to disappoint him. Will I be the first one to do so? Despite my own mortal practices, I have only a few runes at my disposal. I cannot fake their power with illusion, not in front of Kaushika. What if I present as the weakest here? Surely he will not send me away, not after the words he spoke to me?

Not if this vision is true , I think, unleashing the command toward him once again to reveal his lust. Throughout the morning, I have attempted to probe him, unbeknownst to anyone. The image hasn’t changed, not truly. Each time I have seen only a vision of my own pleasure, Kaushika trailing kisses up my belly, his fingers entangled within mine as I show him where to touch me. His eyes blazing in satisfaction as I instruct him to suck and lave, whimpering as he does so.

The images are too distracting. I relinquish them almost as soon as they form. On the pavilion, Kaushika calls out Kalyani’s name. I press her hand in reassurance before she weaves past the other disciples to the front. Kalyani trembles and removes the thin gold bracelet from around her wrist. She presents it to Kaushika with both hands, and he nods, accepting the trinket.

What happens next, I cannot make sense of immediately.

The bracelet touches his skin, and I blink as sharp blue light fills my vision, shaped like a massive blade that shoots into the sky. It burns in my eyes, blinding me, silencing every other sense—then crashes down, casting all of us in dimness again.

Romasha’s prayer comes to an abrupt halt. The ceiling trembles, then shatters, people around us screaming, rising to their feet, scrambling back. The scent of scorching air fills my nose, and I see Kaushika looking stunned. His form undulates, blurry then sharp, like I am seeing him over a large distance.

I don’t realize it, but I am on my feet. I push people out of my way in my rush to get to him, tripping over all the puja samigri, the rice and incense sticks, the dhoop and the havan fire. Every other thought flees me, except to ensure that he is safe. My fingers are already casting the rune of protection, but then I understand what the undulation is. Kaushika has created a shield, one he made instinctively when light ricocheted off the bracelet. He is behind it, protected from whatever occurred.

But Kalyani is not.

She sways where she stands. Her hands are still open in offering. The bracelet she holds is replaced by black fumes that flicker and dance. The fumes are unlike anything I have seen before, dark like midnight, glossy enough that the surrounding students are mirrored in them. I am hypnotized, staring at the way they are held in her palm. Her body does not move, but her mouth drops open, and behind his shield, Kaushika’s eyes widen in comprehension.

He breaks his shield, reaching for her in the same moment the fumes are absorbed by her skin.

Kalyani collapses where she stands just as Kaushika catches her. I am there in an instant, kneeling next to them. Silence rings around the pavilion, all of us staring in shock. Kalyani’s skin is turning dark, yet it is no natural shade. It is as though the blood inside her is blackening, drying. Her body spasms. Her eyes roll back into her head. Kaushika pulls back her sleeves with his own trembling hands, and I watch as darkness spreads from her palms in waves, each current climbing higher and higher, closer to her heart.

I look up to Kaushika, terror in my eyes. “Please,” I say uselessly. “Please.”

Kaushika begins chanting.

The mantra is too complex; I can barely keep track of the many syllables. It rises and falls, its words like one long verse. Kaushika’s magic blasts the air around us, thick and powerful like an unrestrained volcano. The fumes within Kalyani slow as he sings, and to my great relief, her chest rises in a shuddering breath even though her eyes remain closed.

“Is she all right?” I gasp. “Is she injured?”

“What was that?” Anirudh says, his voice trembling. “The blade … it looked like a lightning bolt.”

I look up to see that I am not the only one who has rushed to Kalyani. Romasha is here with Anirudh, and Eka and Parasara. Everyone else hovers close enough to help, but not close enough to disturb us, knowing we are the ones who care for Kalyani most.

Kaushika makes no answer to Anirudh. He closes his eyes and joins his palms together. A stream of chants emerges from him, melodious and quick. His voice is as deep and beautiful as ever, but there is something else in it now. A desperate kind of emotion, like he is unsure for the first time whether his chants will work.

The air ripples in front of all of us. I can almost see the letters of the mantra, like the most delicate calligraphy moving around in a swirl. Kalyani gives another shuddering breath then collapses again. Her chest moves, too shallow to mean anything good.

Terror grips my heart like never before. I find myself unable to think clearly. Tears trickle down my cheeks and I make to touch Kalyani, but Anirudh holds me back.

“Kaushika,” he says again. “What is it?”

“It’s poison,” Romasha replies grimly. “He has stopped it from spreading, but it needs to be extracted. Otherwise, Kalyani will die.”

Kaushika gives a curt nod but does not break in his singing.

“You know how to extract poisons,” Anirudh says, confused. “That’s an easy mantra.”

“Not this,” I whisper, surprising even myself. The understanding floods me at the same time I speak the words. “This is halahala.”

Kaushika gives me a piercing, assessing look, then nods. I stare at him, my mind churning.

This is why the magic of the bracelet felt so familiar to me. Why it reminded me of home. This bracelet is from Amaravati. I have seen it before, shining on my lord’s own wrist, so long ago the memory feels like a dream.

As for the poison … In my mind, I see the kalpavriksh—the holy tree where I prayed before coming to the mortal realm for my mission. The kalpavriksh emerged during the Churning of the Oceans, along with the amrit, the golden nectar that gave the denizens of Amaravati their immortality. Yet before the nectar appeared, the churning produced halahala—a poison so lethal it killed many devas attempting to roil the oceans. To stop the poison before it could destroy everything, the Great Lord Shiva himself swallowed it, an act that turned his throat blue, earning him the name of Neelkanth—the blue-throated god.

Shiva risked his own life to save all of creation, but small drops of the poison escaped him. The drops spread through the realms, and Indra sent his warriors to claim them. The few that were discovered were placed within a vault in Amaravati that no one but Indra can access.

I stare at Kaushika now, who lowers Kalyani’s limp form to the ground. The lightning blade … the halahala … I know what he must think, yet Indra would never use the halahala for something like this, not even to attack a dangerous enemy. It would break every tenet of being a deva. He would be usurped by his own court. Shiva would descend on Indra with fury and damnation.

I want to utter these protests in any way I can without raising suspicions about my own nature, but Kaushika has not stopped chanting. The air fills with his magic, and Kalyani lies on the floor, her breathing labored.

I have no opportunity to speak my objections. Kaushika’s chanting continues well into the night. Sometimes he places his palms over Kalyani’s forehead, throat, and chest, trying to anchor different chakras. Other times, he moves his fingers in a rhythmic pattern, something I now know are meditative gestures that augment his power, similar to how the dance mudras augment mine. The heat of the magic overtakes the cool night, but I know it is because of the poison. Halahala is fighting Kaushika’s chants.

I kneel next to him, creating runes of wellness and strength—for myself, for him, for Kalyani. Through a blur of the hours, I realize that someone has cleared the pavilion of the remnants of the ceremony, removing all the puja samigri. Someone else brings us water, but I ignore it just as Kaushika does. He does not stop singing, but at one time, he takes off his sweat-drenched kurta, and I almost wish I could take mine off too. Rivulets of sweat run down his skin, and the glow of magic suffuses him, from his angular face to the hair on his arms and chest. My body grows warm, half-built images of his seduction dancing in me. It seems so meaningless now, everything I have been sent here to do, the charge to defeat him I have been given.

A desperate appeal echoes in me as I stare at Kalyani’s sickening complexion. Don’t die. Please don’t die. When Anirudh gently suggests I get some rest, I cut him off.

“I’m staying,” I say, and I look at Kaushika as I speak. Nothing can pull me away from here. Kalyani is my friend, the first one here in the hermitage. My only one here, for all I know.

I expect an argument, but Kaushika is too intent on his mantra, and that’s the end of it. Hour after hour passes, and true darkness falls in the hermitage, compounded by the storm clouds. The poison moves within Kalyani’s body, sometimes climbing higher to her neck, sometimes descending to her very fingertips.

I try not to hover as Kaushika works, but he is too focused on his task to even know I am there. I am amazed at his power. That he can even do this, fight halahala , for hours on end is beyond any magic, mortal or immortal. Indra himself cannot do this; I am certain of it. The lord of heaven is right to be terrified of Kaushika—but then my thoughts drift to the lord sending this poison to the hermitage. I shake my head, focusing once more on Kalyani, creating another rune to help Kaushika.

I am not the only one to offer my magic as assistance. Romasha burns herbs in small clay pots, creating a circle around Kaushika, me, and Kalyani. Scents swirl toward us, cinnamon, cloves, camphor. Their healing power rejuvenates me, evaporating my thirst, clearing my mind.

Someone else leads a chant, far enough from Kaushika so as not to disturb him but close enough to affect him. I do not hear the words, but I feel the vibrations in my body. When I look up, a shield hovers over us. The others are warding the hermitage, both to protect us from foes and to protect the outside world from the poison we now have. Shiva’s name is called out several times, a plea for the Lord of the Universe to come and take this halahala away, but I know it is futile. Shiva will not hear amidst so much chaos. It takes a clear mind to call Shiva, and though we are all trying, we are struggling.

I am beginning to wonder how long we can last, why Anirudh and Romasha have not sent people away to save themselves should the worst come to pass and the halahala is unable to be contained, when Kaushika shifts next to me.

He gives me a piercing look as though making a decision, then nods. The quality of his mantra changes. A tendril of fume rises from Kalyani’s mouth, and even as Kaushika sings, it enters his own mouth.

I don’t understand at first.

Then Romasha is there, the herbs abandoned, and Anirudh too, crouching down to the both of us. They stare at Kaushika as if seeing him for the first time.

“You cannot,” Romasha gasps. “Please, rishi, please. We need you to guide us. We need you, guruji.”

“Kaushika,” Anirudh says, his voice pained. It is all he is able to say.

I stare at Kaushika. I remember the disciple who burned herself with her tapasvin magic only a couple of months ago. I recall Kaushika taking the embers within himself, dissipating them. He could do that with raw tapasvin power, but halahala ?

He is not Shiva.

It will destroy him.

Anirudh and Romasha are still protesting, but Kaushika stands up. The poison has almost entirely left Kalyani’s body. She breathes deeply, then stills, falling into a restful sleep.

I am on my feet with my other friends, staring at Kaushika. I don’t hear their words of protest. A rushing sound overtakes my ears, blood pounding in my head. Kaushika takes several steps back, distancing himself from us. I do not see the poison flickering in his body in the same way it did for Kalyani. Does it mean he has already absorbed it, unable to pause its attack? He waves a hand, and I react in the same instant his shield snaps toward us. I leap forward, closer to him, my fingers sketching the rune of stability. I pour all my magic into it with the very last of my tapasvin power.

Anirudh and Romasha stagger back, Kalyani between them.

The shield glitters around me and Kaushika—and then I forget everything else. The rest of the hermitage is a blur of shadows outside this circle that Kaushika and I are in. His eyes lock on me, alarmed, terrified, furious. He does not stop chanting, but I face him even as he trembles like he is dying.

His chin drops in exhaustion. His arms grow loose, barely able to hold the shield. I clasp him around his bicep to help keep it up as he shudders. His fingers twitch limply, trying to wave me off, but then his other arm comes to encircle my waist to support himself.

His hair is in total disarray, long strands escaped from its knot and sticking to his sweat-drenched face. His voice becomes raspier. A haunted expression comes into his eyes. He’s reaching the end of his power.

I think of him dying. I think of what Rambha would tell me to do now. I think of how I still have so much magic left inside me, a magic tied to Indra. If I looked into Kaushika’s lust now, what would I see? A wish to be more powerful than this? A desperate attempt to keep living? Regret for what he has done?

I can defeat him.

I can destroy him.

Now is my chance, to strike true, to learn everything about him I need to and undo him entirely. The command almost forms in my mind, to ask him to reveal his lust.

Kaushika stumbles, his shield about to break.

My command dies unformed. Instead, I raise my right hand and sketch the rune of Sri Yantra. I have exhausted all my tapasvin magic already; it is my tether to Amaravati I try to draw from now, knowing it will not work, knowing that my celestial magic is from Indra, and Indra has not allowed me to make mortal runes using my tether before. The shape forms sluggishly, wrenching the power with every bit of my strength, and I cry out, pain lancing through me, cutting me with a thousand knives, blinding me.

I expect the rune to do nothing. I expect that we both will perish, my last moments filled with chaos.

Yet something floods me in my desperation. Amaravati’s power surges inside me the same way as when I dance. A kind of raw understanding blooms in me as though this rune is simply another way of making a mudra. A tug occurs behind my navel, and for the first time ever, Amaravati’s magic connects to the prana in my heart, a clash of two currents in a stormy sea, releasing a wondrous image.

I look within myself into a mirror.

It is a glimpse, a scent, a secret. Dappled light, fresh lotus, endless skies. Power floods me, a wave crashing into me, sweet and fierce at the same time. My eyes widen in shock, but the hand making the rune does not shake. I radiate prana into myself and into Kaushika. Amaravati sings in me, connecting to the wild prana, the two powers mirroring, interlacing, strengthening each other.

Under my other hand, Kaushika’s magic soars. The rune affects him as well, and I feel him twitch, then straighten, replenished by my strength. His aura suddenly grows brighter. The rune grows larger, floating up above us, giving us light.

Kaushika’s eyes track it, and his chant grows more strident. I pour more of Amaravati’s power into the rune, and suddenly I can see Kaushika’s voice, a riot of blue and indigo and green.

His mantra grows alive.

Letters, song, and symbols swirl and shimmer in the air for a long moment. My ears and my heart are full of Kaushika and his magic, and I know his heart is full of me and my runes. It is an intimacy that brings the blood rushing to my cheeks, and for an instant I see inside him—his passion, his freedom, his strength of purpose. I see my own devotion, my loyalty, my sense of integrity. Rambha surges in my mind, then Nirjar, Queen Tara, and all my other marks. Behind my eyes, I look into Kaushika’s mind as well, and the way he used intimidation so callously, turning away those who needed help in the name of enlightenment, all while nurturing his hatred for Indra. We are reflected in each other’s souls, and within the both of us is a glorious light that tries to shine, a darkness that eddies and pools. We are both free and imprisoned, soaring with our truths, weighed down by our follies.

I have no time to think of what I am revealing to him. No time to wonder if he can see everything I am seeing. Kaushika’s hands tighten around my waist in quiet entreaty, and I feed him my power. He seizes it, and I lean in, his magic coating me, protecting me, releasing me—and he gasps as he sings.

Our powers merge.

Kaushika raises a limp hand, and a weaving appears, a braiding of luminosity.

Before my eyes, a ripple tears through the air. Beyond the ripple, a field glistens with tall grass waving in a summer breeze. My hand extends toward it of its own volition. I can almost touch the grass. I am hypnotized; this is unlike any other magic I have encountered. It calls to me like a temptation, but my tether to Amaravati balks.

I watch, stunned, not understanding, as the fumes of halahala pour out of Kaushika’s mouth and into the field. Air darkens in bubbles of poison. Sparks sizzle before subsiding, dust bending like it does around the heat of a fire.

The halahala leaves Kaushika rapidly. It shrinks to a pinpoint, roiling into that meadow. I try to watch it, to see what will become of it, but the air crackles once again, and the portal closes without another sound. Kaushika stops chanting and slumps against me. His head thunks on my shoulder, and I hold him close, not caring how it looks, only caring that he is safe. That it is done, and he is safe .

Silence rings around us.

A thousand thoughts buzz within me, but I don’t have the energy to indulge them. I lean into Kaushika’s chest, breathing in his skin, and his exhalations curl around my ear in precious stolen whispers. My hands climb higher, to his neck, my nails grazing his skin. He shivers in a deep sigh. He presses a palm into the small of my back, pulling me closer against his torso. Something stirs in my belly, something familiar, like lust, but deeper, hungrier , and I am suddenly aware that he is bare-chested, that his thumbs are reaching below the gaps in my own kurta to skim over my hipbones, that his skin on my skin is scorching hot and glorious and alive .

It shakes me—the realization that I’ve wanted this for so long. It scares me—that I chose to save him instead of destroy him. I pause, stiffening.

Kaushika’s eyes snap open, and he staggers back from me.

“Are you all right?” I begin—but his face is not just hardening, it is suddenly furious.

“How dare you?” he says. “How dare you interrupt my magic? What did you do?”

The exhaustion and chaos of the last few hours crash into me. I blink, but then my confusion gives way to anger. I step up to him. “Me?” I hiss. “What was that portal you opened? Where did you send the halahala?”

Kaushika’s eyes flash. “You think you can question me? I am Sage Kaushika. You are here at my indulgence.”

“Sage,” I scoff, inserting every bit of contempt I can gather into the word. “You are endangering the entire hermitage. That poison was meant for you, was it not? What actions of yours necessitate this from a foe? You are hiding things from all of us. Don’t deny it.”

Kaushika surges forward, so fast that I stumble back. “Are you not hiding things?” he counters. “How did you know it was halahala at all, when no one else here could tell? What magic did you just do, in your attempt to help me? You have been lying about yourself from the very start, and if you cannot be truthful, you have no place here.”

I stare at him, at the fury in his eyes like earth erupting. Anger and hatred throb within me—hatred like I have never felt before.

“I saved your life,” I hiss. “This is the thanks I get?”

A growl rolls in his throat, sending a coil of terror through me. Kaushika grabs my shoulders and shakes me hard . “You could have died , you foolish woman. Your very soul could have been extinguished had the halahala touched you. If anything had happened to you—”

He cuts himself off, breathing harshly.

I am too shocked to say anything. I stare at him and see lurking under his fury a deep, pained terror.

We both step back from each other. In a corner of my mind, I realize that the shield encasing us has fallen. That there are others in the pavilion, standing in clusters, staring at us. They have seen and heard everything—the magic Kaushika and I did, the portal he opened, the way we stood together, this fight, and his words.

Kaushika’s composure slams back into him. His face grows impassive and cold, and his body straightens, ever the prince, ever the sage. His eyes find Anirudh and Romasha as they hurry toward us. “Await my return,” he commands. “I must contain the damage to the meadow before it kills anyone there.”

Air ripples again, the same portal opening.

Kaushika steps into the darkness, the doorway sealing behind him.