ASH MISTRY AND THE CITY OF DEATH

by Sarwat Chadda

  “So who are the Brahmins in the rakshasa world?” said Ash.

  “There is, was, a race of serpents, called nagas. Ravana was descended from them, hence Parvati’s cobra heritage.”

  “Ravana was a Brahmin?”

  “Originally, yes. But Ravana, instead of following the Brahmin path, chose to become a warrior. Moving from one caste to another is exceedingly rare, but then Ravana was an exception to most rules.” Khan licked his fingers clean. “The nagas were the wisest of us all, but they disappeared soon after Ravana’s defeat at the hands of Rama. I’ve not seen one since. Probably extinct by now.”

  Ash looked around the group. “How many of you are there? There must have been thousands at Ravana’s rebirth. What happened to them? Those that survived, that is.”

  Khan pointed up at the sky. “See those stars? Every one of them is a rakshasa soul.”

  “That’s a lot.”

  Khan smiled and his eyes, amber as fire, shone with wicked amusement. “Afraid?”

  “I’d be stupid not to be.”

  Khan slapped Ash’s back with a roar of a laugh, nearly knocking Ash over. He had to take a second to recover his breath.

  “Don’t worry, mortal,” said Khan. “Most were killed in the great war with Rama. The sky burned with the fire of the gods. Aastras blazed down from the clouds and from the bows of Rama and his generals. Countless rakshasas were slaughtered. They won’t be reincarnated in a hurry, if ever.”

  “But only the Kali-aastra truly destroys,” said Ash. “Isn’t there a chance that they may come back?”

  “All at once? How? No. In a small, thin stream, perhaps. Not enough to be a threat to humanity, alas.” Khan looked up at the star-filled night and sighed. “Perhaps Ravana could have done it with his sorcery, brought down all those wandering spirits. But there is no Ravana now and there never will be.”

  Ash looked to Parvati. She and Mahout were deep in discussion in the empty mausoleum a distance away. The rest of the motley band of rakshasas were camped around the larger tombs for shelter. There was something he needed to know and didn’t want Parvati or the others hearing. “It must be nice, knowing you’ll come back.”

  “I suppose. Never really thought about it.”

  “It’s different for us mortals.”

  “You get reincarnated, don’t you? Hardly different at all.”

  Ash frowned. “We don’t remember our pasts. But there must be a way, a spell or sorcery or something that allows us to come back, the way we were?”

  He couldn’t shake it from his mind, the idea of bringing Gemma back somehow. But there was no point discussing it with Parvati. Khan was as old as her, he’d lived as many lives, he might know something that could help.

  Khan peered at Ash, eyebrow arched suspiciously. “What did Parvati say about this?”

  “She said that when we’re gone, we’re gone, for ever.”

  “Then you have my answer.”

  “But—”

  Khan raised his hand. “Enough.” He stood up. “Now, I’ve been cooped up in a plane for a day and would like to stretch my legs. Goodnight, Ash.”

  Well that conversation had been a big fat failure. Frustrated and too agitated to sleep, Ash put his bowl aside and joined Parvati.

  “You’re looking better,” he said. Parvati wasn’t back to normal, but her skin had returned to its smooth, unblemished tone and her hair, instead of looking brittle and dull, was again as sleek and black as a raven’s wing. “What’s going on?”

  A map of the city lay spread over a sarcophagus. Mahout was busy marking the map with red dots, holding the thick marker pen with his trunk.

  Parvati indicated the red dots. “Savage is in one of these places, if my information is correct.”

  “There must be a hundred.”

  “A hundred and fifty-three,” said Mahout. “Libraries, military establishments, hospitals. Financial houses. A few factories. All connected with the Savage Foundation. If we look thoroughly, we’ll find Savage.”

  “You’re sure you haven’t missed any?” Ash asked.

  “I never forget.”

  “How long’s that going to take?”

  “As long as necessary,” said Parvati. “Fifteen million people live in this city, Ash. We need to be patient.”

  “And what about the Koh-i-noor? Where is it?” The small silk bag had disappeared.

  “Under here.” Parvati tapped her nails on the stone lid of the tomb.

  “Wait a minute,” said Ash. He looked up at the big elephant. “Do you know what type of aastra the Koh-i-noor is? Does anyone around here know?”

  Mahout shook his big head, his ears flapping back and forth across his face.

  “Nobody? At all?”

  “Sorry, Ash,” said Parvati. “Look, the Koh-i-noor is nothing but bait. Bait to get Savage. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  It just didn’t make sense that no one knew what the aastra could do. The Koh-i-noor was the most famous diamond in the world, and the rakshasas must have come across it in one of their past lives. “Didn’t you serve with the maharajah of the Punjab? Didn’t he own this?”

  “No one knows how to awaken the diamond, Ash. Why can’t you let it go?”

  “Isn’t it worth trying to find out what it does? It could help.”

  “What’s the point? That’s not important.”

  “Not important? Gemma died for it.”

  “If you want me to say I’m sorry again, then listen: I am sorry,” Parvati said. “But there’s nothing anyone can do about her death. Don’t distract yourself, and get over your guilt and failure. We all fail, but we need to move on. Forget her.”

  Forget her? Of all the wrong things to say, that was the most wrong. “Yes, and I know it means nothing to you, but this is Gemma we’re talking about. She had family, she had people who loved her. She wasn’t like you.”

  The temperature dropped about twenty degrees. Parvati threw Ash an exceedingly dirty look and marched off with Mahout right behind.

  Khan let out a long puff. Ash hadn’t noticed him lounging at the entrance. “Beautifully handled, Ash.”

  “I thought you’d gone off for a walk.”

  Khan grinned. “And miss all the fun? I’ve rarely seen Parvati this upset.”

  “Why’s she so upset?” Ash punched the stone. “I’m upset. I’ve come all the way out here and there’s something she’s not telling me.”

  “About what?”

  “The Koh-i-noor.” It was an itch he couldn’t reach. Why did no one know what sort of aastra it was? Why did no one want to find out? Savage was after it, so it had to be important. “I don’t know what’s got into Parvati.”

  “At some point replay that conversation in your head and you’ll know. Despite being a killer, a demon princess and the heir to Ravana’s throne, Parvati, you may be surprised to hear, is rather sensitive. I suppose it’s her human half.”

  “She’s four thousand years old. She’s seen kingdoms come and go. Time means nothing to her.”

  “The years pass just as slowly for us as they do for you. She’s been lonely for most of those four millennia. Lonely and homeless.”

  “She’s never had a home? Why not?”

  “What palace could equal that of Lanka?” said Khan. “The courts of the Moghul emperors were no better than cow sheds compared to the kingdom of her father. Never bothered me, because I’ve always preferred the jungle, but I think Parvati still misses it.”

  “What happened to it?”

  Khan shrugged. “What else? It was destroyed. If you humans are good at one thing, it’s wiping out civilisations. It’s amazing you’ve lasted this long, given your passion for genocide.”

  “She hated Gemma, that’s for certain.”

  “She envied her,” replied Khan. “For all the reasons you so indelicately pointed out. Family. Being missed. Being loved. No one’s said that of Parvati. Her reputation prohibits that sort of thing.”

  “What about
you? You’re as old as her.”

  “Me? Firstly, tigers are solitary creatures. Secondly, hey, look at me.” He puffed out his chest and flexed his biceps. “Do you honestly think I have problems getting company?”

  Ash laughed. “You really are totally in love with yourself, aren’t you.”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  “Think I should say something?” Ash asked. “To Parvati, I mean?”

  “She’d do anything for you, you know that, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t ask her to.”

  “Friends shouldn’t need to ask.”

  Ash came up and sat down beside Parvati at an overgrown, weed-filled fountain somewhere in the heart of the graveyard. Heavenly nymphs – apsaras – forged from bronze, held out empty jugs and cups, their empty nozzles choked with foliage and rust.

  Ash smiled. Parvati did not.

  Ah, not going to be as easy as all that, he thought. This is what you call your classic ‘awkward moment’. Ash needed something to break the arctic levels of ice. Facing a demon horde or dealing with some ‘fate of the world in the balance’ scenario would be easier than trying to apologise to Parvati. Where to begin? With the truth.

  “I’m such an idiot,” he said.

  “Yes. You are.”

  “You weren’t supposed to agree so immediately.”

  “What was I meant to do, then?” said Parvati.

  “Listen, Parvati. I’m sorry about what I said earlier. You know I didn’t mean it. It’s just, Gemma’s dead because of me. That’s not what it was meant to be like. Y’know, being a hero and everything. Heroes don’t fail.”

  “Then you’ve got a lot to learn about being a hero. Heroes fail more than everyone else.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. At all.”

  “You fail. You try again. And again and again. Keep on failing until you finally succeed. That’s what being a hero is. But some things can’t be fixed, and you need to learn to live with them and move on.”

  “It’s Friday,” said Ash suddenly. “This time last week I was standing in the canteen, sweating buckets and asking Gemma out. How can so much have changed in a week?” He shook his head. “Jeez, if I’d known what was going to happen I would never have even spoken to her, let alone asked her out to Bonfire Night.”

  Parvati sighed. “That’s the advantage of being mortal. You only need to learn to live with the mistakes of your current life. Rakshasas remember their past lives. We’re never free of our guilt.”

  “Things like giving Savage your father’s scrolls?”

  “Yes, I think that would be in the top ten of ‘my bad’.” Parvati shifted uncomfortably. “He’d promised to make me wholly human, something I thought I desired.”

  They’d talked about it once, how she’d wanted to be mortal, to feel what it was to belong and to be loved, something no rakshasa could ever have.

  She smiled wryly. “That said, I remember some of the stupid things you did too.”

  “What? Where?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Of course not, but you’ve started now, so how can I not know?” Ash paused. “How bad was it? The ‘Oops, Captain, but I didn’t see that iceberg, and are you sure we’ve got enough lifeboats?’ sort of bad?”

  Parvati gazed up at the stars. “I was serving Penthesilea, queen of the Amazons. We’d been summoned by Prince Paris to defend Troy against the Greeks.”

  “You fought at Troy?”

  “So did you. You were one of King Priam’s sons – I can’t recall which, he had fifty. Anyway, it looked like it was over. Achilles was dead and the Greeks were feeling pretty hopeless. One day we looked out across the city walls and the entire army was gone. All that was left was a huge wooden horse. An offering to Poseidon, god of the sea, for a safe journey home.”

  “I’ve a bad feeling about this,” said Ash.

  Parvati tapped her chin. “What was it that you said? Let me remember…” She snapped her fingers. “Ah yes. You said ‘How pretty! Let’s get it. It’ll look lovely in the city square.’”

  Wow. He’d fought at Troy. Cool. “We’ve been through a lot together,” said Ash.

  Parvati nodded and took his hand, squeezing it. “And we’ve always made it, in the end.” She summoned one of the rakshasas. The demon, a small whiskered boy with twitching ears, rushed forward and touched her feet. “Now get some sleep, we’ve a busy time ahead. Bhavit will show you to your room.”

  he days passed with no sign of Savage. Parvati didn’t only have her rakshasas out searching; there were others helping her as well – beggars, rickshaw drivers, stall keepers. The downtrodden of the city were the ignored – and therefore the best spies. Ash watched how they came up to Parvati, touched her feet, and offered her gifts. This was a side of Parvati Ash hadn’t seen before. The noble. The commander. The worshipped. But in spite of all these eyes and ears looking out for him, there was nothing on Savage.

  Had Monty lied? Maybe Savage was a thousand miles away in another country, making his plans while they rotted in the damp, mouldy heat of Kolkata.

  But Ash did learn more about the Englishman. How he’d come with the East India Company in the late eighteenth century and how he’d robbed and murdered his way up and up the company’s hierarchy until he eventually met Parvati. He’d got her father’s scrolls from her, starting his career in sorcery.

  Some of the rakshasas could do a little magic. Mahout, the big elephant, had two masteries, and from him and a few of the other rakshasas, Ash gained a basic understanding of the ten sorceries.

  The classical elements, Earth, Air, Fire and Water, accounted for four. Mastery of Air, for example, allowed a sorcerer to fly, communicate with the birds, and, if skilful enough, even control the weather. Then there were the next four sorceries – the humours: Blood, Yellow Bile, Black Bile and Phlegm. Codified back in ancient Mesopotamia, they controlled the mind, body and emotions of all living creatures. Parvati was an expert in a few of those, hence her ability to hypnotise. The final two were Space and Time. A master of Space could teleport, which Ash thought would be pretty amazing. Never late for school ever again. No one could agree if you had to learn them in any order, but all concurred that Time was the most powerful, and the most dangerous.

  “Has anyone ever mastered Time?” Ash had asked Mahout. “Actually used it?”

  “How would we know?” Mahout replied. “How can you know if the past has been changed? Impossible, because we are trapped within the time stream of that changed past. Only someone outside of the stream would see the difference, be able to compare what is to what had been before the change. They would know there had been an alternative history that had happened, but had been deleted. But the wise, even if they have the power, do not meddle with Time. Even Ravana chose not to use that sorcery, although he had mastered it.”

  “Why didn’t he go back in time and change things? Make sure he beat Rama? It would be easy.”

  Mahout shook his head. “You might change one event, but that would lead to a whole new series of outcomes, potentially even worse than the ones you sought to correct. Whatever you do, destiny is inescapable, young Ash. Ravana was doomed to fail. Are you not the proof of that?”

  “What about Savage? What masteries does he have?”

  Another argument followed. Mahout was convinced Savage had to know the humours, balancing them within himself to extend his lifespan. The spider-woman thought he had some knowledge of the elements, learned while in the Far East. But no one knew for sure – neither what he was capable of, nor where he was.

  Ash joined in the search for Savage, using it as an excuse to get out of the cemetery and discover this new city. Kolkata couldn’t be more different from Varanasi. Varanasi was a place of temples and steeped in deep, ancient Indian religion. The narrow streets teemed with holy men and pilgrims. Kolkata, meanwhile, was a memorial to the British Empire, the capital of the Raj until 1917. Whitewashed Anglican churches and stately, grand government bu
ildings lined the wide boulevards.

  The first stop on this tour was the Victoria Memorial with John. The memorial symbolised Britain’s two-hundred-year rule over India. At dawn the vast domed roof of the memorial hall shone with a soft eggshell glow, and the gardens surrounding it filled swiftly with day-trippers and picnics and tourists and touts. Kites rose up among the trees, crowding the sky with multicoloured diamonds made of tissue paper and bamboo.

  Ash took a viewpoint up on the shoulder of a huge lion statue, watching the multitude come and go, vainly hoping he would catch a glimpse of Savage. He must have been here once. This was his sort of place, a centre of power. The building looked a lot like the Capitol building in the United States: huge dome, wide wings, a colonnade and statues of the great and the good everywhere. When Ash said this out loud, John scoffed and spat some nutshells at the feet of the statue of the governor. The statues were all of Englishmen, he said. From their point of view, Indians could be neither ‘great’ nor ‘good’.

  The rest of the day was spent hopping on and off the rattling tin trams that still served as the main mode of public transport. The vehicles were invariably packed with people hanging off the railings and handles by their fingertips, scuttling on or dropping off whether the tram was moving or not. At first, Ash was amazed there weren’t mangled bodies on every street, but by evening he was doing the same, swinging on to the back of any passing carriage, then leaping off as it slowed round the corners.

  The next day of searching was similar: heat, astounding sights and no Savage. And so it went. Ash’s days were spent exploring the city, and his nights were…

  His nights were haunted by dreams. Each morning Ash awoke exhausted. Unlike before, when the dreams had been a single memory, now they came in their broken hundreds: snatches and glimpses of his past lives, lasting a few seconds before rushing to another with no sense or order. He lived them, smelling the corpses, tasting the blood, relishing the slaughter. The dark dreams filled his sleeping hours, then fled like cowards by sunrise. He overflowed with bloodlust. Once he woke up from a dream so clear, so vivid, that he rushed out, expecting to see dead rakshasas scattered all around. He washed his hands afterwards, desperate to rid himself of the blood that was only spilled in his nightmares.