John glanced around him, agitated. Talking about Ujba had obviously scared him badly. He jumped at the sound of a bird breaking cover. Ash laughed.
“It’s not funny, Ash,” John said. “Don’t trust Ujba. He’s evil.”
“Come on. I know he’s hard, but Rishi thought—”
“Don’t be an idiot!” John shouted. He held his fists up and gritted his teeth, almost boiling with rage. Ash had never seen him so angry. “Ujba will hurt you; it’s what he does. Do you think he’s forgiven you for running from him? A man like that holds grudges, believe me. I know.” He said the last two words with quiet despair, shuddering as he said them.
“What happened? After we left?”
“What do you think happened?”
“My dad gave you money. To help find your mum. Didn’t you—”
“Oh, a couple of hundred pounds. Thanks so much. We poor Indians are soooo grateful to the English sahib.” John put his palms together and gave a low, mocking bow. “You come and give us your spare change, then go. Bye-bye India.”
“It wasn’t like that, John. You know it wasn’t.”
“Ujba took the money off me. He… wasn’t happy about what had happened. I helped you escape, remember? He didn’t like that at all.” John shook his head. “He beat me. I could barely walk after he and Hakim had finished. Then he kicked me out on to the streets. No one would help me, not after Ujba spread the word. You know what it’s like to be starving when all around you are restaurants? When you can smell food sizzling in the pans? I tried to steal, but that just got me beaten up again. More.”
“Oh God, John, I’m so sorry. I never knew.”
“Of course you didn’t. All your problems were behind you.”
“But you found your mum, you told me.”
“I had a few friends. They helped me look. She’s being taken care of now.”
“Friends like Jimmy?”
John didn’t meet Ash’s gaze, but nodded. “He was one.”
Ash took his friend’s hand. “John, I can’t fix what’s happened. But I promise, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
John drew his hand away. “I know you will, Ash.” But he didn’t sound at all happy about it.
“ou are late,” said Ujba.
“How observant of you,” said Ash.
“Then we must work twice as hard.” Ujba pointed at the statue of Kali. “You know what to do. Honour the goddess.”
Ash didn’t move. He stared at Ujba, thinking about how he’d treated John, and he felt his fury build inside him. His hands shook until he pressed them against his legs; otherwise, he didn’t know what he’d do. Smash Ujba to pieces, most likely.
“Well?” said Ujba, utterly unaware of Ash’s desires.
Gold lights sprung up on Ujba’s skin. Not many, not many at all. Most were dim – disabling points rather than fatal.
“You are angry. Why?” said Ujba, his back turned to Ash as he leaned over something in the corner.
Where to begin? “For a lot of things, but right here, right now? For what you did to John.”
Now Ujba turned round. If Ash didn’t know better, he’d have said the guru looked surprised.
“John? The little thief? What exactly did I do to him?”
“Beat him, starved him. Cast him out and stole his money. The money I gave him.”
Ujba stroked his moustache. “The money, yes, I took it. Why not? But those other crimes? I will tell you this. I am hard, but I am not cruel. John left the same day you went with your father. Poorer for certain, but unharmed by me or any of my house.”
“But he told me—”
“The boy is a thief. He was perhaps working your Western sympathies for more rupees. He has a weak and gentle face. I’ve told him more than once it will make his fortune. He is easy to pity. Easy to believe.”
“Why would he lie to me?”
“Why indeed? This is a good question to ask yourself.”
“John is my friend,” said Ash. His only friend, it seemed. “He helped me escape your prison. That’s why you did those things to him.”
“Prison? You mean the Lalgur? You think you were in a prison? What happened when your so-called friend helped you escape my school? Were you not captured by Savage? Were you not forced to hand over the Kali-aastra to him? Was not your sister threatened with death, to be fed to Savage’s demons? Was this the help John provided?” Ujba laughed, and his amusement was brutal. “I think you could do with fewer of these types of friends.”
“What, and more friends like you?”
“I am your guru. That is far more important.” He brushed the dust off his palms. “Now, we have work to do.”
Ujba took a wooden box and brought it over. It was about the size of a shoe box, made of old, dark wood, smooth and shiny with age. Elaborate Sanskrit writing covered the lid, once inlaid with gold leaf, but the letters were too worn to be read and most of the gold was gone. The guru knelt down, silently motioning for Ash to do the same opposite him.
What was going on? John had told him that Ujba had been brutal, and Ash believed him. But as Ash searched the guru’s face, he couldn’t be sure. Rishi trusted Ujba; he’d made arrangements for Ash’s training with him. Ujba might be evil, but he was a priest of Kali. Ash was a servant of Kali. He didn’t know what to believe.
Lost in confusion, he sat down.
The smell of herbs, bitter and sweet, spilled out as Ujba gently raised the lid on the box. He took out a small silver bowl – little larger than an eggcup – a folded paper packet and a razor. He shook black powder into the bowl. “Hold out your hand.”
Ash did. The razor slipped over his palm.
“Ow!” Ash shouted. He stared at the thin red line. “What’d you do that for?”
Ujba grabbed Ash’s bleeding hand and let the blood drip into the bowl. He muttered prayers to himself as he swirled the mixture. Then he held it up. “Drink.”
Ash sniffed the oily black liquid within and almost gagged up breakfast. The smell was sickeningly sweet, but putrid, like meat left out too long in the hot sun. “What is it?”
“Soma,” said Ujba. “It’s to bring you closer to Kali.”
“Really? One whiff of that almost killed me.”
“It might. Most of the ingredients are poisonous.” Ujba smirked. “But you’ve been dead before and that didn’t stop you, did it?”
“What’ll happen to me if I drink it?”
“Your senses will ascend to a higher plane. You will see Kali. You will understand what she has planned for you. If you are worthy, she will unlock further powers from the Kali-aastra. If you are unworthy, you will die.”
“In which case you’d better pour it down the drain.”
Ujba pushed the bowl into Ash’s hand. “Drink it. It’s what Kali wants. You will become a true Kali-aastra, able to use all the power of Kali. You will be purged of any… weakness.”
“What sort of weakness?”
“Doubt. Fear. Compassion. You are destined to do great and terrible things, boy.”
“I’ll be a Thug – that’s it, isn’t it?”
“And so much more. Once you rid yourself of your humanity you will be unstoppable. The perfect weapon of Kali.”
Ujba wanted Ash to be some remorseless killing machine. A psychopath. He looked at the guru, wondering what sort of teacher Rishi had sent him. This was the price for more power? Hadn’t Parvati said something about this, ages ago, when he’d first assumed the powers of the Kali-aastra? Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. She had also said Gemma was dead because of him, and the more he embraced the powers of the Kali-aastra, the more death would surround him. Who would be next? John? Josh? His dad? Lucky? He didn’t want such power if that was the price. It had to stop.
“No,” he said.
Ujba’s voice hardened. “Don’t you want to be more powerful?”
“I… don’t want to become a monster,” he said. “I’ve had enough.”
Ujba pu
shed the bowl against Ash’s chest and Ash flicked it away. The contents splashed over the clean tiles, leaving a black, oily trail. The bowl rang as it bounced across the floor.
“This lesson is over,” said Ash as he stood. For the first time in ages he felt a sense of relief. This one decision he knew was right.
Ujba glowered. “You are a fool.”
Ash left.
veryone ignored Ash when he got back to the cemetery. The other rakshasas didn’t even look in his direction, and there was no place by the campfire for him when they gathered round it for supper. All their backs were turned to him, and the only looks he got were scowls. John just shrugged when Ash found him and then went off to get some food from one of the street vendors, while Ash parked himself away from the main party.
Parvati had lied to him, and he didn’t see how he was in the wrong. How could he ignore what he’d seen in his vision?
Still, they needed to clear the air. He didn’t feel like asking any of the others where she was. But he should speak to her, apologise for the things he’d said, get on with what was important. Finding Savage.
Ash went looking for Parvati without success. She and Mahout were gone. But he did find Khan, not far away, snoozing under a crude lean-to made of palm leaves. The tiger rakshasa lay flat on his back, arms behind his head with a scarf covering his eyes. The thin, light cloth fluttered with his soft snores.
“Khan? You awake?”
Khan peeled the cloth away and blinked the sleep dust out of his eyes. “What have you done now?”
“Where’s Parvati?”
“No idea.” He rolled over, turning his back to Ash. “I’m busy.”
“You’ve been sleeping all day. Get up.”
With a melodramatic groan and a lot of scratching and stretching, Khan stood up. “What’s the problem?”
“Parvati. You think I should say something?”
“Haven’t you said enough? Still, it proves one thing. She must really, really like you.”
“How so?”
“You’re still alive. The old Parvati would have had her fangs in your neck for humiliating her in front of everyone like that. It must be hanging out with mortals – it’s made her mellow.”
Mellow? That wasn’t a word Ash associated with Parvati. “She makes it so hard; she’s become totally stuck up. Look at the way everyone bows and scrapes in front of her.”
Khan gave a low whistle. “Oh, and you’re not stuck up at all, Mr Ash ‘Kali-aastra’ Mistry? You’re just as bad. And Parvati’s got a lot of responsibility now that Ravana’s dead.”
“Meaning what? She wants to take over the demon nations?”
“Better her than Savage, don’t you think?” Khan picked at a canine tooth with his long forefinger nail. “Was that why you woke me, to talk politics?”
“She knew the Koh-i-noor was a Brahma-aastra. Why didn’t she tell me?”
“You want to know about the Brahma-aastra, is that it?”
“You knew too?” They’d all been keeping secrets from him. Why? It didn’t matter, as long as he found out about it now. “Can it raise the dead?”
Khan leaned against a tree trunk. “It’s better we start at the beginning. Let me tell you about the Koh-i-noor. I first saw it in Lanka, back when Ravana was still alive and before all that trouble with Rama. He’d got it off some prince or king, I forget who.”
“But rakshasas can’t use aastras.”
“That didn’t stop him from trying. We’re talking about Ravana, the demon king. Most of the rules didn’t apply to him. Remember I told you he’d once been a Brahmin? He was devoted to all the gods and he gained all his magic from them, but he became so powerful that he started to think he was better than them. He had learned all the mantras, the spells, of Brahma, the Creator, and he thought he could awaken the Koh-i-noor using one such spell.”
“Did he?”
“Not as far as I know. But soon after that stories started spreading that the diamond was cursed. Following Ravana’s defeat, the diamond became part of the booty handed over to Rama, and since then it has passed from one human king to another.”
“But what about the mantras? Someone surely knew how to awaken the aastra?”
“I reckon some imperfect understanding of the awakening mantra is all that exists now. The spell was passed down from one generation to the next, copied from scroll to scroll or recited from master to student. Over the centuries errors crept in and the spell changed. Your friend, Savage, probably thinks he knows how to activate the Koh-i-noor, though I seriously doubt it. But what he does know will cause a huge amount of trouble.”
“Trouble? How can raising the dead be trouble?”
Khan smiled, and instead of his usual self-confident arrogance this smile was softer, almost sympathetic. “The ones who come back are never the ones who left, Ash. Gemma, the girl you knew – she is gone and gone for ever. Do not be tempted by false hopes. Look at Savage, what he is, what he does, all in his quest for life beyond his natural span. His search for immortality is a fool’s one. He’s trying to catch a cloud. You mortals have just one life, and that is for a reason. It is that knowledge that drives you to do the things you do, both good and evil. Humans excel because they know the limits of their time here. Remember the dead, honour them, but let them be. And that pain you feel, that loss – hold on to it.”
Ash shook his head. Thinking about Gemma brought the pain back: a cold blade high in his chest and ice that crushed his lungs. “I don’t want to feel it.”
“To feel it is human. The day that agony goes, the day you care nothing about death, that is the day you become a monster, Ash.”
Rain began to fall – first a few heavy drops, then it was as if the entire sky opened up and sheets of water descended. Ash stood under the cover of a mausoleum doorway, soaked through within seconds. He waved as John appeared, carrying two wrapped packets.
“Try this,” said John as he joined Ash. “Fresh and hot.”
Ash opened the paper and held a samosa with his fingertips. The triangular deep-fried pastry smelled delicious. He bit into it and savoured the spiced vegetable filling. John smiled as Ash gave a thumbs up. “Thanks, John.” At least he had one friend he could depend on.
“Well? How did it go with Ujba?”
Ash shrugged. “Badly. I don’t know what Rishi was thinking when he agreed for me to train with him.”
“That deal was made when Rishi was alive. Ujba wouldn’t have dared try anything while the old sadhu was around.”
“You think Ujba was scared of Rishi?”
“Rishi was the master of the mantras of the gods. Ujba is just a big, ugly bruiser. No contest.”
“I wish Rishi was around right now. He’d sort it all out.” Ash finished the samosa, licking the crumbs off his fingertips. “That was most excellent.”
“No luck with finding Savage, then?” said John.
“We’re getting nowhere with anything. We’ve only the word of a rat rakshasa to go on, and maybe Monty was lying.” Ash looked out across the jungle. “Savage could be anywhere. I don’t think he’s even in Kolkata.”
“I’ve an idea,” said John. “I’ve been thinking about that map of Parvati’s.”
“Yeah?”
John picked up a long, drooping palm leaf and held it over them like an umbrella. “Come on.”
The downpour was in full torrential mode as they hit the streets, which had transformed into small rivers. Dirty tan streams ran across the pavements, and the drainpipes, unable to cope with the immense water flow, spouted water from every joint. Ash could see a group of rickshaws with their brightly polished fenders and decorated canopies parked along the front of one of the grander hotels. The drivers sat hunched on the wall, heads tucked into their shoulders, sharing cigarettes. No one wanted to be out in this drenching rain.
“A lot of bookshops here, have you noticed?” said John in a meaningful tone, gazing into a shop window.
“Maybe Amazon doesn’t de
liver this far east.”
“Kolkata’s built on books.”
Now that John mentioned it, Ash realised it was true. There were a lot of bookshops. They were standing in front of one, in fact. Ash looked up at the shop sign, written in English and Hindi.
Education Centre.
Kolkata was a famous intellectual centre, he knew that, with lots of big universities. And universities needed bookshops. He peered into the window himself, barely able to see the store within; the glass was semi-opaque with dust. A few books on display had gone yellow with age and sun exposure, their pages crinkled in the corners.
“Looks like it hasn’t changed in two hundred years,” said Ash. “I bet Savage probably shopped here for his first Hindi-English dictionary.”
“Exactly,” said John with a smile. He opened the door. “C’mon.”
The shop smelled damp and mouldy. All this paper and all this rain wasn’t a great combination. There were a few bestsellers on the table nearest the counter, all neatly wrapped in plastic to keep them pristine.
The shelves were made of dark wood and absolutely stuffed with books. A local turned a squeaking rack, inspecting political pamphlets. A student hummed and hahhed as he flicked through some heavy engineering textbook.
“What are we looking for?” asked Ash.
John went to the counter. A woman in an orange sari sat behind an old-fashioned till, a copy of some black-and-red-covered paranormal romance in her hand.
“Begging your pardon, miss, but do you have any maps? Old maps?” John asked.
“Of where?”
“Of British Calcutta.”
The assistant tucked a strip of ribbon into the book before closing it. She headed for the back, John and Ash a few paces behind her.
“You’ve lost me,” said Ash.
“When was Savage first here?”
“Mid-nineteenth century. Back when the East India Company was in charge.”
“Don’t you get it, Ash?”
“Let’s assume I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’ll be easier.”
The assistant touched a stack of papers. “Here you are.”
John began rearranging the items on the table, moving books off it so he could work through the pile of maps carefully. “Savage doesn’t know modern Kolkata. Does he?”
ASH MISTRY AND THE CITY OF DEATH Page 12
