Ash Mistry and the Savage Fortress

by Sarwat Chadda

  Rishi’s bag. Ash had forgotten it was lying under the seat. He opened it.

  A wooden begging bowl. A necklace made of sandalwood beads. A small purse and a map.

  Parvati took the map and opened it up. It was a large-scale map of part of the Thar Desert, out in Rajasthan.

  She smiled. “Now this is what I call good news.”

  Rishi had marked a crude series of lines and blocks on what appeared to be an empty patch of desert. Ash recognised the layout. His uncle had dozens of these maps scattered around the bungalow. It was the outline of a Harappan city, but on a scale far beyond anything Vik had ever worked on. This must have been the civilisation’s capital.

  Where they’d buried Ravana.

  Ash opened the purse and shook its contents on to his palm.

  “Cool,” he said.

  Dozens of gems sparkled in the morning light in a kaleidoscope of brilliant colours: diamonds, rubies, sapphires. He’d thought Rishi had given Ujba a big rock, but there was a ruby in here the size of an egg.

  “We need to move,” said Parvati.

  “We need to get back to the fortress,” said Ash. “We’ve got to get my sister.”

  Parvati shook her head. “Do you honestly think Savage is there now he has the aastra? No, he’ll be on his way to my father’s tomb by now.” She waved the map. “This is where we’ll find him.”

  They walked in silence to the edge of the village. A goat, tethered to a stick, nibbled at a cast-off shoe. A woman dressed in a threadbare sari squatted over a small fire, cooking chapattis.

  Ash’s stomach rumbled. When was the last time he’d eaten? He honestly couldn’t remember.

  The woman smiled at them, motioning for them to join her. She scooped up a round ball of dough and expertly rolled it out on a flat, flour-dusted stone. Then she flicked the disc on to the pan where it hissed and cooked.

  “While you’re getting breakfast,” said Parvati, “ask her if she’s got something proper to wear.”

  “That was probably the most expensive breakfast in history,” said Ash. “I could’ve bought an island with that ruby.”

  Parvati straightened her sunglasses. She was wearing a knee-length tunic, trousers and a headscarf, all faded black. The outfit suited her. “They’re only stones, Ash.”

  They hitched a lift on a truck heading back to Varanasi. Hot wind blasted them as the truck did its rounds, bouncing in and out of the pot-holes as it collected farmers and their produce for the city’s Saturday market. Ash sat on top of a cage of live chickens that had been packed so tightly that all they could do was squawk and blink. Parvati sat at the back, keeping away from the other half-a-dozen passengers.

  As the truck drew closer to the city, Ash’s heart filled with dread. He closed his eyes, drifting back to that dream, that vision he’d had when he first found the arrowhead, where he’d fought the giant golden warrior. Ravana had carved his way through armies, laughing. No mortal weapon could harm him.

  And what would he bring? Pure horror. The things Ash had seen in his visions would become real. The Carnival of Flesh, a rambling monstrosity of whole populations melted into a gigantic mass of screaming mouths and tormented souls. Humans driven beyond madness by the mere presence of the demon king.

  But then he thought of his second vision and what Parvati was capable of. She’d built a wall out of the best warriors in Rama’s army. If he was going to get Lucky back, he could ask for no better back-up.

  Back-up? Who was he kidding? This was Parvati’s show. Ash looked at her. Could her venom kill the demon king? She was the only chance they had.

  I’m so useless, he thought.

  He’d escaped, though, hadn’t he? He’d punched Mayar in the face. A thrill ran through him. Wow. He’d done that. He’d broken the demon’s jaw, and the big, bad crocodile had scarpered, tail between his legs.

  How had he done it? It didn’t make sense.

  “What I don’t get,” Ash said aloud, “is that I awakened the aastra when I killed Jat. I felt its power burning through me. But then nothing happened after that. When I woke up the next day, I felt completely normal. I thought the aastra gave you permanent superpowers or something.”

  Parvati shuffled over and sat down on a sack beside him. “Remember the rat? I killed it and then you punched out Hakim. Now that should never have happened, should it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Ash. He’s way better than you and yet you kicked his butt.”

  “Maybe I’m better than you think.”

  “You’re better than you were, but, how can I put this delicately? That’s still not very good.”

  “The aastra, right?”

  “Right. The rat’s death powered the aastra, just a little. Enough for you to beat Hakim.”

  He didn’t like it, but she was right. That was why he’d beaten Mayar. Rishi’s death had charged the aastra with power. But one thing still didn’t make sense: Savage had the aastra by then.

  Parvati continued. “Little energy is released in killing something like a rat. Not enough to really awaken the aastra. Kali will not give you her power unless you kill someone important. The greater the death, the greater the power of the aastra.”

  “So what constitutes a ‘great death’? Killing an elephant?”

  “It’s not a question of size, but value. It would have to be someone who means a lot to you personally. Either someone you truly hated or truly loved. For the aastra to be made powerful enough to kill someone like Ravana it would have to be a very great, very important, death indeed. A huge sacrifice.”

  So that was it. Ash’s dream made sense now. He’d wondered why Lakshmana had taken off his armour, telling Rama to strike. Rama could only kill Ravana if he charged the aastra by sacrificing his own brother. Nothing else would have been enough to destroy the demon king for ever.

  But Rama couldn’t bring himself to do it, so he had used a less powerful aastra – enough to destroy the demon king, but not enough to prevent him being reincarnated and returning. That’s why Rama and the gods had trapped Ravana behind the Iron Gates. The demon king must have spent the last four and a half thousand years planning his revenge, waiting for the day someone would open the gates again. Because they had been sealed by the gods, only the power of a god would open them again.

  And that’s where the aastra came into it. Oh, no.

  Ash gazed out over the dry fields. “Savage is going to kill my sister. Use her death to power the Kali-aastra.”

  “Maybe,” said Parvati, but she didn’t seem convinced. “The Kali-aastra exposes the weakness of all things and gives you the power to exploit those weaknesses. With it fully charged, it would show you how to stop a man’s heartbeat with a tap, or demolish a castle wall with a mere kick. It is the ultimate force of annihilation.”

  Like the way he’d taken out Mayar. Those lights had shown him where to strike and do unbelievable amounts of damage.

  “And Savage has got it. How do we stop him?”

  “Let me worry about that. You’ve done enough already.”

  Ash flinched under the insult, but didn’t say anything.

  “We’re here.” She shuffled to the edge of the truck.

  They’d hit the Grand Trunk Road, one of the main arteries into Varanasi. The clouds were darker and heavier than before; the rains were imminent. Soon all of north India would be awash with the annual torrential downpour. The streets would flood and the rain would fall so hard and heavy it would hurt. But right now it was being preceded by a cool, sea wind straight from the Indian Ocean.

  They jumped off while the truck was still stuck in traffic, well outside of the old city. The hustle and bustle was still as bad, the noise brain-numbing as cars, horns, cattle and thousands of people went about their business, like any normal day. No one gave Ash or Parvati a second glance.

  “This is where we go our separate ways,” said Parvati as she brushed off the worst of the dust.

  “What?”


  Parvati stopped. She looked at Ash and sighed. “You’ve got a good heart, Ash, but I’m going after Savage. It’ll be better if you stay here.”

  “Where it’s safe, you mean?”

  “Where I don’t have to keep looking out for you.”

  Her words cut him all the more so because they were true.

  “I can help.”

  “How?”

  Hot shame flushed his cheeks. Ash stared at her, furious, but Parvati didn’t budge. She stood there, arms crossed, her cool gaze unflinching. She wasn’t scared of him.

  Nobody was.

  “In case you’ve forgotten,” said Ash, “Savage has my sister.”

  “And you want to rescue her. I understand, but the question remains: how?”

  “How are you going to kill Savage?”

  She pointed at Rishi’s sack. “The map. I know where Savage is. He can’t have more than a few hours’ head start. I’m going to find him and bury my fangs in his neck. Something I should have done a hundred years ago.”

  “You make it sound simple.”

  “Killing is simple. For me.”

  Ash’s eyes narrowed. “And your plans, they’ve always gone perfectly? No hiccups? No unforeseen circumstances?”

  “There are always unforeseen circumstances.”

  “So you don’t know if you might need me?”

  Parvati scowled. “Fine. Come along. But I’m not waiting for you.”

  “And if we’re too late? And Ravana’s free? What then?” Ash asked, even though his throat tightened round the question.

  “Then we die, Ash. We all die.”

  hey walked into the departures hall of the local airport. The vast mass echoed with thousands of unhappy voices. There were no queues to the check-ins, just a heaving mass of humanity. An angry mass. People jostled and argued as surly security guards tried vainly to keep them in order. Luggage lay scattered and abandoned everywhere. Overhead, rusty fans groaned, but did nothing to lift the stifling heat generated by the volatile crowd.

  “Flights to Jaisalmer have all been cancelled,” said Ash, inspecting the old clapperboard overhead. Not just Jaisalmer, but Bikaner, Jodhpur, all of Rajasthan. He headed towards a guy in an Air India uniform. The man was using his clipboard as a shield to hold off the irate crowd.

  “I am very sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” the man said, “but all planes are grounded until we have confirmation from Delhi.”

  Ash barged forward, pushing people aside, and grabbed the guy’s arm. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  The man glared down at him. “Riots across Rajasthan. All the cities are in chaos. Some say bands of criminals are rampaging across the desert. Some say it is terrorists from Pakistan. No one knows though, so no flights until we get the all clear.”

  Ash went back to Parvati. “Do you think we’re too late? That Ravana’s free?”

  Parvati shook her head. “This wave of madness precedes my father’s awakening. When people start eating one another, then we know he’s arrived. Right now, it’s only the rakshasas gathering at his tomb.”

  “Great. So we’ll be facing an army of demons. Could today be any better?” Ash looked up at the long list of cancelled flights. “How are we going to get there?”

  “Follow me.”

  They made their way out of the main hall and into a labyrinth of offices behind. The rooms were old-fashioned partitions of dark wood and frosted glass. Signs in Hindi and English proclaimed the names of small independent airlines.

  “This is the one,” said Parvati as she knocked on the door of ‘Maharajah Air’ and went straight in, not bothering to wait for a reply.

  A man lay across the table, a handkerchief over his face. Cotton wool was stuffed in his hairy ears. He wore a pair of khaki trousers and a shirt, but the shirt wore breakfast and possibly yesterday’s dinner. A thin black tie hung loose round his stubbled jowls. Along one wall stood a line of wooden filing cabinets over which was a yellowing poster of Princess Diana and Prince Charles. An air-conditioning unit rattled above their heads, its filter black with grime.

  “Get up, Jimmy.” Parvati nudged the sleeping man.

  The man spluttered and lifted a corner of the handkerchief. His small, puffy eyes peeked out and darted from face to face.

  “I’m off duty,” he muttered, then let the handkerchief fall back.

  Parvati lifted up the side of the desk and the man swore as the entire contents – a small desk fan, the telephone, books, and he himself – slid off. He just managed to avoid falling on his backside, but the rest of the gear crashed over the bare concrete floor.

  The man’s wide black moustache bristled as his face darkened. Then he recognised Parvati and laughed. Even from where Ash was standing he could smell the alcohol.

  “My princess.” He glanced over their shoulders out into the corridor. “No Rishi?”

  “No. Not any more.”

  The man paused and scratched under his chin. “Then what can I do for you?”

  “Take us to Jaisalmer.”

  “Jaisalmer’s out of bounds. Good grief, all of Rajasthan is out of bounds.”

  “Never stopped you before, has it?” Parvati held out her hand.

  It was another big diamond from Rishi’s stash.

  The man picked up the gem and turned it in the light, admiring the reflected beams that filled the room. “No, I suppose not.”

  “And we’re leaving now. Understood?” said Parvati. She looked around. “Oh, and my gear? You still have it?”

  Jimmy clapped his hands and wrestled open a locker. “Of course.”

  Inside was a large canvas bag. It looked heavy. Jimmy lifted it up and dropped it on the desk with a crash. Then he fished out a pair of green-tinted Aviator Ray-Bans and a baseball cap. “This way.”

  “What gear?” Ash asked Parvati as he lifted the bag on to his shoulder. His back bowed under the weight.

  “Fashion accessories,” Parvati said.

  They emerged on to the tarmac. The ground shimmered in the heat, and the air was thick with the smell of fuel, sharp and sweet. Jimmy pointed past a line of empty luggage trolleys to a hangar plastered with dozens of old and faded advertising boards. Among them was Maharajah Air, its colours bleached out, but still bearing the outline of a gaudy jewelled crown.

  Maharajah Air comprised one plane. Jimmy went off to speak to air control, taking a fistful of gems to pay the ‘emergency departure tax’. Ash approached the aircraft warily. The hanger was unlit, but even in the gloom, his first impressions did not fill him with confidence.

  “It’s ancient,” he said.

  “It’s a classic,” said Parvati.

  “A classic piece of junk.”

  The wings bore rotund propellers and the windows were minute portholes. The paint finish was streaked and patched, and an odd odour hung around the whole plane, musty, like a grandmother’s armchair.

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t fly it if it wasn’t safe,” said Parvati doubtfully.

  Jimmy returned and pulled down the door steps. He handed them a brown paper bag.

  “In-flight catering.” He winked. “Only the best for my passengers.”

  Inside the bag were broken shortbread biscuits. Ash took it and climbed into the plane.

  The interior had been stripped to almost nothing. There was a column of seats down either side, six in total, but the central aisle was clear except for webbing that formed a carpet. Buckles and straps dangled loose from the fuselage, and near the back sat two large steel trunks, firmly screwed to the floor. A thin cotton curtain separated the passengers from the cockpit. Jimmy cleaned his aviators and drew out a packet of cigarettes. He ran his fingers through his hair before flipping his baseball cap back on.

  “Like Tom Cruise?” Jimmy asked. “From Top Gun, yes?”

  “Who? Oh, yes. Just like him,” said Ash. The seats were missing their belts, and he wasn’t surprised. If it came down to it, seatbelts weren’t going to make much difference on this plane.
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  Jimmy touched the plastic statue of Ganesha – a plump pink boy with an elephant’s head, patron god of travellers – and whispered a prayer. Ash really hoped the gods were paying attention to this one. They were going to need all the help they could get.

  “What if I need to, you know, go?” Ash asked.

  “Just stick your pee-pee out the window.” Jimmy set his Ray-Bans in place. “But remember to point it downwind.”

  Two men in blue overalls sweated and struggled against the huge steel hangar doors. The screeching of metal as the doors rolled apart was deafening. A blast of light broke along the windows. Jimmy pulled on his headset and began his pre-flight checks, occasionally tapping off his cigarette ash into a small black plastic bowl taped to the top of the flight panel. With a loud cough and a tremble, the engines started up and the propellers whirred into life. The plane rolled forward out into the sun, its body humming.

  Ash watched the ground rushing beneath them as the plane bumped its way down the runway. The engines’ drone increased in pitch and then the plane surged upwards, pushing him into his seat with its sluggish power. He kept his eyes on the scene below, the dense cluster of houses and the endless fields of temples. The Ganges sparkled beneath them as the plane banked westward.

  He and Parvati were going to Rajasthan to fight an army of rakshasas, a black magician and possibly the demon king himself. Just the two of them. As missions went, this was beyond stupid – it was suicidal.

  But Lucky was in Rajasthan too. And Ash was going to get her back.

  He gripped the armrests as the plane juddered through the clouds. But soon the monotonous humming of the engines and the sheer exhaustion of the last few days began to make his eyelids droop. Even as sleep came on, he wondered if this was the last night he’d ever get. Tomorrow he would either save Lucky, or he would be dead.

  e is dead,” says Rama. “Ravana is dead.”

  He leans forward on his throne and stares at the priest. The others in the court fall silent.

  “Ravana is only dead,” says the priest. “That is not enough. What prevents his rebirth? Nothing.”