“There are.”
“You’ve seen them?”
“Yes. Under this ocean and the others.”
“Where do you think all these people went?” I ask.
“They did not go to a place. Time is a larger dimension. Their time came, their time went. It is that way.”
We allow some time to pass. The lapping of the small waves on the sand rhythmically echoes my breathing. For a minute they seem as one: each inhalation is a foam wave pushing up on the sand, each exhalation the pull of the receding tide. Over the last five thousand years the waves have reworked this coast, worn it down, carved out fresh bays. But even though my breath has moved in and out of my lungs all that time, I have not changed, not really. The ocean and the earth have known more peace than I have. They have been willing to change, while I have resisted it. My time went and I did not go with it. Yaksha is telling me that.
“That night,” I say. “What happened?”
He sighs, so much feeling in the sound. “The moment you ran out the front door, I had the urge to walk to the window. I wanted to get a better view of the ocean. It reminds me of Krishna, you know, and I wanted it to be my last sight before I left this world. When the bomb went off, I was blown out of the house and into the woods, in two pieces. Landing, I felt myself burning, and I thought, surely I will die now.” He stops.
“But you didn’t die,” I say.
“No. I slipped into a mysterious void. I felt as if I drifted forever on a black lagoon. The next ice age could have arrived. I felt bitter cold, like an iceberg drifting without purpose in a subterranean space. Finally, though, I became aware of my body again. Someone was shaking me, poking me. But I still couldn’t see and I wasn’t completely conscious. Sounds came to me out of a black sky. Some might have been my own thoughts, my own voice. But the others—they seemed so alien.”
“It was Eddie asking you questions.”
“Is that his name?”
“Yes.”
“He never told me his name.”
“He is not exactly a warm and fuzzy kind of guy.”
Yaksha grimaces. “I know.”
I touch him again. “Sorry.”
He nods faintly. “I don’t even know what I told him, but it must have been a lot. When I finally did regain full awareness and found myself in his ice-cream truck, I also found myself the captive of a madman who knew a great deal of my history, and consequently yours.”
“Did he withdraw your blood and inject himself with it?”
“Yes. When I was in the morgue, he must have noticed what was left of me trying to heal. He has kept me alive so that he can keep getting more of my blood. He has taken so much, he must be very powerful.”
“He is. I have tried twice to stop him and have failed. If I fail a third time he will kill me.”
Yaksha hesitates, and I know what he is going to ask. His vow to Krishna, to destroy all the vampires, is in jeopardy.
“Has he made more vampires?” he asks.
“Yes. As far as I can tell he made twenty-one new ones. But I was able to destroy them all this morning.” I pause. “I had help from my friend.”
Yaksha studies my face. “Your friend was killed.”
I nod. Another tear. Another red drop to pour into the ocean of time and space, which collects them, it seems, with no thought of how much it costs our supposedly immortal souls.
“He died to save me,” I say.
“Your face has changed, Sita.”
I look at the ocean, searching for its elusive peace. “It was a great loss for me.”
“But we have both lost much over the centuries. This loss has but uncovered the change that was already there.”
I nod weakly and put a hand over my heart. “The night of the explosion, I took a wooden stake through the heart. For some reason that wound never really healed. I am in constant pain. Sometimes it is not so bad. Other times I can hardly bear it.” I look at him. “Why hasn’t it healed?”
“You know. The wound was supposed to kill you. We were supposed to die together.”
“What went wrong?”
“I stood and walked to the window. You probably beheld your beloved’s face as you passed out and prayed to Krishna to give you more time to be with him.”
“I did just that.”
“Then he has given you that time. You have his grace. I suspect you always get what you want.”
I shake my head bitterly. “What I wanted more than anything was for Ray to be by my side for the next five thousand years. But your precious God didn’t even give me one year with him.” I bow my head. “He just took him.”
“He is your God as well, Sita.”
I continue to shake my head. “I hate him.”
“Mortals have always exaggerated the difference between hate and love. Both come from the heart. You can never hate strongly unless you have loved strongly. The reverse is also true. But now you say your heart is broken. I don’t know if it can be healed.” He stops and takes my hand. “I told you this before. Our time has passed, Sita. We don’t belong here anymore.”
I wince and squeeze his hand. “I am beginning to believe you.” I remember my dream. “Do you think if we do leave here that I will see Ray again?”
“You will see Krishna. He is in all beings. If you look for Ray there, you will find him.”
I bite my lower lip, drink my own blood. It tastes better than the cop’s. “I want to believe that,” I whisper.
“Sita.”
“Can you help me stop this monster?”
“No.” His eyes glance over his ruined body. “My wounds are too deep. You will have to stop him alone.”
His statement deflates what strength I have left. “I don’t think I can.”
“I have never heard you say you couldn’t do something.”
I have to chuckle. “That’s because we’ve been out of touch for five thousand years.” I quiet. “He has no weak spot. I don’t know where to strike.”
“He is not invincible.”
I speak seriously. “He might very well be. At least in a fight with any creature walking this earth.” I feel a sudden wave of longing for Ray, for love, for Krishna. “I wish Krishna would return now. He could stop him easily enough. Do you think that’s possible? That he will come again soon?”
“Yes. He may already be here and we don’t know it. Certainly, when he returns, few will recognize him. It is always that way. Did you know I saw him again?”
“You did? Before he left the earth?”
“Yes.”
“You never told me.”
“I never saw you.”
“Yes, I know, for five thousand years. When and where did you see him?”
“It was not long before he left the earth and Kali Yuga began. I was walking in the woods in northern India and he was just there. He was alone, sitting by a pool, washing his feet. He smiled as I approached and gestured for me to sit beside him. His whole demeanor was different from when we saw him the first time. His power was all about, of course, but at the same time he seemed much gentler, more an angel than a god. He was eating a mango and he offered me one. When he looked at me, I felt no need to explain how I had been doing everything in my power to keep my vow to him. We just sat in the sun and soaked our feet in the water and everything was fine. Everything was perfect. Our past battle was forgotten. I felt so happy right then I could have died. I wanted to die, to leave the earth with him. I asked him if I could, and he shook his head and told me this story. When he was finished, I didn’t even know why he told it to me.” Yaksha pauses. “Not until this night.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I believe he told me this story so that I could now tell it to you.”
I am interested. “Tell me.”
“Lord Krishna said that there was once this demon, Mahisha, who performed a great austerity to gain the favor of Lord Shiva, who as you know is really no different from Krishna. Because there can be only one God. Ma
hisha kept his mind fixed on Shiva and meditated on him and his six-syllable mantra—Om Namah Shivaya—for five thousand years. But Shiva did not appear before him, and so Mahisha thought to build a huge fire and offer everything he possessed to Shiva, believing this would surely bring him. Mahisha put his clothing and jewels and weapons—even his fifty wives—into the fire. And still Shiva did not come to him. Then Mahisha thought, what have I left to offer? I have renounced everything I own. But then he realized he still had his body, and he decided that he would put that in the fire as well, piece by little piece. First he cut off his toes, and then his ears, and then his nose. All these things he threw into the fire. Seeing this from his high mountaintop in the blessed realm of Kailasha, Shiva was horrified. He didn’t want any devotee, even a demonic one such as Mahisha, cutting himself up like that. Just when the demon was about to carve out his heart, Shiva appeared before him.
“He said, ‘You have performed a great and difficult austerity, Mahisha, and proved your devotion to me. Ask anything of me and I will grant it.’
“Then Mahisha smiled to himself because it was for this very reason that he had undertaken his austerity. He said, ‘O Lord Shiva, I ask for but two boons. That I should be unkillable and that whoever I should touch on the top of the head should in turn be killed.’
“As you can imagine, Shiva was not too happy with the request. He tried to talk Mahisha into something more benign: a nice palace, divine realization, or even a few nymphs from the heavens. But Mahisha would not be swayed, and Shiva was bound by his word, to grant anything asked of him. So in the end he said, ‘So be it.’ And then he quickly returned to Kailasha lest Mahisha tried to touch him on the head.
“As you can imagine, Mahisha immediately started to cause all kinds of trouble. Gathering the hosts of demons together, he assaulted Indra, the king of paradise, and his realm. None of the gods could stop him because he was invincible, and, of course, every time they got near him, he would put his hand on the top of their heads and they would be killed. You understand that even a god can lose his divine form. In the end all the gods were driven from heaven and had to go into hiding to keep from being destroyed. Mahisha was crowned lord of paradise, and the whole cosmos was in disarray, with demons running wild, knocking down mountains, and raising up volcanoes.”
“Were there people on the earth at this time?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Krishna never said. I think there were. I think the ruins of the races I have found might have been from those times. Or maybe in the realms we speak of there is no time as we understand it. It doesn’t matter. The situation was desperate and there was no relief in sight. But at the bequest of his wife, the beautiful Indrani, Indra performed a long austerity himself, with his mind fixed on Krishna and his twelve-syllable mantra—Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya. Indra was hiding in a deep cave on earth at the time, and he had to meditate for five thousand years before Krishna finally appeared and offered him any boon he wished. Of course Krishna realized what was happening in heaven and on earth, but he did not intervene until after there had been great suffering.”
“Why?” I ask.
“He is that way. There is no use in asking him why. I know, I have tried. It is like asking nature the same question about itself. Why is fire hot? Why do the eyes see and not hear? Why is there birth and death? These things just are the way they are. But since Krishna had offered Indra a boon, Indra was wise enough to jump at the opportunity. Indra asked Krishna to kill the unkillable Mahisha.
“It was an interesting problem for Krishna. As I have already said, in essence he is the same as Shiva, and he could not very well undo a boon he had freely granted. But Krishna is beyond all pairs of opposites, all paradoxes. What he did decide to do was appear before Mahisha as a beautiful goddess. The form he took was so ravishing that the demon immediately forgot about all the nymphs of the firmament and began to chase after her. But she—who was really a he, if the Lord can be said to have a particular sex—danced away from him, moving through the celestial forest, her hips swaying, waving her veils, dropping them along hidden paths so that Mahisha would not lose her, yet always staying out of arm’s reach. Mahisha was beside himself with passion. And you know what happens when your mind becomes totally fixed on one person. You become like that person. Krishna told me that was how even the demons can become enlightened and realize him. They hate him so much they can’t stop thinking about him.”
I force a smile. “So it is all right if I hate him.”
“Yes. The opposite of love is not hate. It is indifference. That is why so few people find God. They go to church and talk about him and that sort of thing. They may even go out and evangelize and try to win converts. But in their hearts, if they are honest with themselves, they are indifferent to him because they cannot see him. God is too abstract for people. God is a word without meaning. If Jesus came back today, nothing he said would make any sense to those who wait for him. They would be the first ones to kill him again.”
“Did you ever meet Jesus?” I ask.
“No. Did you?”
“No. But I heard about him while he was still alive.”
Yaksha draws in a difficult breath. “I don’t even know if Jesus could heal me now.”
“You would not ask him to even if he could.”
“That is true. But let me continue with my story. In the form of the beautiful goddess, God was not too abstract for Mahisha. Because she danced, he in turn began to dance. He mimicked her movements exactly. He did so spontaneously, of his own free will, not imagining for a moment that he was in danger. He was fearless because he knew that he could not be killed. But the paradox of the boons granted to him was also the solution to the paradox. He had asked for two gifts, not one. But which one was stronger? The first one because it was asked for first? Or the second one because it was asked for second? Or was neither one stronger than the other? Maybe they could cancel each other out.
“As the goddess danced before Mahisha, in a subtle manner, at first almost too swift for the eye to see, she began to brush her hand close to the top of her head. She did this a number of times, slowing down a little bit on each occasion. Then, finally, she actually touched her head, and because Mahisha was so absorbed in her, he did likewise.”
“And in that moment he was killed,” I say, having enjoyed the story but not understood the purpose of it.
“Yes,” Yaksha says. “The invincible demon was destroyed, and both heaven and earth were saved.”
“I understand the moral of the story, but I do not understand the practicality of it. Krishna could not have given you this story to give to me. It does not help me. The only way I could bewitch Eddie would be to show him a snuff film. The guy is not interested in my body, unless it happened to assume the form of a corpse.”
“That is not true. He is very interested in what is inside your body.”
I nod. “He wants my blood.”
“Of course. Next to mine, your blood is the most powerful substance on earth. He must have figured out that the two of us have grown in different ways over the centuries. He wants your unique abilities, and he can only absorb them by absorbing your blood into his system. For that reason I do not believe he will simply kill you outright when he sees you next.”
“The first time we met he had a chance to kill me and didn’t.”
“Then you see the truth of what I say.”
I speak with emotion, for all this talk does nothing to soothe my torment. Ray is dead and my old mentor is dying and God takes five thousand years to respond to a prayer. I feel as if I drift on the icy lagoon, hearing only gibberish whispered down to me from a black sky. I know Eddie will kill me the next time we meet. He will slowly peel off my flesh, and when I scream in pain, I know Krishna will not heed my pleas for help. How many times must Yaksha have cried out to Krishna to save him while Eddie pushed the steel spikes deeper into his torn body? I ask Yaksha this very question, but he is staring at the ocean again.
“Faith is a mysterious quality,” he says. “On the surface it seems foolhardy—to trust so completely in something you don’t know is true. But I think that trust, for most people, vanishes when death stands at the doorstep. Because death is bigger than human beliefs. It wipes them all away. If you study a dead Jew or a dead Christian or a dead Hindu or a dead Buddhist—they all look the same. They all smell the same, after a while. For that reason I think true faith is a gift. You cannot decide to have it. God gives it to you or he doesn’t give it to you. When I was trapped in the truck these last few weeks, I didn’t pray to Krishna to save me. I just prayed that he would give me faith in him. Then I realized it was all accomplished for me. I saw that I already had that faith.”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
Yaksha looks at me once more. Reaching up, he touches my cheek where my red tear has left a tragic stain. Yet he smiles as he feels my blood, this creature who has just been put through such incredible pain. How can he smile? I wonder. There is a glow about him even in the midst of his ruin, and I realize that he is like the sea he loves so much, at peace with the waves that wash over him. Truly, we do become what we love, or what we hate. I wish that I still hated him and could therefore share a portion of his peace. With all I have lost, I fear to approach him with a feeling of love.
Yet I lie even to myself. I love him as much as I love Krishna. He is still my demon, my lover, my enchanter. I bow my head before him and let him stroke my hair. His touch does not kill me but brings me a small measure of comfort.
“What I mean is,” he says, “I knew you would come for me. I knew you would deliver me from my torment. And you see, you have. In the same way, even as he stuck his long needles into me and then injected himself in front of me and laughed and told me the world was now his, I knew that after you found me and heard Krishna’s story, you would destroy him. You would save the world and fulfill my vow for me. I have that faith, Sita. God has given it to me. Please trust in it as I trust in you.”
I am all emotion. I, the cold vampire. I shake before him like a lost little girl. I was young when I met him, so long ago, and in all that time I have failed to mature. At least in the way Krishna probably wanted me to. I know I am about to lose Yaksha, that he is going to ask me to kill him, and the thought devastates me.
Thirst No. 1 Page 25
