by T. G. Ayer
Maya took a deep breath. "She danced until her heart gave out."
"How do you know such a thing?" the policeman asked, shoving forward his baton clattering against the cuffs on his belt. He looked like he was about to arrest Maya unless she gave an answer he liked.
She met her dad's eyes and acknowledged the slight shake of his head that told her to be very careful of what she said to this volatile man.
Maya shifted to a sitting position and pointed at the blood. "There are a lot of footsteps, more than a dancer can make just by practicing. And her feet bled, telling us she'd damaged them because of the amount of dancing she did on the rough stone."
The policemen turned to study the bloody footprints and looked annoyed that he was unable to refute her words.
"How can you know?" he sneered, given her another once-over. "Are you a dancer?"
Maya was beginning to dislike the habit people seemed to have of studying her from her crown to her feet. Did she simply attract those types of stares or was it the population that had suddenly gone stare-obsessed?
Maya got to her feet and nodded. "Yes. I dance. That's how I know what would have happened to her." Maya's revelation seemed to have pushed the policeman off balance and he turned to study the shrouded corpse. Maya decided to take advantage of his distraction. "Did you find a music player?"
He turned toward her and frowned. Caught off guard again. "Music player?" His thick moustache waggled as he spoke.
"Yes. A tape player or a CD-player. Maybe even an MP3 or cellphone?"
He shook his head, staring at her coldly as if realizing he was providing information to her without knowing it. "Why?" It appeared his curiosity at her line of questioning superseded his anger.
Maya shrugged. "She was practicing. Stands to reason she'd have been dancing to music. So who played the music while she danced?"
The policeman seemed unable to come up with a suitable answer. Instead he became angry again. Taking a step back he glared at her. "This is a lot of nonsense." Then he deliberately turned his attention to Maya's dad, as if she wasn't worth his time. "Please remove yourselves from the crime scene this instant."
Dev met the man's eyes head on. "Would you like me to return with a warrant?"
"A warrant?" the man blustered, clearly not expecting Dev to stand up to him.
Dev turned on his heel and took Maya's elbow. "It's fine. I won't be long. When I return with the warrant I'll have a look at the scene myself."
They were walking off when the policemen called out. "Wait." Dev and Maya turned and waited as the man hurried toward them. His long strides pulled up the cuffs of his pants and revealed short white socks. Maya hid a smile as she watched him glare at her dad. "You can look. But make it quick."
Dev gave him a polite nod and headed to the body. But when Maya tried to follow he simply said, "Not you." His tone was cold. Final.
Maya knew when she'd lost. She lifted her chin. "That's fine. I'll wait here." She was about ten feet inside the temple, a good forty feet from the body. Apparently, the distance was to his liking because he turned on his heel and returned to the gaggle of investigators studying the blood patterns.
From beneath her lashes, Maya watched him whisper to them. Then they were on their feet, studying the expanse of the stone floor. Two cops broke away and began to pace and photograph the floor in a grid fashion. Maya wondered whether any of the effort would make a difference in finding the killer.
A few minutes later Dev strode up to Maya and said, "Let's go. The energy is registering on a paranormal level so it's a sorcerer of some sort."
Maya raised her eyebrows. "Nothing we didn't already know."
That same energy was probably the ward that kept Suran from the place. And even maybe what had kept Sabala from Rosa’s village. Was it that very same energy that seemed to want to enthrall Maya?
She blinked the thoughts away as Dev shrugged, throwing a quick glance back over his shoulder at the scene. "Not as if we'll find out anything new today."
Maya sighed. "Wish I could say this is probably the last victim but something tells me he's not going to stop until he gets caught."
Dev nodded turning to leave. "Then let’s get to catching him."
"Damn straight," murmured Maya.
She turned to follow her dad and walked straight into Babaji Mohandas's rounded belly.
Chapter 37
"I BELIEVE I heard you say you are a dancer, Maya," Babaji said, tipping his head sideways in a way he probably meant to be benevolent. Only he ended up looking condescending.
And a little cunning.
Maya forced a smile. What was wrong with her? Why did she look at the old priest with such suspicion? Could her instinct be right when it felt so wrong?
The poor man was probably just lonely. Or he was really the caring type who enjoyed spending time with temple devotees.
"Namaste Babaji." She put her hands together and bowed, and managed not to flinch when he placed his hand on her forehead in blessing. Good thing he didn't expect her to fall to his feet.
"Namaste, beti." He smiled, revealing two rows of teeth yellowed by age and probably too much betel leaf. His gaze drifted over her shoulder and met her dad's.
Dev greeted the old priest with the utmost respect, and yet Maya sensed her dad was also on his guard with old Babaji.
The priest faced the scene, inclining his head in greeting to the policeman who now stood with his hands on his hips, curious as to why Maya and Dev hadn't departed as he'd demanded.
Babaji folded his hands over his ample stomach and heaved a deeply sad sigh. "What a tragedy. This is going to be a terrible time for the town."
"Are there any suspects yet?" Dev asked, also turning to watch the crime scene.
"Unfortunately not." His response was very firm, his tone stating no argument would be welcome.
Dev took his cue and nodded sadly. "Will you have them let me know if anything comes up? I need to report to my superior."
Babaji nodded then stepped aside to allow them to leave. Then he sighed again, his belly heaving then falling low over his dhoti. He wore it hanging to the floor today.
Talk about the priestly life of austerity and simplicity.
Babaji nodded, his expression so benevolent most people would be fooled. Not Maya, though. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about him made her wary. Maybe he was too nice.
Or maybe he tried too hard.
Or maybe Maya was just too stressed and was seeing things where nothing existed.
A seeker of trouble soon becomes a finder of trouble.
Maya gave the old man a polite smile as she waited for her father to extract himself. He nodded at her dad and grinned at Maya.
"Maya, you must dance for us."
Maya smiled again, forcing her lips to maintain the expression. "I wish I could but I hurt the tendons in my ankles. I shouldn't stress them out until they are fully healed." Maya wasn't certain as to where that excuse had come from but it popped out of her mouth and she was grateful it sounded legitimate.
At least it did to her ears.
Babaji's eyes narrowed as he looked at her feet and studied them for a few moments. "That is a great pity. I would have loved to see you dance. I have a feeling you are much more talented than you realize."
Maya smiled shyly and glanced pointedly at her dad. She meant for him to extract them from the priest's company and allow them some breathing space. The old man and the scene of the girl's death were beginning to suffocate Maya and she needed fresh air.
Fast.
But instead, Babaji began to walk towards Maya. “I believe I overheard you mention energy.”
Her dad frowned and looked at the doorway. How had the old man heard him from that distance?
Babaji laughed then waved a hand at the inside of the pyramid roof. “That space seems to project sound in strange ways. We have learned not to have private conversations in this temple. God knows who will hear us.” He laughed me
rrily as if it was not a problem that he had things to hide.
Maya and her dad both smiled, pretending amusement.
“So this energy you were talking about . . .” He paused and waited.
Dev nodded. “Yes. We were wondering if whoever killed the girl is after her energy. That’s if she had the power to create any, and if it was even possible to harness that energy.”
Babaji smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, the act of dance itself does not mean the dancer will create the energy. It is the state of trance that will invoke the energy.”
Maya’s blood chilled at Babaji’s words and she forced herself to not look at her dad’s face. They’d circled the idea of a trance state having some key meaning to these deaths and here they were being brought straight back to it by an unassuming priest.
Maya smiled and shook her head. “I’m not sure I even believe in such a thing.” Maya startled, unsure why she would even say such a thing to the man. Did she really think it was wise to provoke him?
And from his expression, he was provoked. He narrowed his gaze and studied her for a moment, his expression flitting from anger, to annoyance to patience.
"Dev, I'd like to show you and your lovely daughter the commune."
That came a little out of left field and almost startled Maya.
"Commune?" she asked. When she caught sight of the priest's reproachful expression Maya suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Poor man must have almost had a heart attack because she'd dared to butt into their manly conversation.
"Yes, child. For a long time now we have had a very interesting commune attached to the temple." Maya waited, wondering if the priest would clue her in or not.
He didn't. Just gave her another admonishing look, then headed for the door. Her dad looked at her, his eyebrow raising a fraction of an inch. Maya rolled her eyes at the twinkle of amusement she saw in his expression.
"You're enjoying this," she mumbled as she walked past him, following the priest as he led them out and across a concreted yard.
"Not really," Dev murmured. "It's just interesting to see your reaction when faced with something a lot of women around here have to live with on a daily basis."
Maya glanced at her father, curious now. She knew he was a proponent of women's rights especially since he'd married a woman running from an abusive marriage.
"That troubles you, right?" she asked, wondering if he'd pull a macho stance and pretend not to know what she meant.
"Damn right it does. When I met your mother I saw for myself what an abusive relationship does. Whether it's spousal or parental, family abuse is a horror I would wish on nobody." Dev sighed as the old man led them to a waist-high metal gate set within a stone fence painted a sickly green. "Sexism often works hand-in-hand with abuse, but even when it doesn't, like with Babaji Mohandas here, it's just as offensive."
Maya swallowed a sigh of relief that her dad agreed with her. She wasn't sure what she would have done had he said something prejudiced or misogynistic. But she hadn't expected it.
Maya felt a rush of love for her dad and hoped she’d find something similar with her life partner. As much as she was hopelessly in love with Nik, she wasn’t sure their relationship was of the permanent kind. His extended life-span was probably the first problem. She knew Yama had offered his wife the use of the Amrita, the Elixir of life to allow her to have a longer life. She’d refused for years, giving in only when she longed to be part of her son’s future.
Maya wasn’t sure why Nik’s mom had, considering she'd miss the breadth of her child's life, and any children he may decide to have decades into the future. Still, if she was in that very situation, she'd have her own reasons to base her choices on.
Right now, she knew Kali's powers provided her with the ability to self-heal. Something that would help Maya where her health and her body was concerned. Something like an extended life-span, but not exactly.
The knowledge she'd long outlive her parents hurt deeper than she'd ever expected.
Suddenly, Babaji stopped in his tracks as he came to a second metal gate. This one was orange, and flecked with rust. It led inside the courtyard of a large two storied house. In the distance the low sing-song of chanting could be heard, its tone almost hypnotic.
Beyond the chanting, Maya felt a hum of something else. A low ebb of energy she couldn’t quite place.
A little boy, not more than eight years old, sat on his haunches beside a low-walled well. He wore a pair of ragged-hemmed shorts so stained it was impossible to tell what color they were. A frown creased his forehead, accompanied by a sheen of perspiration as he scrubbed out a large pot, seemingly with all his strength.
A small soiled stack of pots and bowls sat beside him, waiting for his attention. His skin was dark, but not in complexion. Dirt caked his arms and hid the sweet features of his face. His shoulder blades stuck out from his back, bringing his ribs and knobbly knees into stark contrast.
When Maya glanced up at her dad, she caught his frown as he saw the skinny child. Babaji seemed oblivious to his guest's disapproval of his take on child labor and Maya hurried to keep up with her dad.
He went into the building, leading them down a dimly-lit central hall. Inside, the furniture was a deep mahogany, old and cracked, and definitely not well-loved. Thick patterned drapes hid the sunlight, holding in the dank, stale smell of cooking and body odor.
Maya tried valiantly to keep her nose from wrinkling and heaved a sigh of relief when they emerged from the darkness into a central courtyard.
Maya and her dad both stopped in their tracks.
The courtyard was filled with people, many walks of life, and every ethnicity imaginable. At first Maya was unsure of what she was seeing. And then she stifled a gasp.
Almost two hundred people sat kneeling on the dusty ground, dressed in pure white. They, like Maya and Dev, faced the opposite end of the courtyard, where two men held everyone's attention.
Here the buzzing of energy was still the same, low and constant.
A priest, dressed similar to Babaji, held a bowl of frankincense and camphor before another man who danced before the onlookers, metal sparkling from his face and body.
Needles glinted on the man's body.
Needles that sliced through his skin.
Chapter 38
MAYA BLINKED, FOR a moment wondering if she'd imagined what she was seeing.
No. She wasn't dreaming it up.
The man's face held five piercings, two in each of his cheeks, and one vertically through his tongue. Each of the piercings were brass, with both tips ending in the familiar tear-drop shape of the spear of Lord Kartikeya.
Maya felt a chill run through her.
Lord Kartikeya was the God of War. Was that significant?
Hope not.
Glancing at her dad, she focused on the man and his piercings. His body glinted with dozens of little double-ended spears, each bearing a dangling flower, here a marigold, there a rose.
The muscles in the man's neck bulged as he flung his head backward, then stared at the crowd through glaring eyes which he intermittently rolled back into his skull. Danger and fear emanated from him and he bore a terrifying stare that made Maya's stomach clench.
He shifted his gaze and slowly met her eyes, holding it only briefly. He flinched sharply as he watched her, his expression suddenly wary. The priest leaned close to him and whispered something in his ear, pulling the devotee's attention from Maya and back to the chanting.
In morbid fascination, Maya stared as the man turned around to reveal to the gathered disciples the rest of his piercings. His back was covered in them, more than two dozen from Maya's swift calculation.
Pieces of metal, stabbed through unblemished skin, so painful to watch.
And yet none of them bled.
Maya knew from seeing something similar before that once the piercings are removed the skin appears entirely undamaged, not a mark or scar remaining as evidence.
Maya shook her head.
She wanted to leave, but she remained rooted to the spot. When a handful of people in the front row got to their feet and threw off their shawls, Maya wanted to turn and run.
Instead, she took a step closer to her dad and waited. He nudged her hand, the only comfort he could offer in this very public place.
Good thing too, as Babaji took that instant to turn and beckon them closer. Maya didn't want to go, but she thought it best to remain at her dad's side. She didn't trust the old man.
He took them to the edge of the crowd, their view of the stage much clearer. A man and two young boys stood bare-chested and ready to receive their piercings.
"What is this place?" asked Dev. Clearly he'd had enough of the cloak-and-dagger routine the priest seemed to be enjoying.
Babaji smiled. He waved a hand at the gathering. "These devotees are members of the Moksha Ashram." He sounded proud as he gazed out at them. "They are the perfect example of human spirituality."
Dev frowned. "I don't understand. I thought the trances were revered. Used only for the creation of oneness with god." Dev failed to hide his criticism.
The old man gave him a benevolent smile though Maya didn't miss the slight hardening to his gaze. She was becoming more and more certain she was onto something where the old priest was concerned. He was dodgy as heck.
"I don't believe our gods would want their devotees to contain the power they generate. I'm a believer in the freedom of a person's spirit. I also believe the gods do not seek to control us. They wish to enlighten. And this is what these people are doing. Freedom from the enslavement of the body."
The priest sighed as drums began to echo through the courtyard. The rhythm increased, faster and faster, driving the crowd, urging them to begin swaying with the music. The two men in front remained still though, despite the call of the music.
They didn't move, just stared off into space as their skin was pierced with slim needles. Again, not a drop of blood was shed.
"I'm afraid I don't agree with this," said Dev softly, his jaw working as he stared at the ceremony. "There is nothing religious about this."
