by H. K Oby
The tears that had appeared before returned now. Here was someone who was finally saying that what had happened to him was good.
He didn’t know if he believed it, but it sounded so sweet to his ears that he almost broke down. Smiling as widely as he could, he hugged himself, exposing for the first time just how insecure he had been feeling while putting on that brave face that said he didn’t care even if he hadn’t gotten the Gift.
He hid it away a second later, scrubbing at his eyes as if dust had gotten into them while thinking of what else he could ask. He didn’t know how he could have ever hated the entire race of vanaras when two from that race had already helped him so much. In fact, the librarian had helped him much more than even the supervisor, and for some reason, he even felt a kinship with the old being, a sort of affection, like the way one would feel when helped out of a disastrous situation in life.
Taking a few deep breaths, he asked the question that seemed the most prominent on his mind.
“If I follow this path, how long will it take to reach the level of progress of the others who obtained a gift?”
Cradling his chin with one hand, the librarian thought about it for a bit, then answered, “That will depend on you. The rate of progress is always directly dependent on how strong one is, mentally. The library may seem empty, but there are always a few vanaras watching. I’ve received reports of everything you’ve done in here., And from them, I can tell just how strong you are. I can’t even begin to imagine how much suffering and pressure you must have endured to be so strong at such a young age. Typically, for those graced by the Pulse, a few months is required until a siddhi is strong enough to be used in combat. For you, I would gauge it to be around a month. Granted, you will only have a tenth of the strength as those with the Gift as their level of comprehension is at the peak, but you will truly be the owner of your siddhi. It will be a part of you, unlike for them where it is a weapon to be drawn. The difference will be clear in battle. As for advice, there is one other thing I can tell you: even while meditating on those moments, try to split apart the feeling associated with each of the two siddhis that you used. If you put in as much work as you did in these last three days, I expect that you will progress very quickly. I have my eye on you, young man. No one as interesting has come along in decades.”
The librarian’s eyes twinkled as he spoke, and for once, Amin believed each and every word he was saying, not feeling even a shred of doubt.
“If there is nothing else, I’ll take my leave. Even if there is something else, I suggest that you go to bed, first. Come to the library and call my name, thinking of me, and I shall appear if you really need me. Goodbye.”
Amin nodded, and the venerable old being ambled away, disappearing through a door on the far end of the library. Amin hadn’t even seen the door since entering the building; it was that far away, and it was even the same color as the stone, blending in until he had to blink to find it after it was closed.
Another wave of dizziness hit him. Catching the chair for support, he barely managed to stay on his feet.
Two hands caught him on the two sides of his back, one softer than the other but both equally strong.
“Didn’t I tell you to rest? Look at you now! No matter what you say, I’m taking you to bed. I’m warning you. You won’t be able to live down being carried by a woman. A lot of the guys in here are still immature enough to see that as something demeaning…”
“Yeah, you would never hear the end of it. And I was right! Nothing good can come out of skipping sleep! I should know; I tried it on our first day here.”
Amin felt a warmth in his chest as he heard his two friends speak at the same time. The world suddenly felt like it was a much better place than it had been for a long time. Nodding if as if he had been sufficiently chastised, he said, “I’m sorry, guys. I think I can walk, but if I look like I’ll fall, please do catch me. Let’s go back to my hut.”
…
The next day dawned bright and sunny. Amin didn’t remember much of what had happened after Amaira and Rishi had come to the library. He vaguely recalled eating something, then being put to bed like a five-year-old. He also remembered a wicked smile on Amaira’s face and a hesitant one on Rishi, of the sort he always got when Amaira was suggesting something that either broke the rules or was a nasty prank.
He understood the reason behind those faces a moment later.
Something soft made of plastic was in his mouth. Getting up, he spit it out and felt his eyes widen when he saw what it was.
A sucker! I slept with that in my mouth! Goddammit, Amaira!
Sniggers in the direction of the door alerted him to the presence of someone else in his room. Turning, he found Amaira and Rishi, who had their hands to their mouths, clearly controlling laughter. As soon as he met their gaze with narrowed eyes, those hands dropped.
Amaira laughed uproariously, so loud that she would have woken the inhabitants of at least three or four huts around them if they weren’t living in such an empty place. Rishi’s laughter was more reserved, but he still clutched his stomach after a few seconds as if it hurt from laughing too much.
“You should have seen the way you looked! Priceless! Serves you right for acting like a baby!”
“I never did understand why Amaira liked pranks so much, but I think I get it now… hey, don’t look at me like that. It was all her idea!”
Amaira slapped Rishi’s shoulder.
“No need to be scared of him, now! Every time you get intimidated, just remember how peaceful he looked with that sucker in his mouth. Little baby Amin, sucking happily and dreaming dreams of skipping around Ayodhya in a cute little onesie. I’m gonna do it every time he gets angry. You’re never going to live this down, Amin!”
With a snarl, Amin got out of bed. Rishi and Amaira froze, the laughter stopping, but even his best scary face didn’t stop them from apparently once again recalling how he had looked and breaking out into giggles.
Amin sighed. He had no other choice; he had to admit it was a good one.
Still, seeing how they still weren’t able to stop themselves after a minute, he said, “Alright, alright, enough. I’m famished. What’s the time? Is it closer to breakfast or lunch?”
Wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes, Amaira folded her hands and replied, “Lunch. We were actually waiting, hoping that you would wake up so we could go eat together. Come on, I’ll catch you up on everything that’s been happening around here.”
A few minutes later, Amin was stuffing himself with some flatbread known as chapati and a spicy curry that made his nose run. On the way, Amaira had talked about how difficult it had been to get that sucker in the first place. She was quite a social person; her personality was such that people either instantly liked or hated her, and all of those who fell into the trap of the former never did manage to shift to the camp of the latter no matter what she did.
She had spent the breaks she took when tired of practicing her siddhi to acquaint himself with the parts of Ayodhya they were allowed to. She had only explored a few forests that were supposed to be scenic, marked off as places where initiates who wished to meditate alone could go, and a village nearby called Wali.
It was in the village where she had befriended a family with a two-year-old a day ago. According to her, the villages were strange places, where most things were traditional, but a few modern items got through from the other side, sold illegally. ‘Illegal’ was a strong term as there were explicit rules about the practice, but it was heavily frowned upon.
The sucker was one such object, along with the modern parts of the bathrooms for which initiates had had to bunch together as all of them had gotten used to the western style instead of the Indian one, which had been phased out in India even in middle-class families—from which most of the initiates were from. He admired the length she went to to pull off her pranks, but mentally, he decided that when he got a chance, he was going to get his revenge.
After t
he meal, they split off again, Amin going to his hut to finally begin his true training. There was a spring in his step all along the way, and the moment he closed the door, an excited smile came upon his lips as he sat on the bed and got as comfortable as he could.
With an even firmer purpose and goal in mind, he found it easy to concentrate for even more extended periods than during his stupid three-day-long attempt. For the next two hours, he was completely immersed in those moments after that bright flash of light had appeared in the car like an angel descending to save him from hell.
It was still not very easy, but it was his own memory instead of a fabrication. The more he focused on it, the more skilled he became at identifying details that felt right. For example, when he had moved forward, it had felt as if he was gliding through water after pushing up on something, instead of all of the possibilities he had listed and tried out before. This was also true only for a part of the journey; for the rest, he was almost sure that it felt as if he was pulling himself along in some manner.
Taking the librarian’s advice, he was once again focusing on the siddhi that would let him propel himself quickly. Two hours later, his concentration broke, but he only greeted the stray thoughts that came into his mind with joy.
Already, it felt as if he was making progress.
From then on, time lost meaning. Because his punishment was over, he was forced to go to the sparring sessions in the morning, but it looked like Shanker had completely lost interest in them. He didn’t even acknowledge their presence, and although this would be something that would have pissed him off normally, he actually felt happy that this was the case as he knew all too well how violent the giant’s attention could be.
At times, it did feel as if his back was being bored into by two giant metallic spikes that could only be shot forth by those large eyes, but whenever he turned around to catch the man in the act, Shanker was always intent on either sparring or instructing some other team a hundred feet away.
Rishi and Amaira had already identified an easy-going initiate who was a year into his journey. He was the favorite of many who wanted to learn the primary forms, and when Amin joined in the classes that he was already teaching the two, the man just took it in stride. He was pretty unremarkable, with short-cropped hair, a stubby nose, high cheekbones, and a smile that was always present on his lips, but he did move with a fluidity and strength belied by his slim frame.
The rest of the day was spent meditating. There wasn’t even a moment of boredom for Amin. Each and every second felt as if it was being used ideally, as he knew that he was inching closer and closer to completely knowing and imbibing in himself how he had felt when the Pulse had helped him use such incredible siddhis.
Weeks passed. The three of them always found time to meet and catch up on everything that was going on. Rishi and Amaira were entirely focusing on learning more uses of their siddhis and how to use them as naturally as they moved their arms or legs. They were also progressing well on the physical attack and defense classes; after all, it was hard not to learn when the lessons were drilled into you every damn day.
Amin spent each day working with purpose, then going to sleep content in his progress. The only thing on his mind was the trial that was always held three months after initiation. Before they arrived, he intended to have at least some success to show for all his effort, hopefully enough that he would be able to save himself.
The only thoughts that spoiled his mood were regarding this looming danger in his life. It was no use trying to find out what they consisted of; each and every initiate was tight-lipped about them, and they were even told that they would be reported if they pressed any further.
He hated the air of mystery around such an important event, but there was nothing he could do to change it.
Exactly four weeks after the day he spoke to the librarian, Amin sat in his hut on the bare earth with his back to the wall, reliving a particular instant of the experience that was now on his mind, day and night. With time, he had started to dissect the entire thing to target each and every part precisely.
He had followed no particular order in picking the parts, going by feel alone. Today, he was meditating upon the moment when the Pulse had entered him and he had floated, weightlessness taking ahold of his body for the first time in his life.
He had slowly filled in the gaps, although he would never be able to tell whether what he had filled them in with was his own imagination, or the truth of what had really happened. Either way, after that moment of weightlessness, he was sure he had floated out of the window then paused.
The pause hadn’t existed for even a quarter of a second, but the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that it was necessary.
It was right after that pause that he had shot straight up. For three hours, he just meditated on that space between being still and accelerating to such a speed that he must have just been a blurry wraith to anyone watching. He relived that pause over and over again, looping it until each and every detail of what he had felt at that moment stood out to him as crisply as if he was living in the past, right now.
Three hours was the longest he had gone, yet, without breaking his concentration. Typically, these periods grew tenuous with the more time that passed, but now, strangely, with each second, he was only growing even more focused, his mind standing on a razor-sharp edge at perfect balance, every ounce of himself tapped perfectly.
All of a sudden, his entire body felt like it was tingling, as if electricity was passing through it, racing across his skin, raising the hairs on his hand and chest. He felt it, but he stayed strangely apart, his existence splitting into a physical and mental realm where his awareness had only a toe in the former while the rest was only concerned with the thoughts, feelings, and sensations in his mind(change this to mean that his focus is inward).
The tingling intensified, going past the stage where it didn’t hurt to one where it was just a hair’s breadth away from growing to such a degree that it would feel as if he was being electrocuted. Yet before that happened, he moved by pure instinct, gathering all of that condensed power into his mind, pushing it through the funnel that was the sensation of jumping off of something invisible and picking up speed.
The world shifted. Wind roared in his ears, then something hit his head. His face and body felt warm, and a wave of weakness passed through him when all went still.
He opened his eyes. His breath caught when they fell upon the sky, first, then moved down to be graced by an aerial view of the quarters of the initiates, the picturesque image of hundreds of identical thatch-roofed huts spread out evenly. A breeze caressed his skin, smelling of mud and sweat and blood, probably blown his way from the sparring ground. Just a smile began to take form, a flashback hit him like a hammer.
Old man gravity slammed into his body and he plummeted down, screaming.
The fall was much shorter this time. He fell through the same hole he had made and the ground was soft enough that he didn’t break any bones. It still hurt like hell, though. His back burned as if someone had rained coal on it. He moaned painfully, hand raising to gingerly feel the base of his head where a bump was forming.
The world swam. It looked like he hadn’t avoided a concussion, but without paying any heed to all the pain, he closed his eyes, a thought coming to him that cut through everything else.
I did it! I used the siddhi! I have to capture this moment, or it’ll be harder to do it again! Ignore the pain, dammit! Concentrate!
It was hard, but after a minute, he was back in a meditative state, firmly committing to memory what had just happened. Because it had just taken place, it was easy to study and catalog each and everything he felt, and just when he was done, the door banged open.
Amaira and Rishi both gawked at him, noticing the blood on his clothes at the same time that he, himself, realized he was bleeding. He was still on his back, his head facing the door, so getting up with another moan, he said, “Guys, I succeeded! I final
ly did it! Now I have a siddhi, too! Ow, ow, ow…”
He knew that he might be getting ahead of himself, but he could hardly control his excitement. It got curbed in a moment when he saw the two look at each other in horror.
“What is it? What happened?”
Amaira gulped and stepped forward. He had never seen her so hesitant, or so sad. She looked at him and opened her mouth to speak, but as if she couldn’t meet his gaze or see the way he would react, she closed her eyes firmly and blurted out, “There was an announcement a couple of minutes ago… from here on, all trials will have a ‘God’ portion to them where the gods will have a say in whether one passes or fails. If someone doesn’t appease them all, they will be sent back to death. Everyone’s talking about how this is because the gods still hate you, and they want to see you die in your trial. Everyone thinks that’s exactly what’s going to happen! Damn them!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AMIN STAYED WHERE he was for a minute, looking shellshocked, noticing the weirdest things while the information he had just heard resounded in his head, as if someone was blasting it inside with a megaphone.
Amaira’s hair was let down. He was looking at it in this manner for the first time. It was adorable, those long, curling locks of shiny black hair lustrous in the sun that fell through the door. They framed her face perfectly, highlighting the vividness of the brown in her eyes and the gorgeous slight curve of her nose.
