CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Das pleads for another chance – Kali is implacable –
Das meets his destiny – “Please let me live...!”
DURGA DAS SAT against the flank of the mechanical man, aware that he had failed Kali yet again.
He felt the bullets that had riddled his limbs and torso as so many points of localised, thudding pain. He had been so close to getting what he wanted – more importantly, getting what Kali wanted – only to have it snatched away at the last moment. Now he sprawled on the cusp of death, his energy draining away. He could only open his eyes minimally and watch as the Morn approached him, felt in his pocket and took the tithra-kunjī. Das tried to move, to raise a hand and deal a fiery death to the damnable alien; he willed Kali to help him, but only silence met his mental pleas.
He saw Janisha Chatterjee weeping over the fallen man, and the dumpy British soldier help her to her feet while the Indian street urchin assisted Mahran from the crypt. If only he could reach out, burn them as they tried to leave. Perhaps, then, all might not be in vain. He put all his effort into straining the muscles of his right arm; he sweated with the exertion and cursed as his arm moved fractionally.
Then they were gone and he was alone in the hellish crypt save for the burning corpses of Mr Knives and two others.
But perhaps, he told himself, perhaps all was not yet lost.
He had been hit in the chest, stomach and limbs, and yet he was still alive. That could only mean Kali, in her omnipotence and wisdom, was working to bring him back to life as she had done in northern Greece.
He would rise from the dead and show the Chatterjee whore and her hangers-on that he was a force to be reckoned with – he and his goddess. He would follow them from the church, wrest from them the tithra-kunjī they had taken from him, then take Chatterjee’s and force the Morn to divulge the location of the third.
The Age of Kali would come to Earth, and it would be thanks to him.
“Oh, Kali, wondrous one. Fill me with life, allow me to pursue the heathens!”
You failed me, Durga Das.
“I... I was unlucky, Kali! If not for the appearance of the gunman... I almost had Chatterjee and the Morn.”
But ‘almost’ is not good enough!
“I know, Kali, and I apologise! I failed, but I promise you I will not fail again. The disappointment has fuelled my desire to serve you all the more! Give me strength, Kali, restore me and I will...”
Kali interrupted, And why should I do that, Das?
“Why? So that I might pursue the villains, obtain the tithra-kunjīs. All is not lost, Kali! We might yet...”
The Morn has your tithra-kunjī, and Chatterjee has hers, and they are heading towards the location of the third. You have proved yourself inadequate to the task I set you, Durga Das.
“But...” Das babbled, “but we cannot give up, Kali!”
I do not intend to give up in my quest, you fool – but I will continue without your cumbersome presence.
“No! please, no... I can–”
Yes?
“I will serve you in any and every way possible. I am your servant, your abject servant who will do anything, anything to...”
But Das, I have given you several opportunities to assist me, and you failed. I no longer need you.
“But please, I beg you! Let me live, please let me live!”
I have no time to waste on resurrecting you yet again, Durga Das. The effort tires me, and you are worth less than nothing to me now.
“No, please, I beg you!”
And Das...
“Kali?” Das said in desperation.
When you die, you will not be reborn; there will be no resurrection for Durga Das! Your belief system, your ludicrous religion, is a farce. You will die, and you will be dead forever!
A terrible thought occurred to the holy man. Anghra dah tanthara, yangra bahl, somithra tal zhell.
Zhell?
“What the Morn said, about you being a... a Zhell?”
He was speaking the truth, Durga Das.
“No!”
Yes!
And Das was aware of the creature’s mocking laughter as he died.