VASURAVA HELD THE BUNDLE in his arms carefully and rose to his feet. As he did so, a great wind raged through the house, as if cheering his accomplishment, then passed as suddenly as it had risen. He smiled at Kewri, who beamed up at him happily, then he turned and left.
As he reached the first of several doors, a loud clanging sound echoed, and the bolt broke off the door and fell to the ground with a soft thud. The door flew open and stayed open as he passed through. The same thing happened with each door. Outside each door he found guards fallen unconscious at their posts, some in ludicrous postures, at least one with a severe fracture or worse.
The city was quiet as he walked through the streets. Not a soul stirred. Not so much as a bird flew across the night sky. Not a single insect chirred or cricketed. Not a dog or cat or even a mouse scurried in the shadows. Everywhere he passed soldiers fallen off horses, elephants, the towers that stood at every junction . . . Glancing into a few houses whose doors or windows lay open, he saw the people inside sleeping as well. The entire city was asleep. Tyrak too, for nothing else would have prevented him from being there otherwise.
As he walked, he recalled the events of the night.
Kewri and he had both been awakened by the reappearance of the same blue light. She had seen exactly the same thing that he saw, but from her side of the wall.
No longer was the child a fetus. It had appeared within the egg of blue Auma shakti as a newborn come to full term.
The child was a boy with four arms.
In his four hands he clutched a horn, a mace, a flower, and a disc.
He had a radiant jewel at his throat. He had marks upon his chest. He was swaddled in a yellow garment which contrasted pleasantly with his clear blue skin.
He smiled down at his father and mother, and the beauty of that smile filled them both with a deep glowing warmth and inner radiance. For the rest of their days, they had only to think of that smile, and they would be filled with complete peace, tranquility, and joy.
Vasurava joined his palms in greeting and bowed. “My son. Who are you? What are you? Pray, enlighten us. We are but simple mortals, we know nothing.”
The boy smiled. “You are Vasurava and Kewri, my parents. Everything I know comes from you and through you. Without you, I would not be able to set foot upon this world.”
“Yes,” Kewri said, “but it is you who make this possible, Lord. We are only the instruments of your miracle. Looking at your radiance, feeling your Auma, I am convinced that surely you are Stone Creator Thyself, the Supreme Being.”
The boy smiled enigmatically.
He looked to one side and then looked back. His gaze brought with it a flowing river of images, sounds, sensations. With a flick of his fingers, he diverted the flow to Kewri and Vasurava, both of whom reeled back in amazement. Their minds were filled with perceptions like memories of experiences actually seen, heard, and felt.
Vasurava gasped. “You are Vish incarnate.”
Kewri said, “You took incarnation as Venen the dwarf once. As Axor. As Sia Kandra. As Swan God. As Boar God. As Gryffon. As Chukva. As Haranviyan. And as Mashandor. In different ages of the world, you assume different forms for different purposes. But this alone is your incarnate form.”
The boy smiled. “Not only I—you two were born before and lived other lives before these ones. Do you not recall them?”
Kewri and Vasurava shook their heads.
“You, Vasurava, were a stone priest named Tapseu. And you, my mother, were Progyor. This was during the Age of Myth. And I was born to you in that life as well, where I was named Preshnor. Would you like to know more?”
Both nodded eagerly.
“Then listen. I shall show to you the entire history of our past lives together as well as those yet to come.”
Both Vasurava and Kewri closed their eyes as a fresh flood of visions swept through them, carrying them upon the tide of time, across the oceans of eternity.
Finally, after communing with his parents-to-be for an undetermined time, he stopped and sighed. “It is now time. The hour of my birth is at hand.”
Kewri reacted. The child saw her react.
“You fear your brother’s wrath?”
“Yes, my son.”
“Have no fear. He shall not harm you tonight. Now I shall take my place within your womb, my mother. And you shall birth me as any human child. Once in human form, I shall be subject to human qualities and failings as well. For even though I am incarnate in this amsa and not merely a partial avatar, there are inherent limitations of the human form that cannot be overcome completely. I shall seem to be a normal newborn human baby. But do not be deceived. I am here to set things right once and for all. However long it takes, no matter what I have to do, I shall see this through. You shall be freed of the yoke of the oppressor. So shall all the Arrgodi. The race of Arrgodi shall enjoy a time of such prosperity and satisfaction as they have never seen since the beginning of their line. This I promise you.”
“Wait,” Vasurava said, palms still pressed together. “What shall we name you, Lord? You are no ordinary child. Surely we must grant you some special name as well?”
He smiled. “Drishya.”
Now Vasurava stood before the Jeel, carrying his newborn son in his arms. As he recalled the wonders that he had been shown and the knowledge and memories he had been given, he wept, and had to pause to wipe the tears of joy from his eyes.
A new challenge awaited him.
The river was in spate, flowing with a roaring rush. At this time of year, even elephants could not be bathed in this stretch of the river, nor bridges spanned, nor boats travel safely. The only way across was to go downstream several tens of miles where the river split into its tributaries, then cross using a raft anchored by an overhanging rope system.
But Vasurava had been told by his son that he had only until dawn to deliver him to his destination and return home. The place he was to go was a fair distance away, no easy walk, even without having a newborn child in his arms. The detour downstream would make it impossible: he would not reach his destination before daybreak, let alone return. And his son’s instructions had been clear. The sleeping would last only until dawn, at which point, Tyrak would rouse and send every soldier in Arrgodi in pursuit of him.
He looked around, feeling the frustration born of years of imprisonment and abuse swell inside him. Then he realized how foolish he was being and smiled. “Lord,” he said quietly, “you must surely have provided for all contingencies. Pray, allow me to cross the river.”
Certainly, Father.
The response winked in his mind like a flash of light. He thought he heard a tiny baby gurgle as well.
Thunder rumbled above. Vasurava glanced up nervously but saw only a clear night sky. Not a cloud in sight.
A single bolt of lightning cracked down and struck the center of the river.
Water rose in a geyser spout, rising up hundreds of yards into the air. Slowly, it fell back. When it had settled, Vasurava saw that a crack had appeared in the river. A thin line drawn straight from bank to bank. As he watched with incredulous eyes, the line widened until it was several yards across, revealing the bottom of the river.
The river began to slow. Downstream, it remained the same, gushing along at breakneck speed. But upstream, it slowed steadily by degrees, until finally, after several moments, it ceased flowing altogether. He looked at the downstream flow—it continued unabated.
Thunder growled and grumbled overhead.
Ours not to understand everything that happens. Ours merely to do our given task.
He stepped down the side of the riverbank, careful not to slip, and descended.
Just as he reached the bottom of the river, the sky cracked open and a torrential rain poured down. It was the heaviest rainfall that Vasurava had ever seen. Fat, heavy drops struck the ground, splashing mud. In moments, the world was blanketed by rain.
Yet not a single drop fell on Vasurava or his newborn son.
He looked around in wonderment, raising one arm and stretching it out. At its farthest extent, he could just feel the rain. He brought back his fingers, dripping wet, and looked at them. They smelled of fresh earth and rain. He looked up and saw that the invisible protective canopy that shielded him from the rain took a curious shape, like a tapering . . . hood? Then he remembered his son’s words from earlier, explaining this very thing:
The hood of Sesh, the eternal serpent. Sesh shall travel with you, protecting you from all dangers, big and small.
Vasurava nodded and started off across the bed of the river. Perfectly natural for the eternal serpent to appear out of mythology and protect him as he carried his newborn son, stone god incarnate, across a divided river. Quite natural.
He reached the far side a while later, and trekked up to the other bank. He started off in the direction of Harvanya. From there, he would make his way deeper into one of the oldest of Arrgodi territories, Arghbhoomi, the heart of the Arrgodi nation. It was a long walk. And he must complete it and return home before dawn. Or else even his infinitely powerful son would not be able to save him from Tyrak’s wrath.
He reached the tiny hamlet some hours later, bone weary yet filled with joy and anticipation. As he had been told, a light was burning in one of the modest huts. As he came to its doorway, he had a moment of anxiety. What if . . .
But everything was exactly as promised. Every single person he had passed between Arrgodi and this remote rural hamlet had been fast asleep. He had even seen a cowherd resting on his crook and snoring as his cows lay asleep around him.
Inside the hut, he found a woman on a cot, with an infant lying beside her, suckling. It was evident that she had only just given birth before falling asleep as everyone else had.
A man lay prone on the floor beside the cot, as if he had been taken by the sleep as he sat or stood beside his wife. As Vasurava entered, the infant stopped suckling and turned its head to look at him. Its arms and legs began to move in the manner of all babies, kicking out excitedly. He saw that it was a girl, as he had been told it would be.
He put his son down on the cot beside the woman and picked up the infant girl. She squealed with delight as he took her in his arms, and he felt a rush of love and tenderness. It helped make it easier for him to turn his back on his own son.
He returned to Arrgodi just as the first flush of dawn was creeping across the eastern sky. He put the baby down beside Kewri, who took her in her arms and cradled her with as much welcoming love as if she were greeting her own child. He looked at Kewri for a long moment, brushed the tears from her cheeks, then kissed the baby on her head—she kicked and gurgled happily—kissed his wife on her forehead as well, then returned to his side of the wall.
He put the manacle back on his foot and waited.
Only moments later, as the sky reddened and the wind changed, shouts and cries of alarm and indignation began to ring out across Arrgodi.
The city was awake again.