FROM FAR AND WIDE they came. From every corner of Goluka the Mraashk arrived by uks cart, riding astride bullocks, or traveling on foot. Clad in their gaily colored rustic apparel, driving their favorite kine along, talking and singing and chanting aloud as was their custom. It had taken them several months to converge, many emerging from deep hiding, and required much coordination to ensure that they would not be waylaid by Arrgodi troops en route. But they were here at last. Ironically, they were gathering to celebrate a birth, but the infant had already begun taking his first steps, several months ahead of schedule. Some even claimed that he was gifted with extraordinary powers, but this was whispered only in secret. For someone might overhear and send word to Arrgodi. The baby killers were always listening.
The prophecy had come true: the Deliverer had been born. The family graced by this blessed event was that of Eshnor and Alinora, two of the most beloved in Goluka. All knew the danger of speaking aloud such words as Deliverer or Slayer, or even hinting at such, for the spies of Tyrak were everywhere, and even the wind was not to be trusted. But they could celebrate the birth of a long-awaited child to a popular couple, surely, without raising any suspicion: Eshnor and Alinora had been childless for over a decade, and had long since given up hope of bearing any progeny.
And now they had a beautiful, bonny boy.
That called for a grand celebration!
“This is the blessing of stone god Vish,” said Alinora’s father to his daughter and son-in-law. “He is pleased with you for resisting the tyranny of the Usurper.” Like many Mraashk, Alinora’s father preferred to refer to the king of Arrgodi by that derogatory term rather than speak his vile name.
Alinora and Eshnor exchanged a meaningful glance. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. Barely perceptibly, he shook his head to answer in the negative. They had debated whether or not to reveal their infant son’s extraordinary nature to their family and friends. In the end, they had decided against it. Whatever he did openly, they could not cover up. But there was no need to: people invariably attributed every miraculous action to the blessings of some deity or other.
Once they said aloud that they believed their son was something more than human, perhaps even touched with a trace of divinity, surely that would change people’s perception completely. Word would spread like wildfire, and soon enough everyone across the kingdom would know about it. Including the Usurper. And while they already knew their little tyke was possessed of great power, they had no wish to test the limits of his abilities and invite the terror of Arrgodi to come and attempt to slay him. Whatever he might be, he was but a boy. And he was their boy. It was through his power the entire village had been spared the massacre of the infants. Empowered or no, there would be time enough for him to reveal the full extent of his abilities to the world, or not, as he pleased. It was not wise for them to boast about it here and now, not when Arrgodi’s spies were everywhere, watching, listening, still seeking the prophesied Slayer.
“This child is a form of Vish himself reborn!” said one of the village elders, and she was echoed in turn by a hundred others. Everyone repeated the same thought. It was a customary ritual to exclaim that a newborn was this or that stone god reborn. Husband and wife exchanged a conspiratorial smile.
Then followed the inevitable rituals of the Mraashk after such an event. First all the cowherds of Goluka formed a protective circle around little Drishya. He giggled and turned around to look at the cowherds, regarding it as some kind of game. Still unsteady on his chubby feet, he swayed constantly, and Alinora kept wanting to dart out her hands to grab him before he fell, but somehow he always managed to retain his balance. He danced around, stuffing the back of his fist into his mouth and sucking on it noisily. His antics amused all present, and all were entranced by the way he moved and danced.
“Govala! Govala! Govala!” chanted the crowd. The word simply meant “cowherd,” but it was also a title of sorts, accorded to a boy when he proved himself able enough to herd the cows of his family or clan, protect them from inclement weather or wild beasts, and bring them home safe. Govala was also the universal term for the Celestial Govala who herded all cattle everywhere, and therefore was a deity to cowherds everywhere. The term also had a playful connotation, for among the Mraashk, cowherds played as they worked, flirting, making music, dancing, feasting, and doing as they willed. To apply the title to an infant who had barely learned to walk was high praise indeed. Alinora felt herself flush with pride at the sight of her son being called by the title of govala, as the whole community watched and sang along.
“Govala! Govala! Govala!” sang the crowd, and little Drishya laughed and danced round and round, clapping his hands unsteadily, sometimes missing and almost losing his balance—but quickly regaining it and resuming his lurching dance.
One of the cowherds, an attractive woman named Shyamolie, came forward holding a cow’s tail. She waved it around Drishya as he danced, encircling him. The tip of the cow tail tickled Drishya’s ears and neck, and he giggled and reacted, squirming. Looking up at the object that had stimulated him, he tried to grasp it, but Shyamolie kept it out of his reach. He laughed, trying to spin faster to grab it. Alinora saw that he could spin as rapidly as a top if he desired—as rapidly as the wind itself—and she caught her breath, afraid that the cowherds would witness the superhuman side of her little tyke. But Shyamolie finished the cow tail waving and retired, and Drishya slowed. Alinora heaved a small sigh, smiling with relief.
Then came the bathing of the child in cow’s urine. This part Drishya ought not to have enjoyed as much as the chanting and dancing, but he even slapped himself and splashed the urine on the faces of the cowherds who were bathing him. They laughed, undeterred. All products of Mother Cow were sacred and to be revered; there was no shame in being splashed with cow urine.
Next came the sprinkling of cow dust, literally the dust from the dried cow dung. This left Drishya’s bluish-black skin powdery brown. He beamed brightly at his mother as if to say, Not to worry. I’m fine, Mother. She was glad he did not speak to her mind just then; she might not have been able to avoid reacting in front of so many people.
Then came the writing of the names of the stone god under whose protection he was believed to be born. Using fingertips dipped in wet cow dung, twelve different names of Vish were written on twelve different parts of Drishya’s body—the forehead, throat, chest, belly, left and right sides, left and right shoulders, left and right biceps, top of the back and bottom of the back.
As Alinora watched from behind the circle of busy cowherds, she saw each name glow from within as it was written, as if her Drishya’s skin reacted to the shape of the letters. The glow was very faint and only visible if you were staring directly at that spot at that instant: the cowherds were too busy writing the next name to notice. So only she saw this subtle effect. But it was unmistakable in its power and meaning. Each name glowed a distinct deep blue, then dissipated inward. It was as if the names were being absorbed into the bloodstream of her son, leaving only the shapeless crusted cow dung on the skin. She swallowed and looked around, wishing she could share this new evidence of her son’s extraordinary nature with someone, then subsided and reminded herself it was for the best that this be kept a secret.
It was ironic, though, she mused silently, that the cowherds were invoking the protection of Vish upon one who was empowered as Vish himself!
The cowherds then sprinkled sacred water—brought from the river—over their bodies, then applied the bija seed mantra to themselves, invoking the first syllable of the deity’s name followed by the nasal Auma sound. Then they applied the same bija seed mantra to Drishya, who gurgled happily and raised his arms in the air.
In conclusion they chanted verses designed to chase away the evil urrkh known for abducting or harming infants.
By the time the cowherds were done, even Drishya had tired. Sucking the back of his fist, he curled up and slept, and had to be carried by his mother indoors. She fed him from her breast till he was sated enough that he fell asleep with the teat still in his puckered wet lips.
Perhaps, Alinora thought, even a mortal imbued with divinity is still subject to weaknesses and limitations of mortal flesh. He may be empowered beyond imagining, but he is still a human babe. He still tires, needs sleep, nourishment, and rest, and he performs all the bodily functions of the mortal beings whose form he has chosen to adopt. If a stone god resides in a tree, he must grow roots and leaves and needs sunlight and water. If a stone god resides in a babe, he needs milk and sleep and laughter and love!
She cradled him in the warmth of her embrace. Mother and son slept soundly and peacefully through the night and well into the next morning. Eshnor came often to check on them, and a constant guard was maintained around the clock to ensure nobody came within harming distance of the mother and infant.