THE CROWD WAS ENORMOUS, the mood jubilant, the atmosphere electric with anticipation. Out of the press of people, a young man and a hunchbacked older woman came forward, clearly eager to have closer contact with Drishya. The hunchbacked woman was too stooped to even look up at his wagon properly. Drishya saw her plight and leaped down from the wagon. He strode to where the lady stood and took her by the shoulders gently.
“Mother,” he said, “you wish to meet me?”
To his surprise, the woman straightened up, up, up until she was standing normally, her back upright, her hunch gone. She looked around, surprised, feeling for her hunch with her hands by reaching around. Beside her, the younger man exclaimed and reacted. “It is a miracle! My mother’s hunchback is gone!” Others around him agreed and shouted their amazement.
At once the cry rose from the crowd. “Drishya cured the old woman!”
Tears were streaming down the woman’s face. “My life ambition is fulfilled,” she said. “I have seen the stone god with my own eyes.”
Drishya embraced her warmly. “And he has embraced you, Mother. Go in peace.”
When he returned to the cart, Alinora said, “That was a wonderful gesture, Drishya. Curing the old woman’s affliction. It was truly a miracle.” Her sisters, Drishya’s aunts, all agreed vociferously.
“Mother, to be honest, all I meant to do was help her stand straighter so she could see me clearly as she wanted. The rest was the result of her own faith and inner conviction. I had nothing to do with it whatsoever!”
And it was the truth.
It was always the person’s own faith that caused the cure, not some divine application of Auma by Drishya. All he had to do was be there, and it was enough.
They continued through the city at snail’s pace, the wagon constantly crowded by people crying out, laughing, shouting, going into paroxysms of ecstasy at the sight of Drishya. Many incidents such as the curing of the old woman occurred, too many to count or recount. Finally, one of their Arrgodi friends who was helping clear the way for the procession announced that they would reach the wrestling fields soon.
Suddenly, a loud roar of dismay rose from the crowds ahead. Drishya saw people running away, past the wagon and back the way they had just come. They looked over their shoulders fearfully as they ran, clearly fleeing from something or someone. The Arrgodi guiding the procession shouted agitatedly to one another. Finally, the Arrgodi in front of their wagon turned and looked up at Drishya and Eshnor.
“My lords, it is Eredon, the dreaded demon elephant belonging to Tyrak. He has gone mad, they say, and is attacking and killing everyone in sight. We must turn the wagon around at once.”
“We shall do nothing of the sort,” Drishya said. “It would not be right to turn back just as we are reaching the contest grounds. It would seem unsporting and cowardly. Ride on, Father.”
Eshnor did as Drishya bid.
They went a few yards further. By now, the street had cleared, and only the empty road wound ahead, hemmed in on either side by the walls bounding the military cantonment. They came around a winding turn into a straight stretch, and there they saw it, waiting about twenty or thirty yards ahead.
Drishya dismounted from the wagon. “Father, stay here. I will go take care of this.”
“Drishya, be careful,” Alinora cried out.
Drishya walked toward the elephant.
It was a giant among elephants, a great white beast. It was old too, its eyes rheumy and heavily wrinkled. Its hide was scored in a hundred places with scars of old battles in which it had fought: spear marks, lance gashes, sword cuts, javelin wounds, arrow punctures . . . It was impressive that the beast still lived, let alone had such energy and strength.
It moved with the ponderous gait of a large, heavy beast, and Drishya estimated it must weigh twice or thrice as much as most local bull elephants. Its enormous ears flapped like the fans held by royal servants attending a king. Its eyes were red and blazing with feverish rage, its mouth slobbering, its enormous tusks yellowed with age but still whole, still sharp enough to gore and kill.
Several dead Arrgodi lay around it, and their blood was smeared on its tusks and armor. The armor itself was designed to drive fear into the hearts of its enemy and bristled with jagged metal points and edges. Clearly, even friendly soldiers must stay far from this beast in battle, or else risk being cut to ribbons on its armor. Drishya could easily imagine Tyrak riding atop this monster, matching its destructive power with his own killing rage.
The elephant raised its trunk and trumpeted at the sight of Drishya approaching. The sound rang out across the city like a war horn announcing the start of battle. The immense crowds that had thronged the streets to greet the procession had fallen silent as news of the mad elephant traveled through the city. Drishya knew that people were watching from behind him and that every detail of what happened next would be spread by word of mouth like wildfire.
Eredon reared up and thudded back to earth with a force that Drishya felt, even ten yards away. It made the ground underfoot shake, and plaster dust fell from the walls that hemmed them in. He understood that Tyrak had chosen this spot because it afforded no place to run sideways. Either Drishya had to come forward and face the elephant or turn back and be seen retreating.
There was no question of retreating.
He came forward slowly, as if he were walking in Mraashk by the lake, along the pastures, overseeing his father’s herd.
The elephant trumpeted its displeasure at this insolence, lowered its head, and charged.
Drishya stopped and faced the elephant. Behind him, he could hear Alinora and his aunts and uncles all voicing their concern. After all, even if he was a god and would eventually triumph, he did feel pain and trauma, he had come close to having his mortal form destroyed—everyone understood this now and knew that invulnerable was only a word used by those ignorant of the laws of nature. All that was born must die. All that was created could be destroyed.
The demon elephant bellowed like a bull as it charged, head lowered to aim its deadly tusks at man level. Its feet pounded the dirt road, raising a cloud of dust. Its fury was prodigious.
Drishya neither moved nor budged. He stood his ground and let the elephant charge directly at him. Every pair of eyes in Arrgodi was watching. It was important to send a message loud and clear. Drishya would not be intimidated or turn away from threat. He was here to make a stand.
The elephant’s pounding caused the ground beneath his feet to shudder as if in the grip of a tremblor. The great white body loomed before him, moving at the speed of a horse’s fastest gallop, and those massive deadly tusks pointed straight at his belly and vitals.
Man and beast met in a head-on collision.