Death and Night--A Star-Touched Novella

by Roshani Chokshi

  I reached out and snatched the darkness, dragging it down to earth with me. It needed to be sewn into the world, tucked beneath every leaf and stone, hewn to every mountain crest and sculpted into the bowl of every lush valley. But the only way to make the night stick to the world was to dance it into place.

  And so I did.

  Unlike Nritti, I had no gunghroo bells to transfix my audience. But the sound of my feet hitting the forest floor caused the birds in the trees to tuck their heads beneath their wings. When I pressed my fingers into mudras, no crowd roared with applause. But the earth sighed, as if it had finally accepted the weight of darkness and chose to sleep rather than spar. I bent, ready to unfurl the last shadow when I heard twigs snapping underfoot.

  Cold pierced my spine.

  Whenever I danced, every mortal thing that may have been able to see me would instantly fall asleep. In the mortal realms, everything could die. Not even the trees watched.

  Yet, something … someone … was doing the impossible.

  I spun around. “Who’s there?”

  From beneath the heart-shaped leaves of a peepal tree, something rustled. And a voice, so lush it made ambrosia acrid, answered me.

  “Only the lowly painter who tries each night, in vain, to capture evening herself.”

  “What do you want? Show yourself.”

  The stranger stepped out of the peepal tree. He was broad-shouldered, his features as severely beautiful as a strike of lightning. He wore a crown of blackbuck horns that arced in graceful whorls of onyx, catching the light. But it was his gaze that robbed the clamoring rhythm in my chest.

  His stare slipped beneath my skin. And when he saw my eyes widen, he smiled. And in that moment, his smile banished my loneliness. He moved toward me, grasping my hand, and his touch hummed in my bones like an aria. A song to my dance. The beginning of a promise.

  Which is just about when I realized that I was wearing nothing.

  And also when I realized that he didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t wearing anything.

  I yanked my hand away in the same instant that shadows rushed out of the ground to hug my body. Granted, it was hard to tell what was what when the sky and I looked the same. You had to look close. But this stranger had looked at me the way no one had before, and I wasn’t taking any chances.

  Shock forced me to stare at him, and my heart plummeted. The blackbuck horns. The leather bracelet around his wrist that I knew could swing into a noose at any time.

  “Gods,” I breathed.

  “Just one,” said the Dharma Raja, grinning.

  I raised an eyebrow and gestured at myself.

  “You specified gods,” he said. “Not goddesses.”

  I raised one brow. “I am glad you acknowledged me, oh Dharma Raja. For a moment, I thought you had confused me for a mortal and meant to take my soul.”

  “I’m not here for your soul.”

  But he was here for something. My eyebrows soared up my forehead. The Dharma Raja never left Naraka unless a pristine human soul had called him to the human world. He never wandered through the Night Bazaar. And Nritti told me that he rarely attended the festivities in the heavenly courts. When he did, he was notoriously somber. The only time he enjoyed himself was when he was tormenting any visiting mortal kings by dropping his noose beside their knees by “accident.”

  “What are you here for?”

  Without any hesitation, he said: “I am here to make you my bride.”

  Shock rooted me to the spot. All I could do was stare. And as I stared, I had the strange observation that he had the kind of beauty made for nighttime. Not because the darkness blurred his features or hid any imperfections. But because the shadows understood him. The shadows silhouetted his impressive frame, so that he looked cut from the sky. And when he grinned, I saw some of the beauty that belonged to night alone. Moon roses unfurling in quartz caves. Midnight rivers swollen with stars. Secret sights that were never meant for sunlight.

  I met his eyes levelly and folded my arms across my chest. “Why now?”

  He frowned, as if that was not the question he had prepared to answer. “Not ‘why me?’”

  “I don’t need a recitation of my virtues and beauty. Although I wouldn’t say no to an epic ballad dedicated to them either…”

  “I shall start composing immediately…”

  “You wouldn’t be my first suitor, and you probably won’t be my last. So no. I know why you would ask. What I want to know is why you have chosen now of all times to come out of hiding in unmarried bliss…”

  “People think I’ve been hiding this whole time?”

  “What did you want them to think you were doing?”

  “Something more sinister.”

  “Brooding?” I suggested.

  He considered this. “It would be less insulting than cowering from potential brides.”

  “Have you met the women of the Otherworld?” I asked, laughing. “I assure you that no one would find you cowardly for hiding from them. We are fearsome to behold.”

  The corner of his mouth tilted up. “I’ve gathered.”

  “So? Why now?”

  He drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. Had he practiced this? I wanted to laugh, then thought better than to humiliate him.

  “I would like a companion. The duty of my existence is to tend to the balance of things and I have failed in that regard toward my own personal life. Besides, I think you and I would suit well. I wish for a queen who would rule beside me and not be afraid of the dark. You wish for recognition. There will be no love between us, but there will be tranquil balance without the complication of passions and I will be true to you and honor you above all others.”

  My fingers tightened in my sari. Had a more bland and lifeless proposal ever been delivered? Nritti’s proposals always involved men jumping out of balconies and trying to cut a path through the stars, or women making declarations of unending love and swearing it on every hair of her head.

  “I’ve heard about you,” he said quietly. His solemnity broke, and curiosity took its place. “Every night you peddle dream fruit. Every night you ask for someone to tell you a part of their day. Every night you ask if they remember the dreams you gave them. Someone else might think it’s a routine check of your merchandise, but I suspect it is more. I suspect that you feel a flicker of hope every time someone remembers the dreams you gave them. I suspect that you want them to remember and perhaps even act upon it. Why do you do it?”

  No one had ever spoken to me like that.

  “I thought kings prided themselves on subtlety.”

  He shrugged. “Death is not subtle. Death is a slam in the chest, a sudden extinguishing of lights. Why should I be any different?”

  Fair.

  “Then to answer your question I do it because I want to be more than the stories reflected on my skin,” I said. I’d never spoken those words aloud, not even to Nritti. And once I had freed them from my thoughts, I couldn’t seem to stop: “I want to make things that are true. I want to write my own legacy in the stars instead of simply having the stars be my legacy.”

  As I spoke, rage flickered in my voice. I thought of all the times I had tried to push for more and all the times the world had pushed back. When you had everything, what was more? When I looked into the Dharma Raja’s eyes, I saw a shadow of that craving. That desire for the bone-deep contentment of wanting nothing. I craved that fullness. I craved it every time I woke to a fresh dusk and fell into my solitary work, knowing that this copse of trees and slice of time was all I possessed. I craved it when I walked through the Night Bazaar, arms full of dream fruit and wondering if any of their flavors would last beyond sleep’s fickle memory.

  He tilted his head, considering this. “You want power.”

  “Recognition.”

  “Same thing,” he said, waving a hand. “My kingdom could use someone like you. A queen with fury in her heart and shadows in her smile. Someone restless and clever.”

&
nbsp; Queen. Being queen—especially of a realm like Naraka—was a position bristling with power. But simply because time grew in abundance didn’t mean that it should be squandered. Besides, the Dharma Raja himself said that I should expect no love in our marriage. Who would ever want that? I’d forgotten how many times Nritti and I had spoken of finding love. And the truth was that I wanted to spend my life with someone who made eternity too short. I wanted a love that time could never erode, a foundation that would grow spires and turrets large enough to swallow constellations. And yet I wanted love like a home, a corner of the universe built for two and snug as skin. I wouldn’t settle for less. Queen or no.

  “I will not have you,” I said.

  “Rather hasty.”

  “So was your proposal. Choose another.”

  “I choose you.”

  His cold arrogance splintered. And beneath it, I saw someone who looked as hesitant as I felt. My hands dropped from my body. For a split second, I let myself revel in the knowledge that he wanted me. He, whom so many others had blindly tried to discover behind the samite curtains of Teej. He, who ruled Naraka with an iron fist and a flinty gaze but was as notorious for his honor as he was his isolation. He … who had introduced himself as a lowly painter who tries each night, in vain, to capture evening herself.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “Regretfully, oh Dharma Raja, I must reject your proposal,” I said, dropping into a half-curtsy that could best be described as an unfortunate flop. “And out of the goodness in my heart, I must warn you that should you inflict that horrific introductory line on any other woman, she will probably reject you too.”

  His gaze dropped. Nritti would be horrified with me. I had insulted the Dharma Raja. As I watched him, I noticed that his shoulders had begun to shake. He was … laughing. He threw his head back, laughing all the while. When he finally stopped, he looked me in the eye and said:

  “May I visit you again? If you do not wish it, I will not return. I would not disrespect your wishes.”

  “But … but I just rejected you.”

  “I prefer the challenge of courtship.”

  He made it sound as if this was a game. I found myself intrigued, but not enchanted. And certainly not in love. I pushed out the memory of the first time I saw him and that inexplicable surge between us that felt like a secret I’d forgotten. If he wanted to play a game with me, then so be it. I have never lost.

  “I have nothing better to do, so I suppose I can indulge my curiosity,” I said, lifting my chin. “For your own sake, please don’t imagine that means I’m interested in becoming your queen. I won’t marry without love. And you refuse to marry with love. So it seems we are at an impasse.”

  “So it seems. But you may surprise yourself in finding what matters more to you,” he said smoothly. “I’ve spent eons wandering. Do you know how many times I’ve been offered everything if only I would let them live? Men have offered their wives in their stead. Mothers have sometimes tried to exchange one child’s life for another. Lovers will suddenly have a change of heart when one meets the dagger and the other is left wondering whether life without them is quite so dismal after all.”

  Even as he spoke, ambition lit up my thoughts. If I never found love, would it be so bad to possess every other dream of mine but that one? But then I steeled myself. I had seen the loss of love too often and soothed too many lonely hearts to sleep that I refused to live that way.

  “We will see whose thoughts win out in the end.”

  “I never lose.”

  I smiled. “Neither do I.”

  “I suspect that over the course of our courtship, you may feel differently.”

  “You’ll court me with tales of bitter disillusionment and jaded tales of love? Please excuse me while I swoon at your feet.”

  He fell quiet for a second and pain flickered over his face. Then, just as quickly, he resumed his collected demeanor.

  “It is customary to bring gifts when courting,” he said. “Do you … want anything?”

  “Of course I want things.” I laughed. “I want the moon for my throne. Stars to wear in my hair. A garden unlike any in all the realms.”

  He considered this. “It shall be done. I will take my leave of you now.”

  “You’ll come back tomorrow?” I asked.

  He looked at me, bewildered. As if the thought of not coming back was nothing short of impossible.

  “And the next day. And the day after that.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “And if I never say yes?”

  “If that is the case, then I hope you’d take pity on me and tell me never to return. Even death shows mercy, for at least it is an ending.”

  When he left, sticky warmth seeped into my grove of trees. I never liked the heat. Nritti loved basking in the sun, but I preferred the cold. When the Dharma Raja stood before me, the very atmosphere had turned cool and winter-scented. Maybe that’s why I had relaxed in his presence. Even now, my body hungered for the cold of him. I stared at the spot where he had disappeared. As long as it takes.

  What exactly had I agreed to?

  And why would he ask for a marriage without love?

  * * *

  When the Dharma Raja left, I collected the dream fruit. I placed my hand against the bark and found it perfectly cold and polished as a pearl. One by one, I plucked the ripest fruits. They were dusky as plums, and yet there was something of the Otherworld to them. An uncanny chill to their flesh. A strange gemstone sheen to their deep violet. The moment someone ate them, the flesh would break apart—inky and star-flecked as the night sky. It tasted like the outskirts of consciousness. Of wanting. That’s what made the Otherworld so ravenous. This was why I asked every night for them to tell me about their day. I wanted to hear the lilt at the end of their sentences. How they had yearned for one last piece of moon candy. How they had been pulled from their beds too early. Sometimes the act of wanting was more intoxicating than the pleasure of realizing the act.

  I arrived in the Night Bazaar just in time to watch Nritti’s last dance. Every time I crossed into the Otherworld, a wave of shock fell over me. There were so many people. So many things. Life pulsed all around me and I reveled in the surge of sounds, so different from my usual quiet haunt where sleep and shadows frosted the world.

  My collection of dream fruit floated behind me, kept cool in its shadow bundle. Soon, I’d have to make my way to the side of Night, which was the only place where the fruit wouldn’t spoil. But for a moment, I tilted my head back and stared at the sun. I had to settle for this half-view of daytime and this ripped sky. As always, my imagination wandered over what the sky truly looked like during the day. When I awoke each dusk, the world looked bloodied, as if the sun had waged a war to stay in the sky and lost. Nritti said morning and day were soft and golden, an infinite crown fitted over the world. She said it looked like peace. I wished I could’ve known peace.

  The passersby began to jostle back and forth. Some inclined their heads to me in respect. Others turned away, disgust flitting across their features. I steeled myself. Whenever a mortal prince visited the Otherworld, the large crowd diluted the true denizens of the Night Bazaar. For the most part, the Otherworld understood my role in the balance of light and dark. They never perceived me as some harbinger of evil. But when beings poured in from every crevice of the world, they dragged along whatever local superstitions had gathered in the places where they haunted and guarded, ruled and treasured. The human world was still young. To them, night brought no dreams. Only nightmares made real.

  “It’s her,” a naga whispered to his mate. Their cobra hoods flared around their faces.

  Beliefs in fear had a way of tethering minds. I couldn’t help that once I had tucked night around the world that things with empty backs and hollow grins began to look for sustenance. Night was not meant to be protective. Night was meant to be restorative. Most days, I let that knowledge spread through me like
a balm. But today I felt exhausted. I moved away from the naga and his mate without glancing into their eyes.

  Around me, vendors hawked all manner of objects. There were sweets for sale—handfuls of stardust shaped into glittering whorls and shimmering blossoms. A beautiful nagini grabbed a fistful and waved it through the air.

  “To enhance the beautiful visions dancing before your eyes! Guaranteed to taste sweeter than an apsara’s kiss or one year of your life will be returned to you free of charge!” she promised.

  More vendors. More tables. Enchanted flutes for sale. A tonic in an emerald bottle guaranteed to honey the voice and ensnare listeners. Tins of cosmetics, kohl made from pressed shadows, and pots of deep red and scarlet stolen from the last flames of sunset.

  In front of me, a couple playfully argued as they made their way to the podium of celestial nymphs.

  “What if you prefer their beauty to mine and leave me?” teased the woman in front of me. She was a lovely being. Her slim torso disappeared into elegant golden feathers and shining talons. Golden pearls wreathed her wings and her smile was lustrous. Content.

  Her mate leaned toward her. Light winked out in the space between his head curving to hers, like day flashing to night. He traced her feathers.

  “Your beauty rivals the sun. Your sweetness rivals the moon. You are every beginning and end,” he said, brushing a kiss to her temple. “You are entirely inescapable.”

  The tenderness between them sharpened into an edge, and I felt cut. I remembered, suddenly, what loneliness looked like. Loneliness looked like a gaping hole where there should have been your reflection in a mirror. My throat tightened. I couldn’t look away from the couple, and yet the longer I stared at them, the more I felt a heaviness weighing on my chest.

  I walked faster, and my thoughts slipped into familiar daydreams. Daydreams of shadows fitted together, eager hands waiting to trace a beloved face, warmth blossoming between two hearts. In those dim spaces behind want, a face emerged in my dreams. A hard and unforgiving face, whose beauty belonged to the night and whose eyes looked cut from stone. The Dharma Raja. As soon as the image came to mind, I jolted. I couldn’t picture the Dharma Raja walking beside me in the Night Bazaar. But for some reason, I could picture him walking beside me in other places. By a grove of silver trees. By a sea of pleated starlight. By a palace of marble and glass.