Star Daughter

by Shveta Thakrar

  It was true. Starlight limned Sheetal like an aura, and if there had been any doubt as to her heritage before, there wasn’t any now. The slender silver chain across her hairline, the dangling tika, the necklace and chandelier earrings, and the diamond nose ring, not to mention her butterfly-strewn sparkling hair in its low bun, all caught and reflected her illumination, transforming her features into those of Nani’s heir apparent.

  “My daughter,” breathed Charumati, her hand at her mouth. “My beautiful daughter.”

  Minal clapped wildly. “You’re gorgeous, Sheetu!”

  Seeing her reflection in the full-length gilt-edged mirror now, made radiant by the attendants and ravishing by sartorial magic, Sheetal had to agree. Nani stood on one side of her, Charumati on the other. Three generations of star women, all aglow with sorcery and strength. Like they had fallen out of a fairy tale. Like Sheetal was still in it.

  The flame at her core kindled, sending warmth and musical notes flowing through her veins. Her lips parted, her throat brimming over with words ready to splash out as song. Soon.

  “Desi Cinderella, off to the ball,” Minal cracked. She took a picture with her phone. “But no glass chappals for you. If one broke, how bad that would slice up your foot?”

  Sheetal loved the way the shadowsilk traced her curves and the sweep of luminescence around her form. She could light up the heavens. She could inspire the birth of stories.

  Beena nudged her. “Good! You are permitted to take pleasure in this,” she scolded. “We designed you an ensemble fit for royalty, after all.”

  “Indeed, dikri.” Charumati straightened Sheetal’s tika.

  Sheetal couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, fine.”

  She’d worry about the contest later. It was her birthday, after all, and no one had ever thrown a huge, no-holds-barred bash in her honor before. Definitely not Radhikafoi, who kept things small when it came to Sheetal.

  “The ball will be splendid,” Nani said, dismissing the ladies-in-waiting. “We will dine and dance together in the central court.”

  Sheetal glanced at her reflection one more time. The silver-tressed, brown-skinned girl before her stared back, powerful. Soft and sturdy as spider silk. Mistress of herself. A hint of starry fire smoldered in her eyes like a signal.

  “I think,” Sheetal said, exchanging a smile with that girl in the mirror, “it’s time to go enjoy my party.”

  Blue lights turned everything in the court proper into a fever dream, from the crystal chandelier to the gem lanterns to the multitude of guests, all in peacock and cobalt and lapis. Some wore saris that fell in perfect pleats, others sherwanis and kurtas just as crisp and delicately embroidered, and still others something entirely unfamiliar and fine, their ebony and mercury fabrics stained azure. Candles in mosaic glasses sat sprinkled here and there, burning with flames silver as starlight.

  The ball was everything Sheetal could have imagined, the picture of sidereal splendor. Silver shone everywhere, from the twenty-seven sets of paired thrones on the sickle-shaped dais to the diamond flecks floating in the air like stardust. But she hadn’t anticipated the glittering garden full of night-blooming flowers—jasmine, lilacs, lanternlike bleeding hearts, and moonlight lotuses, the same flower her mother had left for her. The blooms served as a dance floor, springing right back up after being stepped on.

  Nani and her team had really done a fabulous job. Sheetal almost didn’t recognize the place where she’d had her first rehearsal.

  From the dais, Nani and Nana beamed out at the court. “On behalf of the House of Pushya, welcome to the natal day celebration of Sheetal, House Pushya’s own champion. Please eat, dance, rejoice!”

  Sheetal didn’t miss that Nana hadn’t mentioned her heritage or majority, sidestepping the thorny question of her eligibility as a champion. She opened herself to the astral melody to gauge the reaction.

  Curiosity and gladness encased her in a silver spiral. Like Minal had said, not everyone was against her. That was nice to know. Anyone else was smart enough to keep their feelings veiled.

  “Your light,” Charumati murmured, and Sheetal sent her pewter flame out over her skin. The butterflies in her hair, which had been so still she’d forgotten their presence, twitched. Moths to the flame. She should remember that one to throw at Dev later. It was only fair.

  The guests applauded and called out congratulations. Sheetal soaked it all in like a sponge. For once, she didn’t have to hide. It felt awesome to be seen. Not just that, but to be celebrated. It made her forget for a second that this wouldn’t last past tonight.

  “Go,” said Nana with a smile. “Enjoy yourself, child.”

  As Sheetal wandered away, she counted apsaras with their golden crowns, yakshas in leaf tunics, nagas’ scaly and muscular coils undulating—all dancing and feasting. For once, she was probably the least weird person in attendance.

  Gandharvas played on the stage where the fifty-four Esteemed would normally sit, their music wild and swift. It reminded Sheetal of garbas back on Earth, only this song was also tinged with melancholy. A glimpse into mystical worlds like this one. She wanted to drown in it.

  And there was still so much more to see, so much more to taste.

  Tables of food lined one wall, more than Sheetal could imagine an army being able to finish, delicacies like what she had seen at the Night Market: candied moonlight lotus petals, little silver frostberry pastries dusted with cardamom and saffron, chunks of crystallized reverie rolled with slivered pistachios.

  Bonbons dipped in peacock blue and silver fondant surrounded a large, tiered teal cake, the entire thing spangled with silver swirls and blue-and-green jewels molded to look like feathers. A spun-sugar peacock perched on the top layer fanned its tail open and closed, candy eyes blinking, and called for rain: “Meh-aao, meh-aao!”

  This cake, this music, this celebration was all for her. All for her! Sheetal wanted to preserve it in a snow globe, something she could shake and press to her face as the sprinkle of lights within drifted down.

  She bit into one of the bonbons. Silky floral cream spilled onto her tongue, and for a moment she was borne away on the backs of enormous swans flying through the sky, each formed of shifting cumulus clouds. For a moment, she was the swan, bold and free.

  Then she was back in the hall, among the blue lights and whirling guests. She’d somehow moved farther down the tables and now stood before a row of crystal carafes filled with glittering frostberry wine and a golden liquid that had to be amrit, the heavenly nectar. Everything she could want to try, everything she could want to help her forget her troubles.

  “Permit me to pour you a drink,” a voice offered. Sheetal glanced up to see a dakini, her scarlet skin purpling in the lights. Even here, she was bare of breast, her neck garlanded with a string of skulls. The dakini bore a cup aloft, and her smile was a spear. “Consider it a gesture of goodwill from your fellow champion Sachin.”

  Sheetal knew a little about dakinis; like apsaras, they were sky dancers, but unlike apsaras, they were also warriors who ferociously guarded the path of enlightenment. Though some were known for their compassion, this one’s scorching gaze only held a challenge. “I’m all right, thanks.”

  “How is it a celebration if the guest of honor is not drinking to her induction?” the dakini asked.

  Sheetal could smell the amrit, Lord Indra’s beverage of choice. It sang to her with the strength of the stellar music, waking hidden longings. Of course she wanted to try it, to taste it on her tongue, to lick the traces off her lips.

  But not tonight, and definitely not if Sachin had sent it.

  She searched the room until she found him with Jeet and Priyanka. Jeet said something, and Sachin shrugged and looked away.

  A few feet from them, Minal and Padmini were both chatting animatedly with people Sheetal didn’t recognize, though even the most oblivious bystander couldn’t miss the fleeting glances they threw each other every five seconds. It hurt to watch.

  �
��Excuse me,” Sheetal said, and headed in their direction. But before she reached them, Beena waylaid her, insisting she dance. When she looked back, the crowd had swallowed Minal. Sheetal let herself be led onto the dance floor, spinning and twirling, a pinpoint in a massive constellation of extraordinary creatures. It was like swimming inside a star sapphire.

  On the stage, the gandharvas played long, mesmeric beats that grew faster and faster; and on the floor, two large circles formed, one facing the other. Sheetal took her place in the inner circle, linking hands on one side with a pari. The pari’s wings floated out behind her, patterned with the same stained-glass veining as a damselfly’s. In the wash of blues, Sheetal couldn’t tell what colors they might be, though they twinkled in the lights floating through the room.

  She glanced up to see Leela and Kirti beaming at her from the outer circle, easily keeping pace with the dance. “Are you ready for the competition?” Leela called. “I can’t wait to hear you sing.”

  “Thanks! I can’t wait to see your painting,” Sheetal called back, but the thrumming of the tabla absorbed her reply.

  Besides, the dancers were carrying Leela away now, their circle moving to Sheetal’s left while the other circle moved to her right. She caught another glimpse of Priyanka and Jeet before a gaggle of apsaras moved into the center of the inner circle and began to spin, each movement of their hands and feet like a flower opening.

  This is what it would have been like if I had been here all along, Sheetal marveled. Eating things straight out of a catalog of dreams. Living always in the sidereal song. Never knowing the pain of waking to a bloated belly and cramps that made you want to rip your own guts out. Never worrying about things like taxes and drunk drivers and pipes freezing in the middle of a subzero New Jersey winter.

  Never learning Mom could leave, and Dad could almost die.

  It was all too large to take in, too brilliant and strange. It made her want to cry at the same time it made her want to sing. She never wanted it to end. Tomorrow she would return to Dad, to find a way to live on Earth even as a star, but tonight, she danced.

  She twirled, clapping to the beat and leaning backward and forward. The apsaras made beautiful things of their bodies, shaping their fingers into lotuses, each motion of their hips telling a story. Sheetal could never hope to compete with them, and she didn’t want to. She just wanted to look at them, her serpentine and starry and spellbinding kin, and drink in the feeling of family.

  The pari’s wings fluttered open and closed, and no one seemed to mind how much space they took up, making people bump into one another. On Sheetal’s other side, Beena danced with a lissome energy, way more agile than Sheetal had ever been.

  Charumati approached, her starry diadem set atop silver locks bound up into a loose pile of ringlets and her jewelry gleaming from her ears, neck, wrists, and fingers. She smiled, gorgeous as a crystal halo adorning the fullness of a late autumn moon, and reached out with one delicate hand.

  The starry melody wandered from Sheetal’s heart up to her throat, from her core to her fingertips. She released the pari’s hand and took her mother’s.

  In answer, the pari slipped away, leaving a gap for Charumati to fill. They rejoined the shimmering blue dance, which had become even faster, more feral.

  Sheetal had no clue whether they danced for a few minutes or hours and hours. Each beat of her pulse ricocheted in her chest in time with the gandharvas’ tabla. When her grandparents entered the dance, the knowledge of their presence resounded through her. Her core flared brighter, hotter. She whirled, she shimmied, she clapped and swayed.

  Suddenly Kaushal spun her around, and she laughed, letting everything but the music and the movement fade away.

  “You are surprisingly adequate at this,” he yelled. Feeling entirely human again, Sheetal stuck out her tongue. “What? It was a compliment!”

  Behind him, Sheetal spotted Padmini stalking toward them. Her light dimmed and flickered in alarm.

  Kaushal turned to see what Sheetal was looking at. “Hide me!”

  Then Padmini was on them. She grabbed Kaushal by the shoulders and wrenched him out of the circle. “I told you to stay in our apartments!”

  “Perhaps I had other plans,” Kaushal countered, twisting away.

  Padmini pressed a hand to her mouth. Her eyes glimmered wetly. “I know he helped you. How could you ask that of him?”

  “I’m sorry,” Sheetal began. “I didn’t want—”

  “And then to flaunt him out in the open like this!”

  “It was my choice,” Kaushal snapped. “I believe in Charumati’s cause.”

  Padmini started to respond, but then, through the shifting storm of blues, Sheetal saw Jeet approaching the table with his entourage—including Dev.

  Her whole body lit up, inside and out, and her grin strained her cheeks. Dev grinned back, a private smile that warmed her down to her toes.

  Rati helped herself to a frostberry tart. “Have you decided?” she inquired casually, as if they were discussing whether to rejoin the dancing.

  “I told you, I’m not doing it,” Jeet said, looking at Sheetal. He grabbed a piece of cake. “Cool party. Must be handy to have family here to clean up your messes and show you off before sticking you in a contest you have no right to be in. What’s that like? Seriously, I want to know.”

  “Dude, would you give it a rest?” Dev cut in. “You’re being an ass.”

  Jeet stiffened. “Nice. After everything, this is what I get from you?”

  “I don’t even know who you are anymore. Can’t you just go back to the way you were?”

  “This is who I am.” Jeet’s voice could have turned an entire lake to ice. “Someone who wants to win. I thought you wanted that, too.”

  Rati handed the remains of her tart to a nearby attendant. “Indeed. Then let us get on with the matter at hand.” She studied Kaushal. “Here is as good a stage as any, and this one can tell us all about Eshana’s love of half-star brats.”

  “Leave him out of this,” Padmini cried, blocking Kaushal from Rati’s view.

  “Okay,” said Sheetal, “someone tell me what’s going on. Why do you keep talking about my grandma?”

  That was all it took; the spell was spoiled, the enchanted ball an iridescent soap bubble that had burst. Now the suspicions she’d held at bay orbited her like vultures: Nani closing the gates. Nani throwing her a ball to celebrate her majority, her transformation. Rati goading her to confront Nani.

  “Yes,” Rati crowed, “who wishes to tell Sheetal about her dear Esteemed Matriarch and her sister, Ojasvini?”

  Though her gorge rose, Sheetal tried hard to sound bored. “What about her? She used to live here. So what?”

  Rati’s smile widened until it was toxic, a viper’s bite. “So what, indeed?”

  Other stars had stopped dancing and were staring now. Including Nani and Nana. Minal and Charumati rushed up, Charumati’s face locked in a struggle between dread and near-smugness. “Rati,” she cautioned, “do you really wish to do this?”

  “That is quite enough,” Nani said, her back straight and her head held high.

  “What? Do I speak untrue?” Rati asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

  “Go,” Nana murmured to Nani. “It is almost time for the competition as it is.”

  Jeet moved closer to Sheetal. “You know, some of us really need this break. Ever think about that?” His contemptuous laugh couldn’t quite mask the bleak tone of his question. For a second, under the sallow skin and shadowed eyes, Sheetal glimpsed the vulnerable, hopeful boy Dev had known.

  She even felt sorry for him.

  Until he said, “You’re sitting here and sneering at my family, but you probably should have bothered to research your own history better.”

  Sheetal dug into her cuticle, taking comfort in the old pain. A drop of blood appeared. It was still red.

  “Come, Sheetal,” Nani said, softly but decisively. “You as well, Rati. You wish to speak? We will speak
.”

  Charumati placed a hand on the small of Sheetal’s back and nudged her forward. Trembling, Sheetal followed Nani out of the court.

  28

  Sheetal gouged her fingernails into her palms as she waited for Nani to say something. Across from her, Rati somehow dominated the familiar sitting room, making it impossible to look anywhere else.

  “We are so proud of you, dikri,” Nani said. “You are a credit to our nakshatra and our family.” She didn’t smile, but silver light limned her skin. “I have prepared a droplet of blood for you to take to your father. It will be yours tonight.”

  “As will your circlet,” Charumati added, “when we crown you after the competition.”

  “Uh, thank you,” Sheetal said, “but what—what . . .” How was she supposed to just come out and ask her grandmother point-blank what she’d been hiding?

  “What, beti?” Nani asked pleasantly.

  “Tell her, Eshana,” Rati hissed. “Or I will.”

  Nani turned sparking eyes on her. “You. Too long you have been a thorn in my side. You truly believe we do not know you have fed your champion your own blood, in flagrant defiance of the bylaws?”

  The air in the room went cold as frost, or at least Sheetal did.

  Wait. Nani knew? She felt like she’d been chucked out the palace window into the endless night, and no matter how hard she scrabbled, there was nothing to hold on to.

  Rati’s haughty smile stayed fixed in place, but a muscle in her cheek twitched. “What an odd accusation,” she bit out. “Simply because you do not wish to be revealed as the self-serving hypocrite you are.”

  “It is easy to call names. It is harder to believe that perhaps not everyone in your nakshatra is as loyal to you as you might wish,” Nani said. “And Rati, how careless, how arrogant you have been, feeding him so much so swiftly. You would have done better to be gradual in your dosing.”

  “You can prove nothing.” Rati preened.

  Nani, though, just laughed. “A simple inspection of the mortal’s blood, and we will have all the proof we need.”