ASH MISTRY AND THE CITY OF DEATH

by Sarwat Chadda

  Ash tried to remember the film. There was something about chilled monkey brains and Indians being badass until the white hero came along and spoiled all the fun. “They strangled people quite a lot.”

  “Yes. It was the old way. They killed their victims without spilling blood. Have you ever strangled a man?”

  “No.” But he’d come close, hadn’t he? Ash blushed with shame, thinking of how he’d almost strangled his dad when he’d dreamed of being the first Ashoka.

  Parvati unwrapped her light cotton scarf and wound the ends round her fists. “It’s hard work. The victim struggles, and unless you get the cloth in exactly the right place, knot under the Adam’s apple, you waste a lot of energy achieving not very much.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done it.”

  “You think I’d need a scarf?”

  No, of course not. Parvati’s venom was lethal to man, demon, and probably god. One bite would do the job. Not for the first time Ash wondered exactly how many people she had killed in her long, long life.

  “Do you know the legend of how the Thugs were made?” she asked.

  “Not something that comes up in the National Curriculum.”

  “Kali was fighting a terrible demon. A demon as powerful as Ravana, and she was alone. All the other gods had fled.” Parvati had a faraway look. It wasn’t as though she was telling a story, something she’d read or been told by another person. It was as if she was remembering it from her past.

  She continued. “So there she is, stabbing and slashing at this rakshasa. But she can’t defeat him. Every drop of blood she spills, out grows another rakshasa. Soon she’ll be overwhelmed.”

  “What does she do?”

  Parvati ran her palm over her arm. “The goddess takes sweat from her body and creates two men. She rips a strip of cloth from her skirt and gives it to them. They kill each and every rakshasa.” Parvati made a twisting movement with her fists. “Strangling them.”

  “Killing them without spilling any blood.”

  Parvati nodded. “The Thugs were created to be demon killers. To follow the path of Kali. Over the centuries they became greedy, petty-minded and corrupt, using their skills for highway murder and robbery. But you’re missing the bigger picture.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The first men she made, they were Kali-aastras.” Parvati sighed. “The Thugs believed that if they killed enough, performed the correct rituals and observed the right omens, they would gain supernatural powers. They believed that by murder they might become Kali-aastras themselves. Like the first of Kali’s creations. Like you.”

  Kali loves death. He’d been told that, ages ago. He gained power through death, so why wouldn’t the Thugs believe the same thing? Weren’t they, the Thugs and him, all servants of Kali?

  “I’m not a Thug,” said Ash.

  “But you are, Ash. Kali made you to kill demons, like the first two Thugs. You are her weapon, her right hand. The hand that slays.”

  “I may have these powers, but that doesn’t mean I’ll use them.”

  She smiled weakly. “I know, Ash. But the Kali-aastra might not give you a choice. The more powerful you grow, the more it will demand of you.”

  “And Ujba? Is he a Thug?”

  “In a manner of speaking. He knows all the old rituals and skills. He understands what the Kali-aastra is capable of better than anyone else. But his goals are not your goals. He worships Kali in a way that’s rather antisocial.”

  “He’s a killer?”

  “He kills for what he believes in.” She looked at him over her sunglasses. “And in that he’s not alone, is he?”

  “Then how is he going to help me?”

  “By teaching you to channel your past, your other lives. Think about it.” She tapped Ash’s temple. “Think what knowledge lurks in there. What skills. If you could access your former selves in a controlled manner, you could use their abilities, what they know. You say Ashoka’s one of your previous incarnations. Don’t let him control you. You control him, instead. If you could use all his military wisdom and warcraft, you would be unstoppable.”

  Ash sank back into his chair. “It’s never going to end, is it.”

  Parvati smiled softly, but shook her head. “Not in this lifetime, nor any other.”

  nd again they come. Ash screams as the images tumble through his mind, memories and emotions and dreams of countless people he has been since the beginning.

  He is a red-robed soldier standing in a shield line as the sky darkens with arrows.

  He urges his horse to a gallop as he raises his spear for the—

  Hands tied, he takes steps to the scaffold. The sun shines on the headman’s axe as he lifts it and the birds caw from—

  More and more they assault him, and Ash feels as if he’s drowning. He struggles against the endless torrent and—

  Ashoka sits upon a horse, hand resting on his hilt. Beside him is a young woman in scaled armour—

  He sits upon a horse, hand on his sword hilt. Beside him is Parvati.

  He is with Parvati.

  Ash pushes the others away, letting the spirits wash over him, and he guides himself towards this one moment, this one life.

  Ashoka sits upon his horse, watching another city burn. The ash, even from here, is hot and the night sky boils over with dense clouds of smoke, lit by the roaring flames of temples, of palaces, of homes and shops and people. Sparks of tinder float in the darkness like the eyes of a million demons.

  The soldiers drag the slaves. Each one chained to the one in front, the lines stretching back to the horizon. Most are dumb with despair, dirty, some bloody and dressed in rags as they proceed along the road, a mute, living line of misery. Somewhere in the darkness there rises a long, wailing lamentation as the women find the corpses of their husbands and sons among the slaughtered.

  The sound pleases Ashoka. It sounds like victory.

  “They will call you emperor after this,” says Parvati. The rakshasa princess rests upon a corpse, takes off her boot, and shakes out the dust. The man, breathing but hours ago, full of life, hope, joy and dreams, is nothing more than part of the scenery now. With a sharp tug, Parvati pulls off his turban and begins to clean her sword with the long cloth.

  Ashoka looks down from his saddle. “Emperor Ashoka. I like it.”

  “And then what?” Blood shines upon her armour and her hair, plaited and wrapped round her head to prevent it being grabbed in battle, is speckled with gore. She wipes her face and leaves a trail of red across her pale cheeks. The green, serpentine eyes glow. “More war?”

  “Do you tire of it, sweet Parvati?”

  She scoffs. “Mortal, I have seen such sights that would haunt even you. This –” she sweeps her hand over the burning city – “was but an hour’s work for my father.”

  “Your father was the lord of the demon nations. I am but a man.”

  “A man. Cruel, vain and petty.” Parvati bows mockingly. “My father would have enjoyed your company. You and he would have had a lot in common.”

  “More than you think.” Ashoka smiles at the confusion in the demon princess’s eyes. He nods to his bodyguard. “Bring him.”

  His men drag an old man forward and throw him to the blood-soaked ground. It is the priest. His face is bruised and his clothes torn and bloodied, and he clutches a silver box to his chest. He kneels on the ground, head bowed. “My great lord,” he croaks.

  Ashoka swings down from his saddle and stands in front of the man. He rests his hands upon the hilt of his sword. “Tell me, Parvati. They say your noble father was the greatest sorcerer the world has ever known.”

  “No other being has ever mastered the ten sorceries,” says the rakshasa girl.

  Ashoka snaps his fingers. “The box, old man.”

  “My lord, you do not understand—”

  Ashoka grabs it and kicks the man back into the dirt.

  The box is small, delicately engraved with ancient symbols and sigils of power. It is war
m to the touch and heavier than it should be. The object within has weight.

  “They say Ravana could transform himself into anything, or anyone. They say he could cross from one side of the world to the other in an eye-blink. Is what they say true, Parvati?”

  “It is.”

  “Could he raise the dead?” challenges Ashoka.

  “That no one can do.”

  He opens the box and takes out the object within.

  Parvati gasped. “The Koh-i-noor.”

  Ashoka grins. “The Brahma-aastra, yes. They call it the Life Giver.” He leans closer to the man. “Have you awoken it?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  With one hand holding the massive, glowing gem, Ashoka draws out his sword with the other. Parvati says nothing, but her eyes narrow.

  “Hold him,” orders Ashoka.

  The old man cries out as the guards grab him. Ashoka tightens his grip upon his hilt and lays the blade against the man’s thin body. The Koh-i-noor pulses within Ashoka’s grasp, and beams of light rise out of its faces. The colours change and brighten and the stone begins to burn.

  Ashoka grins. “Now, the test.”

  The blade enters the old man’s chest. A thick fountain of blood bursts from the wound, spraying the guards and Ashoka. The old man’s screams rise to a feverish pitch, and he thrashes in the grip of the guards, his scrawny body filled with a hideous, desperate strength. But eventually he slumps, his skin glistening with dark blood.

  Ashoka draws out the sword and hands it to one of his men. He raises the limp head by its white hair and stares at the closed eyes and the slack jaw. More blood dribbles from the dead man’s mouth and his tongue hangs dumbly.

  Ashoka holds the glowing jewel and moves it back and forth so the light blazes upon the pale flesh.

  The limbs, dead and bloodless, twitch.

  Ashoka gazes intently at the dead man.

  The dead man’s eyes open and gaze back.

  “t’s a Brahma-aastra,” said Ash. “It’s the Life Giver. It raises the dead. And you knew.”

  He still couldn’t quite believe it – that Ujba had been right about Parvati, that she couldn’t be trusted. His guts churned in turmoil with anger, disappointment and betrayal.

  “Maybe we should discuss this privately, Ash,” said Parvati.

  The other rakshasas were just waking up in their soggy camp. Last night’s downpour was now a fine falling mist with water dripping off the huge, shiny green leaves into dirty brown puddles. A few small campfires flickered, fed with rubbish and semi-dry twigs. The ragtag demon followers of Parvati set about cooking breakfast as they shifted through the graveyard under wet blankets and tatty old coats. Mahout glanced at Ash, a hint of sadness in his little eyes, but Ash snarled back. Mahout had known also, and hadn’t told him. Had they all known about the Koh-i-noor?

  “Why not here?” Ash’s knuckles and finger joints clicked as he locked them into fists. “Or are you worried everyone will find out what a liar and traitor you really are?”

  Parvati’s fangs lengthened. Even in the gloom of dawn her eyes shone murderously bright. “Because you are my friend, Ash, I’ll forgive you this once. But never presume to speak to me like that again, ever.”

  “You let Gemma die, and all the while we’ve had the power to bring her back.” Ash shook his head and could barely keep the tears back. “We could bring her back, Parvati. Somehow.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “It is, I saw it happen. Ashoka took the Koh-i-noor and made a dead man live. I was there.”

  “And so was I, Ash. It wasn’t like that.”

  “I saw—”

  “I don’t care what you think you saw.”

  “What about Savage? He’s been after the diamond from the beginning. Maybe he knows how to use it.”

  Parvati looked at him as if he’d gone absolutely monkey-loony insane. Then she laughed. Once, when she laughed, it had lifted Ash’s heart and there was no better sound. Now it was pitiless and mocking. “Savage? Well, why don’t you ask him when you find him? I’m sure he’ll be happy to help.”

  “That’s not what I mean. There might be others who can do it. Other sorcerers – good guys like Rishi.”

  “There’s no one like Rishi. If there was I would have found him by now.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Ash.

  “No, you don’t. Listen, Ash, I’ll explain this again, slowly, so it gets into your stubborn head. The Koh-i-noor cannot raise the dead. Savage is our enemy. That’s it. Just follow my orders and we’ll get through this. You start having your own ideas and it’ll go badly for all of us, especially you.”

  How could she be so arrogant? Who did she think she was? “Is that a threat, Parvati? I’ve just as much right—”

  “Will you just shut up for once?” Parvati folded her arms. “You have to let her go, Ash. Let Gemma rest in peace.”

  “Why?” he asked. Simply that.

  “Fate, Ash, fate.” Parvati sighed. “Gemma was fated to die. Because of you.”

  “Lies,” Ash snarled. “You’re just full of them. I never knew how much of a snake you really were, even your mind’s all twisted.” He gazed around the gathered crowd. “All these people, they’re here because they want to believe in you. But they don’t know you like I do. Don’t know how you’ll use them, get close just so you can stab them in the back, like you did me. Like you did your own father. I thought it was because you believed in something better, but now I realise it’s just your nature. To lie to those close to you. To betray the ones loyal to you. Treachery – it’s all you know, isn’t it?”

  “Shut up, Ash, if you know what’s good for you.”

  But he couldn’t. The anger needed to get out and Ash wanted her to hurt as badly as he did. “You wonder why you have no friends. Why in over four thousand years no one’s cared for you and why you’ve been so alone. The answer’s right there. You just need to look in the mirror.”

  Parvati hissed, her cheeks flushed, her eyes filled with anger and humiliation. Ash knew he’d just destroyed all the friendship they’d had.

  The other rakshasas watched in utter silence. No one moved except Khan. Slowly he stood and slowly he stalked through the long grass, eyes never leaving Ash, until he was standing beside Parvati in a warrior stance.

  Parvati glared at him, matching his rage with a dark fury of her own. “Go, before I kill you,” she whispered.

  sh stalked away into the darkest reaches of the cemetery, chopping and swiping at the undergrowth. He kicked a tree trunk, watching the leaves quiver and shake. He kicked it again, desperate to destroy something.

  It was all wrong! He didn’t understand what was happening. Gemma was dead, his friends back home were scared of him, he’d attacked his dad and now this – Parvati hated him.

  He slumped down on a fallen gravestone. He didn’t know what to do.

  Why had she lied? Did Parvati hate Gemma that much? It didn’t make sense. More likely she just didn’t care, or understand. How could she? She was a demon, daughter of Ravana. What did the life of one girl mean to her? Nothing.

  Parvati wanted Savage dead and that was all the Koh-i-noor was to her – bait to attract the Englishman.

  A chill went through him. Did Savage know how to use the Brahma-aastra? Was that why he was after it? He had mastered the seven sorceries, maybe he had the secret to this as well?

  If he did, and got hold of it, then he could bring Gemma back from the dead. The Life Giver – that was what Ashoka had called the Koh-i-noor. Yet who knew what other powers it might possess? Could he risk Savage getting even a sniff of the diamond?

  But Parvati wanted to kill Savage the moment he came looking for it. The world would then be rid of an extremely bad, bad guy, but he wouldn’t be able to save Gemma. How could Ash allow that? Gemma hadn’t deserved to die, and if there was a single chance, no matter how small, how insane, chance to have her back, he had to take it. But for that, he needed Savage alive. T
he English sorcerer’s life and Gemma’s were fatally entwined. If Savage lived, then so might Gemma. If he died, then that was it for her too.

  Ash grabbed hold of a thick branch, too frustrated to do anything but try to twist and rip it off. He bent the bough as far as he could and glared at the creaking limb, determined to break it.

  “What are you doing?” said John. He sat on top of one of the hundreds of tombs with a banana leaf in his hand, eating some stewed vegetables with his fingers.

  Ash released the branch. “Where have you been?”

  “Staying out of trouble. Unlike you.” He scrunched up the leaf and tossed it. “You just seem to attract it.”

  Ash picked up a stick and swung it limply at the unyielding tree. “Tell me about it. Everything’s gone epically wrong. Parvati’s been lying to me from the very beginning. She’s so caught up in avenging herself on Savage that she doesn’t care who else gets hurt.”

  “What happened?”

  Ash told him about the dream, the Koh-i-noor and how it could bring life back to the dead. That there was a way, a real way, to save Gemma. Repeating it out loud made Parvati’s betrayal all the more painful. But John didn’t seem surprised.

  “She’s a demon – what did you expect?” he said. “You can’t trust anyone.”

  “– What’s wrong?” Ash asked. John had sounded so bitter. It wasn’t like him.

  John stared at him.

  “Out with it, John.”

  John hopped down. “Forget it. I’m all right.” He tapped the tree. “So what are you going to do now?”

  “See Ujba, I suppose.”

  “He’s in Kolkata?” John gaped. “What… what does he want?”

  “He’s not after you, if that’s what you’re worried about. He wants to train me. I’m meant to be over there now. Apparently he agreed to continue my training if anything happened to Rishi.” He scratched his thumb. “There are more powers within the Kali-aastra. He wants me to learn them.”

  “But you killed Ravana,” said John. “Isn’t that enough?”

  Ash looked up at the tree. “Apparently not.”