Tooth and Nail, Fur and Scale

by Anupam Arunachalam

  ‘Wow. You are real.’

  ‘Fool.’

  ‘How long have you been the guardian of this fountain?’

  ‘Your insolence is beginning to tire me, brat!’

  ‘Listen. It couldn’t have been more than a week since they set this up, all right? Part of the packaging is still on, for heaven’s sake!’

  The yaksha said nothing.

  ‘I’m guessing your previous place of occupation was somehow . . . taken away?’

  Nothing.

  ‘What was it? They cut down your forest for timber? Reclaim your lake? Dump chemical waste into it?’

  Still nothing.

  ‘And now you’re the guardian of this fountain, and you’re saying you’ll kill anyone who tries to drink from it?’

  ‘If they do so without my permission, yes!’

  ‘What do you think happens when they figure out that everyone drinking from this fountain dies?’

  ‘They will fear it! They will leave me well alone!’

  ‘Nope. They’ll dismantle it and cut off the water supply. I’m pretty sure they find court cases scarier than yakshas.’

  The little man cleared his throat and swallowed. ‘You might have a point,’ he said. ‘All right. If you drink from this fountain without my permission, I shall not curse you to die.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Hiren, and bent over to have a sip.

  ‘You shall merely be paralysed below the hip.’

  Hiren stopped short and drew himself up, scowling at the yaksha. He looked back at the terminal gate and found that the line for boarding had dwindled to less than a dozen people. His phone told him he had no more than ten minutes before they shut it for good. He should probably have got going, but then, when was he going to meet a real live yaksha again?

  ‘How about this?’ he said. ‘I’ll answer your questions, and if I answer them correctly, you let me have a drink. If I’m wrong, I won’t drink from your fountain, and you let me go. Without any curse or punishment or anything.’

  The yaksha glared at him.

  ‘Because, you know,’ said Hiren, ‘I could go right now and get my water on the plane. I’m only staying because this is interesting.’

  ‘Fine!’ said the yaksha. ‘But if you so much as attempt to drink without my—’

  ‘Got it. Fire away.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your riddles. Ask me.’

  The man on the basin’s edge seemed caught off guard for a moment, then turned around and rummaged in his grass dhoti for something, glancing over his shoulder to check that Hiren couldn’t see what he was doing. Hiren thought he saw tiny chits of paper or something being brought out, and heard some frantic shuffling.

  When the yaksha finally turned back around, he had the most imperious look on his face.

  ‘First question!’ he began. ‘What maketh the sun rise and ascend the skies? Who moveth it around? Who causeth it to set? What is the nature of the sun and where is it manifest?’

  Hiren chewed his lower lip for a bit. ‘So I’m not sure about the mathematics of it, but here goes: The sun appears to rise and travel across the sky because of the earth’s rotation around its axis. So it’s not really the sun moving across the skies, is it? It just appears to do so. Hah. Guess that was a trick question then. Although I guess the sun does move around some kind of galactic core or something that’s at the centre of—’

  ‘Wrong!’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Brahma maketh the sun rise; Dharma causeth it to set. Truth is the nature of the sun and the sun is manifest in Truth only.’

  Hiren stared. ‘What?’

  ‘Next question!’ said the yaksha.

  ‘Wait—what kind of an answer was that? What do you mean, truth is the nature of the sun? That’s just gibberi—’

  ‘What constituteth the divinity of the Brahmans?’ The yaksha continued, undeterred. ‘What about their practice is pious? What is the human attribute of the Brahmans? And what practice of theirs is like that of the impious?’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’

  ‘Answer the question!’

  ‘There are some ridiculously casteist implications in that riddle. You know casteism is illegal, right?’

  ‘Next question! What constituteth the divinity of the Kshatriyas? What about their practice is—’

  ‘That is totally inappropriate, man! Do you have any questions that aren’t based on outmoded social evils?’

  The yaksha bared his teeth. ‘You do not decide what kind of questions I ask!’

  ‘Yeah, but I can decide which ones I answer. And if you don’t have any good ones, I’ll probably see you some other time!’

  ‘Okay! Okay! Here’s one! What is heavier than the earth itself? What is higher than the heavens? What is fleeter than wind? And what is more numerous than grass?’

  ‘Uh . . . this is, like, one thing?’

  ‘I question you! Not the other way around.’

  Hiren thought about the riddle carefully, keeping an eye on his phone to make sure he didn’t miss his flight. Then it hit him.

  ‘Pulsars!’ he yelled. ‘Pulsating radio stars! They’re definitely heavier than the earth, no question. They’re in space, so higher than the heavens. I think they rotate, like, really, really fast, so they’re probably faster than whatever we call the wind . . . and if you consider that the earth is the only planet known to have grass, and there are like billions of trillions of stars in the known universe—’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asked the yaksha, now looking thoroughly confused.

  Hiren laughed. ‘What’s your answer? Vishnu or Dharma or the soul or something like that, right?’ He couldn’t stop giggling, even though the yaksha’s rage was plain on his face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said at last, catching his breath. ‘This has been really good fun, and I apologize if I was rude, but you weren’t exactly super-polite yourself. So, let’s call it even?’

  The yaksha sighed, his shoulders slumping. ‘You have to leave now, don’t you?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, I really do. I have five minutes to get on that plane.’

  ‘All right, boy. Go on. Have a drink.’

  Hiren was taken aback. ‘What? Just like that?’

  The yaksha looked tormented—like he wanted to say a lot, but couldn’t for some reason. Maybe he’s too proud, thought Hiren. Maybe he’s too proud to admit that he’s lonely here, manning an unused water fountain at the airport.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, stepping on the pedal and bending over the spout. His eyes widened as the stream hit his tongue. The water was delicious. It tasted like nothing—truly nothing. It tasted totally pure. Hiren drank for a long time, stopping only when he heard his name over the PA system.

  ‘That’s the last boarding call,’ he told the yaksha. ‘I wish I could thank you properly, because—wow!—that’s the best water I’ve ever had! But I really do have to run now . . .’

  ‘Really?’ asked the yaksha, looking quite satisfied.

  ‘Really!’ called Hiren as he began jogging towards the gate. He was halfway there, when something struck him.

  ‘You know,’ he said, turning around, ‘I have a bathtub at home that I hardly ever use. If you need a vacation sometime, you’re welcome to come haunt that.’

  The yaksha waved at him from the edge of the basin. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

  ‘I don’t suppose your kind needs addresses?’ said Hiren.

  ‘I’ll find you,’ said the yaksha and slowly faded away.

  The officer at the gate was stern about the whole last minute thing, but Hiren was in an utterly buoyant mood. God, that was some good water, he thought as the golf cart carried him towards his plane.

  YAKSHA

  Yakshas are minor deities in Hindu and Buddhist lore. They’re nature spirits that function like a divine environmental protection agency, guarding vital natural resources and letting only the worthy use them. Clearly, they haven’t been very effective in recent times.

  Yaksha
s are ruled by the demigod Kubera, who is known as the lord of wealth. Their kingdom, Alaka, is supposed to be situated close to Mount Kailash in Tibet. In ancient stories (such as those in the Mahabharata), they’re depicted as beautiful humanoid creatures watching over pristine lakes, valuable plants and precious stones. If you want to gain access to one of their charges, you’ll have to take the yaksha’s test and prove your worth by . . . er . . . answering an arbitrary set of philosophical questions. If you pass the test, you’ll be allowed to use whatever the yaksha is guarding—maybe even get a boon in the bargain—but if you fail, the yaksha will murder you using its magical powers. Seems fair . . .

  The questions asked by the yaksha in this story were cribbed from the section of the Mahabharata where Yudhishthira is tested by a yaksha. The answers given by the Pandava king (successfully) are the ones Hiren shoots down.

  BODYSNATCHING 101

  A high brick wall, painted pink, stretches off into the distance to the left and the right. An imposing wrought-iron gate set in it stands wide open, revealing a large courtyard dominated by a gigantic colourful statue of the god Shiva standing very straight, one hand holding a trishul, the other raised in blessing. A functional sign beside the gate—red lettering on a field of white—reads ‘Shamshan Ghat’ in Hindi and below that, in English, ‘Cremation Ground’.

  Do you really think it’ll work?

  . . .

  Hey! I said, do you think it’ll work?

  Yeah! Yeah . . . I think there’s a good chance. Like I said, all humans look kind of the same to us, so unless there is something remarkable about your physical features, I don’t think they’ll notice.

  . . .

  All right?

  You sound more like you’re trying to convince yourself. Also, I resent the implication that my physical features are unremarkable.

  You know what I meant.

  Heh heh . . . Yeah, I get it.

  Moving past the statue, we see a small complex of single-storey buildings. At this time of the night, a watchman is their only inhabitant. He is lying on a folding cot that bars the door to the administrative office of the cremation grounds. The tinny whir of a table fan competes with his snoring for the airwaves.

  Stop resisting! I told you—the biggest giveaway would be that I didn’t have full control over our movements!

  They’re MY movements, wise guy! And you’re making too much noise. You’ll wake that guy!

  I told you! I’ve got a stealth spell covering us! He can’t see or hear us.

  We are walking past the buildings, on to a sprawling maidan dotted with several concrete platforms, a fibreglass sunshade above each. On every platform, we see a row of three rectangular pits, each of which could accommodate a tall human being of considerable girth. A few of the pits are filled with piles of ash and burnt wood, some of them still smoking.

  Okay, now remember—try to keep out of the ash, and definitely try not to burn my jeans. These things cost money, you know.

  Relax! I’m really starting to get the hang of this walking thing.

  I have to say, you’re much better at it now than you were when you first tried.

  Hey! Don’t patronize me! Imagine squeezing yourself into a plastic mannequin, without articulated joints or anything, and trying to do . . . I don’t know, ballet! That’s what being in your body is like for me. It’s tight, it’s claustrophobic and it’s definitely not easy to lumber around in.

  Yeah, yeah. If my body’s that uncomfortable, why don’t you get out?

  Don’t be a crybaby. Unless you’d like me to lick your brain clean and leave you in a vegetative state.

  We’re closing in on a dead tree near the wall about halfway across the maidan. The branches are twisted and black. It looks like it has been struck by lightning. Even the ground near the tree is puckered and pitted.

  Relax, will you? You’re doing it again!

  What! What am I doing?

  Tensing up!

  I can’t help it. It’s like the last time—that tree scares the crap out of me!

  Must be a revulsion charm. It’s meant to ward humans off. Don’t worry, though. It won’t hurt you. You know that. We’ve been through this before.

  Whew—a revulsion charm. And I thought I was just getting anxious because I was entering an underground lair full of monsters that wanted to eat me for lun—

  Shh!

  At the base of the tree, our feet start sinking into the mud, and fear squeezes our heart before suddenly releasing it. We start sinking faster, through several yards of solid earth—and then we drop. Luckily, one of us knows to brace for the landing.

  Oof!

  Shut up!

  Sorry.

  The passageway curves away on either side. Glowing blue jewels line the walls, and we cast shivering shadows in their light. We pick a direction and walk—both ways lead to the central foyer of the school.

  It’s so quiet!

  Everyone’s in class.

  Is your guru going to be in class too?

  Nah. I checked the timetable. He’s got a free period, so we’ll find him either in his office or in the staffroom.

  Thank God. I don’t want to stay here too long. Place gives me the creeps.

  I’ll have you know that Ghanaghora Vidyashram is one of the premier educational institutions in not just the city, but the whole peninsula!

  And yet they let in students like you.

  You know, sometimes I think I made a mistake letting you live.

  Bah.

  We are walking down one of the tunnels that branch away from the foyer, going deeper into the earth. The ground is flat beneath our feet, with some sort of tessellation in pale blue and white marble, red veins running through it. Every few yards, the walls recede towards a door made of warped, sickly looking wood, intricate patterns carved along their edges. The hinges and door handles are gilt, and the knockers are in the form of grotesques with gems for eyes.

  Standing outside one of these doors is a bony figure, silhouetted against the blue light from the jewels behind him. As we approach, his features become clear. Shaggy, matted hair comes down to his shoulder blades and a beard hangs in dirty ropes, obscuring his neck and chest. His body is bare, save a loincloth and a tattered towel that he wears as an angavastra. His appearance suggests a total absence of baths in his life.

  Th-that looks like a human being. What’s he doing here?

  Let’s find out.

  ‘Meat!’ we address the human, who has been looking us up and down. ‘What business have you in our realms?’

  The human is taken aback. He cowers. ‘Forgive me, my lord! I thought you were but a human, like me, but now I see that you are one of the masters. Forgive my insolence, and take a piece of my flesh as recompense!’ He leans forward, offering up his deltoid for us to take a bite out of.

  What are you doing? Stop backing up! I’m trying to look frightening here!

  He—h-he wants me to take a bite!

  No, he wants ME to take a bite. Don’t worry—I won’t do it with your mouth.

  ‘Pitiful meat!’ we say. ‘You would have me release this vessel and appear in my true form just to do you the honour of consuming your flesh?’

  The man recoils, cringing. ‘I’m sorry, master! I did not mean to suggest—’

  The door we’re standing in front of flies open, and a gust of foul wind hits us in the face.

  ‘What’s all this ruckus?’ says a huge mass of blue smoke that coalesces into the figure of a man with midnight skin, every dark vein running along the surface in bas-relief. His eyeballs are blood red, with pinpoints of light instead of irises. The bearded man hugs the floor and folds into himself, whimpering.

  ‘This human’s been waiting outside your door, guruji,’ we say.

  ‘Is that you, Bhayamudra?’

  ‘Indeed, guruji!’

  ‘A new vessel already?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I must say, after years of being at the bottom of th
e class, you’ve started making some remarkable progress!’

  ‘If you have some free time, maybe we can get my oral examination done, sir?’

  ‘Yes, yes! Of course. Come right in!’ He casually points a finger at the shivering mass of skin and bones that lies outside his door and discharges a bolt of concussive energy. The man yelps and runs off in the direction of the nearest exit. ‘Human scum,’ says the elder pishacha as he strides into his office. ‘Who lets them in, anyway?’

  We follow him into the office, which is decorated in pastel shades of purple and green. The lighting is accomplished with wall hangings depicting eldritch mandalas1, which glow with various intensities. The guru’s desk is made of the same rotting wood as his door and is covered with stacks of parchment, which are held down by paperweights that look like human organs in various stages of desiccation. A black candle burns steadily with a dark-red flame at the centre of the desk, dripping no wax.

  I know this place is creepy for you, but you HAVE to get over it at some point! Stop trembling!

  I am over it, dude. I think this is your pre-exam anxiety.

  Oh.

  ‘So, Bhayamudra,’ says the guru, slipping into the high-backed seat behind the desk, his claws stroking the skull-shaped ends of the armrests, ‘where did you find this one?’

  ‘As you can see from his attire, sir, he’s an employee at a fast-food joint.’

  ‘And did you possess him at his place of work?’

  ‘Of course not, guruji. I waited for him to leave for the night and got him when he was walking down a dark street. A bedraggled rat was the only witness.’

  ‘Good. Because you know it would be dangerous to reveal ourselves to humans, yes?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘And can you explain why in three succinct points?’

  ‘One, because humans are numerous while our numbers are dwindling. Two, because they are becoming increasingly efficient at collaborating to eliminate threats to their pitiful race—at least the ones that they can identify.’

  ‘And three?’

  ‘Because we do not want them to dissect our existence using their fell science. If they manage to do so in a manner consistent with their current understanding of the universe’s functioning, there is no telling what limitations they might impose on our powers.’