They still come in looking for a problem-solver—a prince of the Nishada, the archer who is missing a thumb. I suspect that someone has spread the word about me in realms to which I have no access. This is good, because I need as many clients as I can get, and I sure don’t mind the learning opportunity. I don’t have much time for anything else now, apart from work, work, work. Not that I mind, really. Because luckily, I love my job.
DAITYA
Daityas are demons born of Diti—one of the thirteen wives of the sage Kashyapa. They’re a class of asuras, and are usually at loggerheads with Hindu gods, known as devas. Daityas aren’t inherently evil—some of them, like Prahlada and Mahabali, are favourably depicted as great and benevolent rulers. But then, also among them are bad apples, like Hiranyakashipu and Kalanemi, who give the whole clan a bad name.
A lot of them are supernaturally strong and have a vast array of magical powers. They live in caves and burrows in Rasatala, the sixth realm of the netherworld.
NAGA
Nagas are powerful snake-people revered as minor gods in Hinduism and Buddhism. They wield a powerful brand of magic, involving poison and shape-shifting. In several cultures, nagas are worshipped as fertility deities and are associated with rain and good harvests. Harming a snake is said to bring bad luck while praying to one is thought to invite good fortune.
Nagas live in Patala, the lowest of the seven nether-realms, which, lacking sunlight, is lit up by luminous gems studded in its walls and floors. Every naga is born with a nagamani—a gem of great magical potency—embedded in its hood. This may make them targets for those who want to steal the gem in order to secure its powers.
But if you can go toe to toe with a venomous and superstrong preternaturally immortal shape-shifter with a vengeful streak, you’re probably already pretty high up in the food chain, or hopelessly delusional. Either way, it doesn’t really seem like a worthwhile pursuit.
THE INVASION
The chieftain crested the hill and caught his breath, listening to the musical chirp of the bulbul and the elongated whistle of the monal. He spotted the birds flitting between the red alders that dominated the hilltop and the deodars in the valley below. Waiting, he watched the dust motes spinning in the sunbeams that broke through the canopy to dapple the carpet of leaves under his horse’s feet.
He was listening for the soft cooing of the dove, out of place at this altitude—the signal that his trackers would use to tell him the way was clear.
The chieftain regarded the gathering crowd below him, a steady stream of riders coming around the hillside, and listened to the heavy tread of the elephants lumbering up at the rear of the company, still unseen. About half the men—the ones on the shaggy and sure-footed Pahari horses—were his people. They wore the white topis and leather armour of the mountain clans, and carried long, curved daggers in their cummerbunds. The other half of the crowd was made up of soldiers from the lowlands—the men that Raja Kalyan Singh had brought with him all the way from his capital at Jamnasar.
The Pahari soldiers leaned back on their steeds, waiting silently for their chieftain’s command while chewing betel leaves and indulging in trivial conversation. Their master-at-arms—the chieftain’s second in command—stood at their head, his tall, muscular frame ramrod straight. The raja’s men, though, fidgeted on their horses, sweating and aching under their woollen tunics and mail shirts, their bodies tense from the uphill climb.
It’s like I’ve brought an army up here, the chieftain thought, feeling his horse’s steady heartbeat with his palm on its neck.
The king of Jamnasar, atop an armoured elephant, was the last to come around the bend, his knuckles white from holding the edges of the howdah, his eyebrows knitted and his body rigid. The chieftain smiled. The king was probably accustomed to riding on the big beasts, but coming up a mountain road on one was a different thing. Of course, back in the village, the king had insisted on riding on the highest seat available, rejecting the handsome Pahari horse selected for him.
‘How much longer, Chieftain?’ he said from on high, forcing a crooked grin. ‘It doesn’t look like these animals will last much longer.’
‘Not much further,’ said the chieftain. ‘Technically, we’re already here. Once my trackers give me the signal, we’ll send the soldiers to man the perimeter. With the elephants, of course.’
‘The perimeter?’
‘We’re well within the territory of one of the man-tigers,’ he said. ‘But they’ll never venture out in the face of a crowd. We’ll send the men to the borders of the area and then begin the . . .’ He felt a pang of shame as the last word teetered on his lips. ‘The hunt.’
‘Ah!’ said the king, stretching his legs out of the howdah. A group of his attendants scrambled to help him off. ‘How many men shall we take with us, then?’
‘Just you, me and the trackers, once they arrive. The others will converge on us once the beast takes the bait, cutting off its escape routes.’
‘Hah,’ exhaled the oldest of the king’s men, who had been introduced to the chieftain as the captain of the king’s guard. The man’s hairless face was red and damp under his ornate helmet. Heavy plate armour, burnished to a golden sheen, covered every inch of his massive frame. ‘You expect us to leave our king alone with the three of you, eh?’
The chieftain first glanced at his master-at-arms, who was bristling at the comment, and calmed him with the slightest tilt of his head. He then looked at the king, who shook his head, a self-satisfied smile on his face, just as one of the king’s other soldiers brought him the horse that he had refused in the village. He took the reins from the young man (who wore the badge of a lieutenant but had the oblivious, servile look of a civilian lackey) and clasped him by the shoulder.
‘If it’s all the same to you, Chieftain,’ he said, ‘I’d like Tej here to accompany me. And the captain, of course. They never leave my side.’
The chieftain chewed his lip. It would be hard to attract the beast with these noisy outsiders jangling along in their metallic vests, but he knew it would be useless to protest.
‘All right,’ he said.
They waited in silence until a coo-coo-coo rang out from the valley below, and the chieftain replied in kind. He raised his arm and, with his index finger, traced a big circle in the air above his head. His men began to disperse without a word, the lowlanders following them uncertainly. Once they’d disappeared into the trees, he motioned for the king and his two retainers to follow, and made his way down the slope.
Once they were in the valley proper, the two trackers fell in on either side—one, old and grizzled, and the other, middle-aged and with a glint in his eye. The chieftain nodded to the younger man, who blinked at him, smiling cheerfully. They continued in silence, the trees slowly crowding around them, until they had to dismount and work with their daggers to make a path.
The chieftain grimaced from the effort of slashing at the vegetation, and from an uneasy gnawing at the back of his mind. He was leading these men into his people’s sacred groves, and was about to help them kill the creature that his tribe revered beyond all others.
For all his life, he had known the king of Jamnasar as an enemy—a man to be distrusted and loathed. His father had died fighting the king’s raiders in the foothills, where the tribe had maintained rice terraces and cotton farms for centuries.
The king, of course, believed that the foothills were within his borders, and that the tribe’s place was in the highlands. He didn’t care enough to send his armies and establish a garrison there, believing instead that sporadic raids would scare the mountain men away. It hadn’t for centuries, and yet the practice persisted.
So when His Highness Kalyan Singh had sent an emissary requesting audience in their mountain stronghold, the chieftain had been surprised. Despite his advisers’ misgivings, he had accepted, and welcomed the king and his retinue into his home.
The king had been polite, although he maintained an air of supremacy. The initial co
nversation had been all about the broad topic of the empire, which both the mountaineers and the men of the plains paid tribute to, and how the imperial administration cared only for the capital’s immediate vicinities until it was time to collect tithes. They had then meandered through the niceties of inquiring about each other’s sociopolitical issues, and wound the small talk down with mutterings about the recent dry spells in the area and the resultant bush fires.
Finally, after the traditional nineteen-course meal, prepared by the village’s best cooks to the taste of the lowlanders (less spicy, with rabbit replacing the ghoral in the curries), they had sat down for a round of chausar1, when the king broached the subject of hunting.
‘You might know that I have a passion for big game,’ he had said. The chieftain hadn’t, but he’d nodded non-committally. ‘My trophy room is rather full,’ the king had continued. ‘I’ve had my share of bears and big cats from all over the land, and now, I’m afraid, my heart yearns for . . . harder game.’
‘Of course,’ the chieftain had said, adjusting his weight on the divan, an uneasy feeling beginning to rise in his chest. ‘Our forests offer several challenges. If you’re of the mind to hunt tigers—’
‘I said I’ve had all the big cats,’ the king had said. ‘All of them. I’ve hunted them in icy wastes and in hilly terrain. In marshes and in steppes. Now I’m looking for something quite . . . different, Chieftain.’ He had turned his head slightly to the right and looked pointedly at a spot behind the chieftain’s head.
The chieftain had whipped around to face the large flag that hung on the wall behind him. On it was the beast, in gold thread, rampant against a field of crimson.
‘Your banner depicts a very . . . interesting creature,’ the king had remarked.
‘Ah! The man-tiger!’ The chieftain had forced a laugh. ‘It’s been in my family for generations. Several centuries ago, it was believed in lands as far as Persia that—’
‘I have it on good authority that those beliefs didn’t die out centuries ago, Chieftain. And also that they might not be as unfounded as they seemed.’
The chieftain had swallowed, the muscles of his neck tensing with a sudden flare of anger and surprise. Someone had betrayed him and his people. The king wouldn’t have come all the way up here chasing just a rumour. Somebody had given him proof.
‘I’m a straight talker, much like you upland folk, so I’m going to lay it out before you plain and simple,’ the king had said. ‘I know your people protect the mardkhor—that you revere the creature and would like to keep its existence a secret. I appreciate that. I’m a conservationist at heart myself. In Jamnasar, poaching in the royal woods is equivalent to murder, and is punished as harshly!’
‘I don’t quite understand what—’ the chieftain had begun.
‘Let me finish,’ the king had hissed, leaning forward. ‘Here’s my offer. You let me hunt one of these mardkhors and take back its carcass, and I’ll grant you the foothills that your people so desperately want to settle in. Officially. My seal on an imperial charter.’
The chieftain had hesitated, and then cursed himself inwardly for even considering it. Kalyan Singh’s lips had curled up, exposing uneven teeth bloody with betel juice. As if on cue, one of his men had audibly stifled a yawn.
‘My men are getting sleepy,’ the king had said, standing up. ‘I think we should retire for the night. Take your time, my friend. Think about it.’
The chieftain and his men had conferred hurriedly after the king and his retinue had been conducted to their chambers.
‘The gall!’ the old priest had thundered. ‘He thinks he can put a man-tiger’s head in his trophy room, with the antelope and the bear!’
‘How is he so sure that they exist?’ the master-at-arms had said. ‘He’s come all the way up here for this!’
‘Someone’s shown him proof,’ the chieftain had guessed. ‘Spines, perhaps?’
‘Spines? How could the spines convince him that the whole beast exists? It has to be more.’
‘A tail?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Surely not a head!’
A tense silence had fallen upon the group.
‘An imperial charter, though . . .’ the chieftain had begun after a few moments.
The priest had looked at him wide-eyed, his mouth working around unmentionable words. The master-at-arms had frowned, his brawny arms crossed across his chest. The master of the treasury and the various councillors had simply stared, reserving judgement, or concealing it.
‘You don’t actually believe him, do you?’ the master-at-arms had said at last. ‘This is the same man who seduced your father with offers of armistice when he found out that we might ally ourselves with the Abgans in a joint campaign against him! Is your memory so short, Chieftain, that you would trust his word again?’
The chieftain had narrowed his eyes. ‘I am not going by what he says, sir,’ he had said. ‘Once he signs that charter, he’ll be answerable to the emperor if he attacks us in the foothills again.’
‘And you think the emperor will send his forces all this way just to protect us?’ the master-at-arms had spoken in a mournful baritone, the memories of past treacheries weighing down upon him. ‘You know what they call us in the imperial capital? Savages. Mountain savages! We do not bow to any of their made-up gods, and we do not produce anything that they might want in their muggy cities. There will be no retribution if the king violates the charter. Oh, there will be heralds, most definitely, with words both regretful and mollifying. There will be promises, but there will be no justice.’
Before the chieftain could speak, the priest had thumped his staff on the floor. ‘Even if there was a chance that he might keep his word! Even if he gave us those foothills! How can we let him put arrows into a man-tiger? The great mountain is not like the empire, Chieftain! The revered Forest is not like their gods in their temples. If we commit this sin, we will face their wrath before the year is done.’
The chieftain had remained silent, allowing his men to cool down. Finally, he’d said, ‘In previous meetings, we’ve discussed the issue of the elderly man-tiger—the one who is well past his prime and has taken to invading his fellows’ territories.’
‘Yes,’ the priest had said. ‘And I’ve told you what I think. The old one’s fate belongs to the Forest. Only He may decide when the beast’s time has come.’
‘Yes, but in the meantime, the senile beast is injuring virile males and young ones. The trackers found a dead cub near the moaning chasm two days ago. The others of his kind won’t kill him—they know that his mind is going.’
The men had exchanged glances.
‘Your Holiness knows the numbers, I trust? Every year, there are fewer man-tigers. Their ranging grounds are not as vast as they used to be. The lowlanders have been nibbling away at the forest in the west and the south, and we have been crowding them in from the east as our population burgeons.’
The priest had looked like he’d wanted to say something but decided against it.
‘Does the Forest wish for the man-tigers to cease existing?’ the chieftain had continued. ‘Because if we do not take a hand in their survival, that is what will eventually occur.’
‘Then perhaps that is the Forest’s will! It is not for us to make these decisions!’
‘It is at your feet that I have learnt, Your Holiness, that the man of the mountains is as much of the Forest as the tree, the bird and the four-legged beast are. Perhaps we are to be the Forest’s agent in this business. We hold special reverence for the man-tiger. Our banner bears his image! Perhaps the Forest counts on us to keep them safe, just as we have done through the ages by keeping their existence a secret.’
No one had spoken for a while, but this time, the chieftain had sensed, the silence was not as full of dissension. Eventually, he had even spied a few of the councillors exchanging whispers and furtive nods. The priest had looked at him down his nose, but he too had not dismissed the idea. Only the master-at-
arms had looked incredulous, as though he couldn’t believe the direction the discussion was taking.
And two days later, here they were, trampling through the sacred groves in pursuit of a man-tiger, and the chieftain wished that he had been less convincing.
They’d cut through the thicket and arrived at the dark interiors of the forest, where the canopy blotted out the sun and the floor was mulch. The underbrush was alive with tiny critters, and the screaming of the cicadas, deafening at first, gradually receded into the background.
The trackers had left their ponies to graze and gone off to do their job, bent over so that their faces were close to the ground. The chieftain remained silent as the king and his men conversed in hushed tones.
Finally, the king spoke up. ‘Chieftain!’ he said. ‘I’ve been speaking to my man Tej here, and the captain, of course, and they think I’ve been too hard on you.’
The chieftain looked at the king over his shoulder.
‘You drove a hard bargain back there in your stronghold.’
‘Did I?’
‘This matter about the carcass . . .’
‘Yes, I’m afraid the council has been firm on that count, sir.’
‘But you see, as we get closer to the beast, I find myself more and more uneasy about this carcass business. You mountain folk don’t seem to hunt for sport, so perhaps it’s hard for you to understand—but the trophy, in many ways, is as important as the slaying of the animal.’
‘I understand perfectly, Your Highness, but we hold the man-tiger in great—’
‘Hear me out! I must say, you uplanders are quite eager to interrupt when a man is making his point.’
And you lowlanders seem to love the sound of your own voice, thought the chieftain, but held his silence.
The king continued. ‘The procurement of the carcass is so important to me that I am willing to make a further concession in the terms of our agreement. You know the village of Janakiya—the one on the border between our territories? Well, it’s not on the border yet, but it will be once you hold the foothills.’
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