by T. G. Ayer
The paint on the walls was pale and almost yellowed, clearly old, and the paintings were of an ancient style. Someone had painstakingly brought them back to life, and the sight of them made Maya wonder again where they were. The statues around them were painted too.
Warriors, kings, archers. All fierce, strong, and all the same man.
Maya frowned as she recognized the face.
Babaji Mohandas.
The old fool certainly had high hopes if he saw himself as such an important person.
When Maya glanced back at him she froze. The guards had lit the back wall behind the priest’s throne and now Maya sucked in a shocked breath.
A statue of Lord Nataraja rose twenty feet into the air, its golden surface gleaming in the torchlight. At least he hadn't been presumptuous enough to put his own face on the god's image.
But the sight of the dancing god made Maya shiver. What was the priest really up to and why did he have the cosmic dancer's statue here where he held dancers in captivity?
Maya wasn't blind to the connection of the dance.
She just couldn't understand what the priest was trying to achieve.
Babaji Mohandas waved a hand and music seemed to spring into the air from nothing.
Glancing around Maya searched for speakers but found none. A tape recorder or any device playing the music?
Nothing.
"Where is the music coming from?" she asked, without realizing the sentence had slipped out of her mouth.
The priest’s lip curled. "It takes immense power to create many things, but creating music out of thin air is a talent that isn't very common at all."
"You should perfect the skill and mass-market it. You'll make billions." Maya's snide remark only received a bright smile from the old man. He was humoring her and somehow that made her angrier.
"You know, when I first met you and saw your aura, I was disappointed to find it in an American."
"What makes me any different to you?" asked Maya glaring at him. "I'm just as Indian as you are."
"DNA? I don't disagree. But tradition? Culture? Religion? There I don't agree."
"You don't know a thing about me."
He smiled lazily. "Of course I do. Your clothing says you want to be seen as tough. Like those American TV stars. Leather and tight fitting clothing. It all belongs in a brothel. But you, girls like you, don't see that."
Maya laughed. "You are insane. Just because I don't live my life as if I was born two centuries ago, doesn't make me any less Indian."
He held a finger in the air. "No respect."
Maya raised her eyebrows.
"I see the way you speak to your father. Those looks you give him. You challenge him, question him all the time. You are a daughter. He is the father, the man of the house. And you have no respect for him. It is a Western thing. That I have seen for myself."
"You are mistaken. My father and I respect each other more than you will ever understand. He knows me, who I am and what I want. And I know him. I have the utmost respect for him. I'd lay my life down for him, the way he would for me. How does that make our relationship any less than what you feel is worthy? In fact, I'd say it's worth more than fathers who order their children around, tell them how to dress, what to think, what to say, what to study, who to marry. That's not living."
"But that is the duty of a woman. You see. That is what you don't understand."
Maya snorted. "That is a construct of a weak man." Her mouth worked faster than her common sense and Maya stiffened. Verbal sparring with this evil man was dangerous and goading him could prove deadly.
He froze, staring at her with icy eyes. His skin reddened, mottled from a blood pressure Maya had sent sky high.
Crap. Now you're in for it.
"Enough with the chitter-chatter," he said waving a hand. The music grew louder and he faced me. "You will dance."
Maya shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as her heart began to race. "I'm not a good dancer."
"Lies."
"Honest. I'm not. My parents sent me for lessons when I was a kid. I have two left feet. Just ask them."
The old man laughed. "You can come up with as many excuses as you wish but it won't change matters. You will dance. Even if you have two left feet. You will dance because your aura says you have the energy I need."
He returned to his throne and threw his left leg over, resting his ankle on the knee of his right leg. The position made Maya shudder as the fabric of his dhoti parted to reveal hairy, well rounded calves.
The music rose in volume and he pointed a finger at me.
"Dance."
The drums began to beat, and though Maya felt the pull of the music, she refused to give in. She shook her head. "I can't. How can I dance when I don't know how?"
"You told the police that you dance. That's how you knew what happened to the girl." He was frowning.
Maya shrugged. "That was the only way to explain to them how I knew what had happened."
"So how did you know then?" He sat forward, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting in the center of his forehead.
For a moment Maya was stumped. Then she shrugged again. "I've seen a number of these deaths. Interpol sent us to a few scenes. It was easy enough to see the similarities."
"Oh?"
The old man was now flushed, as if wondering how much she knew. She waited until he inhaled sharply. "Anyway. It's all irrelevant. You must dance."
He waved again and two guards pushed a cart inside the hall. The flat surface held a giant glass ball sitting on a round base. It resembled a snow globe and Maya wondered what he'd need such a trinket, however large, for.
The two guards rolled the cart close to the dais then carried the globe and set it on the floor in front of the Nataraja statue.
Anger surged through her. What utter blasphemy that the horrible priest was using the benevolent Lord to facilitate his evil?
She'd seen Lord Nataraja for herself, the ethereally beautiful cosmic aspect of Lord Shiva. She'd seen him in his true form, his cosmic dance holding all things in balance.
This priest knew nothing.
Babaji Mohandas looked at Maya, his face now devoid of emotion.
"You will dance."
Chapter 44
WITH A FLICK of his hand the volume of music grew until Maya's eardrums began to vibrate. Power flooded her muscles and she again felt the pull of a simmering energy.
Energy that Babaji Mohandas wanted.
When she didn't move, he grinned. "You do realize those photographs were not taken with your fancy American street cameras that track everyone like the Big Brother. I have people watching them every moment of the day. If you wish, you can refuse to dance, but I will make that call and both your mother and your American friend will suffer for it."
The threat was clear enough and Maya had to dance.
She sank into a half-sitting stance called Ardhamandala, knees angled sideways, feet placed heel together, spine straight. Placing her hands on her hips she tilted her palms outwards. She performed the first of the Adavus, or movements, and began to tap her feet, first right then left, tapping in time with the drum beat.
She felt ridiculous, knowing she didn't have the fluidity of a natural born dancer. But when she looked up she saw the smile on the old man's face and her heart tightened. Maybe talent wasn't required.
Despite her lack of grace, a hum of power was already emanating from her body, and even Maya could feel it rising off her like an invisible mist.
She straightened suddenly, shocked at the feel of the power around her. Up ahead, Babaji Mohandas lifted a single finger and pain erupted across Maya's back. She suppressed the cry that wanted to escape her lips and drew her fire to her skin to both heal and prevent further injury.
She faced the old man and continued to dance. No sense in antagonizing him. She had to know where this was going. Inside her pocket, her cellphone vibrated four times, two long and two short.
The code to acknowledge tha
t help was on the way.
She just had to keep playing his game until she could apprehend him without getting hurt. And without hurting him.
She was so tempted to finish him there and then, but that wouldn't help her in discovering his plan. With him dead his underlings would simply scatter and take cover.
And Maya just wasn’t in the mood to kill a man again. Not so soon after killing Luis. Somehow, she felt that should it come to it, Maya may end up dead herself before she took his life.
And that was a worry.
So Maya danced and watched in silence as white sparks of energy rose from her body, swirling around the room, drawn to the globe at the old man's feet.
The glass ball seemed to pull at the energy, absorbing the power into it. Electricity sparked inside the globe, touching the surface here and there, as if trying to find a way out.
The longer she danced the more power filled the globe.
She danced until pain spiked through her feet, until she saw the stain of her blood on the stone floor, until she had to strain to prevent her feet from sliding out from under her.
Maya wondered what would happen if she put her fire power into the dance energy.
But before she could consider doing just that, the Nataraja statue began to glow.
I knew I hadn't imagined it.
Maya slowed her steps. She stared at the form of the god as it appeared to move. Another strike of the unseen whip threw fiery pain across her back but Maya's fire simmered on the surface of her skin, providing a layer of protection.
She made a show of flinching and crying out. Let the old priest think she suffered.
As she danced, moving around the floor, she kept an eye on the statue, watching with utter shock as the brass form began to move, rising off the pedestal and walking a few feet toward Babaji Mohandas.
Maya stared in horror at the living statue as it lifted its hand and placed its palm on the globe. It drew the energy straight out of the ball and glowed red with the power as it surged into its metal body.
When it turned to face Maya, its eyes glowed red too.
Maya's stomach twisted as she stopped dancing. This time when the whip hit she didn't even flinch. She just stood there, staring hard at the statue, trying to understand why the cosmic god who held the universe in balance with his dance, would turn into a corrupt murdering creature.
"Isn't it beautiful?" came Babaji Mohandas's voice.
Maya struggled to drag her eyes off the brass figure, glancing at the old man for the briefest second before staring back at the statue again.
"Beautiful?" she shrieked. "You call that beautiful. It's a monstrosity."
The priest's creation was a mere vessel for the energy he stole. And it made sense to submerge the power of the dance trance into the body of the dancing lord.
Babaji Mohandas scoffed, his laugh echoing around the hall. "That is what I expected you to say. Most people are not intelligent enough to understand the breadth of my imagination."
"What you're doing isn't intelligent. It's insanity."
Now he laughed. "Even that is what I expected you to say. How can small minds understand the product of great thinkers?" Then he waved his hand at her. "Enough talk. You may rest now. Preeti will look after your injuries. Get some sleep. I will call for you later. We have much work to be done."
"I did what you asked. Now let me go."
"I'm sorry if I gave you that impression, beti. You are not leaving here. Not until you have given me enough power to ensure my plan succeeds."
"What plan?"
He gave her an indulgent glance.
It was true. A madman always likes to talk about his plans. Even if it delays him or distracts him.
"The gods have too much. It's time that humanity created a god of our own."
"Huh?" asked Maya.
More than confused here.
He stabbed a finger into his chest. "We. We deserve to have a say in who we worship. Who are these gods but creatures with power who lord over us and demand faith. It's our faith that sustains them. The energy and power from faith, prayer, trance, love. They take it all until there is nothing left. And what do they give back?"
Maya stared at him and didn't answer.
"They give us nothing except for guilt that we aren't doing enough, aren't devoted enough, don't pray hard enough. They rule us with guilt. But I say, no more. Now is the time to harness the power of faith and dance and use it for our own benefit."
"You're going to create a new god."
He nodded as if so proud she'd figured it out.
"Yes. A perfect god that will do as we want him to do. A god who will listen to us, hear our prayers, grant our wishes."
"And how will he do that?"
"Do what?"
"Grant our wishes? If he's a fake god where does he get the power to grant wishes and fulfil dreams?"
Babaji Mohandas clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed Maya was questioning his sound plan.
He glared at her. "It is not your place to question."
Maya restrained the urge to roll her eyes.
“Things have been in place long before you even knew it. There are people helping me, powerful people who understand my way of thinking.” He nodded to himself, clearly proud of his smarts.
“Powerful people?” He’d piqued Maya’s curiosity.
Babaji Mohandas smiled, his expression secretive. Almost coy. “Maya, I think you will be both shocked and horrified when you do discover who is helping me. Thanks to my benefactor, I know you.”
“Know me?” Maya asked, her heart rate ratcheting up to painful terror. Her mind whirled with possibilities but she shoved them away.
Seemed the old priest was of the same mind. He waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry yourself. It’s not your concern.”
It was all irrelevant anyway. She planned to stop him. Only thing was she hoped he hadn't given the fake god too much power. She'd have to get the rest of the gods to help if things went sideways. That wasn't a problem. She would prefer not to, though.
To think a man had managed to find a way to create a god? It was unthinkable.
Maya stiffened.
Maybe it was unthinkable for a reason. This thing he'd made wasn't a real god. It was a construct, a manifestation of his own desire, boosted into reality using real faith.
Surely there was something in there that would negate this man's insane plans.
He seemed to grow bored with their conversation, flicking his fingers at the guards who hurried over to grab Maya's arms and hustle her out of the hall. Her bells jingled loudly as she hurried to keep up with the two men.
Darkness hid her confused expression as they returned her to her room and closed the door behind her.
Maya stood there, frozen in place for a long moment as she digested Babaji Mohandas's revelation. The memory of the living statue sent a shudder through Maya's frame.
The nightmare was just getting worse and worse.
Chapter 45
SHE HAD TO find a way to get out of here to safety, to save herself before Babaji Mohandas killed her as he extracted the energy.
Her feet throbbed and she moved to the bed to sit and inspect her damaged soles.
The door opened and she looked up at Preeti. The woman's expression bore no sympathy as she glanced at Maya's bloody feet. She held a bowl, and a jug of water in each hand, and had a stack of towels tucked under one arm.
She set everything on a small table beside the bed then sloshed water into the bowl. Maya watched in silence as Preeti set the bowl on the floor and lifted Maya's foot, placing it gently into the warm solution.
Despite the woman's expression, dislike and disinterest, she tended to each of Maya's feet with gentle care. Which confused Maya. She wanted to hate this woman, hate her for working for Babaji Mohandas. For doing his dirty work for him.
Done with Maya's feet, Preeti stood and poured clean water into a second bowl. She motioned to Maya to remove the coat of her su
it, but Maya shook her head. "It's fine."
"You hurt," she said stubbornly.
"No. I'm fine. It wasn't so bad."
"Is bleed," she insisted, taking a step closer.
Maya waved her off. "It's okay. I'll be fine."
Unconvinced, Preeti peered around Maya's back and inspected the fabric. Seeing no blood she straightened her brow furrowed in confusion.
"But you hurt."
"Only a little," Maya assured her with a gentle smile. She had to get the woman off her back.
Literally.
Preeti took a step away, and headed to the table. She sent Maya a few hesitant glances as if she wanted to ask Maya something but was afraid.
"What is it, Preeti?" Maya asked softly. No point in pretending she didn't notice.
"You strong."
Maya shrugged. "My mom made sure of that."
Preeti's eyes widened. "You mother make you strong. Brave?"
Maya nodded. "My mother taught me to fight, to be a strong woman."
Pretty shook her head. "But woman not strong. Woman weak. Man is strong." Preeti seemed to be struggling with her English but Maya admired that she made the effort despite her difficulties.
Maya got to her feet and walked closer. "My mother is strong. She showed me how to be strong. She said women and men are equal."
"And father?"
Maya nodded. "Yes. My father agrees. He taught me that women deserve respect. And rights."
Preeti shook her head.
Maya wondered if it was wise to discuss this further with the woman. What if she got her killed instead of helping her?
"But God-"
"It's not true. Every god respects us humans equally. Men, women, children, elders. Only people choose to believe what they want. Some people want to control others, to tell others what to do. God doesn't."
She looked up at Maya as if the words were finally making sense.
"Preeti. You must help me get out of here."
The woman took a step back, shaking her head and twisting her fingers in front of her.
"You won't get in trouble. I promise. Just let me leave. My family is in danger."