“Glad they didn’t find it.”
“Indeed.”
Mr. Kadam gave me Lost Horizon to read and warned me that we would most likely leave by the end of the week. We went back to our normal routine for the next few days, but I felt nervous. I’d been through some scary experiences the last time we did this, but I’d always had Ren with me. I fought with him half the time and kissed him the other half, but despite all the emotional turmoil associated with that, I always felt safe. I knew he’d protect me from the evil monkeys and the Kappa.
Now that a new adventure loomed before me, I wanted Ren with me so desperately my insides felt achingly hollow. The only thing that kept me going was knowing I was doing this for him. I wouldn’t even allow myself to think he might not live through the next few weeks. He had to. Life without him would be meaningless.
I would still go through to the end for Kishan’s sake, though. I couldn’t abandon him. It wasn’t in my nature. I knew he would protect me the best he could, and I was feeling even more confident of my own abilities. But it wouldn’t be the same without Ren.
Each hour that passed produced no leads for finding him. Kishan was melancholy enough on his own, so I didn’t bother talking to him about it. It was awkward to talk about Ren with Kishan anyway since his confession. And if I talked to Mr. Kadam about it, he always looked guilty, buried himself in research, and stopped sleeping whenever I mentioned how hard it was for me without Ren.
Kishan and I didn’t speak again about his feelings for me. It was a little awkward at first between us, but we both doggedly ignored the subject until our relationship became easier. He continued to practice martial arts with me every day.
I found that I liked him more and more. There were definite similarities between the brothers, but there were several differences too. For example, Kishan seemed more careful than Ren. Kishan was willing to discuss any subject, but he was always slow to answer. His thoughts were insightful. He also was hard on himself and felt immense shame and self-recrimination over our situation.
However, there were things he said, words he chose, that reminded me of Ren. Kishan was easy to talk to, like his brother. Even their voices sounded the same. Sometimes, I forgot who I was speaking to and called him Ren accidentally. He said it was understandable, but I knew it hurt him.
Tension floated through the house the entire week before our trip. Finally, the day arrived for us to leave. The Jeep was loaded with our bags. With Kishan settled in Ren’s spot, we headed off. Mr. Kadam had traveling papers for each of us and explained that we would actually be driving through three different countries. I peeked into a bag and saw that my passports and papers now said K. H. Khan and featured an older picture of me from high school. Talk about a bad hair day.
Our destination was Nepal, to a city called Bhaktapur. It took two days just to traverse India, and we crossed into Nepal at the Birganj-Raxaul border. Mr. Kadam had to go through a long process of paperwork at the border and said we had to show proof of the Carnet De Passage En Douane—a customs document that granted us permission to temporarily import our vehicle into Nepal.
After we settled into a hotel, we left Kishan to nap, while Mr. Kadam took me out in a rickshaw to see the Birganj clock tower.
When we got back to our rooms, Kishan accompanied us to dinner at a restaurant near the hotel. Mr. Kadam ordered chatamari for me, a kind of Nepalese pizza with dough made of rice flour. I picked a few toppings that I was familiar with. He ordered masu, a curried meat with rice dish, for himself. He picked chicken, but it was also available in mutton or buffalo, which I didn’t know they had in Nepal. Kishan got vegetable pulao, a fried rice dish with cumin and turmeric, mutton masu, and thuckpa, a stir-fried egg noodle dish.
The next day, we rose early for the drive to Bhaktapur. Mr. Kadam checked us into our hotel, and then we walked toward the main square. We passed a large market featuring dozens of kinds of pottery. Many of the pieces were colorfully painted over black clay, which seemed to be a common material.
Other stands displayed masks of animals, gods, goddesses, and demons. Vegetables, fruits, and food carts lured us closer. We bought some of the famous honeyed yogurt, called kuju dhau. It was full of nuts, raisins, and cinnamon and was made from buffalo milk.
We left the market area and entered the main square. No rickshaws or taxis were allowed in the area. Mr. Kadam said that it kept the square quiet, clean, and peaceful. As we walked, he explained, “This is called Durbar Square. Ah, there’s what we’re looking for—the Vatsala Durga Temple.”
Two stone lions guarded the entrance to the temple. It was cone-shaped like the Virupaksha Temple in Hampi, but it had a brick patio surrounding it. Two large posts supported a giant bell next to the building.
“Hey, Mr. Kadam, I didn’t need to wear my bell anklet after all. There’s a giant bell up there.”
“Yes. It’s called the Taleju Bell. It’s made of bronze, and it rests on the temple’s plinth. Would you like to hear the story of the bell?”
“Sure.”
“Its nickname is the Barking Bell. One of the ancient kings who lived here had a dream. The stories vary, but in his dream, nightmarish, dog-like creatures attacked the people during the night.”
“Dog-creatures? Sounds like werewolves.”
“That is very possible. In his dream, the only way to frighten the creatures away and save the people was to ring a bell. The peal of the bell was so loud and so strong that the creatures left them alone. When the king awoke, he immediately ordered a special bell to be made. Such was the power of his dream. The bell was cast and used to signal curfew for the townsfolk. As long as the townspeople followed the signal of the bell, they were believed to be safe. Many people still say that dogs will bark and whine each time that bell is rung.”
“That’s a good story.” I elbowed Kishan. “I wonder if it works on were-tigers.”
Kishan caught my elbow, pulled me closer, and teased, “Don’t bet on it. If a tiger comes after you, you won’t be able to easily frighten him off. Tigers are very focused creatures.”
Something told me he wasn’t speaking of the same thing I was. I desperately searched for something I could say to change the subject.
Most of the men walking around wore tall caps on their heads. I asked Mr. Kadam about them, and he launched into a long, detailed recitation of the history of fashion and religious wear.
“Mr. Kadam, you are like a walking encyclopedia on every subject imaginable. You’re very handy to have around and more interesting to listen to than any other teacher I’ve ever had.”
He smiled. “Thank you. But, please, feel free to let me know if I ever get carried away on a particular subject. It’s one of my personal foibles.”
“If I ever become bored,” I said with a laugh, “I’ll let you know.”
Kishan grinned and used my comment as an excuse to put his arm around my shoulders and stroke my bare arm. “I can guarantee that I’d never bore you either,” he teased.
It felt nice, too nice. I guiltily overreacted, squirmed under his heavy arm, and tried to push it off. “Sheesh! Take liberties much? Ever heard of asking a girl first?”
Kishan leaned over and spoke softly, “Deal with it.”
I scowled at him. Then I concentrated on our tour.
We spent all afternoon familiarizing ourselves with the area and made plans to return to the temple at dusk the next evening. Mr. Kadam had either pulled strings or used his vast pocketbook to get us in alone after closing.
Streaks of color washed over the darkening sky as we arrived back at the temple. Mr. Kadam walked with us to the front steps and handed me a backpack full of various items to be used for an offering. It was filled with different objects related to air: various types of bird feathers, a Chinese fan, a kite’s tail, a helium-filled balloon, a wooden flute, a plastic airplane that flew on rubber band power, a tiny barometer, a toy sailboat, and a small prism that transformed light into rainbows. We’d also included a coup
le pieces of fruit for good luck.
Mr. Kadam handed me Fanindra, who I slid up my arm. She had twisted into armband position so I could wear her, which I took to be a sign she wanted to come along. Kishan and I climbed the stone steps that led to the center of the temple. We passed between the stone elephant guardians and then the pair of lions. The statue of Durga could be seen from the street in an alcove high above us. I was worried that if she came to life like the last time, someone walking on the brick streets would see her.
Silently, Kishan and I walked behind the building, around the stone porch surrounded by pillars, and found the circular stairs leading to the top of the temple. He reached out for my hand. It was dark and cool inside. The street lanterns from the square eerily lit the hallway leading to the statue. Kishan walked beside me as quiet, dark, and cool as the temple surrounding us. I liked Kishan a lot, but I missed the light and warmth that always seemed to surround Ren.
We entered a small room and stood before a stone wall. I knew the statue of Durga was on the other side, lit up from the streetlights below. The statue was set back about two feet from the outer wall of the temple, and we could stand on either side of it and still be hidden in the shadows.
“Okay, what we did last time was make an offering, ring a bell, ask for wisdom and guidance, and then Ren changed to a tiger. That’s what seemed to work.”
“I’ll follow your lead.”
We pulled out all of our air offerings and placed them at the feet of the statue before moving back into the shadows. I lifted my ankle, brushed my fingers across the tinkling bells, and smiled as I thought of Ren.
We moved back from the wall, and Kishan reached for my hand again. I was grateful for his steadiness. Even though I had already seen a stone statue come to life once before, I was still nervous.
“I’ll say something first and then it’ll be your turn.”
He nodded and squeezed my hand.
“Great Goddess Durga, we come seeking your help once again. I ask your blessing as we go in search of the next prize that will help these two princes. Will you grant us your aid and share your wisdom?” I turned to Kishan and nodded my head.
Kishan stood quietly for a moment and then spoke, “I . . . don’t deserve a blessing.” He glanced at me and sighed unhappily before continuing. “What happened is my fault, but I ask you to help my brother. Keep him safe . . . for her. Help me protect her on this journey and keep her out of harm’s way.”
He looked at me for acceptance. I leaned up on my tiptoes, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Now, become a tiger.”
He changed into his tiger form, his dark fur almost disappearing in the shadowy room. A stiff, cold wind ripped through the building and rushed up the stairs. My long-sleeved shirt billowed around me. I dug my hand into the scruff of Kishan’s neck and shouted over the noise of the wind, “This is the scary part!”
The wind swirled dust and sand around us in a cyclone as years of grit blew out of cracks and off the floors. I squinted and covered my mouth and nose with my sleeve. Kishan nudged me back to a corner of the room, sheltering me from the powerful gusts of wind near the open windows of the temple.
I was trapped between him and the wall, which was good because he had to dig his claws in the floor to remain standing. He pressed his body against me. I knelt down and wrapped my arms around Kishan’s neck, burying my face in his fur.
Carvings that had been muted with a covering of dust began to appear. The wind and sand polished the floor until it looked like marble. I put one arm around a pillar to anchor myself and the other around Kishan.
After a while, the wind died down, and I opened my eyes. The room looked dramatically different. Stripped of grime and years of dust, the temple was beautifully glistening. The rising moon cast its light into the room, illuminating it, so that it appeared ethereal and dreamlike. On the back wall behind the statue of Durga, a familiar handprint had appeared. Kishan changed to a man and stood beside me.
He asked, “What happens next?”
“Come on and watch.”
I pulled him after me, placed my hand into the print, and let the energy crackle down my arm and into the wall. A rumbling shook the wall, which made us step away. The wall rotated until it had spun 180 degrees. We were now facing the statue of Durga.
This version of Durga was similar to the other statue I had seen. Her many arms were spread out in a fan around her, and her tiger sat at her feet. There was no boar this time. I heard the sweet tinkling of bells and a beautiful voice said, “Greetings, young one. Your offerings have been accepted.”
All of the items we had placed at her feet shimmered and then disappeared. Sand-colored stone began to shift as Durga’s arms swayed in the air. Stone lips became ruby red and smiled at us. The tiger growled and shook itself. The stone flew away from its form like dust. The creature sneezed and sat at her feet.
Kishan was captivated by the goddess. She shivered delicately, and a small breeze drifted through the building and blew all the dust away from her, uncovering her like a luminous gem buried beneath the sand. Instead of gold, Durga’s skin was soft, pale pink. She relaxed her arms and reached up with an empty hand to take off her golden cap. Luxurious black hair tumbled down her back and over her shoulders.
With a tinkling voice, she said, “Kelsey, my daughter, I’m so glad you were successful in finding the Golden Fruit.”
She turned to look at Kishan, tilted her head, and raised an eyebrow in beautiful confusion.
Lifting a delicate, pink limb, she gestured to Kishan. “But who is this? Where is your tiger, Kelsey?”
Kishan boldly took a step forward and bowed deeply over her outstretched hand. “Dear lady, I am also a tiger.”
He changed into his black tiger form and back. Durga laughed, a happy sound that echoed in the room. Kishan smiled at her. She looked back at me and noticed the snake wrapped around my arm.
“Ah, Fanindra, my pet.”
She gestured to come closer, so I took a few steps forward. Fanindra’s top half came alive, and she stretched her body out to the goddess’s hand. Durga patted the snake’s head fondly.
“There is more work for you to do yet, my dear one. I need you to stay with Kelsey for a little while longer.”
The snake hissed quietly and then relaxed on my arm and became inanimate again, but her green jeweled eyes glowed softly while we spoke.
Durga turned her attention to me. “I sense you are sad and troubled, daughter. Tell me what causes you pain.”
“Ren, the white tiger, has been taken prisoner, and we can’t find him. We were hoping you could help us locate him.”
She smiled at me sadly. “My power is . . . limited. I can counsel you on finding the next object, but I have little time for anything else.”
A tear dropped off my cheek. “But, without him, finding the objects would hold no meaning for me.”
She stretched out a soft hand to my cheek and caught a glistening teardrop. I watched as it hardened and became a twinkling diamond sitting on top of her fingertip. She gave it to Kishan, who was delighted with the gift.
“You must remember, Kelsey, that the quest I send you on doesn’t help only your tigers. It also helps all of India. It is vital that you retrieve the sacred objects.”
I sniffed and wiped my eyes on my sleeve.
She smiled at me sweetly, “Don’t fret, dear one. I promise you that I will watch over your white tiger and keep him from harm and . . . oh . . . I see.” She blinked and stared straight ahead as if she could see something we couldn’t. “Yes . . . the path you take now will help you save your tiger. Guard the object well, and don’t let it or the Golden Fruit fall into the wrong hands.”
“What should we do with the Golden Fruit?”
“For now, it is to help you on your journey. Take it with you and use it wisely.”
“What is the airy prize we seek?”
“To an
swer that question, there is someone I want you to meet.”
She raised a pink limb and pointed behind us to the back of the room. A rhythmic click-clacking noise drew our attention.
In the moonlit corner of the room sat an old, gnarled woman on a wooden stool. Wisps of her gray hair stuck out of a faded red handkerchief. She wore a simple homespun brown dress with a white apron. A small loom was set in front of her. I watched quietly as she pulled beautiful threads out of a large woven basket and twisted them around the shuttle. The shuttle pulled the threads back and forth through the loom.
After a moment, I asked, “Grandmother, what are you weaving?”
She replied in a kind but weary voice, “The world, my young one. I weave the world.”
“Your threads are beautiful. I’ve never seen colors like those before.”
She cackled, “I use gossamer to make it light, fairy wings to give it sparkle, rainbows to make it iridescent, and clouds to make it soft. Here. Come and feel the fabric.”
I grasped Kishan’s hand, pulling him closer, and then stretched out my fingers to touch the material. It tingled and crackled.
“It has power!”
“Yes. There is great power here, but I must teach you two things about weaving.”
“What is it, Grandmother?”
“These long, vertical threads are called the warp, and these colorful, horizontal ones are called the weft. The warp threads are thick, strong, and often plain, but, without them, the weft has nothing to cling to. Your tigers cling to you; they need you. Without you, they would blow away in the winds of the world.”
I nodded in understanding. “What else do you need to teach me, Grandmother?”
She leaned closer to me and whispered conspiratorially, “Masterful weaving makes exceptional cloth, and I have woven great threads of power into this piece. A good piece of cloth must be versatile. Fulfill many purposes. This one can collect, craft, and cloak. Guard it well.”
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