But the next year, when another two of the men vanished, even my father began to have doubts. I asked my father about it, but he said that we could not hold Yaksha to blame. Later that same year another of the six disappeared also. It was when I was sixteen that the first of the six men who had witnessed his birth disappeared. Still, a few heard me, the families of the other men who had vanished. But the majority of people believed I was consumed with grief and didn't listen. At the ceremony honoring his death I broke down and cried out the many things that had happened the night Yaksha had been born. My father's body was never found, except for a lock of his hair, down by the river, stained with blood. What are you talking about? You lie-they are dead, my father's dead.īut it was my father who was not to come back, although Yaksha vanished as well. If people had doubts about Yaksha's origin, they had nothing but praise for his behavior.
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Even at eight years of age he was clearly the smartest person in the village, and often the adults consulted him on important matters: how to improve the harvest how best to build our new temple how to barter with the wandering merchants who came to buy our crops. But I did believe he was smiling at me.No, I said.īut my attraction to him went deeper than his beauty. It was so dark, I could see nothing of his face except in outline. He had grown taller since I last saw him. He choked off my air and leaned over and whispered in my ear. His hands, with their long nails, were like the paws of a tiger around my neck.
For the first time I felt Yaksha's real strength, a thing he had kept hidden while he lived in our village. I whirled around and started to shout, but he was on me before I could make a sound. I woke up weeping and was only able to sleep by holding my husband tightly. She told me to beware the blood of the dead, never to touch it. She was as she had been when we had sung late at night together. The first night I slept with my husband I dreamed of Amba.
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We were married under the full moon beside the river. I saw him and knew I was supposed to be with him, and by the blessings of Lord Vishnu, he felt the same way. My grief over my lost father faded slowly.Yet two years after his death and the disappearance of Yaksha, near my twentieth birthday, I met Rama, the son of a wandering merchant. He told me not to say anything to the others, that he would ask Yaksha to leave the village quietly and not come back. And his sister was still Yaksha's stepmother. He had watched Yaksha grow up with pride, no doubt feeling personally responsible for the birth of this wonderful young man. By then Yaksha was ten and looked twenty, and if he was not the leader of the village, few people doubted that he would be in charge soon. I begged my father to speak up about what was happening, and Yaksha's part in it. It was I who named you-Yaksha-cursed son of a yakshini Didn't the others tell you before you killed them? I saw it all. Yet I was to have that joy for only a year:īut I do. Then my joy was complete and my grief over my father faded. Soon I was with child, and before the first year of my marriage was over, we had a daughter-Lalita, she who plays. They are with me, a few of them, in a special way.
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