Fayza’s eyes widened. ‘There’s only one recruit left?!’ She had been told of the Mahayatra and its importance to the survival of Vanyasa. ‘How long will it take to get there?’

‘Don’t bother.’ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Just take all of this in before it fades away.’

But Fayza had to know. She bowed to Guru Amrav and started to run back down the hill, skipping steps as she jogged. Her eyes occasionally left the path to look at the phalanx of birds that filled the sky. She caught the flight of an eagle. There were forktails, sparrows, flycatchers and bulbuls. Some glided while others darted; a songster zoomed past Fayza, chirping an anxious tune. They were all going the same way as her, to the Assembly.

It took her around thirty minutes to reach the home of the council. The cottages were as large as halls, and at the centre was the colossal structure of the Assembly, where people had gathered in large numbers. Birds sat on thatches above, their silhouettes blending into the edges of the hut. As Fayza tried squeezing through the crowd, she could feel the anxiety in the air. Vanyasis prayed, some with eyes closed, hoping for the recruit inside to be the one who would lead the Mahayatra.

But before she could make it to the antechamber, let alone the threshold of the Assembly, she heard crying and wailing inside. The others gathered outside heard this too, and many broke down, some of them falling to the ground. Fayza knew the danger was getting closer.

7

Adwaita

‘Adwaita is the initiation ceremony,’ Chitra, the vaidya, practitioner of medicine, said. Her hands moved deftly as she poured a liquid into a clay goblet and handed it to Aman, who lay warily on a charpai, cot. ‘A cleansing of sorts.’

The chalice contained a sticky yellow sap. ‘What is it?’

‘Madhu.’ She nodded reassuringly. ‘Go on.’

The liquid carried a smell and a taste, like a memory, perhaps of when the Earth was created. And with each gulp that Aman took, his head felt heavier. He tried his best to stay up, but it was as if some magnetic force was pulling him towards sleep.

Before his eyes shut, he was suddenly aware of voices around him and was shocked to see a barrage of people flooding around him. Why have they come in? They looked at him and spoke softly to one another. They had perfect teeth and flawless skin, which made their poorly trimmed beards and tangled hair look even starker. The whispers died out when they began making way for an old woman who emerged from the crowd.

Chitra bowed. ‘Namahkrita, Aranyani.’

‘By the sun! Have you fed him already?’

‘I . . . I apologize, Mother. Was I not supposed to?’

The matron, who looked older than time, walked past the vaidya and towered over Aman with a stern expression. Aman fought the weight of his eyelids as he scanned Aranyani. She was the colour of seasoned boughs; her wrinkles made her delicate arms look like crumpled brown paper, with blue veins running over them like roots. Small brown insects crawled over her skin, but she paid them no heed. Despite her dark circles, her eyes, with calm exuding from deep green pupils, eased his nerves. Aman spotted longing on her face. The rest of the people, too, looked at him eagerly. He had figured out by now that something massive was expected from him. Don’t pin your hopes on me! He’d never been a hero and he wasn’t going to become one today. He knew he’d fail them, whatever it was they wanted him to accomplish.