Aman now turned to the other side of the valley, beyond Aranyala at the crest of the mountain, where a long tail jutted out into the tallest peak of Sarp-poonch. That’s when he realized he stood directly on the resting head of a colossal lifeless snake, Vritra itself, now encrusted in grass and floral skin. Mount Kalanag. Is that why Idhika called Pataan the ‘mouth of Lord Kalanag’?

He remembered the snake inscribed on Sanaka’s chillum, and Acharya Ashwini’s words rang in his head: ‘Snakes are figures of immortality. They coil into circles, biting their own tails to spiral into the shape of eternity. Just like Atmayog allows you to cheat death and live to be over a thousand.’

‘I was naive enough to think I’m the only one who enjoys the view from up here.’ Fayza appeared from the temple steps, the strong breeze teasing her hair. She brushed it away from her face.

‘Have you been following me?’ Aman’s face turned scarlet.

‘I’m the one who comes here after Gurukul. And you are intruding,’ she said with a slight smile.

Without her glasses covering her face, Aman noticed that Fayza’s nose twitched every time she smiled. The wind whistled louder in his ears. ‘And I come here in the mornings . . . to collect these,’ he said and bent down to pluck a woodsorrel leaf. Don’t make a fool of yourself.

Fayza wore a thin white gown and the jute girdle around her waist was tied tightly. Her long black hair swayed in the breeze, which also made her gown billow.

‘He doesn’t hit you . . . does he? Sanaka?’ Fayza asked, placing her hand on his shoulder.

Aman didn’t respond, and they stood silently in the glade—from a bird’s-eye view, they were no more than two black specks around a knot of low-lying shrubbery. But there they were, Aman and Fayza, flesh and bones. Aman wanted to speak, say something. Instead, the words, noiseless, escaped from between his lips in a foggy breath.

Somewhere in their plentiful interactions, Fayza had begun to recognize Aman’s hesitation to speak at times when he really wanted to. She would never push him. That day, she looked at him encouragingly. ‘The plains are behind us. This is a new life.’

Aman straightened his back. That was what he liked best about her. Like him, she too was fluent in the language of silence, and was content to just be with him. They stood there quietly, staring at the expanse of the valley and stealing looks at each other.

19

Chaturanga

Few had noticed, but the leaves of Vanyasa were turning yellower and the animals were moving slower.

Aman’s anxiety grew when he learnt that Dhara and Yuvan, of all people, had joined the ranks of Atmayogis and, like Idhika and Aarti, developed a Deh on their arms. This anxiety added to his furious contemplation of how he would steal the cardboard box from Sanaka’s hut. He’d tried convincing Idhika to help him, but she would just say, ‘Oh drop it’ in exasperation. He was alone in a web of his own conspiracies. But he was so caught up in his persona and his quandaries that he hadn’t noticed that something was troubling Idhika—even in the company of the Souls, she had gone quiet, only speaking when correcting someone.