Hours later, when Rishi Ajan and Idhika returned, the tension between them seemed to be no more. In front of everyone, the scribe told his daughter, ‘Now you know why I haven’t abandoned my research. Even now, I read under both Aditya and the moon. Either my eyes will fail me or I will find those who deserve to pay for Shakuntala’s untimely sacrifice. Bacche, if I must attempt to explain to you why I had to do what I did, then I must start from the beginning . . . and simply telling you won’t do. Which is why I called you here tonight, specifically on the night of the Ceremony of the Founding. It occurs once every dashak, every ten years.’

He left the hut and returned within moments with a lantern, which had a red, not blue, fire flickering in it. ‘We have only a few minutes before the stars align themselves. I must, to all five of you, show on this auspicious night, how the valley was founded, the exact way the rishis learnt in the olden days. Once again, there will be a havan.’ With that, he swung his arm and threw the lantern into the wood, which instantly gave fury to the yagya, sacred fire, and flooded the room with light and white smoke. ‘Namas Swaha.’

22

Yagya

Aman had already witnessed the Founding of Vanyasa in his Adwaita—the deity with the four arms had laid out the rules of the valley over a lavish feast. But even the Child of the Valley could not have imagined what Rishi Ajan was about to show them.

The scribe shut the lone window in the room, stuffing a cloth into its edges, and then moved to the doorway to tighten the tapestry. He stepped back towards the altar and said, ‘Make yourselves comfortable, Souls. Not too close to the sacred fire. Lie down if you feel dizzy.’ His hands moved at lightning speed as he pulled bowls of parodasa, karu, milk, ghee and sandalwood, among other ritual offerings, towards him and sat down on the ground.

The sun had dipped, and shadows had spread everywhere—not that it made a difference as all the light had been shut out already; only the fire emitted a glow. The rishi did not lift his head as he chanted mantras in Sanskrit from long reams of scriptures. Aman recognized none of the hymns that were recited, save for the Song of the Valley, when Idhika joined her father and sang loudly—her eyes shut and head raised.

Rishi Ajan was relentless in feeding the fire, paying no heed to the fact that the smoke couldn’t escape from the closed-in room. He put in different materials, and fumes rose from the havan vessel. The smoke curled up to the ceiling and settled in, thickening in the room. Aman couldn’t even see Fayza, who sat beside him, coughing.

When he put Madhu into the yagya, such a thick cloud formed that streaks of yellow started to stain the walls. They all felt a few drops on their bodies.