She flipped her hand. “No matter, you’re a foreigner. Now you know for next time. Are you at least wearing clean clothes?”
“Yes.” His clothes had been laundered just before leaving the cantonment.
Meena steered him toward a fruit vendor who insisted that they buy his mangos. She bartered with the merchant, their voices rising until they came to some sort of agreement. She reached for her money, but Danny stopped her.
“I want to pay,” he said, “since this is my first time visiting your gods and all.”
She gave him a funny look, but allowed him to pay for a couple pieces of coconut and, just to make the man stop shoving them under his nose, a mango. The vendor thanked them, bowing his head a few times before turning to the next customer.
“Are you planning to offer the mango, or eat it?” Meena asked.
Danny slid it into his pocket with a sigh. “I suppose I’ll eat it later. I’ve never had mango before. Think I’ll like it?”
“They’re my favorite fruit. You’ll love it.”
They joined the queue leading up the stairs. Danny heard giggling and realized the women were laughing at him.
Meena grinned. “You’re in the wrong line. Go over there.” She pointed to a line a few feet away made up of only men. Face burning, he made himself walk slowly to the end.
“What are these for, anyway?” he asked, holding up the piece of coconut Meena had given him. It was sticky and warm from lying in the sun.
“An offering to the gods. We don’t have time to visit all five, so we’re only praying to Shiva today.”
“Who’s that?”
The lines moved, and they moved with them. “Shiva,” Meena explained, “is the Supreme God. He is the creator, the destroyer, and preserver of all, though other gods may play these roles as well, depending on which temple you visit.”
“Sounds like a stressful job.”
She glanced at him, unimpressed. “He is All. It’s simply his nature to be these things.”
“But how can someone be both a creator and a destroyer?”
“He dances.”
Danny tried not to laugh, but it came out as a muffled snort. Meena scowled.
“He dances the tandava,” she said, “which started the cycle of creation. When he dances it again, it will destroy the universe he’s built.”
“But why? Why ruin everything you’ve created?”
“Because everything that is born must eventually die,” she said simply.
When they reached the main chamber, Meena took off her slippers. The other men and women were doing the same, lining their shoes up neatly across the stone floor. Danny pulled off his boots and padded into the chamber in his stockinged feet.
The chamber was wide and drafty, lined with stone statues. Adorning the walls were murals in faded ink of gods and goddesses he couldn’t name. One of them rode a tiger.
Beyond the lines, Danny could see an inner chamber where a stone idol sat upon a dais. His hair was long, his eyes closed, and his lips were turned up in a benevolent smile. This must be Shiva, the creator/destroyer.
Bit cheeky for a bloke who’ll blow up the universe, Danny thought. The idol sat in a meditation pose—a rather uncomfortable-looking bending of the legs—with hands held open in his lap. Two snakes were wrapped around his biceps, and a larger one had wound itself around the god’s neck. His hair was piled atop his head like a hill, a crescent moon-shaped disc sticking out from one side. Beads hung from his neck, resting on his bare chest.
An old priest dressed in an orange robe sat outside the inner chamber. Though bald, the hair near his ears was wispy and white. His shriveled lips curled into his mouth, making his chin jut out. At Meena’s instruction, Danny handed the priest his piece of coconut. The priest pressed his thumb into a copper bowl of vermilion and crooked a finger at him. Danny leaned down, allowing the man to draw a line between his brows with the red powder.
Then the priest handed him four cashews. Since Danny hadn’t expected to be given anything, he said, “Thank you.” A few people turned to glare at him. The priest opened one eye, looked at Danny, then lowered his eyelid. Danny thought he caught a tremor of a smile pass over the man’s inverted lips.
Sufficiently mortified for the day, Danny stuck as close to Meena as he could. When they approached the idol of Shiva, she nudged him.
“Do this,” she whispered, putting her hands together in prayer. She bowed over her hands toward the idol. Danny followed her instruction as others kneeled on the floor and bowed to the god while they chanted in Hindi.
Meena signaled with her eyes, showing Danny where to stand while she joined the devotees. Her voice rose strong and sure as she chanted Shiva’s name and the prayer that filled the inner chamber where the idol sat, smiling at his followers. There was something oddly peaceful about him, although Danny had to imagine that a god who could end the world came with a temper.
Briefly, he thought of Aetas—and of Chronos, waking enraged from his sleep to slay Aetas for what he’d done. That had nearly been the end of the world. Maybe Shiva had danced then, and made the earth tremble.
The earth was trembling now. Perhaps Shiva was beginning to dance again.
When Meena was finished, she gestured that they could leave. Outside, they put their shoes back on.
“You can eat the prasad now,” she said, and popped her own cashews into her mouth. Danny followed her example.
“What were you saying back in Khurja, about the ash … ah … something about the Indian Gaian gods?”
“The ashta vasus?”
“Yes, those. Does India have its own story about how Aet—I mean, how Agni died?”
“Not specifically, no. The story goes that all of the vasus were caught stealing a cow from Vashishta, a sage, who cursed them to be born again as mortals. They asked the goddess Ganga to be their mother, and to relieve them of their mortality as soon as possible. So Ganga Devi gave birth and drowned the vasus to free them of mortal life, so that they could return to the heavens. Only Dyaus survived in his incarnation, trapped as a mortal.”
“Where I come from, there are several stories of how Aetas died. No one can agree on how exactly it happened. I was curious if any of your stories lined up with ours.”
She shook her head, her braid swaying. “I don’t think so. But the vasus are still important. They’re still in everything we see and touch. Shiva,” she said, nodding back at the temple behind her, “keeps the cycles and the elements moving. Now come on, Captain Harris must be burning under the sun.”
Danny followed her down the stairs and into the road. He looked around and was surprised by how many beggars had congregated at the temple. They sat slumped against the walls or nearby trees, dressed in rags or loincloths, some with fabric wrapped around their heads, all of them barefoot. Danny slowed to a stop.
“Leave them, Danny,” Meena said.
He saw a man walk up to a beggar and hand him a banana. The beggar thanked him. Down the street, another beggar sat with a child propped against his chest, his dark eyes bloodshot.