I opened my mouth to speak, but the words caught in my throat. For a moment, I struggled to remember what it was that I used to do during the evening. But when I closed my eyes, I only saw her face. Day and night. That was the difference she left within me. Every day after that had become a lesson in seeing.
Night fell. I waited. I didn’t know what I expected. A message? Some sign? A flock of eagles attacking me and dragging me to her? But maybe I waited too long. Because when I finally arrived at her grove, it was empty. Night had already been seamlessly sculpted into the land.
She was gone.
*
When I got back to Naraka, Gupta was dressed in a simple cotton-spun sherwani. He wore a pagri over his head, strangely molded so that it looked like he wore a pair of horns. And he was holding out a length of black silk to me.
“Where are you going?”
“Correction,” said Gupta. “Where are we going? Stop pining. Your beloved is probably in the Night Bazaar surrounded by every other anxious and amorous person. It’s a big day today.”
“What’s today?” I asked miserably.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll take it upon myself to read you a bedtime story as one would to an infant who has fallen ill. We can start with The Way the Mountain Grows over a Handful of Centuries and move onto dissertations of the benefits of semiaquatic creatures guarding temple treasures. Once upon a—”
“Noooo.”
“Then put this on.”
I snatched the cloak from Gupta, tied it around my shoulders, and flung it over my head. The hood was enchanted, so I could see perfectly through the material. I found a blank mirror and grimaced. The top half of my face was obscured.
“You want me to enter the Night Bazaar like this? I look ridiculous.”
“You always complain about drawing attention to yourself.”
“Gupta. I have a hood covering my face. What part of this does not draw attention to myself?”
“The part where if your full face was showing not a single person would come near you. At least this way, they’re curious.”
“She won’t be there.”
“On the contrary, I expect she will. She’ll be curious. You see, there’s an interesting rumor floating around the Otherworld. It is said that this Teej, the Dharma Raja himself is seeking a consort from along the lineup of eligible demon maidens, nature spirits, goddesses, and guardians. And this marks the last full moon before Teej, so it’s bound to be full of people and celebrations, would-be lovers and betrothed couples.”
“Who. Spread. That. Rumor?”
Gupta tapped his chin and a thousand little ink blooms erupted behind him, shaping into tiny arrows that all pointed … to him.
“But I don’t want to look through a lineup of maidens, I only want her.”
“She doesn’t have to know that.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”
“She’ll be intrigued. She’s used to expecting you every day. Every day you’ve gone there and professed your undying love—”
“I never said those words…”
“Fine, you bored holes into her eyes with an intense be-with-me-forever gaze.”
I said nothing, but I felt my jaw tighten.
“Naturally, she will grow accustomed to that! Where’s the excitement? The tension?”
A few moments later, we were walking through the Night Bazaar. Every avenue was crowded with people of all shapes and sizes. The Teej podium floated over the crowd, a gliding bird with impossible wings.
Gupta kept patting his makeshift horns. “Do these make my head look big?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent,” he said, smoothing his jacket. “I had to do my best to look unattractive. Difficult to do, you know. Can’t have men and women falling over themselves because of me.”
Above us, small golden lanterns careened to the center of the Night Bazaar. Music poured out from unseen instruments, and the rhythm was heady with wonder and yearning. Even Gupta had begun to bob his head to the beat. We walked closer to the sounds of dancing, the raucous cheering and countdowns. When a clearing appeared beneath the split sky, the Teej podium transformed into an unopened lotus bud. With one thunderous clap, the petals peeled back, revealing a golden stage filled with apsaras. The opening act before the dance of would-be lovers. I stifled a yawn, and kept looking.
Vendors crowded around the stage, hawking their wares before an entranced audience. Every time I looked around the room, something within me leapt eagerly. Was she here? A wisp of stars and smoke caught my eye. But it was nothing but iridescent serpent scales on a beautiful nagini woman. Across the room, I thought I saw the fall of impossibly black hair. But it was nothing but a ribbon of slow-moving shadows, eagerly wrapping themselves around whichever dancing couple most desired the privacy.
Beside me, Gupta inhaled sharply. I followed his gaze to the split sky above us. It was breaking. Rain. Rain from the side of day danced toward the ground like chips of amber only to transform into golden-throated birds. Rain from the side of night danced toward the ground like chips of opal only to transform into silver-tailed fish.
“The sky belongs to birds. The ocean belongs to fish. But love belongs to all,” said Gupta.
“Another horrific poem of yours?”
He pointed behind the stage, where the words stained a wall of ivy.
“This is nauseating. I’m leaving. She isn’t here anyway.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asked, jerking his head to the floating podium.
The apsara dance had ended. A yakshini with sea-foam hair lifted her arms to wash the stage of its discarded rose petals and broken bells. Shunted to one corner of the stage stood a small onyx podium. Halved fruit spilled across the counter. Dream fruit. And there she was, pointed chin resting in a star-touched hand. Her hair thrown over one shoulder, twisted around with opals and jasmine. She was laughing. With a man. A human man, no less. A moment ago, the sight of her had crowded out my very thoughts. Now, the sight of her—with him—left me feeling strangely punctured. Like the air had gone solid and I could not possibly breathe it in. I watched them.
He was, I allowed, handsome.
But in his next life he could be a wild pig with a persistent gum disease. For one black second I tapped at my noose.
Gupta swatted my hand.
“Could you have a little faith in my self-restraint?”
He considered this. “No.”
And then, a shimmering apsara appeared beside her. Gupta’s mouth fell open. I jabbed him. He closed it. This must be Nritti, the Jewel of the Heavens. Her title was indisputable. Her skin was peerless, but it wasn’t drenched in night and scrawled in stars. Her eyes rivaled sapphires, but they didn’t shine with wonder or restlessness. Her lips would shame roses, but they didn’t tug into sly grins or tighten at the thought of something funny.
Her beauty made me ache.
But not for her.
Nritti reached for the princeling. The princeling reached for her. Music fell through the air. Golden-throated sparrows collapsed into dew. Silver-tailed fish shivered into feathers. I could breathe the air and it tasted like relief.