I wasn’t sure what I was passing for—a bird-containing turban certainly wasn’t going to fool anyone into thinking I was a demon—but I was too exhausted to protest. Just like Tuntuni, if I wanted to make it out of Demon Land alive, I was going to have to trust Neel.
He reached into the food pouch at his waist and brought out a handful of dark seeds. “Keep these just in case she asks you to chew on anything,” he said.
Chew on something? I wanted to ask but the prince kept walking. “Come on, we better get there before any of the other rakkhosh wake up.”
We entered the gorge, and I realized that the awful snoring had been coming from here after all. Those horrible rumbling, shrieking, trilling noises were coming from the nose of an elderly rakkhoshi who was fast asleep in the riverbed.
“Ai-Ma! Ai-Ma!” Neel called, gesturing to me to stay behind him. “It’s your grandson, Neelkamal!”
The old crone sat up mid-snore, and then came flying at us. Her knobby arms and legs were flapping, her gray hair was streaming behind her, and her near toothless mouth was fixed in a wide grin.
“Oh, my sugar plum yum-yum, my lollipop dum-dum, my molasses-sweet grandbaby, oh me, oh my, oh, come and give your old Ai-Ma a kiss!”
“She can’t see very well, and she can’t hear very well,” Neel hissed as the old woman approached. “And she can’t remember very well.” I felt my heart lighten, then fall again as Neel added, “But unfortunately she can still smell really well.”
The old rakkhoshi crone bent far down, and standing high on his toes, Neel gave her a gingerly kiss on her hairy cheek. Then Ai-Ma began to sniff the air like a crazed hunting dog catching the whiff of a fox.
“Grandbaby, my sweet boo-boo, have you brought a pet? A human being to play with? A gift for your poor Ai-Ma?”
My turban shuddered. Neel slapped it. I didn’t love the thought that Tuni or I might be considered a delicious gift, like a box of cookies, for Neel’s grandmother.
“Ai-Ma!” Neel exclaimed. “What are you saying? This is my brother, Lalkamal, and he’s your grandson too!”
The crone reached for me, but, feeling my turban first, withdrew her hand.
“The brother of my gum-gum must be my grandbaby too,” the old crone mused. “But why does he smell so much like a human pup?”
Neel’s grandmother drew herself up to her full height, and then, randomly, snorted out some iron pellets from her left nostril.
“If you are my family true, here’s some iron pellets for you to chew,” she sang, handing the booger-covered iron pieces to me.
I had no choice but to take the revolting things. I slipped the pellets into my jacket pocket, and substituted the seeds Neel had given me. I chewed them as loud as I could. Ma would be horrified at my table manners, but Ma would be even more horrified if I was this old biddy’s main course for dinner.
Ai-Ma smiled, but kept sniffing the air. “Is old Ai-Ma’s nose fooling her? Why do I smell human flesh? And mixed in with a nice roasted chicken?”
My turban muttered and wobbled again, but I gave it a good punch.
“How can my grandbaby be so small? Let me see your eyeball!” Neel’s grandmother demanded.
I looked in shock at Neel, who handed me the golden ball from his sling. I held it out to the crone, who felt the bowling-ball-sized object, and smiled.
“Oh, boys, what has become of your Ai-Ma? Why do I still smell delectable meats?” The old crone’s mouth was watering, and giant drops of spittle rained down from her mouth like a fountain. She slurped loud and long.
“If of my flesh you are a part, why, let me see your beating heart!”
“Ai-Ma!” Neel protested.
But I had an idea. I grabbed the biggest ruby from my pocket. It was the size of a small lunch box, and gritty with sea salt and sand. I rubbed it off the best I could and shoved it toward the old rakkhoshi.
“Anything for you, Ai-Ma!” I said in a low voice.
The crone held the ruby up to her eyes, and murmured, “So hard and large and red, and still I want my grandbaby’s head? Oh, what have I done, what did I do? You must be my grandson true!”
Returning the ruby to me, Ai-Ma grabbed us each in one of her gangly arms and drew us up to her chest, crooning, “Oh, my darling pom-poms, my shriveled beanpoles, my scrawny-crow grandbabies!” Ai-Ma rocked and sang. “I am Ai-Ma, mother of mother, for Lalu and Neelu, there is no other!”
I held my breath as the crone cooed at us. It was more than a little disturbing. Finally, she put us down.
“Come, my honey-drenched num-nums, my caramel boo-boos. It is time for Grammy to finish her nap. Neelu, you rub old Ai-Ma’s feet, and, Lalu, you pull out her gray hairs.”
Ew. Really? I grimaced, but Neel gave me a warning glance. It was obviously too dangerous to do otherwise. The prince took a big bottle of mustard oil and began rubbing the crone’s warty feet, while I sat by her head, massaging her greasy scalp and pulling out long gray hairs one by one. They were hard, the texture of steel guitar strings, plus they were slippery, so it wasn’t easy. A few times, I had to use both hands, with my foot on her head for leverage. Ai-Ma didn’t seem to notice, but smiled blissfully and kept her eyes shut, like we were giving her some kind of five-star spa treatment.
Her snores shook the gorge for about half an hour, but then, with a mighty shake, she was awake again. Ai-Ma snorted and hacked, then asked, “What can I do for my grandbabies who have traveled so long to visit me?”
“Oh, we couldn’t ask for anything, Ai-Ma,” Neel protested, still rubbing the noxious stuff into her feet. He stared at me with big eyes.
“Oh, no, how could we, Ai-Ma?” I added in my fake princely voice. My arms were aching from massaging the crone’s head, and I had more than one cut on my hands from pulling her awful gray hairs.
Without warning, Ai-Ma sat up. Neel and I both tumbled off her.
“Oh, shame shame, puppy shame, all the donkeys know your name!” she protested. “How can this be? My grandbabies must have a gift from their Ai-Ma—I have prepared no food, I have no new clothes or toys to give you. Please, please do not embarrass an old woman. What can Ai-Ma give you?”
“Well, Ai-Ma,” Neel suggested, “you could take us as far as the border of Demon Land.”
“Done!” Ai-Ma promised, scooping us both into her giant arms.
The rakkhoshi walked us through the desert of Demon Land for seven days and eleven long nights. Her arms were large enough to be warty hammocks, and Neel and I each rested in the crook of an elbow. As comfortable as a warty hammock may sound, let me assure you it was hard traveling. The only trees on our path grew thorns or poisonous-looking pods. There was little water, even less food, and no respite. Ai-Ma grew tired once or twice, but I was so nervous of what would happen if she stopped, that I kept telling her stories from back home. Appropriately adapted for a demon, of course. In most of them, Jovi was a greedy khokkosh.