Her voice is changed now. It’s low and cavernous, coming from a place deep inside her. “Goddess of the Mountain,” she says in a rumbling voice. “Reveal to us the sacred path that these friends must follow.”
She studies my palms, narrowing her eyes. “You have a long journey ahead of you … I see snowy peaks that go higher and higher.
“You have been called by the Mountain Gods, my daughter. If you want your papa back, you must go and light a deeva at the most northerly temple of the Himalayas at Kasare. This is important; it’s where the Daughter of the Mountain, the Holy River Ganges, starts her journey.”
A cool breeze fills the room and I hear gushing water, as if it’s pouring out of a rock.
“Remember the story? When Lord Shiva had to slow the Ganges down and he laid his long hair in her way?”
She lifts my chin and forces me to stare into her eyes. They seem to spit out fire, making a high wall of flames between us. Roaring tigers spring out of the flames, snarling with sharpened white fangs, coming so close that their sour breath warms my skin.
I’m hotter than the time I had a fever and thought I was being chased by a pack of wolves. She tightens her grip on my hands and my head drops to my chest.
I feel like I’m in the middle of a dream with my eyes wide open, and I can’t believe what I’m seeing but it’s there as clear as day.
All around the edge of a magical circle, rows of dark green vines twist into the air. The room is filled with banyan trees with their long snakelike roots, giant figs dripping from thick stems. Blue-and-yellow Himalayan poppies wave in the gloom.
I want to know if Jeevan can see these things as well, but it’s like my tongue has gone to sleep and it feels thick and useless.
“The Ganges made a great sacrifice by coming to the earth.” Chitragupta’s voice whirls into my head. “If you want your journey to go well, then you must make a sacrifice too … shave your head like a real pilgrim and wear orange and yellow for luck.
“The lamagaias will guide your journey. They are the spirits of your ancestors—they will watch over you.”
She releases my hands at last.
“Asha, you must go on this journey; your papa is calling you.”
I blink, and the fire, forest, and tigers vanish as suddenly as they appeared, leaving me chilled to the bone, as if I’ve been wandering through wind-torn woodlands and icy mountains forever. I bring my hands to my mouth and puff warm air into them but they are still frozen. I hold them above the fire, which sends out sparks and crackles like water being thrown into oil.
Chitragupta jumps off the rickety stool, sticks a long piece of wood into the leaping flames, and lights a bunch of incense sticks. Lifting them into the air, she swirls the smoke in white clouds around both of us.
The smell of spices mixed with strange animal scents in the small room make me giddy and I have to grip the edge of the stool to stop myself tumbling to the floor.
“You didn’t know if you should come here or not, Asha … but it was right. I know you will use your powers for the good of others. Blessings for your journey.”
“Asha.” Jeevan yanks my arm. “Come on!”
We stumble toward the doorway as she scatters a handful of rose petals behind us.
“May the Gods smile on you, my children,” she says, stepping outside. “I will watch as you go.”
We sprint away through the yard as fast as we can, away from the house, with the breeze rattling the hanging beaks behind us. We don’t stop until we’re right past her gate, where we clutch each other and let out screams of hysterical, high-pitched laughter.
I can tell Jeevan is properly spooked. “Let’s get away from here,” he says, grabbing my arm. “How did she know all those things?”
“I don’t know,” I pant.
“And when her voice changed,” cries Jeevan.
“I thought we were going to die! It was all so weird … like a dream.” My thoughts tumble over each other. “But something’s changed in me, Jeevan. After everything that’s gone on today, the thing that I know in my heart is that it’s up to me to find Papa.” I tilt my head back to look at the stars and feel like the ground is tipping beneath my feet.
I feel myself drifting, like I’m being tugged back in time by a silver thread.
You are like the warrior goddess Durga from the ancient texts, the wife of Lord Shiva who rode on a tiger and fought off the demons. Prepare yourself for a journey where the snow can fall deeper than the pines and the frozen mists swirl so thickly you can lose yourself for days …
“Asha. Are you OK?” Jeevan’s voice makes me start. The memory splinters and is gone.
“Yes … just feel a little weird,” I reply, trying to get my thoughts together. “I have to focus on how I’m going to find Papa.”
“I’ve got an idea.” Jeevan sounds excited. “We’re going to the market in Sonahaar on Saturday—we’re taking the cart and some cotton to sell. You could hide in it … if you’re ready to go so soon?”
My body tingles with fear and excitement. “Yes … I think I am ready,” I say. “Especially after everything Chitragupta said.” I imagine the two of us setting off, through the wild Himalayas to Zandapur, and I sense a faint rhythm from my pendant.
“Papa usually loads the cart and keeps it below the shelter out of the
