FROM THE AUTHOR OF

THE BESTSELLER Govinda

KRISHNA
UDAYASANKAR
 KRISHNA
UDAYASANKAR

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PRESS

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First published in Ebury Press by Penguin Random House India 2019

Copyright © Krishna Udayasankar 2019

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 To my darling ‘beasts’, Boozo, Zana and Maya,
I aspire to be a human worthy ofyour boundless love
‘Perhaps the dream is dreaming us.’

‘When the Angels Fall’, Sting

 [1]

the man knew these were his last moments, but his adrenaline-
fuelled feet kept moving through the rubble and brush. For the first—
and only—time ever, he regretted his life of crime as he looked with
longing at the warm light spilling out from a cluster of apartments
at the far end of the field. But they were too far away to offer hope
of help or safety. He had made sure of that. He had chosen this spot
because it was perfect for murder.
The irony made Rajan pause, and as he did, his eyes fell on a
rusted frame, the partial skeleton of a long-abandoned, industrial­
sized garbage bin. The smell of fear in his nostrils overpowered the
rotten stench that came from it. He clambered inside and crouched
down in a corner, his hands clapped over his mouth to silence his
own gasps.
The others were dead. Daniel had been the first to fall, before
any of them could even understand what had transpired. For his
part, Rajan still did not understand.
Kailash had opened the bag to check the money when, out of
nowhere, something warm had splashed across his face. A shape
had gone flying through the air and landed at his feet, wriggling
and squirming: Daniel’s arm, ripped off at the shoulder, the nerve
endings at the tips of the fingers still unaware that the body they
belonged to was no longer alive. Kailash had secured the bag with
one arm while pulling out his gun with the other. He had let loose a
few aimless shots in the manner of one who believed that a gun was
the solution to all of life’s problems. As soon as the gunfire abated,
the screaming had begun.
Rajan had not waited to see what became of Kailash, or to
identify the nature of their enemy—the mangled limb at his feet
had made it clear that their attacker, whoever it was, ought not to be
messed with.
His breath now under control, Rajan set himself to listen for
signs of pursuit. Silence sharpened his fear, turning it into a stabbing
cramp in the pit of his stomach, as though some force were sucking
him dry from within his body.
A rustle, and he started whimpering. Then a loud crash as the
wall of the metal bin crumpled inwards, struck from the outside by a
powerful force. Another strike and the bin toppled over, ejecting its
contents onto the ground. A new stink rose as Rajan soiled himself.
All restraint gone, he began wailing loudly, his despair so terrible that
it drove all words—even memories of mother and god—out of his
mind. He turned to hide his face against the ground as a lithe form
stalked out from behind the bin. His hand fell on the bag he was
carrying.
A faint hope fluttered through the thug. He staggered to his feet,
holding out the bag. ‘Take it. Take it all. Take it, but leave me alive,
please, take it, take it, leave me!’
Then, he saw his hunter. Panic turned into a calm madness that
made him fall silent and stand still. He was dreaming. He was not
dreaming. This could not be happening. It was. Nothing made sense
any more. Not even death. This was worse.
Words, he realized, meant nothing to the hunter. Nor did the
money. But was there something in his tone, his entreating, that
made sense to the monster? It tilted its head to one side, evaluating
him, his whimpers.
‘Please . . .?’ Rajan pleaded, one last time.
Its breath was hot. He felt it against his face as the thing sunk
its teeth, its long, ivory-white teeth, into his neck. Its thick tongue
smacked against his face as it sucked up the blood that began to flow.
His blood. He began screaming, but no sound came from his mouth.
His vocal cords were already severed. How was it that he was alive?
Even as the thought occurred to him, the creature rectified its
apparent omission, biting off his skull like a petulant child pulling
off a doll’s head.
Bone crunched against tooth as the creature rolled its toy around
in its mouth. With a dissatisfied rumble, it spit the morsel out. The
beast clawed once at the headless corpse, like a kitten asking to play,
before giving up on the lifeless form. Then, licking its blood-soaked
muzzle, it stalked away into the night.
Prithvi
 [1]

it was always the same dream, a dream that began with darkness
and blood. In his vision, he opened the door, though every instinct
told him not to, cautioned him about what he would find behind it
and reminded him that by not going through it the past, the painful
past, could be different, after all.
He placed his hand on the cold, wet knob and turned it. As
always, he opened the door.
In his dream, he knew which blood smears came from whom.
The satin-cream walls, the elegant, embossed curtains that Noor
had selected with such care when setting up the house, the bright
patchwork cushions that she had joyfully bargained over and
bought—each surface was sullied, every inch of fabric soaked. But
blood sang its own tale, and he could tell that the long drag-mark
on the floor was Noor’s attempt at getting away, the splash on the
curtains was from when she had been struck the first time, and that
puddle on the carpet was where he had set her down.
You came. Good. I wanted you to see her like this. I wanted her to
die in front ofyou.
The words had been the beginning of all that he had done, but in
his dreams, they were the end. They always woke him up.
Prithvi sat up in his bed looking at his hands, expecting
them to be stained red. His chest was heaving and, despite the air
conditioning, perspiration trickled down his bare back. His throat
was sore, as though he had been screaming at the top of his lungs.
Slowly, wakefulness took him, freeing him from the silent horrors he
had seen. He threw himself back against the pillows with the resigned
sigh of one who had been through this before and knew he would
have to endure it many times more, for every day that he lived.
On the side table next to the bed, his mobile phone buzzed
again. Again? Prithvi realized that the phone was partly responsible
for his waking up; not that he minded. In any case, the dream had
been done with him. Staying asleep would have been an excruciating
limbo of thought and memory, a chance to enter the nightmare all
over again, right from its start. Wiping the sweat from his face with
the back of his hand, he reached for the phone.
The SMS said: Tickets emailed. Mumbai, like it or not. P.S. I’m
sorry.
‘Fuck!’ Prithvi threw all self-pity out of his mind and himself
out of his bed. He called for a taxi as he headed to the bathroom,
not bothering with the lights in his single-room apartment. The cold
water stung him to alertness, and he was ready and waiting at the
main gate by the time his taxi arrived. He would barely make the
5 a.m. flight.
The news broke on television screens all over the airport while
Prithvi was waiting to board. An anchor announced in the loud,
urgent voice reserved for earth-shattering journalism that three
men had been found savagely murdered in an open field near one
of Mumbai’s suburbs. Pixelated blurs showed the bodies, mangled
beyond belief, parts strewn over a radius of two kilometres. A third
body had been found almost intact, save for a missing head.
The deceased men had been identified as drug dealers
belonging to two rival gangs. At first, some of the TV channels
tried to frame the whole incident as either a gang war or an act of
vigilantism. The pictures and video feeds from the site, however,
soon put all other angles to the story on hold, leaving only one:
Never in India, possibly in the entire world, had such a murder
been known to occur.
 Cameramen, reporters and even some policemen, yet another
anchor announced, had fainted at the scene, and the braver ones had
vomited all over the field. Prithvi heard someone behind him retch at
the visuals—one of his fellow passengers had found even the remote
experience too much to handle. But then, he reasoned, there was
adequate reason for all the grim faces and alarmed stares. In less than
two hours, everyone on the plane would be in the same city. It turned
out to be the quietest flight he had ever been on.

Mumbai was, as expected, in quite a stir. Few things made the

resilient city skip a beat, but last night’s murders had plucked at a new
nerve, stirring an unease that many had not known before. Even at
Nariman Point, the city’s business centre, rumours and speculations
abounded, and hotshot lawyers and corporate executives in dark
suits discussed tabloid details over expensive lattes. Prithvi tried to
tune out the chatter as he bought coffee. In a few minutes, he would
know the facts, and it made no sense for him to fill his mind with
preconceptions. It would only get in the way of his work.
‘Thank you,’ he said, picking up the disposable cup that was
pushed towards him, taking a sip before noticing that his name had
been misspelt as ‘Ritvee’.
It’s Prithvi, you idiot. The very planet you live on. The element that
sustains life. Earth.
The pseudo-hipster cafe was not the only thing new—or
irritating—about the place. Nariman Point had, Prithvi noted, changed
much in the decade since he had set foot in Mumbai, including the
building he was making his way to. But for all the air of elite wealth
and pretence of world-changing importance that seemed to permeate
the area, familiarity endured across its roads and worn-out footpaths,
and he had neither to ask for directions nor slow his stride as he made
his way towards one of the many skyscrapers along the seafront.
Prithvi entered the building and rode the lift up along with three
executives—two women and a man—all of whom huddled together
as Prithvi dominated the space with his tall, sturdy presence. They
spared him a second glance, taking in his jeans, grey T-shirt and light
ranger’s jacket, but soon bent over their phones to watch the latest
updates on what had now been named the ‘Powai triple murders’.
In an unexpected development, an eyewitness was rumoured to have
come forth, and everyone waited to hear what this person had to say.
‘Probably a paid actor,’ one of the women ventured. ‘They’ll do
anything to boost TRP ratings. Else why go to the channel, why not
to the police?’
‘You can’t trust the police these days. Safer to go to the media,
especially if you’re going to cause trouble for some big shot.’
‘Scary shit, this,’ the first woman said as she and her friends exited
the lift. Prithvi smiled to himself at that. The truth, he suspected, was
a lot scarier than they could imagine.
He got off on the forty-second floor and walked towards a large
frosted-glass door that declared itself the entry to the corporate
headquarters of Rex Data Analytics Private Limited. Making his way
in, Prithvi noted with satisfaction that the TV in the reception area
had been set to mute, though it still flashed with infographics and
updates from the crime scene.
‘I have an appointment with Mr Narayan,’ he informed the
receptionist. ‘My name is Prithvi.’
Apparently, he was expected, because the receptionist stood up.
‘This way, please,’ he said, then led Prithvi past an array of cubicles,
most of which had employees hard at work, intense concentration
writ on their faces.
Rex Data Analytics was a specialized company that worked on
collecting and making sense of the most obscure pieces of data to
uncover trails that few could see. The police often reached out to
them for help, though Prithvi doubted that they had done so in the
current instance. The irony was that Dev Narayan, CEO, Rex Data
Analytics, could have solved the case—or at least the crux of it—in
a moment.
‘Are you sure?’ Prithvi said, as he entered the room he was
taken to.
 Dev Narayan looked up from his desk, making sure the door was
closed behind Prithvi before replying, ‘Yes, I’m sure. But it wouldn’t
hurt to say hello first, Prithvi.’
Prithvi waved away the invitation with the disdain of one who
knew things about Dev that few others did—certainly not any of his
staff or the circle of Mumbai’s elite, the movers and shakers he called
friends.
Dev bore Prithvi’s dismissal with collegial cheer. He said,
‘You should move back to Bombay, Prithvi. You’d have more of a
happening social life here.’
‘I moved away precisely because there was too much happening
in my . .. social life, as you call it. Besides, Enforcers aren’t exactly at
the top of your average guest list. We have a way of making everyone
uncomfortable, in case you haven’t noticed.’
‘Which brings me to the next point. You’re wasted as an
Enforcer. With your intelligence and skills, really, you ought to be
on the Council. It’s time we put you there.’
‘That boat sailed a long time ago, Dev.’
Dev said, ‘Let’s save that conversation for another day, shall we?’
Prithvi nodded. Throwing himself into a chair, he said, ‘Tell me
the details. And spare me the basics, I’ve had my ears filled with that
crap since I woke up this morning.’
Dev pushed a stack of photographs towards him. Prithvi could
see why the reporters on the scene had thrown up. The pixelated
red blur on TV, he had known, had been blood, but the reality was
far more gruesome than could be expected. Flesh lay shredded and
scattered on the ground like refuse from an abattoir. A leg had been
severed from the rest of its human, the close-up photo showing it had
been gnawed at, skin and muscle scraped off to show the reddish-
white of the bone. A ripped-out intestine lay snaked through the
grass. Elsewhere, a body remained whole, but for its missing head.
‘Did they find it?’ Prithvi asked, indicating the decapitated torso.
In response, Dev pushed forward a photo of a misshapen red
ball made of some indeterminate material. ‘Close up,’ he offered,
drawing another picture from the stack. A surprisingly undamaged
eyeball stared out from the mass of masticated meat and bone, the
chewed-at remains of what had once been a human head.
He cast a cautious look around, more as a matter of cultivated
habit than an actual apprehension of being overheard, and continued,
‘Let me be straight with you, Prithvi. This is not a good situation.
The Council thinks it’s the handiwork of the Extremists—that lot is
not averse to dealing with mobsters if it meets their purposes.’
‘But you don’t think it’s them?’ Prithvi’s tone made it clear that
he was not asking for Dev’s opinion as much as he was the results of
his data analysis.
Dev provided as much. ‘My conclusion, preliminary as it is, is
that this is a lone rogue. He was probably hiding out in the forests
around Powai and happened upon the three gangsters and their drug
transaction.’
‘My instructions?’
‘The usual. Find him. Then execute him. Your advance is already
in your account.’
Prithvi said nothing.
Dev frowned. ‘If your concern is money—’
Prithvi did not wait for Dev to finish, nor did he bother
countering the allegation. Standing up, he said, ‘If your concern is
your ass, then call another Enforcer. In fact, isn’t Neel Sengupta on
call right here in Mumbai? Get him to do your dirty work for you.
I’ll answer to the Council for my actions. Why did you want me here,
Dev? Are you afraid that after all these years, it’ll turn out that the
one who did this had been cleared by the Prophecy? That would send
your career down the drain, wouldn’t it?’
Dev clucked his tongue once, as though he had expected precisely
this reaction and was already prepared for it. ‘Nature doesn’t play dice
with individuals, Prithvi; only with species as a whole. And there, she
cheats like a bitch, creating aberrations, keeping alive genes that suit
her own twisted definition of survival. To answer your question: yes,
it’s possible the murderer wasn’t captured by the Prophecy—after
all, data determines results, no matter what the process, and there
are many individuals out there of whom we have no record. But
that doesn’t make the Prophecy a failure, and I have no patience for
anyone who implies as much without a shred of logic.’
The two stood glaring each other down. At length, Dev
capitulated. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’d rather be anywhere but here, in
Bombay. But the Council needs you. And in return, I am sure they
can be convinced that you’ve served as Enforcer for long enough.
That is, if you are successful . . .’
The offers—both implicit and explicit—appeared to have no
impact on Prithvi, who did not reply and stood shuffling through
the photos. He took one last look at the photo of the severed head
before throwing the whole sheaf onto the table in front of him.
He said, ‘He’s played around with his victims the way a puppy
or kitten might play with a bird it killed. And, he’s fed on them.
Whoever he is, he’s drunk on his sense of superiority over humans,
his power, and will want to use it again. In all probability, he will
strike soon, even by tonight. If he does, it may be my best chance of
getting him.’
Dev looked satisfied. He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘You’ll
call me? Keep me posted?’
‘No,’ Prithvi replied. ‘Your car’s in the parking lot downstairs?’
he asked, rummaging through the many keys on Dev’s table as he
spoke. z
‘Not car. Bike.’ Dev picked out a worn-out key and gave it to
him. ‘Your old bike. I had it taken out of storage, cleaned and fuelled
up.’
‘Thanks,’ Prithvi said.
‘And I’m serious, Prithvi. After this is done we should talk
about—’ Dev began.
But Prithvi was already gone.
 [2]

assistant commissioner of police (Crime Branch) Aditi Kashyap

was no stranger to murder, crowds and mayhem. The situation on
the ground, however, reminded her more of a mob waiting for a
Bollywood superstar than a crime scene. High-powered flashes
went off incessantly as a weak sun rose from behind a skyline of
buildings. A perpetual buzz of conversation filled the air, punctuated
by shouted instructions from journalists and policemen alike. Cars,
ambulances, transmission trucks and vehicles of every kind blocked
the road, creating a traffic jam that stretched for two kilometres.
She decided to walk through the mess to reach the crime scene,
leaving her Jeep and driver to make their own slow way to the spot. It
turned out to be a blessing in disguise, for she slipped quietly into the
cordoned-off area, avoiding the throng of mediapersons who waited
to shove a microphone in her face and wring out whatever they could
to use as a comment.
Sub-inspector Dubey, a rotund, avuncular man, noticed her
arrival and came up to her. He began, quite thoughtfully, by saying,
‘Madam, shall I get you chai?’
Dubey gestured in the direction of the roadside vendor who
had set up his small tea and biscuits shop to service the burgeoning
crowd that thronged every side of the field, held back only by the
police cordon—onlookers eager to delight in the tragedy of others,
if only to temporarily escape their own mundane burdens.
 Aditi Kashyap was not impressed. ‘What is going on, Dubeyji?
Clear the crowd right away! That chaiwalla too. Is this a crime scene
or a circus?’
Leaving Dubey to follow her instructions, she walked towards
one of the red-flagged areas, where the forensics team was still
working. Haldenkar, an enthusiastic young officer, saluted as she
approached and raised the yellow tape marking off the area to let her
through.
A woman in jeans and a black kurta was crouched over a spot
formerly occupied by what Aditi guessed had been a hand, from the
shape of the chalk outline. The bodies, or what remained of them,
had already been moved into a makeshift tent, where another team
was working on them.
‘Hi, Naina,’ Aditi greeted the forensic analyst.
‘Morning, Aditi. No point calling it a good morning, I
suppose?’
Aditi smiled, knowing that Naina’s surliness was pretty
standard amongst the young women in the police department
and driven by the need to look and act tough to seem adequately
competent. Cases like these, however, made up for all the crap she
put up with.
Crouching down next to Naina, she said, ‘All right, what have
we got?’
Naina shook her head. ‘Prima facie it looks like an animal attack,
but. . .’
‘But?’
‘I don’t know, Aditi. There are signs that this animal was hunting.
It waited for the right moment to strike, rather than act on impulse.
Why would an animal stalk and hunt out these men—unless there
was a human mind directing it?’
‘You mean a trained animal? Like a dog? That’s unusual . . . but
not impossible,’ Aditi said.
‘Yes and no,’ Naina replied. ‘It will take at least thirty-six hours
to get the species identification from the saliva DNA, but I’m willing
to guess this was no dog. I took partial teeth imprints off of one
of the other bodies. This was a large—no, a huge animal. Plus, it
appears to have taken that other guy’s head off in a clean bite.’
‘So something big enough to bite a human head off at one go?’
‘Yes.’
Aditi stood up and surveyed the scene as a whole. She would
examine the ground herself, but she also knew to take expert input
where she got it. Whether their grumpy old forensics head agreed
or not, Naina was one of the best in the business. Nevertheless, the
question had to be asked.
‘On a scale of one to ten, Naina, what is the possibility that this
whole thing was staged? As in, they’ve made it look like an animal
attack in order to deflect the investigation?’
Naina looked up at Aditi, shielding her eyes against the sun with
one hand. ‘Well, if you’ve watched enough CSI, you might believe
that all this is an elaborate set-up. But this is India, and these are
drug-running scum. Why go to all this trouble when a bullet from
a homemade desi revolver will do the trick? Hire a kid from a small
town, give him 10,000 rupees, and your job is done. Frankly, Aditi,
you have your investigation cut out for you.’
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way now, would I?’ Aditi joked.
‘Thanks, Naina.’
Naina nodded. ‘For what it’s worth, most people would be
happy these guys are dead. But now that it’s breaking news, we can’t
let it go, can we?’
‘No. We can’t.’ Aditi moved away. Dubey and Haldenkar joined
her.
‘Haldenkar, what’s this on the news about a witness?’ Aditi asked.
‘Madam, the witness is a resident in Horizon Seaview—the
apartment complex on the other side of the field. Apparently, he is
a stargazer. He was watching with a telescope when he saw unusual
activity in the field. He called the control room at around 4 a.m.,
about the time when the safaaiwallas came here to dump garbage and
found the bodies. I’ve interviewed him already.’
 ‘And?’
‘Madam ... he said he saw a lion.’
‘A lion?’ Aditi could not hide her disdain. ‘You mean, with a
mane . . . the big furry hair and all?’
‘No, madam. He said it was a female lion. I asked him repeatedly,
even suggested to him that leopards and other wild animals sometimes
wander in from the hillside forests. But he was adamant. He said it
was a lion, but without the hair.’
Aditi was struck by two thoughts at once: Naina’s words about
a large trained animal conflated with the realization that the witness
was likely to create even more panic than had already set in, with his
absurd statements.
She said, ‘Send two constables to the man’s apartment. They are
not to allow any reporters near him. Wait, on second thoughts, you
go, with a small team. Take him into custody. Say it’s for routine
questioning. I’ll speak to the commissioner about it. We can’t have
this man stirring up more problems than we already have.’
‘Yes, madam. Madam, is the commissioner coming to the spot?’
‘No, Haldenkar. He will stay away till we can give him more to
say about this whole mess. Besides, it shows lack of confidence in us if
the commissioner rushes to the spot. Let’s come up with some answers
soon. Any leads other than what forensics has told us? Any ideas?’
Dubey, who had been silent all the while, spoke up. ‘Madam,
maybe ... I mean ...’ He stopped, a look of incredulity on his face at
what he had been about to suggest. But it was too late to backtrack.
Aditi was looking at him with a patient anticipation that few officers
spared for their subordinates. It would not do to disrespect or
disappoint her, no matter how absurd his idea.
‘Madam,’ he began again, ‘my son . . . he’s a teenager, only
fourteen last month. He went for a movie with his friends. English
movie, U/A certificate one only . . . He came back and was telling his
mother about the film. It was about a man who turns into a wolf at
the full moon and . . .’
Dubey stopped, looking mildly embarrassed.
 ‘Dubeyji, are you suggesting that a werewolf did this? A
supernatural fantasy creature?’ Aditi asked, her expression deadpan.
‘Not wolf, madam. Lion or . . .’
Aditi did her best to not react. She took a deep breath, trying to
erase the last thirty seconds of her life from memory before she lost
her temper in public. Dubey wisely held his tongue, but Haldenkar
misunderstood her silence. He chipped in, ‘Good idea, no, madam?
That witness also said he saw a female lion . . .’
‘Haldenkar, you think some US-returned MBA-type with a
multinational job has ever seen a lion, except in a zoo or safari, that
too from the safety of his air-conditioned car? Arre woh sala toh . . .
he’d have been petrified by a cat.’ Aditi cast around, exasperated,
looking for a way to convince the two men that their utterly ridiculous
idea was. . . well, utterly ridiculous.
She continued, ‘Tell you what. Speak to the forest department.
They have motion-sensor cameras around the forest area, don’t they?
See what the footage shows. I’m sure it will turn out to be a leopard
come down from the Powai hills. You check immediately.’
Haldenkar nodded vigorously, happy at having ‘hard evidence’,
as he preferred to call it, to pursue. But Dubey appeared to have
found his courage and with it, his tongue, again. ‘But madam, what
if... I mean . . . you know?’
Aditi calmly considered the middle-aged Dubey. He was a good
man and only a couple of years from retirement. She said, ‘Then,
Dubeyji, we will have to figure out how to get an arrest warrant for
an animal. Procedure toh hoga, na?’
Haldenkar burst out laughing and Dubey joined in, being
unnaturally loud.
Aditi looked from them to the taped-off crime scene and then
glanced in the general direction of the jungle.
Lions!
She could really do with that chai now, after all.
 [3]

prithvi watched from atop a nearby hillock as the young woman

walked around the crime scene. Her khaki pants and uniform shoes
were enough to give her away for a policewoman, though it was her
confidence and command that struck him first. She was methodical
and precise in the way she went around the field, ignoring the
pressure of rhe mob standing by, the press alongside.
She did not, he noted, mind getting her hands dirty, quite
literally, and went down on the ground in more than one place to
study the blood splatters and tracks. He watched as she followed a
particular trail all the way to the edge of the field where rubble and
garbage gave way to smooth, paved tarmac and shook her head as she
studied the expanse of the highway. Prithvi knew what conclusions
she had reached and why—the killer had made their way towards the
highway, where they had got into a vehicle. Given the rains and the
incessant traffic, picking up any clues as to the waiting car was near
impossible. Or was it?
The woman crouched on the edge of the tarmac, touched her
fingers to the ground, then held them up to her nose. She would,
he reasoned, only do that if she had seen traces of coolant or oil,
presumably from a waiting getaway vehicle. If that were indeed so .. .
Prithvi had long since learnt never to take any assignment lightly,
even if it entailed little more effort than stamping out a bug. That
said, he had not expected this particular one, despite its violence
and glamour, to be more than the usual. The possibility, however,
that the car had been idling while the murders were taking place—
that was a game changer. Not only did it mean that there was an
accomplice, it also implied that the accomplice had no fear of the
murderer . . . whatever his form.
Also, despite speculations that the meeting had been a drug
exchange, neither contraband nor money had been found at the
Scene. Who had taken them away?
Prithvi wondered if it would be of any use to personally examine
the crime scene. He decided against it, figuring there was no way he
could access that section of the ground without drawing the police’s
attention. Besides, observing the investigator had already told him
everything he wanted to know. Walking back to where he had left
the bike, he swung himself onto the seat and started it up, allowing
himself to enjoy its characteristic rumble for a few moments as he
contemplated his next move. Reason, more than instinct, told him it
would be of little use to try and pick up the murderer’s trail from the
crime scene. Despite Dev’s earlier analysis, Prithvi considered this to
be more than a random act of violence; there was far too much method
to both execution and escape. The case required a different approach.
Prithvi glanced at his watch. It would take him about an hour
to make his way back towards the south Bombay area, and he could
probably afford another half an hour on the way for a hearty breakfast.
His next destination did not open till 10 a.m.
He spent much of his breakfast looking up the policewoman he
had seen at the crime scene on his phone. ACP Aditi Kashyap. Once
hailed as the poster girl for the new breed of police officers, she had
slowly fallen out of favour in the department’s press releases and the
local newspapers. From what he had just seen, he could only suppose
it was because she had been good at her job—perhaps a little too
good. As long as she did not get in his way, Prithvi reasoned, he was
unconcerned.
At 10 a.m. sharp, Prithvi drew up in front of the Chhatrapati
Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangralay—formerly known as the Prince
ofWales Museum. It was where he had to go to meet who he had
to meet, but now that he was there, the prospect of seeing his
plan through was not at all appealing. There was too much of the
past inside. Not just the glorious past, but his own past, those he
had once known all too closely. The problem was, they no longer
knew him. Still, this was an obvious stop to make the inquiries he
wanted to make, and letting his personal issues get in the way was
not going to help. Cursing the city and all it held, Prithvi parked
his bike further up and across the street and walked back to the
museum.
Heading into the building, he paused to admire the clock
displayed at the entrance—an antique piece with the hours marked
in old Tamil script. Then he made his way through an open corridor,
past the small cafe and towards the annex. There, he headed for a
staircase tucked away at the back and used it to go up one floor to a
small office.
The door was open. Inside, a wiry male dressed in a khadi kurta
and jeans was bending over a large bronze statue.
Prithvi smiled despite himself. Bhima Rao had been his roommate
during his last year at university—a bond all the more special for
the ideologies they had shared and disputed. Bhima and Prithvi had
rabidly disagreed with each other, as only good friends could, and
had remained close after graduation despite their diverging political
opinions. No wonder then, that Bhima had never forgiven Prithvi
for disappearing without a word or a trace, only to resurface in the
obscure and repugnant life of an Enforcer. This would be their first
conversation in over a decade.
Knocking on the door, he entered the room.
‘Prithvi!’ Bhima looked up. He set down the magnifying glass
and notebook that he held and rushed forward, as though to throw
his arms around his old friend. But instinct seemed to pull him
back at the last minute, for he stopped a few feet short and roughly
demanded, ‘What are you doing here? It’s been what, twelve years
since I last saw you? You didn’t even come for Noor’s tenth . . .’
 Noor.
Prithvi stiffened. Not a day went by when he did not think of
her. But to speak her name, to hear it called out loud, was unbearably
painful. He said instead, ‘You’ve heard the news, I’m sure. Dev asked
me to . . .’
‘Ah yes. Dev. The wise one, who sees all. The father of the
Prophecy.’ Bhima snorted. ‘Tell me, Prithvi, if the government
decided to create an exhaustive database of every individual, to
monitor and record their every move and action and speech, do you
think we would agree to it?’
Prithvi fiddled with a half-restored statue on Bhima’s desk. The
conversation felt gratifyingly direct, the way it had been back in
their student days. He answered in kind, ‘Come off it, Bhima. You
were once all about changing the system, the status quo. Now,’ he
gestured at the surroundings, ‘you’re a part of it. Surely you’re in no
position to argue.’
‘I came into the system because change needs to happen from
the inside as much as the outside. Besides, where I work doesn’t
compromise what I stand for. It’s a means to an end.’
‘Yeah, right. You probably don’t even agree with having an
Aadhaar card. Still, here you are.’
‘Yes, I don’t agree with having an Aadhaar card. And last
Sunday, I was at a protest that said as much. Is that any of Dev’s
business?’ Bhima dropped his voice to a low hiss. ‘When I knew you,
once, you’d have been there at that protest with me; that’s what you
stood for. And look at you today. Hah! If there’s one thing history
has taught us, it is that every oppressive regime began as a rot from
within masquerading as social good. Dev’s database—it’s too much
power in the hands of a single individual.’
‘You, of all people, should understand how times have changed.
Technology makes it harder to keep secrets. We can harness the same
technology to make sure that each and every individual is protected and
accounted for. Besides, the Council approved of the database. It isn’t
some individual’s tool of domination, as you’re making it out to be.’
 ‘Indeed. And how many have you killed because you were
ordered to? Because the Prophecy told you to? Enforcer, my arse.
Take your filthy hands off my goddamn statue.’
Prithvi moved his hand away, leaving a terse silence between
them till the old fan overhead creaked to life.
Summer. And the irony that was called load-shedding, depriving
the people of electricity when they needed it the most. But as the fan
set up its even breeze, Prithvi felt warmer than he had before and
uncomfortably so. He said, ‘I’m not here to debate power politics
with you, Bhima. I’m here to ask you if you’ve heard anything
unusual lately.’
Bhima bared his teeth in what could pass for a grin, but it was
hardly mirthful. ‘I get it. Let’s ask the tribal. He must be an Extremist
or at least know a few. This is not the kind of individual you used to
be, Prithvi. You were good. You were a friend.’
Prithvi knew well that Bhima’s anger came from old ties—and
old wounds—but he had no time to make recompense or offer
explanations. Nor did he care to. He kept on point, saying, ‘Both
you and I know what happened in that field in Powai. Whoever
did this thing has to have been off the radar, someone who wilfully
refuses to have his or her details in the database—as many of your
friends are known to refuse.’
‘One’s criminal is another’s rebel. Besides, these so-called “off-
radar” individuals have better things to do than deal with mafia scum.
They don’t need databases, Prophecies or some damned Enforcer
like you to come along and set them right, because they have morals.
And those morals are very clear—every life is precious. Not that
you’d understand. So, go look elsewhere for someone to throw at
Dev’s feet in return for his scraps. What did he offer you anyway, to
bring you back here? Let me guess—a Council seat? How many more
exceptions is the Council going to make for you, I wonder? Your
guilt might not be obvious to others, Prithvi, but it was obvious as
hell to me when you went away without a word. You weren’t even
there for the funeral. Thoo\ Why did you even come back?’
 Despite the stirrings of irritation, Prithvi kept a neutral expression
and said, ‘This is not about me. This is about what is happening as
we speak. Now, are you going to help me or not?’
‘You want my help? Here it is: you’re looking in the wrong place.’
‘Then which is the right place to look? A zoo?’
In response, Bhima took a step back and held his hand out,
politely showing Prithvi the door.
Prithvi left the room, keeping his strides long till he reached his
parked bike. He took a moment to ground himself as he pulled off his
cotton jacket against the warm shimmer that was rising up through
the air. Drawing out his sunglasses from one of the many pockets of
his jacket, he put them on. It was true, he told himself, yet again, there
was no point hanging onto the past. But the past still hung onto him.
It lived within his darkness, feeding on his guilt, regret and anger; a
bloodstain that was never truly gone no matter how many times he
washed it off his soul. It was why he had left Mumbai, choosing to
live a mostly secluded life, emerging only when he was called upon to
do his job, which was not very often these days. The Prophecy made
sure of that. The Prophecy made sure of many things.
Starting his bike, Prithvi pulled out into the slow traffic that
snaked its way up from the Fort region towards Chembur. Rajan,
identified as one of the three dead thugs, had been a notable
underworld presence in the area and would surely merit some manner
of public mourning. The police would not dare make enquiries there,
not while the shock of the gangster’s death remained raw. He, on the
other hand, had his own ways of getting information.
 [4]

aditi kashyap stared at the photographs scattered on her desk,

waiting for something to jump out at her, though it rarely, if ever,
worked that way. She had spent the whole morning poring over the
crime scene, going over every inch of the ground with one of the
forensic experts, even rummaging through piles of garbage in search
of some clue that made logical sense. Finally, tired, dirty and sweaty,
she had headed back to the police complex, stopping only to shower
and change in the officer’s gym.
And now, sitting at the file-covered table in her musty corner
of the crime branch office, going over the little she had, she felt the
tiredness hit her all over again.
That some animal had been on the scene was beyond doubt,
thanks to the pug marks they had found. But was the creature even
connected to the murders? The victims had still been alive when it
had sunk its teeth into them, Naina had said, looking at the blood
splatters. Aditi had briefly held a theory that someone may have
wounded the three goons and left them there to die when a scavenger
had come along, but a look at the footprints and other tracks showed
that the headless victim at least had tried to run.
‘He was chased down,’ Naina had concluded.
Dubey had flashed Aditi an I-told-you-so look at that, but had
wisely refrained from speech.
Lions! Hah!
 Putting the absurd idea out of her head, Aditi opted to do
some good old-fashioned police work. The three dead men all had
extensive files on them. Members of rival gangs, it would seem that
other than having been at the wrong place at the wrong time, they
had nothing in common.
So what had brought them there'
No money had been recovered from the crime scene, suggesting
that this was not a simple exchange. Perhaps the men had been dealing
with each other behind their respective bosses’ backs—which could
also explain why they had been killed. But how had these men been
communicating with each other? There was no way they could have
simply made phone calls or exchanged messages—the goons all had
bullseyes painted on their backs and would have been under the scrutiny
of their gangs as well as under constant watch by the police. Somewhere,
Aditi reasoned, there must have been an overlap, possibly one so
innocuous that it was noted, recorded but not given importance. She set
herself to combing through the thick files before her with renewed zeal.
She lost track of time till Haldenkar appeared, having left Dubey
at the crime scene to manage the crowd. ‘Lunch, madam?’ he asked.
Aditi’s stomach replied in the affirmative, with a growl. She had
been up since early that morning, running on nothing but endless
cups of tea and the occasional Parle-G biscuit—a habit that the
doctor had warned would lead to chronic acid reflux, peptic ulcers
and a whole host of other problems that Aditi was sure he had made
up on the spot to frighten her, not unlike what her mother tried to
do on the phone every Sunday. Aditi had long since come to the
conclusion that people believed that the only thing an unmarried
woman on the other side of thirty could possibly be was dumb.
‘Lunch can wait,’ she snapped. ‘What happened to the camera
footage from the forest department?’
‘They are going through it,’ Haldenkar replied. ‘Nothing yet.
Madam, the word is that the commissioner is under pressure to close
the case. The forest department has been asked to cooperate. Ab sab
finish. There’s no point breaking your head over it.’
 Aditi ignored the advice. Getting up from her chair, she stretched
her arms over her head, then moved her neck in a circle, working out
the stiffness. She glanced out of the window. ‘Who are those people?’
she asked, taking in the small but irate mob that waited across the
road from the police complex, a couple of black-coated advocates
amongst them. It was unusual to allow such a gathering in the area,
with or without lawyers.
‘Rajan’s men. They are asking for his body to be released, but
the post-mortem isn’t done yet. His people are putting pressure to
shut the case, and ministers are also calling the commissioner every
minute. By evening, maximum by tomorrow, it will all be over.’
‘Quite a big crowd out there. ’ Aditi stiffly refused to acknowledge
Haldenkar’s advice on closing the case.
Realizing that his effort was futile, Haldenkar changed the topic.
He told Aditi, ‘Apparently, there’s an even bigger crowd gathered in
front of his Chembur house for the mourning.’ He sniggered and
added, ‘Some smart ones are waiting in front of Regal Dance Bar. As
if his family will let them take the body there. Maybe they can take
the body here and the head there?’
Aditi disregarded the tasteless attempt at a joke. Instead, she
asked, ‘Regal Dance Bar?’
‘Yes. Rajan was friendly with a girl who used to dance there. I
mean, still does, I suppose, though their licence—’
Aditi waved him into silence and dived into a sheaf of papers she
had just cast aside. ‘Here.’ She triumphantly held up a piece of paper.
‘Narcotics had put a tail on Daniel some time ago. There is a note
in here that he met a girl at a resort off the Mumbai—Pune highway.
The girl took a taxi back from the resort, and some new flunky in the
Narcotics team followed her instead of Daniel, by mistake. Good for
us ... Okay, here it is. Regal Dance Bar. That’s where the girl went.’
‘Brilliant, madam!’ Haldenkar said, quite spontaneously.
Aditi took the compliment as sincere. ‘Lunch will have to wait.
Come on.’
 [5]

prithvi reached chembur shortly after noon, by which time the

news stories had shifted in focus from the heinousness of the crimes
to the possibility of a cover-up by the police. He parked his bike in
front of a tea stall, where a radio was blaring and a host of people
was gathered worshipfully around the small instrument. An on-air
argument was in progress between two advocates on whether it took
only four hours to conduct a post-mortem and did the authorities
have neither compassion for grieving next-of-kin nor concern for the
terrified citizenry.
Buying himself a cutting chai, Prithvi took his time to drink
it, even as he kept his eyes and ears open for information. The
hottest topic in the area, quite expectedly, was Rajan’s death.
What interested Prithvi more, however, were the hushed giggles
as every now and then someone speculated on the route the
funeral procession would take—of course, it would begin from
the gangster’s house and end at the crematorium, but would it or
would it not pass Regal Dance Bar to get there? Apparently, Rajan’s
widow had sworn to strip ‘that shameless slut’ if she dared come
near her husband’s remains.
Prithvi waited long enough to catch a name: Rosie. That done,
he paid for his tea, then locked his mobile phone and IDs into a small
compartment that he had installed in the bike during his college
days for other contraband. Leaving the bike where it was, he began
weaving through the crowded market towards where Google Maps
had informed him that the bar was situated.
Regal Dance Bar was like every other dance bar Prithvi had
been to: purposively dark, with glitzy decorations that reflected
the affluence—or lack thereof, as the case might have been—of its
clientele. Regal, he could tell, was expensive in a stark, tasteless way:
a place where business was conducted over pleasure, rather than the
other way around.
That afternoon, however, the establishment had neither business
nor pleasure on offer. It mourned in the worst way there was—in
secret. To all ostensible purposes, it was business as usual, despite the
fact that the bar was empty of customers. In the interests of keeping
up appearances, the bouncers at the door did not stop Prithvi from
entering. Whether he got any further than that would depend on
how well his plan worked.
Prithvi adopted an arrogant saunter as he walked up to an
empty table next to the stage that two women were dancing
unenthusiastically on. He scraped a chair back, sat down and placed
his feet up on the table with a thud. A waiter quietly came up to him;
a white-haired man nearly twice his age. Prithvi addressed him with
outright rudeness, ordering a large shot of expensive whisky, which
he paid for by peeling notes off a thick wad of cash. The rich brat act
apparently did the trick, for the waiter came back with the drink and
a man in a shiny suit.
The man said, ‘Hello, sir. I am the manager. Is there anything I
can do for you?’ His tone left no doubt as to what it was that he was
offering.
Prithvi responded by swinging his feet off the table and beckoning
die man closer. ‘Aur kuch . . . You have any other entertainment?’
Pleased at the clear meeting of minds, the ‘manager’ sat down at
Prithvi’s table. ‘What would sir prefer? Young, very young? Special
requests can also be arranged for . . . costumes, clothing style, hair
colour . . . Also, our rooms are the best; like a five-star hotel.’
‘I want the best.’
 ‘Of course, sir.’
‘I mean it. Who is your top girl?’
‘All top girls, sir. Also go on top, if you like,’ the manager
sniggered, pleased with his own joke.
Prithvi was not amused. He made a show of trying to remember
as he muttered a few names. ‘Rosie,’ he said. ‘I want Rosie.’
The manager’s cheer disappeared. ‘I’m sorry, sir. Rosie is not
available. She is unwell.’
Prithvi pulled out his wallet once again,placing it on the table
with a thud.
‘Sir, I’m sorry, but really, Rosie is unwell. Trust me, you will
have no complaints with our star. New girl. Her name is Gauri. Very
young but also very skilled, sir. I’m sure you will like her.’
‘Listen, fucker. I want Rosie. Milegi ya nahin?’
‘Sir . . .’
Prithvi cursed loudly and got up, heading for the exit. He knew
that behind him, the manager was exchanging hurried whispers on
his phone. By the time he reached the door, he found the bouncers
blocking his way.
‘What the fuck . . .’
The manager came running up to him. ‘Sir, I apologize. Rosie
is available. Please come this way.’ Despite the man’s excessively
polite tone, it was clear that Prithvi was not being given a choice.
The bouncers continued to stand in the way, staring him down.
He managed to feign a cross between looking pleased and looking
uncertain, then let the manager guide him back into the bar and up
a flight of stairs in the far corner.
The man led Prithvi along a boudoir-red corridor with black-
and-white photos of nude models on the walls. They passed many
doors, some of them open, revealing chandeliered rooms with satin-
sheeted beds, before coming to stand in front of a chipped door with
dirty paint and the remains of a paan stain on the lower corner.
‘Five-star room?’ Prithvi snorted, still keeping up the act. He felt
a rough shove from behind even as the manager opened the door,
letting him stumble into what turned out to be a dusty storeroom,
filled with strange paraphernalia, from broken cots to half-inflated
life-size sex dolls. The two bouncers followed him inside, patting him
down and turning out his pockets.
The manager, meanwhile, had dropped his amiable expression
and was rifling through Prithvi’s wallet with a frown. There was
nothing in it but money, not even a driver’s licence.
‘Phone?’ he asked. One of the bouncers shook his head to say no.
‘No ID and no phone. Are you an undercover cop?’
‘Look,’ Prithvi continued in a flustered manner, keeping up
his act, ‘there’s some misunderstanding. I was told Rosie is the best
so . . .’ He did not finish, instead doubling over as he was punched
in the stomach.
The manager told his henchmen, ‘Lock him up. Let the others
finish with the girl first. Then we can deal with them both, together.
After all, he wanted to meet Rosie, no . . .’ He laughed, as did the
bouncers, though they clearly did not see the humour, then left the
room with them in tow.
Prithvi waited till he heard the click of a key turning in the lock.
Then he straightened up and began to listen.
There was more than one woman crying—a detail that could be
explained by the desperate nature of the place and its inhabitants,
or by the fact that more than a few mourned Rajan’s passing in
all sincerity. It did not matter. The manager had left no doubt
that Rajan’s men were already interrogating Rosie, suspecting her
involvement in his death. Prithvi was listening for sounds of pain.
They came soon. A sharp slap, followed by an agonized scream
that was muffled with a cloth. The silence that ensued was then
punctuated by an order to speak. The command came not from
the building Prithvi was in but from an unassuming green-coloured
structure next door. He went over to the dust-smeared window to
get a better look.
The neighbouring building appeared to have originally been a
separate construction, probably from a time when the jarring green
paint had been more festive than offensive. But it had since fallen into
ruin and was being used to house the girls who performed and served
in the bar and the associated brothel. Over time and with attempted
renovations the two structures had fused to form an L-shape, and
the resultant weed-covered courtyard formed by the two flanks had
become a general social space for the army of thugs which oversaw
the business and remained on call for whenever Rajan required them.
The area was now empty and the makeshift tables were strewn with
abandoned card games and half-consumed bottles of strotig beer, for
most of the men were busy with Rajan’s funeral procession. This
made it unexpectedly easy for Prithvi.
Using a metal bucket he found in the room, Prithvi broke the
catch on the window, letting the panes swing open. The bars on
the window were completely corroded, and Prithvi managed to bend
them enough to squeeze through and drop down to the condom-
littered ground below. He ran lightly across the yard and scrambled
up a water pipe to perch against the wall, hiding in the shade cast by a
large fibreglass sheet that extended out from the roof to provide some
cover to the windows below—including the window of the room he
was interested in.
An angry question rang out from within. ‘Who are you working
for? Who told you to send Rajan seth there? Answer me, bitch!’
Prithvi settled into the shadows and waited. He wanted exactly
what the men inside wanted—information—and he saw no reason
to stop them from getting it for him.
A series of slaps and then the sound of a chair crashing to the
floor. Someone must have pulled out Rosie’s gag because her screams
came louder and sharper. The ripping sound of a knife through
cloth—they were undressing her, either to rape her or to frighten
her into thinking they would do so. ‘Please . . .’ The word came as
a scream and was followed by incoherent sobs. Any moment now,
Prithvi expected, as did the gangsters, that Rosie would start talking.
Their estimation was interrupted by a banging on the door.
‘What the fuck . . .’ one of the men swore as he opened it.
 Footsteps told Prithvi that someone had come in. The police,
the new arrival said in a rough grunt Prithvi recognized as the
manager’s voice.
‘What do we do?’ This was one of the torturers.
The manager answered, ‘Slit her throat. Then take the body and
get out of here. And clean up this shit before you go—I hope you put
down a plastic sheet. Okay, good.’
More footsteps and the creak of the door as the manager left the
room.
One of the men laughed and said, ‘Pity. She’s a hot thing. I wish
we had more time with her. Give me the knife.’
Prithvi evaluated the setting, decided on his course of action and
moved, all in the same instant. He needed Rosie alive. And he had to
speak to her before she was taken in by the police.
Pushing himself off the wall, he reached out with one hand to
grab the makeshift sunshade. In the same move, he swung himself
forward, breaking through the rickety wooden window with his feet.
He let go of the sunshade and went crashing through, rolling himself
into a ball as he hit the ground.
Prithvi kept rolling, using the motion to rise to his feet, and
hurled himself at the man with the knife, bringing him down to the
floor. A solid punch to the side of the face, and the man was out, at
least for the next half hour. Prithvi scrambled to his feet and turned
SO the other occupants of the room. The girl, tied to a chair with a
dupatta, her face swollen and her faded nightie ripped, had to be
Rosie. That left four men.
One of the men pulled out a gun, but it was waved down by
another. ‘Don’t be a fool. If the police hear a gunshot. . .’
The gunman tucked his weapon back into the waistband of his
pants and cracked his knuckles in anticipation of a fist fight, fairly
sure of the outcome, given the odds. Prithvi gave him no time to
recalculate his bets.
Prithvi kicked the fallen man’s knife out of his hand and at the
gunman, distracting the latter. He pressed his attack, coming in with
a strong punch to the abdomen. The gunman doubled over, but then
used his position to ram his head into Prithvi’s stomach. The blow
did not hurt much, but it made Prithvi stagger back—right into the
waiting arms of two others.
One of them pinned Prithvi’s arms to his sides, while the
second wrapped his thick bicep around Prithvi’s neck in an effective
chokehold. Prithvi wasted no time in trying to pull away. Instead, he
used the heel of his right foot to plant a kick on the nearest gangster’s
knee. The man’s patella broke with a crack and he crumpled, dragging
both his friend and Prithvi down to the ground with him.
Prithvi made good on the chance to extricate himself from the
other man’s hold and tried to scramble to his feet, but was rewarded
for his efforts with a stinging blow to his face. The last man—a rather
large man at that—had joined the fray.
The gangster with the broken knee continued to writhe on the
floor, shouting. He reached out blindly, grabbing at Rosie’s bare leg
in the process. She screamed and kicked at him in what Prithvi would
have found a comic scene if he had not been otherwise occupied. The
second man was, however, back on his feet, and he and the large thug
came at Prithvi in tandem.
Prithvi braced himself against the large thug’s punches even as he
kicked the other one on the chest, sending him flying back to crash
against the wall. Then he returned his attention to the gunman—his
last remaining opponent for the moment—though he could already
hear footsteps coming towards the room.
Using his elbow, he dealt a sharp blow to the underside of the
man’s chin, the impact drawing a harmless but quite unnerving spray
of blood from the man’s nose. As the gangster reeled back, Prithvi
moved in, first with a sharp knuckle to his Adam’s apple, then a
full bodyweight blow to his solar plexus. The man collapsed to the
ground as the door to the room was thrown open. Prithvi turned,
ready to face another onslaught.
 [6]

ADITI kashyap stood in the doorway, her gun pointed directly at

Prithvi. Behind her was a policeman identified by his name badge as
‘M. Haldenkar’. They had the manager in tow.
The manager reacted to the scene inside, opening his mouth to
shout for help, but Aditi brought the butt of her weapon across the
man’s face. He fell unconscious to the floor. Haldenkar clapped him
in cuffs and pushed him into the room.
Aditi entered and shut the door behind her. Using one hand, she
undid the dupatta that bound the still-captive Rosie to her chair. She
helped the woman get to her feet and let her fling the dupatta over
her shoulders to cover the rip in her nightie before gesturing for her
to step back and raise her hands in the air.
Then Aditi turned her attention back to Prithvi, ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m a PI. A private investigator.’
‘Who hired you? Rajan’s wife?’
Prithvi kept silent. Pls were not expected to give away their
clients’ name, even to the police, and he knew that Aditi was only
trying her luck. Indeed, she shortly said, ‘Your case is closed. Get
lost.’
‘But you want to find Rajan’s killer, and so do 1. We can help
each other.’
‘Shut up and get out of here before I change my mind and arrest
you. Quickly, or you’ll be in the lock-up, begging to have your
underwear back so that the rats don’t bite their way up your asshole
at night.’
Haldenkar grinned, approving of Aditi’s description. ‘Madam,
soch lijiye. I think we should arrest him. We have human rats in the
lock-up too. Specialists at getting backside action. One night and
this idiot will be giving us all sorts of information.’
Prithvi reacted neither to the comment nor the threat. He fixed
his gaze on Aditi and waited.
She said, ‘Get us out of here and then we shall see.’
‘Madam . . .’ Haldenkar started, but she silenced him with a
shake of her head.
Prithvi guessed from the exchange that the two of them had
bluffed their way into the bar by claiming that backup was on its
way, which it was not. He took a look around, then picked up the
chair Rosie had been tied to and threw it out the window, making
sure that it landed on a pile of garbage, causing a whole lot of noise.
Then he said, ‘Come with me,’ and headed out the door.
Aditi looked at the tossed chair and seemed to decide that Prithvi
knew what he was doing, after all. She followed him out into the
corridor.
The four made for a flight of stairs that led down and out of the
structure. They had barely set foot on the first of the steps when a
shout told them that the manager and the rest of the gangsters had
been discovered. Rosie gave a panicked look, but Prithvi gestured for
her to crouch down and keep moving. The chair he had thrown out,
he knew, would make the men think that they had escaped that way.
Of course, it would only be a short while before their fallen colleagues
informed them otherwise, but those few minutes would be enough to
give Prithvi and the other three a chance to exit the building.
They made their way downstairs without detection, but ran
into two women near the exit. One let out the beginnings of a cry,
but Rosie silenced her with a hand over her mouth. She exchanged
hushed words with the girls, who nodded, then signalled to her
companions to go out and to the left.
 Prithvi complied, leaving Aditi and Haldenkar no choice but
to follow. Rosie fell in behind them, guiding them with whispered
directions into a narrow alleyway. The reek of urine hit them hard,
but Rosie kept moving, a hand over her nose, till they reached a
break in the boundary' wall of the next building. The four sneaked
through the gap to find themselves next to a large tree, a number of
vermilion-smeared rocks placed at its foot. Rosie led them around
the tree till they were hidden behind its girth.
‘The girls will send them the other way, into the bazaar,’ she
told her companions. ‘But we don’t have much time.’ To Aditi and
Haldenkar’s surprise, she turned to Prithvi. ‘Thank you. They would
have killed me if you hadn’t stopped them.’
Prithvi said nothing about the fact that he would have let them,
had his purpose already been served. Instead he asked her, his voice
gentle, ‘Why were they hitting you? Don’t they know you had
nothing to do with Rajan’s death?’
The unexpected kindness caught Rosie off guard, and she
confessed, ‘They wouldn’t believe me. I told them I knew nothing
about the meeting, that Rajan’s deals were always conducted in
the warehouse and, anyway, even if I’d known about it I wouldn’t
have ... I loved Rajan. I wasn’t his wife, I know, but he cared for me
,and that was enough. I didn’t have to ... do other men, like the rest
of the girls did. I was his woman. Why would I want him dead?’ She
began to sob into her dupatta.
‘This warehouse, where is it?’
Rosie looked up, suddenly suspicious.
Prithvi put a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘We want to
get Rajan’s killers too, Rosie. And if you truly loved him, then so do
you.’
Rosie stared into Prithvi’s eyes for a minute, then nodded. ‘Swan
Mills Compound, in Cotton Green. Number thirty-eight. Rajan and
Daniel used to meet there every evening at six to discuss the day’s
business. It’s also where they passed each other the goods. I swear,
I don’t know why they went to that field instead. Saala Kailash . . .
he must have taken them there. I’d murder him if he weren’t dead
already.’
Prithvi took on a smug look.
Aditi ignored him and addressed Rosie instead. ‘We’ll get you
to a safe place.’
‘Protective custody? You’re kidding, right? They’ll kill me.’
‘No, not protective custody. I was thinking of a women’s shelter.
It should be a good place to stay till the case is closed, and no one will
think of you as a khabri because they won’t know that we sent you
there. Haldenkar, you know what to do?’
‘Yes, madam.’ Haldenkar stepped up sharply. He then turned to
Rosie, ‘Come, Ms Rosie. And please don’t worry.’
Rosie hesitated, then followed the policeman as he led the way
out of the alley and into the bustling bazaar. Right away, the two
were safely lost in the crowd.
Aditi turned to look at Prithvi. ‘You may leave now.’
‘Look, you know that I’m going to turn up at the warehouse
anyway. I can either do it on my own and get in your way or . . .’
‘Or?’ Aditi bristled.
‘Or we—’
‘Let me be clear about this, Mr . . . whatever-your-name-is.
There is no “we”. This is a police operation.’
‘I’ve just got you information, officer. Don’t deny that I’ve been
of use.’
‘Be that as it may,’ Aditi said, ‘I don’t like you.’
‘That makes two of us. I don’t like me either.’
Aditi turned around, visibly annoyed at what she considered a poor
joke. She was met with a look of absolute frankness, one that said Prithvi
knew what she also knew—that by the time she got back to the station,
the case would have been officially shut down, and so she had no chance
in hell of getting either approval or backup for anything related to it.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Don’t forget that I’m in charge. If you plan
to be within ten kilometres of that warehouse, you will follow my
orders and do exactly as I tell you. Is that clear?’
 ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Then meet me at Patel at 5 o’clock this evening. In front
of Cafe Coffee Day.’
‘Prithvi.’
‘What?’
‘My name—it’s Prithvi.’ He held out his hand in anticipation
of a handshake.
Aditi turned on her heel and walked out of the alley. Stuffing the
rejected hand into his pocket, Prithvi followed.
 17]

at exactly 5 p.m., Prithvi made his way to Parel, but instead of

going to the coffee shop, he headed towards Swan Mills, a cluster
of yet-to-be-demolished warehouses that marred the hipster-urban
nature of the area that surrounded it. He had set up the meeting with
Aditi as a ruse to keep her away from the warehouse for a while, for
he neither required her help nor did he want to get her or anyone
else involved in his affairs. If they ended up knowing or seeing too
much, he would have no choice but to deal with them in the only
way he could.
In a way, Prithvi supposed, it was a kindness. What they learned
could turn their world upside down, drive them to madness and
terror, most likely both, all the more so because it was real enough
to have a name.
A name that was never said out loud.
A name that had had to remain a secret in order to avoid an
inter-species war and maintain the tenuous balance that had existed
for centuries—the illusion of a human-centric world. This need
for secrecy had been upheld by humans and non-humans alike
throughout the ages, for mutual benefit. History redoubtably showed
that Homo sapiens did not coexist well with others and were often
lethal in dealing with competition. Prithvi’s job as Enforcer was part
of a complex set of arrangements to make sure that this precarious
balance and the secrecy which supported it were both kept safe.
 He found an unmanned side gate that let him into the industrial
complex, not too far from his ultimate destination: warehouse
number thirty-eight. He then slunk around to the rear of the
building, making for the mandated exit that ought to be set there
in keeping with construction regulations. Prithvi tried the door. As
expected, it was not locked. Reputation was a better deterrent than
any lock, and anyone who knew what went on in the warehouse
and who was behind it would also know better than to come within
a mile of the place. As for those who did not know or, in a fit of
insanity, did not care . . .
Not bothering to complete the obvious thought, Prithvi entered.
Light from a street lamp filtered in through a small window, casting
angular shadows as he moved. He was in what appeared to be an
abandoned office, complete with rusted filing cabinets, broken tables
and a few years’ worth of cobwebs. The only sign of use was the
scuffed trail through the dust on the floor, connecting the door he
stood at to a twin on the other side of the room.
He opened the second door, slipping into the not-very-large
warehouse it led to, then ducked behind one of the many wooden
crates that were stacked around the godown. Prithvi slipped
undetected through the maze-like gaps between the crates, looking
for possible entrances and exits to the warehouse, making a note of
a window that was closed but could be easily broken through. Then
he moved deeper into the building till he was close enough to see
the cluster of overhead lights that shone down through a cloud of
cigarette smoke on an old, worn billiards table and the scene playing
out around it. Crouching behind a stack of boxes, Prithvi studied the
situation.
Heroin. About seventy million US dollars’ worth, he estimated.
Six men, all engrossed in argument. The focus of the disagreement
was, as anticipated, on who might have killed Rajan, Kailash and
Daniel, and more importantly, why.
‘I told you not to trust that smooth motherfucking MBA-type,’
one guy began shouting. ‘No outsiders in our business. That is the
rule. It doesn’t matter how much money they offer or what deals they
cut. And I never did like that chikna with his angrez-style uniformed
bodyguards.’
‘That chikna thinks he can sit on our money and watch us bicker
and fight amongst ourselves and butcher each other.’
‘What does he think this is, Hollywood? This is Bombay.
Mumbai. Here balls count for a lot more than style, huh? Simply
by knocking out one leader he thinks he can start a gang war and
become a big dada himself? Saala!’
‘Oh stop it!’ Another man cut in. ‘You think by shouting and
abusing you can get away with what you’ve done? You killed them,
didn’t you? And that’s why you’ve brought us here now, to kill us
too!’
The accusation spurred a fresh round of rebuttals and denials,
punctuated by a loud thump on the table and the shattering of
glass as something fell to the ground. Prithvi took advantage of the
confusion to move closer, enough to see the panic in their eyes, smell
it in their sweat. The ongoing argument,, he knew, was nothing but
a desperate attempt to rationalize the horror that had come to pass
by blaming each other. Prithvi also knew the attempt was redundant.
If his calculations were correct, the thugs would see for themselves
who . . . what it was that had killed their leader.
And he would see him too.
Reining in his thoughts, Prithvi concentrated with all his senses,
shutting out the sounds of the immediate argument to concentrate
on things in the distance. He noticed it at once: a soft, familiar tread.
He did not have to look to recognize the figure coming up behind
him, nor did he turn as he felt the light but unmistakeable pressure
of the muzzle of a gun against his back.
He was about to greet the newcomer, but something else tugged
at him, something that had not been there a moment ago. A smell. An
instinct. An indistinct awareness that triggered a rush of adrenaline,
making his heart race. Prithvi got to his feet, uncaring of the gun still
trained on him, and turned to face Aditi at the other end of it.
 ‘Get out of here,’ he said.
She listened to his instructions with amused disdain and then
responded by pulling back the safety catch on her gun.
Prithvi’s voice held no room for argument as he repeated, Now.
Go. Before it’s too late.’
 [8]

aditi did not like the odds, but even before she had entered the
warehouse, she had known what they were. She had considered
calling for backup, but then dismissed the idea as soon as it had
occurred. Her case was closed, and she would have to give some
other probable cause in support of getting a team to go in with
her—raising a hornet’s nest of jurisdiction problems. If she had
called it in as a drug transaction, she would have to wait for
Narcotics to get there, which would be too late. Of course, if she
suggested explosives or other weapons, then the Special Task Force
and anti-terrorism units would respond immediately, but if they
found nothing of that sort in the warehouse it would be the end of
her own career.
And so, Aditi had made her decision, reminding herself yet
again that Homicide was barely one step up from Traffic; nothing
near as glamorous as Bollywood movies made it out to be, but
hey, she loved her job and would not trade it in for anything. She
headed straight for the warehouse, not bothering with the supposed
appointment at Cafe Coffee Day. She had suspected that Prithvi
would turn up at the warehouse anyway, and even supposed that
he might be useful as a temporary ally, though not before she made
it clear who was boss.
She followed Prithvi as he sneaked through the warehouse,
waiting till he had settled between a stack of crates before coming up
 behind him to let him know she was there by the direct and usually
effective method of pressing the muzzle of her gun into his back.
He did not flinch, instead turned to face her. She nearly pulled the
trigger in shock; his eyes glowed in the blue dimness, like the eyes
of an animal caught in the headlights of a speeding vehicle. Like the
eyes of a wild animal looking up at the moon. Even as her finger
hovered over the trigger, he spoke, saying, ‘Get out of here. Now.
Go. Before it’s too late.’
Aditi did not buy it. She did not shoot, but kept her gun trained
on him and hissed, ‘You have three seconds to answer my questions.
First...’
She did not finish, compelled into silence as primal fear stirred
in her gut, the kind that needed neither sight nor sound but ran on
the undeniable feeling of mortal danger. Something was moving in
the darkness behind her, slowly, silently. It moved in, now looming
over her, the heat of its exhalation on the nape of her neck as it drew
doser and closer still.
It was all Aditi could do to keep her gun steady and her eyes fixed
On Prithvi. His pupils remained orbs of golden light as he met her gaze,
holding her attention, willing her not to turn to look behind. Aditi
held in an unintended whimper and tried to tell herself that she had
nothing to fear but fear itself, that this was simply an irrational dread
i of the unknown, and for all she could tell, Prithvi could be playing her.
But her instinct, an unnamed wisdom passed on through the centuries
hy nature and evolution, disagreed, holding her immobile despite the
Overwhelming urge to move, to run and hide.
She felt a gust of searing breath against the side of her face as
—whatever it was—sniffed at her, inhaling her dread. Then, with
quick footsteps, it walked away.
This time, Aditi cried out despite herself. It broke the stillness
over the scene, for many things then happened all at once.
Prithvi darted forward into the centre of the warehouse. Aditi
followed, holding up her weapon. The gangsters reacted by spinning
fowards them with their guns drawn, but no one fired, each of the
men compelled into paralysis by terror, the same terror that swooped
down on Aditi as she saw it.
The red-gold coat, the claws, the tail, the eyes that blazed fire. A
huge form, graceful despite its size. A lioness. As her mind scrambled
to retain some semblance of a grip on reality, Aditi had the fleeting
thought that Dubey and Haldenkar would never let her hear the last
of how they had been right, after all.
Moving on padded feet, the lioness paced the room like a cat
surveying a nest of mice, before coming to stand, once again, right
in front of her.
Aditi let out the breath she had been holding in a soft rush. And
then, a whip-crack, and another, as a gun fired twice. The bullets
whizzed past Aditi’s right ear, making her jump back, before finding
their target in the lioness’ torso.
Hope flashed and died in Aditi’s heart; the lioness did not dodge,
did not flinch. If anything, she seemed to give a look, impossibly, of
human surprise.
More gunfire and a medley of incoherent shouts, but Aditi had
eyes only for the animal, for leonine jaws opened and lips drawn back
in a silent snarl as the animal prepared to pounce. She closed her eyes
in anticipation of death, clenched her teeth against the imminent
pain when claws would tear into her. But the lioness swept over her
head in a blur of movement.
Many cries, one of intense pain—the lioness had brought down
a gangster with a single swipe of her paw. This time, she did not stop
to sink her teeth into her kill, but continued the attack, downing yet
another of the remaining thugs before disappearing again into the
shadows.
‘What was that? What the fuck was that?’
‘This thing . . . this animal killed Rajan and Daniel and Kailash.
Kill it.’
‘Shut up, you two! Let’s get the hell out of here!’
Aditi ignored the frantic conversation amongst the thugs,
regaining enough of her senses to turn questioningly to Prithvi. He
 did not indulge her with a response; rather, his otherworldly eyes
searched the dim corners of the warehouse for a sign of the animal that
was hunting them, one by one. His calm acceptance irritated Aditi.
She caught hold of the anger, letting it grow till it served as a sort of
courage against this inhuman enemy. Raising her gun in a double-
handed grip, she tried to zero in on the distant but omnipresent sense
of the lioness watching them.
This time, when the animal leapt out of the darkness, Aditi was
ready. She caught the blur of movement from the corner of her eye
and whipped around, aiming her weapon.
‘No! Don’t!’ Prithvi pushed away her arm, even as the lioness
swept past them to land squarely on a thug’s chest, pinning
him down to bite off his head. More gunshots, as the other two
gangsters also spent their bullets. But the lioness seemed not
to care.
Aditi yelped as a voice said, ‘Get into a corner. Whatever you
do, don’t move.’ It took her a few seconds to recognize the voice
as Prithvi’s and a few more to realize that he stood stolid, watching
the lioness hunt but moving neither to run nor to hide. He had to
shove her towards the cover offered by a storage container before she
understood enough of what he was saying to crawl the rest of the way
into ineffective hiding.
From her corner, Aditi watched the strangest of scenes unfold:
the lioness toyed with the drug dealers, amusing herself as she hunted
> them down. She growled, making them scream. Then, as the two
tnen grasped each other in a tight huddle, the lioness drew back and
circled them.
The sharp tang of urine, as one of the men soiled himself. Like a
disapproving mother, the lioness let out an admonishing purr. Then
she struck in punishment, pouncing on both men, tearing, clawing,
gnawing till nothing was left.
Through it all, Prithvi stood where he was, motionless,
expressionless. Her quarries dealt with, the lioness turned her
attention to him. Prithvi bore her scrutiny without reaction. The
lioness took a step towards him, then another. She then raised her
head and sniffed the air. The smells apparently held meaning, for she
gave Prithvi a long look and burst out in a blood-curdling roar before
coiling herself in readiness to spring.
Aditi screwed her eyes shut, convinced that within moments
Prithvi would be dead and then so would she. Sounds of mad
scrambling, a short burst of gunfire and a dull, incessant dirge of
sobs: she tried to block them all out, but the sobs refused to fade.
Slowly, Aditi realized that it was she who was sobbing and that no
noise came from either Prithvi or the creature. Terrified of what she
might see, Aditi opened her eyes.
The lioness was gone. There was no sign of Prithvi. Gathering
herself, Aditi got to her feet and moved out from behind the container
to look around her. Bodies lay, not whole, not even humanoid, but
as littered parts. Blood pooled on the floor, and chunks of meat were
flung here and there. The sickly-sweet smell of death hung heavy
around her. And she was alive.
Dropping to her knees, Aditi threw up the entire contents of her
stomach. Then, curling up on the floor of the warehouse, she began
to cry.
 [9]

THE cool evening air, the heat of surging adrenaline, the thrill of
the chase. Prithvi tried to think of these in a bid to sharpen his focus.
Focus was everything when it came to staying alive in this job, for he
knew only too well who . . . what it was that he chased.
A Saimha.
Saimhas had endured through the centuries given their notorious
ability to not die; a fact earlier evidenced by the lioness he was now
pursuing. She had hardly flinched at the gangsters’ bullets, instead
making short work of those who had dared attack her. But that had
been all. Once she had finished with Rajan’s men, the lioness had not
bothered with either him or Aditi.
That was why Prithvi had stopped Aditi from shooting at
-the animal and, sure enough, the lioness had been happy to leave
the policewoman alone. As for him . . . the lioness had taken a
deep whiff, one that had reassured and confused her at once.
She had roared her bewilderment before deciding to retreat,
heading for a stack of wooden boxes that offered access to an
Open skylight, which, Prithvi gathered, must have been her way
in. He moved quickly.
Picking up a semi-automatic gun that one of the dead mobsters
had dropped, he had opened fire at one of the huge lights suspended
: from the ceiling. The rusted chain on which it hung had easily given
Way, and the light had crashed down on the stack of crates, blocking
the lioness’ escape as she was midway up the makeshift staircase. She
had given an angry roar, then jumped off the containers, disappearing
behind a jumble of abandoned machinery.
With her planned exit blocked, the lioness had been cut off from
those who had brought her to the warehouse and would have taken
her back. Prithvi had no doubt that they were Extremists—those
who believed that it was time for Saimhas to reveal their existence
and claim their rightful superiority over the human race. He also
knew how they worked, and that they would not try to come in after
the lioness.
Left on her own, animal instinct kicked in, and the lioness
began looking for a way out of the enclosed space—the reason why
Prithvi had marked the other possible exits when he had first entered
the building. Sure enough, he had heard a crash and the sound of
breaking glass. The lioness had broken through the window he had
seen earlier and was on the run. With a glance at the huddled figure
that was Aditi, he had set off after the animal, turning the huntress
into the hunted.
A lioness running through an industrial district and into a
buzzing residential area would have caused a stir in the never-sleeping
city of Mumbai. But Saimhas belonged to the shadows; their stealth
was that of beast and night in one. No one saw her as she moved
from darkness to darkness, bounding across rooftops and terraces at
lightning speed, visible to human eyes as nothing more than a blur,
at most a passing sense of unease.
Prithvi, however, did not lose sight of her for a second. She was
much faster than he was, but he had the advantage of letting himself
be seen now and then and he used it—bounding into the street and
on top of a vegetable-seller ’s cart, then running along the crowded
footpath, forcing people to scatter out of his way, before jumping
onto a car to reach a high-set ledge that he then climbed to reach the
terrace of a building.
Mumbai’s dense population had resulted in close-set
constructions, which made running along rooftops quite an easy
prospect for both Prithvi and his quarry. What remained to be seen
was what the lioness would do when she reached the end of this
unusual highway—the train station was coming up ahead.
The lioness did not disappoint him; indeed, she glanced back
at him before leaping off the roof and down five floors to hit the
train tracks in front of an oncoming train. She moved off the rails
an instant before the engine thundered over the very spot she had
landed on, the driver blinking at the weird shape he decided he must
have imagined.
Prithvi was barely a few seconds behind; he jumped off the
Same roof to land on top of the train, the momentum of the moving
carriage throwing him off even before he could get to his feet. He hit
the ground next to the tracks with a grunt and scrambled to his feet
in a rush, then relaxed.
Not too far away, the lioness was moving slowly, very slowly,
as though in a drunken stupor. She stumbled this way and that,
before crumpling in an ungraceful heap. Prithvi took his time to
dust himself off. There was no hurry now—the lioness was not
a threat any more. He began walking towards her, watching as
she writhed and contorted as her innards and exterior shifted into
human shape, a naked form with shoulder-length brown hair and
lanky limbs.
A cub, a teenager in human years.
Prithvi noted the bitter taste in his mouth before dismissing
it. The young ones were a pity—they often had no clue what was
happening or why they were the way they were. They did not even
know what to call themselves; they were mostly lonely freaks who had
given in to the animal that had awakened. But once that happened,
mercy was not an option. Once they tasted flesh, particularly human
flesh, there was no going back. Blood had its own song. And in this
Case, his quarry was far from innocent or alone and deserved every bit
of what had to happen next.
He did not bother looking around for a weapon. For all her
apparent invincibility, the werelioness in front of him was, in human
form, stronger than the average man or woman but just as mortal.
It would take a couple of slaps to make her talk, learn what he could
about those with her, and then a swift turn of her neck to snap the
bone. She would not even see it coming. She would feel neither fear
nor pain. Well, at least not pain.
Another train went by, its iron and steel cacophony briefly
masking the sound of her sobs. She appeared even more fragile by
the flickering shadow-light play of the passing carriages; pale skin
smeared with dirt and blood, the curve of her back a graceful line as
she huddled, naked, on the ground. Her dark hair stuck to her skin
and fell over her face as she buried her head between her knees and
cried.
Prithvi sighed. The crying was an irritant. A waste of time and
energy, trying to calm them down enough to get anything sensible
out of them before doing what needed to be done. Still. . .
He came to stand right behind her. Her crying stopped. She was
motionless, prepared for the inevitable and waiting for it to happen.
Prithvi reached down to grab a fistful of her hair. She yelped.
Uncaring, he heaved her up and spun her around to face him, his
other hand rising to deliver a pre-emptive slap.
And then, he let go of her, staggered back a couple of steps and
fell to his knees as a dull sorrow that he had learnt to live with hit
him anew, its jagged edges cutting him from within. He doubled
over as his stomach cramped; he thought he would throw up from
the agony, but no, this was not his body; it was something inside it,
something far more real and enduring, that ached.
‘Fuck!’ Prithvi swore out loud; he slammed his fist against the
hard ground, cursed at the sky, screamed soundlessly at the world
around him. Then he settled himself down and looked up at the
female. It was only when he saw the shock in her eyes that he realized
that tears were streaming down his cheeks, the carefully wrapped
grief of a lifetime now come undone. He ran his hands through his
hair, pressing down on the sides of his head as though that could
put everything back in its place, wiped his tears on his sleeve and
 Stood up. ‘Who are you?’ he asked her, though he reckoned he knew
better than she did who she really was, for those green-brown eyes
were unmistakable. He also knew that she was supposed to have
died twelve years ago.
She gaped at him, unsure as to what answer was expected of her.
Prithvi knew he probably ought not to say what he was about to,
but he said it anyway. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. Nor will
I let anyone hurt you.’
The statement also reminded him that they would have to move
soon—the Extremists who had brought her to the warehouse would
have been briefly confounded by the change in her exit, but they
would soon come looking for her.
She continued to stare at him with unblinking eyes. Suddenly
aware of the scene they both presented, Prithvi pulled off his jacket
and gave it to her. She was much shorter than he was, and the jacket
was long enough to make things more comfortable.
‘Thanks,’ she said. Her voice was hoarse; an expected after-effect
of the transformation. She pulled on the jacket and held it wrapped
tight around her.
‘What’s your name?’ Prithvi asked.
She hesitated, then said, ‘My name is Chandana.’
The name was not one he had heard before, but it did not matter.
Nothing mattered other than those eyes she looked at him with and
the innocence they contained—an innocence that Prithvi had loved
and worshipped and would never forget.
Nothing mattered, other than the fact that she was, without
doubt, Noor’s daughter.
Which meant that she also was. . .
Oh, fuck!
Noor
 [1]

prithvi’s childhood was filled with the smell of two things: alcohol
and blood, often together.
Every night his father, a man of varying trade who, for the past
two years, had driven a rented taxi, returned to their decrepit one-
room dwelling in Wadala drunk. Every night he took great pleasure
jri hitting Prithvi over and over, sometimes on the slightest pretext,
sometimes with no cause at all. To his father’s delight, Prithvi would
heal in time for the next evening’s beating, meaning the man never
had to hold back on his blows. It also made Prithvi a freak, which, his
father declared, meant he deserved the abuse and more.
Prithvi never argued about it. Something told him his father was
tight; there was a shadow, a deep, formless blackness within him that
tras surely not meant to be there. He tried hard to hide it, hoping
that someday, somehow, he would please his father. He never did.
< Prithvi was about five when his father slapped him so hard
that he fell down two flights of stairs, breaking his nose and an
atm and slashing the side of his stomach wide open against some
Corrugated iron sheets that had been left in the narrow corridor of
the overcrowded tenement. By the time Prithvi was collected, taken
to a nearby government clinic and finally seen by a doctor, it had
been many hours. The bleeding had stopped, the wound had begun
to close. Even his bones had begun to set, somehow having been
jostled into alignment, the doctor speculated, from either the rough
first aid that had been given by the others in the chawl or the bumpy
rickshaw ride that had brought him there.
It happened more than once; he had a leg broken, ribs fractured.
His face was permanently bruised—newer marks replacing the ones
that had healed. But life was hard in the ‘government-redeveloped’
slum they lived in and, between fighting for a vessel of drinking
water and earning a hard day’s income however one could, no one
cared, not too much at least. As long as Prithvi got up the next day,
it was all right.
One rainy night when Prithvi was about seven years old, his
father picked up a crowbar and aimed it at him. Prithvi’s mother
ran forward to protect him, putting her small, frail body in front of
his already-taller form. The crowbar went clean through her skull,
cleaving her head in two. His father left the body, Prithvi standing
numb and clueless next to it, and fled. In the morning, the police
took both corpse and him away.
Prithvi saw his father once after that, in court. Two policemen
came to the juvenile home he was at the very next day and took
him with them. They bought him tea and biscuits on the way and
told him over and over that if anyone asked, he was to say his father
had killed his mother. Prithvi did not understand why he might say
otherwise, but the tea was hot and the biscuits crisp, and he nodded
his head. His testimony was ultimately unnecessary. His father, a
withered, dirty remnant of the terror Prithvi had known him to be,
confessed to the murder in open court.
‘They’ll hang him, for sure,’ one of the constables told Prithvi
as he dropped him back at the juvenile home. Prithvi decided he did
not care. With his father gone, he felt as though the shadow inside
him had unfurled, uncoiled itself from submission to stand upright.
He was still a freak, of that he had no doubt. But he now understood
that it was what had kept him alive.
Hardly a week into his stay at the juvenile home, one of the
boys called him the son of a murderer and a whore. Prithvi beat
him nearly to a pulp, finding in himself strength and skill that he
had not known himself to have. He did not dare wonder what it
was that made him this way—this special way, as he called it in his
mind—for fear that to examine it too closely would diminish his
power. Freak or not, he thanked his stars for whatever this strange
thing happening to him was and resolved that he would never let
anyone hurt him again.
The next boy who picked a fight with him, Prithvi hit for the
sheer joy of it. He had endured far worse at his father’s hands,
and the violence in him came not from an urge to survive or even
dominate, but from a sense of completeness that he could neither
identify nor describe. The nearest he got to it was the feeling that his
inner shadow was no longer amorphous, it had settled itself into dark
corners in which a figure he could not see stood watching, waiting,
expectant and proud. Yes, to make that figure proud. That made him
feel complete. That was why he did what he did.
Soon, Prithvi was taller and stronger than even the older boys
and was the undisputed gang leader amongst the juveniles and
delinquents. The next three years were not the best of his life, but
they were a marked improvement from what he had known before,
also for the fact that he finally had the chance to attend school, ill-
equipped and crowded as it was. The times he spent in the dark,
smelly classroom listening to a tired but committed teacher were the
best hours of his day, and he temporarily forgot his miserable life and
:,his loneliness. He also almost forgot the constant feeling of fear and
jeonfusion that rumbled in his stomach. Then he would remember
that he was different, and the dread would return. Perhaps his father
Bad been right to beat him after all.
Or perhaps, the shadow figure seemed to whisper, Prithvi should
have hit his father back.
It was raining that night, as it had been when Prithvi’s mother
had died. One of the attendants turned up in the dormitory, drunk
and more. He grabbed one of the newer arrivals to the home—an
Sight-year-old boy—and dragged him towards a dark corner while
tmdoing his own pants with his other hand.
 It was not anything Prithvi had not seen or experienced before.
But that night it became too much. The boy began whimpering, the
sound muffled by the attendant’s rough hand over the child’s mouth,
but to Prithvi it sounded harsh and grating, as did many sounds
those days. He could smell the attendant’s lust, the boy’s distress,
the sweat and desperation that pervaded every corner of the home.
Something dark and fiery stirred in his gut and crawled up his veins
to fill his mind, getting the better of him.
The man was barely alive by the time the alarm was raised and
the rest of the attendants managed to pull Prithvi off him.
The warden locked Prithvi up alone in a dark cell, then sent for
the doctors.
The doctors came in a pair. One swore he was criminally insane,
the result, she hypothesized, of having watched his mother being
murdered. The other said that he was merely a traumatized child,
an extremely intelligent one, and he certainly did not belong in a
juvenile home. Either way, Prithvi’s presence was an inconvenience
to the smooth dysfunction of the place. But there was, the warden
knew, nowhere else to send him.
The warden determined that as punishment, Prithvi was to be
soaked in cold water and then made to sleep on the floor, without
the tattered blanket that was his usual bedding. A week of it, he
reckoned, would set the boy right. A week, and Prithvi fell into a
delirious fever that the warden sincerely hoped he would not recover
from. Prithvi heard them talk about his imminent death, but their
voices were far away. In his delirium—or was it a dream—he was
running without a care in a large open field, under sunny blue skies
till, tired and exhausted, he fell asleep on the fresh grass. When he
woke, it was in a place and to a thin, well-dressed man he did not
know, but he was not in the home and that was enough.
Prithvi healed as he did, quickly, and the very evening that he
woke up in this place with its clean sheets and wholesome food, he
was led into a warm, wood-panelled room. Two of its walls were
lined from ground to ceiling with books, and a large window that
opened out onto verdant fields with mountains in the distance
marked the third. But it was the fourth wall that caught his attention,
or to be precise, the massive painting that occupied the entire length
of it. A man, visible only from the back, walked through a dark,
rain-drenched jungle. His foot skimmed the surface of a puddle left
behind by the rain, sending a burst of ripples through the image it
mirrored: that of a heavy-maned lion.
It was not an image he had seen before, but the moment he saw
it, he knew it made sense. Many things made sense. The shadow
within him finally made sense, turning from a hazy darkness to a
sublime golden form that brought tears to his eyes.
He did not know how long he had been standing there, staring,
but at last Prithvi tore his eyes away from the painting to take in the
rest of the setting. The man he had seen earlier was waiting for him,
sitting at a well-polished wooden desk that was littered with books
and papers. Prithvi wondered if he was going to be ordered to drop
his pants. Sooner or later, he figured, it always came to that.
Sure enough, the man got up from behind the desk and came
closer. Shutting the door to the room, he reached out to caress
Prithvi’s face. Prithvi reacted by punching the man in the chest, as
hard as he could. Even in his weak state, the blow should have caused
pain, broken a bone or two, but the man bore the assault without
blinking, and waited, waited for Prithvi to see.
Relief, hope and many other emotions that he had not felt before
surged through Prithvi. He looked from the man to the painting
and back at the man again. Freak or not, whatever he was, now
Prithvi knew that he was not the only one. The man—was that the
right word?—moved closer, pulling Prithvi into a paternal embrace.
Burying his face against the other’s chest, Prithvi began to cry.
The male held Prithvi till he had no tears left and his sobs gave way
to sniffles. Then he said, ‘My name is Dr Acharya. What is your name?’
Prithvi opened his mouth to answer, but it was a different set of
words that tumbled out instead. ‘Do you know what is wrong with
me?’
 ‘There is nothing wrong with you, my son. But yes, I do know
what is happening to you.’
‘What?’ Prithvi asked, pushing the other back and himself out
of the embrace.
‘It’s tough to explain. You see, some things cannot be told or
described. You have to feel them to believe them, to know they are
true. Then, and only then, will explanations make sense.’
‘Stop fucking around, bhenchod. Do you know, or not?’
Dr Acharya raised an eyebrow at the language, but otherwise
ignored it. He said, ‘Come with me.’
Four boys—Prithvi did not know what else to call them, though
he knew it was not the right word—were waiting for him in a large
dining room. Raj, lanky and older than Prithvi, a toddler who was
known to all as ‘Guddu’, and Rahul and Irfan, both of whom were
about Prithvi’s age. One look at them and Prithvi knew: whatever it
was that he was, they were too.
Prithvi was too consumed by all that he was feeling to speak a
word. Dr Acharya came to his rescue, dismissing the four on the
grounds that it was late and Prithvi was tired, and that they would all
surely get to know each other from tomorrow. With that, the scholar
led Prithvi off to Nirmal Uncle-—the resident cook-housekeeper —
and the hottest bath Prithvi had ever had in his life. Prithvi enjoyed
every bit of it, from the thick towels and clean clothes that came
after, to the simple porridge he was served for dinner. But all the
while, his heart kept racing, as though something significant was yet
to happen. It did, after he had been tucked into bed in a room that
he was told was all his. Dr Acharya walked into the room.
Prithvi shrank with learned fear, but then forced himself to relax.
Indeed, all Dr Acharya did was draw up a chair to sit at Prithvi’s
bedside. Then he began telling Prithvi a story. Their story.
‘Many aeons ago, when our world was young in this cycle of
creation, there lived a king named Hiranyakashipu. After centuries of
hard penance, Lord Brahma appeared before him. Hiranyakashipu
asked the god for a boon of immortality. Brahma refused—he said
that all who are born are meant to die. He could give Hiranyakashipu
anything else he wanted, but not this. The king thought for a minute,
and then he asked that he should be killed by neither god, nor man
nor animal, that his death should be neither during the day, nor
during the night, neither indoors nor outdoors and neither on earth
nor in the heavens and by no weapon. Smart, no?’
Prithvi had hardly heard any tales such as this before and would
have dismissed it as childish prattle. But he was indeed impressed with
the ancient king’s quick thinking. He unwittingly allowed himself to be
dragged into the story. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Did Brahma grant his boon?’
Dr Acharya said, ‘Of course, Brahma granted the boon. And
then, as it often happens when one rises to power, Hiranyakashipu
let his near-indestructibility go to his head. He started terrorizing
the whole world, wreaking havoc and killing innocents. He began to
think of himself as a god, the only god, and demanded that people
worship him. Those who refused were tortured and killed. And no
one dared stand against him. No one, except his own son. Prahalad.
‘Prahalad boldly declared that Vishnu was the supreme power
in the universe. He refused to acknowledge his father as the greatest
god, even on threat of punishment. At last, an angry Hiranyakashipu
drew his sword and attacked his son, daring Prahalad to call on
Vishnu for protection.’
But even if Vishnu wanted to help Prahalad, Brahma’s boon
would protect Hiranyakashipu, right?’ Prithvi asked.
‘Yes. You’re absolutely right. And here’s where we get to the most
important part, Prithvi. The force that came to Prahalad’s rescue one
chaturdashi—the fourteenth day of the waxing moon—was neither
god, nor man, nor animal. He was all three. He was Vishnu, the
god, in the form of Narasimha—part man, part lion. Narasimha
appeared at twilight—the time that is neither day nor night. He
took Hiranyakashipu onto his lap—neither earth nor heaven—and
standing on a threshold, which is neither indoors nor outdoors, he
dug into Hiranyakashipu’s stomach with his claws and killed him.’
Prithvi was spellbound. ‘Ailal’
 ‘It is from this great power that we were born. We are soldiers
of the gods and, like Vishnu, we are meant to protect all that is good
and pure in humans. When this world comes to an end and Vishnu
rises again to destroy all that is evil, we will be there to serve him. Till
then, we must control the beast that hides inside us, biding our time
till the end of ages. We must live as humans, amidst humans, despite
our natural strength, our abilities and differences. You must know
what it is that is within you, and you must accept the responsibility
that comes with it. This is the great destiny that is yours, Prithvi. You
are not a freak. You are not mad. You are the guardian of a terrible
power that you must never, ever use, for it is not yet time.’
‘But. . . but what is it? I mean ... I mean . . . what is it?’
Dr Acharya apparently understood the incoherent question. ‘We
never speak its name, Prithvi, for to say the name is to admit that we
are not human. The force inside you is meant to be controlled and
hidden, never used. But I shall tell you this once, for you must know
what this thing is, if you aren’t to fear it or succumb to it. It is called
“Saimha”. But you must never call yourself that. You are human.
Remember that, always. You must live as a human.’
With that, Dr Acharya tucked him in gently, promising him that
he would soon understand, that they would talk more, and that no,
Prithvi would neither die nor simply wake up as something else in
his bed in the morning because he was far from adulthood and the
ability to transform, and yes, he would tell Prithvi the story again.
Prithvi, however, did not sleep a wink after that conversation. He lay
awake, relishing the pleasantly heavy sensation that filled his body,
holding him down in absolute peace. Despite all the confusion that
still whirled around in his head, for the first time in his entire life he
felt as though he was where he belonged. He felt safe.
 [2]

therianthropy.’
Prithvi was startled, his old instincts from the juvenile home
bristling before he recognized that it was Rahul—one of the four that
he had met the night before. Irfan was right behind him. Clearly, the
two of them had been waiting for Prithvi to wake up and emerge
from his room.
I mean,’ Rahul continued, ‘you can believe in those bedtime
stories that Dr Acharya tells us, if you want to. But that doesn’t make
us myth. We are therianthropes. Werelions, if you like a funkier
term. We are as real and rational as they come, so get used to it.’
Prithvi looked at him with bewilderment, not sure where the
explanation was coming from or what had set it off. A resigned Irfan
explained, ‘He’s like that only. A know-it-all. Don’t worry, you’ll get
used to him. As if Dr Acharya doesn’t know the difference between
myth and science, but Rahul here thinks he’s smarter than everyone,
so . . .’
Rahul responded by lightly elbowing Irfan in his side. Irfan said,
Race you to breakfast?’ at which they both set off at a run, laughing.
Not knowing what to do, Prithvi ran right after them, astonished
that he was capable of feeling happier than he already was.
Breakfast turned out to be white, fluffy idlis with piping hot
sambar and freshly ground coconut chutney that, unlike the watery
muck Prithvi was used to, was actually made of coconut. It was, he
decided, going to be his favourite dish in the whole world.
From that day on, he, Rahul and Irfan were inseparable, though
the companionship was as much out of choice as it was inevitability—
they were, after all, the only residents of their age in the whole place.
‘The board outside says “Modern School”,’ Irfan told him.
‘From what we can gather, most people think it’s a special institution
for rich, spoilt brats.’
‘You’ve been outside?’ Prithvi asked.
‘Of course we’ve been outside. Once you’re settled in, you’ll
come with us too—every Sunday we go to the village, and once a
month or so, Dr Acharya takes us trekking, or we go to the city to
visit libraries and museums.’
Rahul added, ‘How are we supposed to eventually leave here and
live with humans, as humans, if we don’t know anything about them
or their world?’
Prithvi shrugged. As far as he was concerned, the part of his life
that he had spent with humans had been far from pleasant, and he
was more than happy to live forever with his own kind in the quiet
confines of the school and its grounds. He said as much to his friends.
Rahul scowled. ‘Wait till classes start. Then you’ll be dying to get
out of here, one way or another.’
The complaint, Prithvi understood in a matter of days, was a
facetious one. Rahul was a diligent, even competitive, student and
managed to deal effortlessly with the load of having to have not one,
but two kinds of education.
There were the usual subjects that any school would offer:
trigonometry, history, biology and so on. Most of their lessons were
with Sukanya Ma’am, a witty, cheerful young female. Once, the three
of them—Prithvi, Rahul and Irfan—were giggling over illustrations
of male and female reproductive systems when Sukanya Ma’am put
them in their place with a casual, ‘Just because you have it doesn t
mean you know how to use it. Put your heads back in your textbooks
and find out, before it’s too late.’
 And then there were the other subjects; the things they had to
learn because of who they were. Prithvi enjoyed those lessons the
most.
‘The need for secrecy,’ Sukanya Ma’am explained, barely weeks
after Prithvi’s arrival at the school, ‘meant that our ancestors could
set things down only in very symbolic or circumspect ways, through
art and sculpture and dance. For the most part, everything about
us—our history, our codes, our knowledge—was collectively held
and orally transmitted through a mix of scripture, myth and folklore.
It was only in the last few centuries that we began keeping written
records, due to changing lifestyles. Like the rest of the world, we
moved from living in communities and groups to more nuclear
family structures. Economics forced us to migrate, as it did many
others, be it from villages to cities or from India to foreign lands.’
‘So there are . . . those like us ... in other countries?’ Prithvi
asked.
‘Yes, of course. Just as there are Indians in other countries. But
for you to leave India would require not only a passport and visa, but
also permission from the Council.’
‘What is that? The Council, I mean . . .’
‘Well, you know how we talked about the idea of government, of
a system of running a country, right? So, we live within the governance
system of our respective countries—you and I here in India. But
we, you and I, that is, also have our own rules and regulations to
follow, as well as our own leaders who determine what must be done
for the betterment of our kind. For example, the decision to set up
schools where you young ones can study about our kind along with
the other things you need to learn to live as humans—who can make
that decision?’
‘The Council?’ Prithvi volunteered.
‘Yes. And to answer your question about what the Council is, it
is a small group of community leaders who have been chosen by the
others to take decisions in their interest.’
Like members of Parliament?’
 Sukanya laughed, not unkindly. ‘Yes and no. The Council is a
much less elaborate set-up. In many cases, their task is to follow the
principles that have been set down of old and apply them to the case
at hand. So it’s a mix of legislature, executive and judiciary, except
that it’s all done on a much smaller scale.’
‘How small?’
‘How many of us do you think there are in India?’
At that, Rahul raised his hand while Irfan furiously made
calculations in his head. Prithvi sat there with a look of ‘you’ll
tell me anyway’ that he had not yet learnt would get him picked
to answer.
‘Prithvi?’
‘Umm . . . fifty?’
Rahul sniggered, at which Sukanya glared at him before
redirecting her gaze at Prithvi. ‘Seriously? Think, Prithvi, don’t be
lazy.’
‘Well,’ Prithvi tried again, trying to recall everything he had
learnt in the past few weeks. ‘Therianthropy is a double-recessive
gene. And recessive traits can skip generations. India’s population is
over a billion. Assuming a 10 per cent within-population variation,
that is a hundred million individuals. Divide by four for the double-
recessiveness; that gives us twenty-five million?’ He stopped, amazed
by the number he had spouted.
Sukanya said, ‘Full marks-for effort; zero for common sense.’
Rahul could not restrain himself any longer. ‘Ma’am, it’s
currently at about fifty thousand, thirty-five thousand of whom
are documented and the remaining fifteen is an estimate of the
undocumented individuals. Governing the affairs of these fifty
thousand individuals is a Council of nine members, including the
Chair.’ He added, happy to display his knowledge, ‘Of the population
of fifty thousand, hardly 20 per cent are female.’
‘Why?’ Prithvi asked, feeling his head spin at the amount of new
information he was being called on to absorb in a short time.
Rahul replied, ‘Because they were born female, you idiot.’
 ‘No, you doofus, I meant why are there so few females? Idiot
yourself!’
Sukanya answered, partly to deflect a squabble, ‘There has been
a steady decrease in the female population over the last couple of
centuries. Many believe that the actual decline goes further back. My
grandma was one of us too, as was my grandfather. She had a theory
that the declining female population was an evolutionary step driven
by the need for survival. It was—and still is—tough to be female in
this country, regardless of your species. Being a female of our species
was probably more trouble than it was worth. It could be that over
many generations, the females dropped an extra gene or two, slowly
turning more human than they were before, till their descendants
became fully human, completely cleansed of the therianthropic
DNA. Of course, genetics is a very new science, and we don’t know
what it all means. It might be more likely that females were killed for
being witches and rakshasis and whatnot. Anyway, the bottom line
is that there are hardly two females for every ten males. So good luck
finding a girlfriend when you grow up!’
The three youngsters laughed and let it go at that, but the
conversation opened the door to another discussion that was alien,
and painfully so, to Prithvi: families.
‘Your grandmother was a therianthrope. Does this mean your
parents knew you were too? Were they also werelions?’ he asked their
teacher the very next day.
‘My mother is,’ Sukanya confirmed. ‘My father was human.’
‘He’s dead, ma’am?’
‘I don’t know. My mother left him to bring me up. It’s a choice
that every therianthrope who has a child with a human being has had
to make, to keep our existence a secret.’
Prithvi digested the information in silence for a while, then said,
‘Why not tell the human? I mean, if you loved someone enough to
marry them, and if they loved you in turn, surely they’d understand?
Surely they’d love you still and protect you and help keep your secret?
It’s such a miserable choice to make.’
 'It is sad. But fear is far more potent than love. Particularly
human fear. You know that, don’t you?’ Sukanya was, Prithvi knew,
inviting him to open up, to speak about all that he had gone through,
and he felt tempted to do so now that he had the language, words
he had not known before that said so much and held new meanings.
Words such as ‘Orphan’.
That, Prithvi had quickly learnt, was what he and others like
him were called. Orphans with a capital ‘O’ to show that these were
not just youngsters who had been unfortunate enough to lose their
families, but worse—they had not belonged with them.
The double-recessive therianthropy gene that Prithvi now
knew about had given rise to this phenomenon. Human children
of therianthropic parents had, unaware of the genetic heritage they
carried, gone on to bear children with other humans. Some of
these children had inherited the were-gene and passed it on to their
children, and they to their children and so forth. The result: the birth
of a strange, supposedly abnormal child to normal human parents.
A child that risked being abandoned, even killed, for what she or he
was.
And what was he?
Glad and grateful as Prithvi was to know he was not a freak, he
still did not comprehend what made him, for the one thing he was
told, over and over, was that he could not be what he now knew he
was.
Sukanya’s lessons reaffirmed that. ‘Every one of us is brought
up knowing one thing above all, Prithvi,’ she once told him. ‘We
are meant to do nothing but wait till our time is come. And so our
ancestors set a code for our kind and set one rule above all: it is
forbidden for us to ever take our leonine forms. And that we shall
never do so is the oath each one of us takes with our very first breath
as an adult, once we have resisted nature’s first pull to transform and
resolved to live as human and human alone.’
‘Why not?’ Prithvi asked, defiant. ‘Why must we never
transform? All this hiding, all this pretending to be only human?’
Not wanting to be seen as rebellious, he added, ‘I mean, if we didn’t
have to hide ourselves, then there would be no more Orphans, right?
Things would be different.’ He did not say the obvious: my life would
have been different.
Sukanya gave him a sympathetic look, then tried to explain. T
could tell you what the legends and scriptures say; that we are soldiers
to the gods, but our time has not yet come. Or, I could tell you that
there is a complex web of socio-political reasons why our forebears
believed us to be better off as humans. But the indisputable fact is
that we make humanity feel more secure by pretending we don’t
exist. And in turn, we too embrace the same illusion. It’s like when
you’re playing with a child and the child hits you, you’d pretend to
be hurt. But you wouldn’t really hit back, would you?’
Prithvi said nothing. He suspected his teacher’s answer was
accurate but inadequate. He thought about the shadow-figure, the
darkness inside him that now had a form, a name, but could never be
free. It—he—whatever it was—had not judged him for his newfound
happiness or the fact that his need for violence was not gone, though
he hid it well and met it with the punching bags in their gym.
He wondered what it might do if it were ever set free. He could
not decide whether the idea petrified him or delighted him. Prithvi
waited, though he did not know what for. He knew something . . .
someone else waited too.
 [3]

prithvi’s thirteenth birthday brought with it two major events.

The first was a surprise party where all the residents of Modern
School woke him up at midnight. Nirmal Uncle had baked him a
chocolate cake, and everyone, including the recalcitrant Raj, had gifts
for him. The second and equally exciting event was Dr Acharya’s
announcement that on chaturdashi—the day before the full moon—
three months hence, Raj would be Tested.
‘Tested for what?’ Prithvi asked Rahul and Irfan. The two looked
at him as though he were from an alien planet, then traded resigned
glances:
In his very first week at Modern School, Prithvi had found
out that neither Irfan nor Rahul were Orphans. It had come as a
shock: Prithvi had assumed that the reason they were at the school
and not with their families was because they too were like him.
Irfan had explained, ‘Well, yes and no. My grandparents were both
therianthropes. But not my father. When they realized I was one too,
they sort of convinced my parents that I had to go to boarding school
and had me sent here. I sometimes think that my father knows more
than he lets on, but it’s probably easier for him to pretend that he
knows nothing. I can’t imagine him trying to confront my mother!’
Irfan finished with a conspiratorial grin.
Prithvi had taken the information in, then turned questioningly
to Rahul.
 Rahul had shrugged. ‘My grandparents and parents are all . . .
us.’
‘But you’re here,’ Prithvi had said.
‘I’m here.’
Obvious as it was that Rahul wanted no further discussion on
the matter, Prithvi had let it go. He had planned to ask Irfan about
it when they were alone, but when the chance presented itself, he
had let that pass too. He liked Rahul and did not want to know
something about him if Rahul was unwilling to share it himself.
Besides, to ask Irfan would have put-him in an awkward spot, and
that was not something Prithvi wanted either.
At first, Prithvi had found this, his new way of thinking, a little
scary but also very satisfying. He had never had friends before, and
now, not only did he have two friends, he also cared very much about
them. It was not a life he had ever believed he would have, and he
cherished every moment of it. But even after all these years of being
together at the school, at moments such as these, Prithvi could not
help but remember that he was different from Rahul and Irfan, after
■all. There were things they knew, even took for granted, that he had
no clue about.
The Test—supposedly the most important event in life at
Modern School, the threshold that separated an individual from
adulthood—was one of those things. Prithvi knew what it was, in a
broad sense, but absorbed as he had been with his new present, he
had never paid much heed to his future, living as though his life at
the school was eternal and immutable. It had never occurred to him
to think of the shadow within as something tangible and corporeal,
having a form that he and every other therianthrope would actively
have to deny, so that they could spend the rest of their lives as human,
with the urge—and the power—to transform buried forever. Now,
as that ambiguous adulthood seemed inevitable if not imminent, a
new apprehension began taking root in his heart.
Strangely, it was not succumbing to his shadow that Prithvi was
afraid of; rather, he feared that he would do as he ought to and silence
it. That thought was unbearable for reasons he could neither identify
nor explain, even to himself. At other times, Prithvi felt convinced
that the shadow would never let him go, even if he wanted to be free.
He thought he could hear its rumbling laughter as it agreed with
him, and the sound was as frightening as it was reassuring.
Of the many things he had learnt in his time at the juvenile
home, the first and foremost had been that certain questions required
him to give certain answers, if he wanted to survive. He had quickly
learnt to lie, telling those in authority exactly what they wanted to
hear. Prithvi began lying again, this time telling himself what he
knew he ought to say and believe, though it was far from the truth.
The more he lied, the more he felt the animal in him was expanding,
not in size, but in clarity.
At times, Prithvi imagined he could hear his padded tread. But
then, he decided, it was just that: imagination. On one of their field
trips, he had caught the familiar whiff of desperation, sweat and
cheap alcohol from a drunk passing by, and the smell had left him
wanting to rent the man’s rank flesh, tear him open with teeth that
were his own but were stronger, sharper, fang-like.
Of course, Rahul and Irfan had seen him go stiff and angry and
had explained it away later as his having remembered his abusive
father. Dr Acharya added his bit by way of explanation, suggesting
that Prithvi’s enhanced senses of hearing, smell and sight, honed by his
discovery of his nature and the relative seclusion of the school, were yet
to fade into human insensitivity. Prithvi agreed with them and did not
tell him that their field trips anyway left him worn out and confused, as
though two opposing forces had torn at his body and his mind all day,
pulling him hither and thither. In any case, he reasoned, these were all
just symptoms of the emotional overload he felt whenever he revisited
the world he hoped he had left behind forever. He would just have to
learn to deal with it.
The closer Raj’s Test loomed on the horizon, the easier it was for
Prithvi to live with his illusions, excited and distracted as they all felt.
Till that point, Prithvi had bothered little with Raj. Of course, he
had seen the older student around a million times—it was impossible
not to meet when the five of them were the only ones in the school—
but they had hardly spoken to each other beyond wishing each other
a good morning or asking each other to pass the salt at the dinner
table. But when, inspired by Dr Acharya’s announcement, Irfan and
Rahul decided it was time to further develop the casual acquaintance
they had shared so far with their senior, Prithvi had no choice but
to show equal interest; though to think of the Test and all that came
with it only made him more acutely aware of the conflict within him
and the charade he enacted to mask it.
The trio watched Raj, haunted him as he studied, as he ate, as
he went for his daily run around the grounds. They followed him
after dark, hoping for a glimpse of the sign that meant imminent
adulthood—the retroreflective gleam in his eyes. They even offered
to wash his clothes and clean his room, both of which Raj had
declined with a horrified ‘no, thanks’. The atmosphere was such that
for the first time in years, Prithvi was reminded of the juvenile home,
though not in a bad way.
It was the feeling that all the inmates of the home had
experienced when they watched a boy who had finished his sentence
or been assigned to a foster walk to the gates, knowing that he would
leave without looking back at the hell he had endured. Of course,
Prithvi hardly considered his current life to be hell, but he felt that
something awaited Raj on the other side of the Test, something that
Prithvi longed for and dreaded at the same time. There was a world
out there, a world where everyone lived and loved and had jobs and
families and bills to pay and a thousand other normal things to do,
like the human beings they had tried to be as children but had never
really been. There was a world where he could never be what he
truly was.
By the time they were down to the last month before Raj’s Test,
Irfan and Rahul dropped all pretence of caring about anything else.
Prithvi said little about the impending event, but it was all Rahul could
speak of, turning into a repository of information on the process.
 ‘Did you know,’ he began to explain to a weary Prithvi and an
irritated Irfan, ‘in ancient times, things were very different. Our kind did
not go to school, not the way we do. They lived in ashrams, with saints
and sadhus in the Himalayas till the first chaturdashi of their adult life,
when the moon would compel them to turn. If the student managed to
restrain himself from turning, both on chaturdashi and on the full moon
day that followed, he was allowed to leave the ashram and head back to
the world of humans. Those who failed remained on the mountain and
could try again the next month or the month after, till they succeeded.’
‘We know,’ Irfan said with a groan. ‘We also know the story of
Narara, who failed to control his transformations all his life and had
to live forever in the Himalayas. We’ve also heard your theory that he
was the source of the Yeti legend. But you know that’s not possible,
so shut up!’
Rahul grinned and complied.
Prithvi, however, burst out, ‘Why not? Why isn’t it possible?’ It
was, he supposed, a silly question, but he had long since gotten used
to the fact the he would have to ask it, simply because there were
things the others knew and took for granted that he did not know
about at all despite the time he had been at the school, because he
was an Orphan. ‘Why not?’ he persisted.
To his amazement, Rahul joined in, ‘Yeah, why not! He was a
friendly Saimha, so maybe they let him be.’
Prithvi started at Rahul’s use of the word; it was the first time
he had heard either of his friends say it. Rahul, however, appeared
to find it amusing. ‘Well, duh! That was the original name for our
kind, before it became a forbidden word. As if saying “werelion” or
“therianthrope” is going to change who we actually are.’
Irfan looked troubled. ‘Rahul, don’t! That’s Extremist talk.
You’re saying these things because you think you can never get into
trouble. But just because you’re—’
‘Aww,’ Rahul interrupted, drawling in mock sympathy. ‘Poor
Irfan-baby is scared. Finish your dal and sabzi or an Enforcer will
come for you. Boo!’
 ‘Don’t you dare—’
‘What’s an Enforcer?’ Prithvi asked. ‘Hey! What’s an Enforcer?’
he persisted, waving his hand up and down between the two of them.
But neither Irfan nor Rahul appeared ready to indulge him.
‘I have to go study,’ Rahul said and stalked off without waiting
for a response. Prithvi turned to Irfan, who shrugged and went his
own way.
For lack of options, after a strained and silent dinner Prithvi shut
himself up in his room and curled up in bed. He tossed and turned
till finally, a little short of midnight, he flung off the covers and
padded barefoot to the dining room downstairs.
Prithvi had not quite figured out whether he was in search of a
book—the dining room doubled up as the library when meals were
not in progress—or his goal was the jar of biscuits that was left out
in the middle of the large table, but the moment he entered the hall,
thoughts of both left his mind. He, apparently, was not the only
sleepless wanderer in the school that night, for Raj sat at the far end
of the table, nursing an empty mug of what smelled like it had been
Horlicks, as he stared into space.
The older student started at Prithvi’s sudden intrusion. ‘What
do you want?’
Prithvi hesitated, afraid that he would be told off. He decided to
take his chances and said, ‘I’m looking for a book. Something that
can tell me about Enforcers. I mean, I know there won’t be anything
explicitly about Enforcers, but you know, something in the myths or
history, like how King Vijaya, Sri Lanka’s first king, was one of us
and that sort of thing?’
To Prithvi’s surprise, Raj was far from offended; if anything, he
seemed genuinely interested. He said, ‘Where did you hear about the
Enforcers?’
‘I . . . Rahul and Irfan ... I mean, they didn’t tell me anything,
even though I asked. But then, no one tells me anything. No one will
even tell me why we don’t call ourselves S . . . Saimhas. I mean . . .
that’s what we are, right? But Irfan said that was Extremist talk. I’ve no
idea what that means.’ Prithvi felt the words fall out of him in a rush
and wondered if he had been too hasty. He looked expectantly at Raj.
Raj considered the statement without expression, then responded
by directing Prithvi to a nearby chair. ‘I can tell you about the
Enforcers, if you wish. I suppose, in a way, I need to hear it too.’ He
laughed dully, for no reason that Prithvi could see.
‘It wasn’t always an evil thing to be Saimha,’ Raj began, ‘and that
word had none of the terrible meanings we give it joday. In some
ancient kingdoms, a Saimha was considered a priceless warrior—
for obvious reasons. But as the world grew more modern, things
changed. Some believed that our safety lay in the Code of Secrecy.
Not all agreed. These were rebels of a sort, individuals who believed
that we ought not to hide, and that if we were in danger, we ought to
fight back, fight for our survival.’
‘That sounds fair,’ Prithvi said, without thinking.
The words prompted Raj to cast a look around. He said, ‘Yes,
but every now and then some individuals would take it too far. They
would start claiming superiority of our species, saying that we ought
to rule over humans, even exterminate them all.’
‘Extremists,’ Prithvi hissed.
‘Yes. Of course, the humans were not very happy when they
found out about it, as they sometimes did, and many innocents ended
up suffering for it. For example, the whole idea of shikaar as a sport in
colonial times, saving people from man-eaters and all that, was more
about killing Saimhas than it was about hunting lions. Of course, the
poor animals paid the price for it too. Reports say that in the course
of three centuries, over a hundred thousand “lions” were killed, but it
is believed that the numbers, including Saimhas, were much higher.
‘Anyway, sometime during the eighteenth century, the Council
decreed that half-measures, as they called them, would no longer
suffice. The Code of Secrecy—which was more a moral code till
that point—had to become a law; a law that had to be implemented
strictly, for the greater good of all. The notion that we had to live as
human and human alone, no matter what the circumstances, took
firm root—to the point that to call oneself Saimha was to identify
with the Extremists who believed that our kind ought to rule over
the human race. That’s when the term Saimha became, so to say, a
bad word. If you called yourself human, you believed that we ought
to hide what we were, because the power inside us was a dangerous
force. If you called yourself Saimha, you believed that not only were
you entitled to harness the beast, but also that this power made you
superior to Homo sapiens.’
For the countless times that Prithvi had heard the injunction to
never give in to the lurking shadow, he had not realized that it carried
such complicated historical baggage. ‘And, the Enforcers . . . ?’
Raj said, ‘Enforcers have been a part of our society since the early
days, like the Council. We know that the Council existed and was
the highest authority on all affairs right from Bimbisara’s time. But
in those days, the job of Enforcers was to protect us, and humans too.
It has changed over time, as most things do. Not all of it has been
for the better.’
‘Why not?’
Raj looked distinctly uncomfortable at the question. He cleared
his throat, then said in an undertone, ‘My grandfather used to say,
fear runs deep and thoughtless in our kind. It is part of animal
instinct. At first, the Enforcers were used to counter and destroy
the Extremists: those unwilling to live by the Code of Secrecy. Over
time, it became their task to find and kill every therianthrope who
could not control his or her ability to turn—including Orphans who
had no chance of ever learning who they were and why they did what
they did. It was easier and the safer option, they argued.’
‘I’m an Orphan,’ Prithvi said.
Raj winced, as though realizing he had said too much. He smiled
kindly at the younger cub in an attempt to console him. ‘You’re safe,
Prithvi. These things happened a long time ago. Nowadays, we find
Orphans and bring them here, teach them what they need to know
so that they can live long, happy lives. You are here now. You have
nothing to worry about.’
 Prithvi had many questions left in him, but he recognized the
dismissal in Raj’s tone. He also knew that persisting when another
was not prepared to answer was often a surefire way to get into
trouble. He thanked Raj and got up from his chair.
‘Prithvi. . Raj began.
Prithvi turned, expecting Raj to caution him against telling
anyone of their conversation. But Raj seemed to think better of it.
‘Nothing,’ he said, with a shake of his head. ‘Nothing. Go.’
Prithvi left at once, lest Raj reconsider. He made his way back
towards his room in a daze of information, not quite watching where
he was going. Only when he bumped into the tall, muscular figure
did he even look up.
‘Sorry,’ Prithvi automatically apologized, though frowning at the
oddness of the encounter. The rugged male was the first outsider
Prithvi had ever seen at the school, and yet he had the feeling that he
had met the individual before. Or had he? The stranger did not reply,
but walked on by, expressionless. Prithvi wanted to go ask Rahul
about the newcomer, but then realized he would have to explain how
he had run into the individual in the first place—thereby sharing the
fact of his conversation with Raj. Somehow, he had the feeling that
it was not a good idea to do so, at least not right then. For lack of
anything better to do, Prithvi returned to his bed and prepared for
sleeplessness.
The next night, Raj was Tested. Prithvi never saw him again.
There had been neither time nor opportunity to say goodbye.
 [4]

prithvi would have dwelt longer on Raj’s abrupt departure, had

it not been for the fact that in the months that followed his voice
broke, the first patches of ragged stubble appeared on his chin, and
his body began to change.
With it changed his inner shadow. The lion was becoming a
constant companion; it, no, he had a mind of his own that was one
with Prithvi’s mind, his presence grew stronger. Prithvi would be
walking along a corridor, and it would suddenly seem to him that
he was not walking, but, in fact, standing at one end, watching the
graceful tread of paws against the jute matting. And then, the next
second, he would find himself standing where the lion had been but
moments ago. Where he had been but moments ago.
Mirrors began to lie. The very same glass that one day reflected a
six-foot-tall youth on the brink of strong manhood would show images
of the forest at night, of pug marks and water trails. The strangest
occurrence of them all, however, was that Prithvi found himself
relishing, even looking forward to these trances or hallucinations,
whatever they were. Learning about the lion inside him was the only
thing that had helped him make sense of his horrible, miserable
childhood, of the life he had known, of why he had been beaten over
and over, why his mother had died, and why he had been sent to
the juvenile home. Prithvi could not let it go. He could not let him
go. He could not help but wonder whether he could have stopped his
father if he had given in to his beast. He could not help but question
whether his mother would still be alive.
A part of him knew that these were traps, the beast was luring
him out—not only from the safety of the school bungalow but
also from the human life that the building and all that went with it
represented. Prithvi was adamant that he would not cross that line.
The lion had given a meaning to his past, and that was enough. He
was not going to compromise the life he had now over the beast.
There was no going back to hell.
Every time he stirred, Prithvi would remind him—them—he
could no longer tell which he was whom—of exactly that. The beast
would then retreat, content to resume his game, for a game it was,
later.
It was not the only game Prithvi was being forced to play. He
also noticed Rahul looking at him—as he was wont to do these past
months—in a way that he could only describe as strange. It filled
him with delicious warmth, but he did not know what to say or do
in response.
‘Did you know,’ Rahul began in his characteristic fashion one
night as he stood by the window in Prithvi’s room, looking out at
the crescent moon, ‘recent research shows that lions, that is, Panthera
leo, might communicate with each other through brainwaves, not
unlike dolphins. In fact, their vocal communication—grunts, roars,
rumbles—is one of the most cotnplex there is in the animal world,
full of nuance and meaning.’
‘Shut up and get out, Rahul,’ Prithvi said, too tired to pretend
that he shared Rahul’s excitement.
‘Imagine, Prithvi. Imagine being able to communicate that way.’
‘Abey saale, you can’t understand direct communication, and
you’re talking about telepathy. I said go. I want to sleep.’
Rahul crouched down next to Prithvi’s head, his eyes glinting
with excitement. ‘What if we could speak to each other that way?’
Prithvi responded by hitting Rahul with his pillow before
turning away to face the wall. He heard the door shut as Rahul left,
then closed his eyes in invitation to sleep, trying not to give in to
the cramping sense of doom that made him want to sob into his
pillow. But it took a long while before he could silence the chaos in
his head, the feeling of being torn between surviving in this, the only
semblance of a life worth living, and the fact that this too was fake,
like all that he had known before it.
That night, Prithvi had a dream.
He stirred into it knowing the smell of night, the taste of earth
and bark and living blood. He thought he had gone blind and
would have panicked but for the knowledge that it was a dream.
But soon he began to see, and then he wished he never had to wake
up. The night was, to these new eyes, brightly lit by the stars; stars
that twinkled like gemstones against a sky that held more shades of
luminous blue and purple than the swathes of black he had earlier
known. In the distance, woods, their canopy a green sea against the
silver-blue horizon. Prithvi wondered whether he was in another
world, for these were not the colours of his own. Only then did he
realize his eyes were not his own either.
No, that was not right, his dream self corrected him. These were
his eyes; they had always been. It was only now that he had learnt to
see with them.
Astounded by his discovery, Prithvi began to pay attention to
every sensation. He heard blades of grass quiver, he heard rabbits
speak to their droves and the complaining grunts of a wild pig as
it dug up only mud. He heard the trees grow, fed by the wind and
invisible water; he heard the sound of water as it rose up through
root, fell from sky, ran over ground. And then he heard it all at once
and was terrified that he would go deaf.
Prithvi tried to clap his hands over his ears, but there was
no form, neither hands nor ears, no sense of a body at all. The
sounds filled him, as did sight and smell, and he feared he would
burst, but he did not, for he had no boundary. Yet, he was there,
and he was more present and complete than he had ever felt. Fed
and intoxicated, he felt himself rise, his bodiless nature taking
flight, floating on wind, rising above the treetops and reaching
for the stars. From that place in the sky, he gazed down at the
earth and saw tawny coat and rippling muscle, powerful paws and
adamantine jaws and knew that he looked at himself, never again
alone, never again unwanted, but adored by the jungle, lord and
lover of all that lived and moved. Prithvi had never felt as safe as
he did in that moment.
‘Slept well?’ Rahul asked him the next day.
It was an innocuous question, but Prithvi’s response was full of
innuendo. ‘Like a king. No, like a child.’
The next time he had the dream, he was no longer just an idea,
he was real, and he wore his form with pride. His powerful muscles
moved his limbs with feline grace; his back and haunches curving,
rising, falling, mighty shoulders rolling as he walked. He ran with the
wind, deep into this blue-green world that was no longer alien, never
had been, and all vision and smell and sound was as it ought to be.
He was a lion, and he saw and sensed and felt as one.
Prithvi began to run in his dreams every night, his feet filled
with new strength, his each stride a leap. He did not know when
he slipped across the thin divide between dream and reality, but
one day, as he slaked his thirst in the small stream that ran through
the school grounds, he noticed his reflection. The tawny pelt and
ivory teeth and the beginnings of what promised to someday be a
glorious mane seemed sharper than they had ever been in his dreams.
He looked again, dipping a curious forepaw into the water. Dark
swirls—possibly mud, or maybe something else—rippled through
the water from his protracted claws. The ripples only made the shape
they distorted all the more solid and real.
A shocked Prithvi stumbled with human feet against the root of
a tree and fell to the ground. As the damp of newly rained-on earth
seeped in through his pores, he realized he was naked. Scrambling
to his feet, he set off at a run towards the school, the three-storey
bungalow rising ominously through the mist as though it were a
forbidden castle; no, not a castle, but a prison that was meant to
keep him captive. Prithvi sneaked in through one of the French
windows on the ground floor, closing it tightly behind him as if his
life depended on it. He did not know what it was that he was trying
to shut out.
‘Prithvi?’ A figure came into the room, switching on a light.
‘Sssh! Turn that out, Rahul, you’ll get us both into trouble.’
Rahul looked the naked Prithvi up and down, taking in his
muddy feet, the feral shine in his eyes. He then flicked the switch,
shrouding them both in darkness. ‘Wait here,’ he said matter-of-
factly. ‘I’ll get you a wet towel. Wipe your feet; else you’ll leave
muddy footprints all over the place.’
A stunned Prithvi did as he was told, waiting till Rahul came
back. He did not protest when Rahul bent down to lift his legs one
by one and wiped his legs and feet clean. ‘Come,’ Rahul then said.
Prithvi followed as Rahul carefully led him through the bungalow
and up the stairs to the corridor that housed their rooms. He waited
for questions, but they never came. Prithvi, still naked, got into his
bed and pulled the sheets up to his shoulders. He looked at Rahul,
now a dim silhouette in his doorway. Unable to take it any more, he
asked, ‘Don’t you want to know?’
Rahul simply asked, ‘Were you happy, Prithvi?’
‘I was.’ As an afterthought, Prithvi added, ‘I felt safe.’
Rahul nodded. ‘Goodnight,’ he said and shut the door.
Prithvi lay awake for a long time, trying to think through all
that had happened, but he could not. Too many sensations got in
the way, sounds and smells that called to him through the open
window—the chirping of crickets and rustle of leaves, the sound of
grass being crushed underfoot as predators and prey slinked through
the jungle at their doorstep and the earthy smell they left as mud
turned in their wake.
Prithvi tried to shut out these things, to concentrate on the clean
sheets, the warmth of his bed and the soft mattress that yielded to
his body, the pleasant hum of the ceiling fan and the heady smoke
of the mosquito coil. These were the little things that had seemed so
precious, so exquisite to him when he had set foot in here years ago,
a dirty Orphan boy, no, not boy; a dirty Orphan freak who belonged
nowhere. Tonight, even these things seemed alien, as though he did
not belong here either. Prithvi killed the stirring in his heart before
it could become words and come alive. He resolved never again to
make the mistake he had that night, to let his dreams get the better
of him, to turn and transform him into the beast he knew he could
never freely be. But he could not forget the feeling, the moment of
admission: the jungle was his true home. He suspected that despite
his self-declared intention to never let this happen again, sooner or
later, it would.
The next morning, he said nothing about what had transpired
to Rahul, but Prithvi could feel that things had changed between
them. Contrary to character, they spoke little with each other, but
there was comfort in their newfound silence. Over the next few days,
they stopped speaking to each other altogether, but they began to
share many more indescribable looks, each one filling Prithvi with
the same electricity he had felt earlier.
The newfound bond between Prithvi and Rahul did not go
unnoticed by Irfan, though he reacted with neither malice nor envy.
As far as he was concerned, they were both his friends. What they
were between themselves, he stated, was none of his concern.
Rahul found that hilarious. ‘Wait, you don’t think we’re . . .
together, do you?’ he asked Irfan. Irfan replied with a shrug that said
he did not care either way.
Prithvi waited for Rahul to set the record straight, but he did
not. He did not mind the obvious conclusion Rahul’s silence led to,
though it was not true, but it did annoy him that there was a secret
so private between them that even Irfan could not share in it. It made
him wonder whether what he had done that one night was more than
just a mistake.
Rahul, apparently, nursed the same doubt. ‘Will you do it again?’
The question had been a long time coming; so long, in fact, that
Prithvi had forgotten to be prepared for it.
 ‘Do what, Rahul?’ he asked, not looking up, grateful for the
mathematics homework in front of him that he had zero interest in.
‘You know. What you did that night. . . when I saw you come
in through the window.’
‘I don’t know what you saw,’ Prithvi mumbled, unwilling to talk
about it. ‘All I can see is calculus, and it’s fucking my head up right
now.’
Rahul watched Prithvi with a muted smile, lips curved in a way
that was both sinister and exquisite. He then walked over to Prithvi
and began helping him with his homework. Prithvi tried to remain
unaware of Rahul’s fresh shaving-cream-smell, but it called to him
as loudly as did the smell of night jasmine and new-sprung grass. He
knew that this too was a game for the beast, which mocked his every
attempt to remain human. He ran faster in his dreams, grew stronger
by the day. He heard him speak, telling him that it was only a matter
of time.
 [5]

as the years passed, Prithvi and his friends were not the only
ones to grow up. Guddu, the youngest student in the school,
had reached the age where he now insisted that his name was not
Guddu, but Inderjit.
Prithvi, in fact, was vaguely concerned about what would
happen to their junior companion once the three of them left the
school, given that no new students had joined since his arrival there.
He made it a point to include Inderjit in their conversations and
activities, and it was not unusual to find the younger student in one
of the trio’s rooms—in this case, Irfan’s.
It was, however, unusual to find Irfan shouting at him: ‘You
stupid little prick!’
Inderjit was visibly panicked since Rahul too was frowning down
at him.
‘What happened?’ Prithvi entered the room. Inderjit immediately
hid himself behind Prithvi.
‘Fucker tore my notes.’
‘Whoa, whoa! Hang on, it was probably an accident. Right, Inder?’
Inderjit nodded vigorously, but Irfan was not convinced. Rahul
burst out laughing, mumbling about Irfan writing love poems.
That embarrassed Irfan, sending him over the edge. He grabbed
Inderjit by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out from behind
Prithvi’s large frame.
 ‘Hey! Cool it.’ Prithvi placed a calming hand on Irfan’s shoulder.
Irfan swatted the hand away without looking at him.
None of them quite knew what happened after that. None,
expect Prithvi.
He remembered every strike, every single instant, as though time
had slowed down so that he could feel each detail. The angry first
blow, that had been a thoughtless, instinctive action. The rest had
followed and had been far from thoughtless. He had tasted something
exquisite and could not stop himself from wanting more, and then
more; every time his fists made contact with Irfan’s bones, every time
he heard the cry of pain, the rush of blood, it felt almost like those
unadmitted pleasures his teenage body had recently discovered. It
shuddered through him, filling him with such ecstasy that, the last
thing he wanted to do was stop. The beast, he knew, had found a
sliver of opportunity, a crack between the shadow world and reality
that it could slip out through.
Finally, Rahul and Dr Acharya together pulled him off the
prone, bleeding Irfan. Prithvi did not resist them, instead he threw
his head back and laughed, the sound masking every other, including
Irfan’s moans and Inderjit’s sobs.
At last, Prithvi stopped his ghasdy laughter. Then he looked at his
bloody knuckles and asked them all, ‘What happened?’ As they stared at
him, appalled, he realized that the laughter had been his and yet not his,
that inside him the shadow figure continued to cackle, loud, mocking,
ascending to a roar. Prithvi ran to his room and shut himself up.
For three days, Prithvi refused to come out of his room or let
anyone in. He did not sleep; he did not dream. He was afraid that
if he did dream, he would not run in the jungles but find himself
back in the world in which he had first discovered such anger and
violence, that he would be all of seven years old and once again with
his father, or worse, in the hellhole juvenile home that he would
rather die than return to.
It occurred to him that for what he had done, Dr Acharya might
send him back there after all.
 He broke. He cried. He beat his fists against the wall, even banged
his head against it, cutting it open. But he healed. He wondered what
would happen if he hung himself from the ceiling fan or slit his wrists
with a razor. He dared not find out.
Or did he?
He scrounged around for the shaving razor that he had begun
to use and slashed it against his wrist. Whether it was out of fear or
hesitation, he did not cut deep enough. A gash was all there was on
his skin, dotted with a few droplets of reluctant blood. Yet the faint
metallic tang that rose from the wound was a potent incense that
tugged at him.
Prithvi felt a sense of calm understanding fill him, though he did
not fully know what it was that he understood. When the call came
some hours later, as he was sure it would, he was ready.
Here.
Prithvi obeyed without hesitation, sneaking out the window of
his room to drop onto the moonlit ground below. Keeping to the
shade of the school building, he crept to the vegetable garden and
through it, into the forest beyond. He walked, needing neither light
nor guidance, till he saw the glimmer of the river through a gap in
the trees. He emerged on its banks to find Rahul waiting, as he had
never seen him before: on all fours, every gram of his 150 kilogram
frame filled with magnificence, every tuft of tawny fur exuding
immeasurable strength, the [Link] his tail a cheeky smirk.
Rahul, what areyou doing here? He did not say the words out loud,
nor did he have to, nor were they even in any language his human
tongue could have formed. But he spoke, and he was understood.
This is the only way, Prithvi.
Prithvi understood. Rahul was right. This was the only way. The
more he tried to cage the lion, the more dangerous and violent he
would get. But if the beast were set free, if he were let out to roam
and play as a king of the night, he would sleep, sated and peaceful, as
Prithvi played his human role.
This was the only way.
 They both ran that night, their bodies as free as their minds.
Their powerful legs bounding, not over imagined plains and fields
but through the fresh-cut grass of the school grounds, the recently
gleaned farmlands of the village nearby and, of course, the wilderness
of the woods. They drank from a running stream and shook its water
out of their manes, the drops forming a moonlit crown around their
heads. They saw blade and leaf quiver in their presence and found
every animal, big and small, retreating before them. The jungle was
theirs, and they belonged to the jungle.
The sun’s glow breached the horizon in the pre-dawn, setting
their golden coats on fire. Together, they gazed out from atop the
cliff at the boundless earth below, their shaggy but as-yet-maneless
faces held high. Prithvi looked at Rahul and saw nothing but
magnificence, majesty. He laughed, at himself, at all existence, at
how all fear and every shadow now seemed smoke and mirrors. They
laughed together at this wonderful world that had been kept from
them by feint and lies.
The two young lions fell asleep under the setting moon and
woke up a short while later as naked humans, their limbs entangled,
Rahul’s breath warm on Prithvi’s chest, Prithvi’s arm curled around
Rahul’s waist, their proximity the nameless bond between cubs,
undefined by human form or desire. They looked long into each
other’s eyes, and Rahul rested his fingers on Prithvi’s cheek, cupping
the strong lines of Prithvi’s jaw in his hand.
A little after dawn, they both crept back into their rooms, tired
but content. Irfan did not stir as they passed his room, though the
walls were thin enough to hear each other’s tread. Prithvi did not
check if he had been sleeping. It was easier all around to pretend that
he was.
Later that morning, Irfan, recovered and well, and Rahul
knocked on Prithvi’s door. Prithvi opened it.
‘I’m sorry,’ he began, before either of them could. ‘I’m sorry, I
don’t know what got into me.’
Irfan said, ‘I do. Now come on, let’s have breakfast.’
 With that, the three friends went on. To Prithvi’s astonishment,
so did everyone else, including Dr Acharya. He felt the scholar’s
watchful eyes on him, studying his actions over the next few days,
but with the matter settled between them, all was forgotten. Or so
he thought.
 [6]

‘science?’ prithvi was questioning Rahul’s choice of subjects for his

final years of schooling. ‘But why?’
‘We may be creatures of fantasy, Prithvi, but we are real. And
science has to catch up, to make sense of that.’
‘But what if we are fantastical? You know, soldiers to the gods
and all that?’ Prithvi set about teasing Rahul who, in his usual
manner, took it seriously.
‘Do you have any idea how many undiscovered species there are
in
/ the world?’
Irfan pointed out, ‘We wouldn’t know, because they haven’t
been discovered. Duh!’
Rahul persisted. ‘Over fifteen thousand new species are discovered
every year with the technology we currently have. That may go up
exponentially in the near future. And yet, here we are, undetected.
Are you telling me you still think we popped out of a fairy tale?’
Prithvi did not answer, not only because he did not want to add
to the argument, but also because there was a newness in Rahul’s
manner—an excess of assertion that hid doubt. Rahul, Prithvi
suspected, was unsure of himself. But he could not tell what the
matter was, or where the uncertainty came from.
Irfan too sensed the change in their friend, but on this occasion,
he mistook it for arrogance. ‘Don’t be stupid!’ he said. ‘We haven’t
been discovered because we’ve made it a point to hide ourselves.
There is nothing more important to our kind than secrecy. What’s
wrong with you, Rahul? Is it so important to you to prove yourself
the smartest of us three all the time?’
Rahul scowled, but did not respond to Irfan’s questions. With
a shake of his head and a few mumbled words, Irfan turned his
attention back to the book he had been reading.
Dropping his voice so that Prithvi alone could hear, Rahul said,
‘Never mind him. You tell me, have you not wanted to make sense of
yourself, Prithvi? Of what makes you this way and why?’
Prithvi tried not to think of the dread he had felt but months
ago. ‘That I am this way is the only thing that makes sense to me,
Rahul. There is no why.’
Rahul sighed. ‘I envy you. No wonder you run the way you do,
with such abandon.’
Prithvi had no doubt what Rahul was referring to. A cold doubt
struck him, that there was more to Rahul’s newfound vacillation
after all. He said, ‘Tell me, if I weren’t with you, would you still
do this?’
Rahul turned and looked deep into Prithvi’s eyes, willing him
to see the world of meaning behind his mind-words: I do this to keep
you with me.
Before Prithvi could say anything, Irfan cut in, ‘Arre, lovebirds.
Dr Acharya wants to see us.’
The three friends filed immediately into their teacher’s study.
‘Rahul and Prithvi,’ Dr Acharya tonelessly addressed them,
‘both Sukanya and I believe that your eyes have reached their full
glow, though the progression from onset to peak has been faster
than usual. This means that we do not have much time, and you
two are to be Tested on the coming chaturdashi. That will be all.
You may go.’
Prithvi let out a whoop of joy before he realized that Irfan had
not been mentioned—Irfan was, they all knew, yet to show the clear
sign that adulthood was upon him, for his eyes had not as yet taken
on a retroreflective shine.
 Irfan, however, did not look any less pleased. ‘Don’t worry,
yaar!’ he said. ‘Once I’m spared the agony of having you two around,
my turn will come in no time!’ he joked, putting the glee back on
both his friends’ faces.
The three of them thanked Dr Acharya and made to leave his
study. ‘Prithvi, stay,’ the teacher called out. All three of them paused,
surprised, but Dr Acharya sent the others on their way with a gesture
of dismissal. He waited till Rahul and Irfan had shut the door behind
them before addressing Prithvi.
‘You don’t have to do it this moonphase, Prithvi. If you think
you can’t control yourself, you don’t have to try.’
‘What do you mean, sir?’
‘Our ancestors weren’t fools. They recognized that to be torn
between man and animal is a dangerous thing. To be whole is to be
good, but that means making a choice. And they chose to be human.
Throughout history, there have also been those of us who became a
danger to their own because they could not control what lay within
them. They have all been dealt with, without exception, in the same
way. You know the Code, and when the Code is broken, there is
punishment. Which is why I haven’t yet informed the Council that
two of you are to be Tested. I’ve spoken only of Rahul. We can let
you spend this chaturdashi and the full moon right after confined to
the guesthouse. And once you’re more confident, we can schedule
your Test.’
A perplexed Prithvi asked, ‘And Rahul? Where will he be Tested?
Won’t you require the guesthouse for that?’
‘He won’t need to be confined—at least, the dining hall should
do for the process. He will be able to control the transformation; I
am sure of that. But you . . .’
‘Is.. . is this because of what happened . . . with Irfan? That was
a year ago, sir.’
‘That and more. I’m not an idiot, Prithvi. The signs are clear.
The deer in the forest used to come right to the edge of the school
fields, sometimes even into our grounds. They keep a good distance
these days. They’ve even changed their watering spot at the river,
moving downstream. Do you understand what that means?’
Prithvi did, but he said, ‘No.’
It means that a predator has entered their grounds.’
Prithvi flinched, but Dr Acharya did not seem to notice. He
continued, ‘They can smell him, sense him. Now I’m not saying that
the deer—or any other animals—are being hunted. It can happen
that sometimes when a therianthrope’s leonine side is close to the
surface, other animals can detect it. That may well be the case here,
which is why I’m giving you the option to not be Tested this time.
You see, when the lion is so potent, it may be difficult for you to
control it. But if you take the Test now and fail to tame the beast,
that has its own repercussions.’
‘What do you mean?’
Dr Acharya considered him for a moment, then said, ‘Did you
never wonder how we found you?’
Prithvi decided not to give him the satisfaction of knowing that
he had thought about it incessantly during his first months at the
school. He shrugged and said, ‘Do you think I care?’
‘It was the doctor,’ Dr Acharya explained, confirming what
Prithvi had long suspected. ‘When you injured that guard or caretaker,
whoever it was, at the home, they brought in two psychiatrists, did
they not? One of them was . . . one of us. He, of course, reported his
discovery back to the Council.’ -
‘What’s your point . . .’he added under the other’s firm gaze,
‘rzr?’
‘We are meant to live as humans. Orphans, it has been found,
have more difficulties doing that. I suspect it’s the social situation
they grow up in—not knowing who and what they are and being
ostracized for it makes them more vulnerable to the animal side of
themselves. Purebioods, that is, those born in therianthropic families
and brought up as weres, tend to find it easy to silence the beast.
And that’s why, when an Orphan is first found, Prithvi, the Council
must decide what is the best course of action; not just for the young
individual concerned but for all of us, for our kind as a whole.
Sometimes, by the time we learn about an individual, it is too late to
help him or her.’
The words triggered a faded memory. Prithvi remembered
flickering in and out of consciousness in a hospital as Dr Acharya
hovered over him. But he had not been alone. There had been
someone else, a figure ... a figure he had seen before and all but
forgotten: the stranger he had bumped into in the corridor the night
before Raj’s Test.
Enforcer, Prithvi realized as he put two and two together. There
had been an Enforcer at his bedside before he had been brought to
Modern School, in the same way that there had been an Enforcer in
the'school before Raj’s Test.
It became their task to find and kill every therianthrope who could
not control his or her ability to turn—including Orphans who had no
chance ofever learning who they were and why they did what they did.
‘ Those had been Raj’s exact words before he had tried to assure
Prithvi that he was safe. Yet in his heart the older student had known,
perhaps even reconciled himself to the fact that he was about to die.
A bitter anger flooded through Prithvi and he drew himself up
to his full six feet plus. ‘You mean, you have to kill them, don’t you?
Rather than risk the world finding out about the existence of. . . our
kind?’
Dr Acharya nodded and said, ‘In your case, the Council was
divided as to the next step. When I came to see you, it was as a
matter of formality; the final sign-off before . . . But the moment I
saw you . . .’ He shook his head in a bid to fight back emotion. ‘You
reminded me too much of my son, though you look nothing like
him. You reminded me too much of Rahul.’
‘Rahul?’
Dr Acharya nodded. ‘Rahul is my son. We both agreed that he
was to treat me the way every other student here did, and I would
do the same with him. That’s why he uses the initial “A” instead of
his last name. I don’t think he’s even called me “Dad” since the day
he came here.’ He added, ‘You’re as much a son to me as Rahul is,
Prithvi. I don’t wish to lose either of you . . .’
Prithvi interrupted the explanation, declaring firmly, ‘You won’t,
sir. 1 promise. If Rahul can do it, so can I.’
Without waiting for a response, he stormed out of the room. He
saw Rahul and Irfan waiting for him at the end of the corridor, but
he ignored them and walked away.
 [7]

around midnight, prithvi made his way to the vegetable garden,

as he did nearly every night these days. But Rahul did not show.
Prithvi tried calling out to him with their mind-speech; Rahul did
not answer. Only then did it occur to Prithvi that Rahul had shown
no excitement at the mention of the Test.
Prithvi hesitated. The call of the jungle was strong, the air moist
and laden with smells that set his skin afire with crackling energy.
But his concern for his best friend was stronger. Giving the woods
a wistful look, Prithvi returned to the school building and headed
up to Rahul’s room. The lights were off and Rahul appeared to be
bundled up in bed, fast asleep.
Prithvi took his seat in Rahul’s study chair and waited. After a
while, Rahul stirred, throwing off the covers he had drawn up to his
head. ‘Why won’t you leave me alone for one night?’
‘I will, if you tell me what’s bothering you.’
They had no need of lights, not this close to adulthood. Their
retroreflective eyes met in a gaze that said more than human eyes
could have.
At last, Rahul broke the hold. Getting out of bed, he walked
over to the window and stood looking out. ‘Maybe we should have
stopped when you’d wanted to, Prithvi.’
Prithvi bounded out of his chair and went over to Rahul. ‘If I’d
stopped then, that would have been the end of me. If you hadn’t
helped me set my animal side free, the human me would have been
lost beyond redemption. Eventually, I would have hurt someone
again—maybe even you. That I am here, Rahul, is because you were
there for me. I’ve never told you in words how grateful I am, but
surely you know it?’
‘And what use is gratitude now, Prithvi? We’re both in shit
and you know it. Do you know what they do to those who fail
the Test?’
‘I can guess,’ Prithvi spat out, thinking of what Dr Acharya had
said earlier that evening. ‘Your father told me some things. I can’t
decide whether I wish I’d known it all before, or I wish I’d never
found out.’ As he said the words, Prithvi realized that he had wanted
nothing more all evening than to curl up into a ball and cry, but
there was now a sense of heaviness on his shoulders that told him that
he no longer had the luxury of ignorance, or of tears. Instead, there
were only choices and consequences.
He chose to focus on Rahul.
Rahul said, ‘He told you he’s my father?’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘Then what is? 1 come from an old line, Prithvi. Generations of
fathers and sons, the last two unbroken. It’s not a big deal to me,
but it is to the rest of them, especially to my father. If I fail, he will
make an example of me. You should know by now that nothing is
more important to Dr Acharya than the safety of our kind. He won’t
hesitate to kill his own son to protect his precious secrets.’
The words knocked both shame and courage into Prithvi,
making his own plaints seem trivial by comparison. He reached out
to place a hand on Rahul’s shoulder. ‘Rahul. . .’
‘I never should have given in. I was a fool to experiment. I was
a fool to think that I knew better than our ancestors did, to think
that I needn’t follow our codes. But none can turn and remained
untouched by it. Blood has its own song, the old saying goes. We are
slaves to that song, now; we have drunk and feasted and . . .’
‘Rahul, calm down.’
 ‘We only kidded ourselves, thinking that we could tame the lion,
but that was hardly the lion, was it? It has a name: Saimha. Do you
know what that means? Come the day before the full moon, the
animal inside us will emerge, fully grown. Not the playful thing we
let out at will, but a creature with a mind of its own. What then?
What if my father is right? What if we can’t control it? If the other
side is far too strong for us to . . .’
‘Rahul. . .’
‘What do you think happened to Raj, Prithvi? We would’ve
been told if he had passed. We would’ve met him again, celebrated
with him. Instead, we pretend he never existed.’ Even as Prithvi
floundered for a response, Rahul added, ‘I don’t want to die.’
Prithvi did not know which of the two statements hit him
harder, but the tears that glimmered in Rahul’s eyes made him throw
his arms around him. ‘Don’t be silly, Rahul. No one is going to . . .’
‘You think this is a simple thing, that what we’ve done is some
casual mischief like stealing the gardener’s stash and smoking a
joint behind the fertilizer shed? What we’ve done is a crime. It’s the
most immoral thing that we can ever do. We are monsters, Prithvi.
Monsters! There’s no running away from this. We’ll fail the Test
and then everyone will know the truth and my family name will be
destroyed forever and . . .’
Prithvi squeezed Rahul tighter, bundling him against his broader
frame. ‘We are not monsters, Rahul. Certainly not you. You did
what you did to save me. You did it out of love. That’s not something
monsters are known for.’ He threaded his fingers through Rahul’s
hair and gently tilted his head up. ‘To care for another so much that
one would risk everything that matters to them—as you have—that’s
not monster behaviour.’
Overcome by a whirlwind of emotions, Rahul rested his head
against Prithvi’s collarbone and began to cry.
Prithvi let him sob for as long as he wanted, waiting till the tears
dried up. His head too held a dark thunderstorm of memories he
did not want to remember and things he did not wish to ever forget.
The image of his dead mother came to mind, and with it, the feeling
of loneliness that had defined most of his life. Rahul had saved him
from that isolation. No matter what, Prithvi decided, he would never
let himself feel that way again. He would never let anything happen
to Rahul.
Prithvi felt his earlier rage fill him again. Dr Acharya, he knew,
would not make exceptions for anyone, not even his own son. But
Prithvi could not let Rahul die. No matter what it took.
No matter what.
Prithvi let the beast that lurked in the periphery of his
consciousness, always there but always not, fill him. There had been
more of one and less of the other; more Prithvi than lion in the
human and more lion than Prithvi in the beast. This time, the lion
filled his human form, no longer a distant seducer or a mocking
master. The beast was an equal, a friend. He was the beast. Even in
human form, he was the beast.
Prithvi placed a kiss on Rahul’s cheek. He whispered, his lips
forming the words against Rahul’s skin. ‘We’re not going to fail the
Test, Rahul. We’re not going to fail.’
‘But. . .’
‘Shhh. Listen. Listen to me. You’re right, we can’t control the
animal. We are what we are, and we can’t control it. Our other side
is far too strong for us. But here’s my question to you, Rahul. Is that
really our other side?’
‘What? Prithvi, are you saying . . .’
‘What if the dream is dreaming us, Rahul?’
‘Huh? You don’t mean . . . Wait, am I getting this clearly? Are
you saying that we . . . ?’
‘Yes. And I mean it. The other is no longer the other. That is
who we are, who we truly are. We need not control our form. We
will own it. We will feed it. We will strengthen it further. And then,
we will trust that strength, surrender completely to it... to yourself.
Blood may have its own song, but we shall choose how we dance. We
are not Extremists, Rahul, nor are we going to pretend to be human.
 This is not about politics or beliefs. This is about who we are. We are
Saimha. Come with me.’
Prithvi and Rahul walked hand in hand, in human form, into
the woods. Their eyes fixed on each other, they undressed slowly,
till they stood naked side by side in the silver moonlight. This time,
'they knew, there was no turning into lions. There was only becoming
what they already were. They hunted together, Rahul leading the
chase but then hanging back to let Prithvi make the kill. They fed
till they were sated; they drank of the crystal clear waters of the river
that gurgled through the woods, and they roared at the moon, daring
it to defy them. They ruled the night, that night, every night, till it
was time.
It was all too easy for Prithvi and Rahul to pretend to hold their
' beasts in check when they were Tested. To Prithvi, it seemed the
lion lounged lazily within him, no longer a shadow, no longer hiding
in the shadows. He had claimed his place and was waiting, calmly
flicking his tail as though that was as much as he could be urged to
stir. He knew that this was but a game, and he was the master of a
human puppet.
In the morning, Dr Acharya declared both Prithvi and Rahul
. as having passed their Tests. His eyes held equal parts suspicion
and relief. Neither Prithvi nor Rahul cared. They were now adults,
: complete and independent members of their society. With Sukanya
and Dr Acharya as witnesses, they took their oaths to serve as soldiers
.of the gods, to wait their destiny and never transform, to live as
human and only human.
When they were done, Dr Acharya remarked in what may have
been a casual manner, ‘The oath is sacrosanct. The gods will hold
you to it. All our kind will hold you to it.’ He looked directly at
Prithvi and added, ‘I will hold you to it, as teacher and as father. Do
not break your promise. You can be human or beast. But not both.
Never both.’
Prithvi knew exactly what it was that Dr Acharya meant. He
held his gaze for a long time, before the scholar finally looked away.
They both saw that things would never be the same between them
again.
Soon after that, Prithvi and Rahul left Modern School, but not
without celebration and goodbyes to Irfan and Inderjit. Prithvi could
not help but think of what Rahul had said, and the fact that there
had been no celebrations or farewells for Raj.
They spent the last of their irresponsible teenage days filling
out college applications, with Prithvi choosing to take on the
surname Narasimha, as many Orphans did. Prithvi’s education, he
was informed, would be paid for through an Orphans’ trust fund
operated by the Council. He was also given a considerable sum of
money for his personal expenses, the bulk of which he spent on
buying a second-hand motorcycle. For other requirements, such as
books, there was Rahul.
Rahul wanted to study engineering, genetics in particular.
Prithvi did not care what he studied, but applied to the same
courses and colleges as Rahul anyway. He had neither friend nor
family save for Rahul and was happy to go where he went. If to do
that, to spend their lives as friends, Prithvi had to pretend to be the
human he was nor, he had no problem with it. Which was why,
when both of them were admitted to the same engineering college
in Mumbai, Prithvi asked Rahul, ‘Should we stop? I mean . . . you
know what I mean.’
Rahul did know what he’ meant. ‘Can you stop, Prithvi?’ He
stepped closer and traced the outline of Prithvi’s square jaw with the
tips of his fingers and whispered, ‘Can you be happy if we stop?’
Prithvi did not answer the rhetorical question, saying instead,
with a tinge of adulthood maturity, ‘We could get into trouble.
Surely someone will figure out that there are a couple of animals
running around Bombay at night. It won’t take long for the Council
to put two and two together.’
‘We won’t get into trouble,’ Rahul was categorical. ‘First, we’ll
have to be safe and smart about it. Second, with Dad now on the
Council, no one will pay close attention to me—and consequently to
you. As long as we don’t give them anything solid that makes them
suspect us, we are far from the obvious culprits. Besides, if we stick to
the national park area, people will think it’s a leopard or something.
There are enough of them there.’
‘Someone else could get into trouble because of us,’ Prithvi
insisted, but not too strongly.
Rahul merely waved it off.
The two friends then set their minds to being ‘safe and smart’,
as Rahul had called it, coming up with a plan they promised each
other they would strictly adhere to. They signed up for boxing
classes in one of the northern suburbs of the city, close to the
100-square-kilometre Sanjay Gandhi National Park, claiming that
the coach there was the best ever. This would give them an excuse
to leave Prithvi’s hostel room in the southern part of the sprawling
city in the evenings and return late, or not at all. Furthermore,
Prithvi could claim that he was staying over at Rahul’s house, just
as Rahul—a day scholar—would pretend that he was staying the
night in Prithvi’s hostel room. Between these excuses, the two could
manage to disappear all night without raising any suspicions. As
for sneaking into the restricted areas of the national park, their
transformations in the forests around Modern School had honed
their hunting skills enough for them to move quietly and stealthily,
even in human form.
Nevertheless, they spent the final fortnight of their break hiking
and camping in distant places, teaching themselves to live seamlessly
as lions and men.
On the first day of the new academic year, both Prithvi and
Rahul sauntered into their campus, bursting with anticipation at the
wonderful times they were sure lay ahead. It was a gloomy, overcast
morning, peppered with showers that were precursors to Mumbai’s
heavy monsoons, but Prithvi could have sworn that he had never
experienced weather more gorgeous in his entire life, with the wind
whistling a symphony among the trees, and sunlight cutting through
douds to scatter rainbows everywhere he looked. He turned at the
sound of musical laughter, the action catching a single, gem-like
raindrop that fell on his forehead and trailed down his face to slip,
delicious, between his breathless lips, as he saw her for the very
first time.
Noor.
Aditi
 [1]

OF the many qualities that had contributed to Aditi Kashyap’s

success, her ability to be brutally honest with herself ensured that
she rarely made the same mistake twice. It was the result of a middle­
class upbringing where she, the youngest of four sisters, had been
the final blow that had led her father to conclude that the sins of a
past life were going to leave him son-less in the present one. As for
his daughters, her self-proclaimed businessman father had decided
that they would have to follow the socially prescribed routines of
just enough education to qualify for an arranged marriage and
subsequently redeem themselves by means of the prompt pregnancy
that ought to, if their stars were right, ensue. Else, it was the sins
of their past that they would be forced to reckon with, as per their
fetes. Aditi’s three siblings had complied with his expectations, two
of them even producing sons and thereby giving her father some
hope of ultimate liberation from the cycle of death and rebirth on
his funeral pyre.
Her mother, a similarly raised woman who had been forced to
work as a teller in a small bank for reasons of economics rather than
ambition, remained an acquiescent witness to all these proceedings,
till, amazingly, when it had come to Aditi’s turn, she had either
found spunk or, more likely, had run out of submissiveness. She had
encouraged Aditi to appear for the Public Services Examination, then
argued with all and sundry, from her husband to the geriatric darzi
in their small town, in support of Aditi’s decision to join the police
force.
Aditi knew that it was a battle that her mother still fought and
paid a daily price for—her father had barely spoken to her or her
mother in over five years, waiting, with a grunt of condescension,
for the day both women would admit their mistake in attempting
a life meant for men and fall at his feet begging forgiveness. This
only made Aditi all the more determined to make the most of the
chance she had been given. There was no room for slip-ups—the
whole world and the tailor were watching.
As hard on herself as Aditi aimed to be, this time she was not sure
where to even begin her process of self-recrimination. She wondered
if going into the warehouse without backup had been a bad call, one
she had made in her zeal to prove—as she constantly had to—that
she was every bit as tough as her male colleagues.
But backup against what? That. . . thing?
Aditi felt her stomach churn with the impossibility of what she
had seen, and she spun mid-step to throw up against the tyre of a car
parked on the street she lived on till her empty stomach cramped.
Feeling guilty about the act, but also glad of the faulty street lamp
that kept the neighbours from seeing her, she staggered on.
The persistent hum of the generator greeted her as she entered
her building, but as it often happened, the lifts were not working.
Cursing the faulty wiring that made them inoperative during a power
cut, she began making her way up the fourteen flights of stairs to
her apartment. It was her fault, she supposed, for not living in the
police officers’ housing that she was entitled to, preferring instead
to rent a smaller but more modern apartment that took up not only
her rental allowance but also ate into her salary. But then, it was her
sole indulgence—she had few friends and fewer expensive tastes, and
her weekends were gladly spent in the privacy of her apartment with
books and music for company. At times like these, however, staying
in the officers’ colony may have proved a safer option.
Saferfrom what? What was that thing?
 Aditi stopped to confront her thoughts once more. Had it been
real? Had she been hallucinating? If so, what all had she imagined?
The creature? The warehouse? Rosie? Prithvi?
Prithvi!
The name brought with it a small but significant realization. For
all the edge and other reactions Prithvi had shown, one thing had
been patently missing: shock. He had not been at all perturbed by
the creature, by its appearance or existence.
He had known what it was and that such a thing was.
And that he knew, Aditi concluded, meant that the creature was
real and was not a figment of her imagination.
The feel of solid logic gave Aditi a better grip on herself, and
she moved to the next of the many perplexing questions: who was
Prithvi!
She could have sworn that for a moment, back in the warehouse,
his eyes had gleamed in the dark. No, that was just the light; she was
now confusing things. Still, there was a lot that was strange about
him, about the things he had done.
What did it all mean! What on earth was going on!
She sat down in the stairway, near the door leading to the fourth­
floor lobby, and tried to put her head in order.
Her mother had told her stories of the ten avatars of Vishnu and,
as a child, Aditi had listened to them wide-eyed. Growing up, she
had still loved to listen to those tales, but would argue that the ten
avatars were probably nothing more than the oldest representations
of Darwin’s theory of evolution, that myth was nothing more than
metaphor, an unidentifiably disguised version of a distant truth.
Now, she wondered if the truth that myth hid was not so distant
after all. Werelion, Dubey had said. Like the Narasimha avatar.
No! Aditi shook her head in a bid to get the idea out of it.
Werelions, shapeshifters, these were the stuff of Hollywood.
Thankfully, Bollywood had not yet caught up to the idea in a big
way, otherwise Dubey’s theory would be all over the papers, and the
city would be a mess.
 Assuming then that a lion or lion-like animal was responsible
for these deaths, someone had to have trained the animal, directed
its actions. Who could have done such a thing? Where did they get
the animal from? How did they calm it down and take it away once
it was done killing its targets? And why had Prithvi gone after it?
Should she have given chase too? But to do what? Kill it?
Even as she asked herself these questions, Aditi Kashyap began
laughing out loud in the dim stairwell, well aware of how crazy it all
sounded; how crazy she would sound trying to tell the commissioner
about it—sir, I swear to god, it was an animal, I could see its teeth, its
claws, I heard it roar as it ripped those men apart in front of my eyes.
I saw them shoot at it, sir! They hit it, I know they hit it, the bullets
went through its body, two bullets, but the thing didn’t even react.
Yes, a lion, but an indestructible one; maybe a robot, a mechanical
construction? No wait, an illusion, a projected image, except how did
it then tear those men to pieces?
Fucking crazy!
Ending her silent tirade with that conclusion, Aditi crossed her
arms over her bent knees and let herself fall forward onto them. A
sob welled up in her, but she forced it back into the pit of despair and
confusion in her stomach. She sat that way for hours, till the distant
sounds of a busy city morning intruded.
Aditi glanced at her watch. 5.30 a.m. Still dark, but the city
was already getting into full swing as pressure cookers whistled with
yet-to-be-packed lunches, and sleepy children protested against
being woken up so early, their plaintive cries cutting through the
symphony of sweeping brooms.
It was just another day. A normal day. A day like any other.
Maybe it was something in the drugs in the warehouse, something
I must have accidentally inhaled, she decided. As for what happened,
it will all make perfect sense in the clear light of day and after proper
investigation. There is an explanation for everything.
 Aditi was far from convinced by her own account, but it would
have to do, for now. Getting to her feet, she climbed the rest of
the way up to her floor and moved quietly across the common lift
landing and passageway. Glad that she did not run into any of her
neighbours, she let herself into her flat.
It took all her training at the academy to not scream as a voice
said, quite cheekily, ‘Good morning, officer. Want some coffee?’
 [2]

there were many unusual things about the scene that greeted Aditi.
To begin with, there was Prithvi, shirtless, impressively muscled
and still wet-haired from a recent shower, who offered her coffee;
her coffee, from her kitchen, to be precise. Then there was the girl,
whom Aditi had never seen before. She appeared to be no more than
eighteen or nineteen years old and seemed a little on the thin side for
her age, though not in a diet fad kind of way. Her skin looked dull
and she had dark circles around her eyes and her straight, shoulder-
length hair fell in a sheath around her face. Also freshly showered,
the girl was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that appeared to have come
from Aditi’s cupboard and sat a little loose on the borrower’s smaller
frame.
The unauthorized presence of the couple in her apartment,
the possibility of what might have gone on between them and the
near-impossible fact that Prithvi was alive and unscathed to boot, all
scrambled in her head to take form as questions.
When she finally found her voice, Aditi said, ‘Shit, don’t tell me
you put the powder directly into the percolator; you’re supposed to
use the paper filters!’
As the absurdity of the statement—and her behaviour—
caught up with her, Aditi walked into the house, shut the door
behind her and took a seat on the nearest sofa. Prithvi studied
her for a while, then came up to her and handed her a mug of
 coffee with milk. Aditi did not take it, staring at Prithvi instead.
At length, he set the coffee down on a table next to her and went
out onto the balcony, where he had left his T-shirt to air on the
railing. He pulled it on before coming back into the living room.
All the while, the girl sat as she had been, curled up on the twin
sofa, her legs tucked under her.
Aditi picked up her coffee, sipped it tentatively and admitted
that it had been made well after all.
‘Sugar okay?’ Prithvi asked.
This time, Aditi had the right words. ‘What the fuck? How did
you get in here? What are doing here anyway? And who is this girl?
How did you even know where I live? Never mind, you know what,
I don’t want to know. Get the hell out of here right now, before I
call the police.’
The girl spoke, addressing Prithvi, ‘I thought you said she was
the police.’
‘That’s it.’ Aditi stood up, banging down the mug so hard that
most of its contents spilled out onto the table. ‘Get out. Get out now!
Don’t say a word, just go.’
Prithvi and the girl exchanged glances, and the girl got up from
her seat. Prithvi picked up his jacket from where it lay over the back
of a chair, then asked Aditi, ‘I hope you don’t mind if Chandana here
borrows your clothes. And your floaters.’
Aditi pulled out her empty gun and held it at her side. ‘Get out.’
Prithvi shrugged. The girl mumbled words that sounded like
‘drama queen’. Together, they made their way towards the door.
Aditi sat down again, the gun still in her hands. The length of
the barrel felt cold against her forehead as she leaned forward. ‘Wait,’
she said. ‘That thing. That animal. Is it dead?’
Prithvi and Chandana stopped in their tracks. ‘No,’ Prithvi
replied.
‘Then where the fuck is it? What the fuck was it?’ Aditi snapped.
‘And who the fuck are you?’ She punctuated the question by standing
up again and pointing her weapon at Prithvi.
 Prithvi raised his hands in a sign of surrender before slowly
reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out the wallet he had retrieved
from his bike before heading to the warehouse the previous evening.
He flicked it open, displaying an ID. ‘I’m with the CBI—Central
Bureau of Investigation. I work for a special branch that looks into
what you might call otherwise inexplicable occurrences. Like what
happened last night.’
Aditi glanced at the ID but did not put down the gun.
Inexplicable? A circus animal trained to kill is incredible, but not
inexplicable. I’ve seen police dogs do worse,’ she bluffed.
‘All right then,’ Prithvi called her on it. ‘Since you’ve figured out
the whole case, I guess I’ll be on my way.’
This time, it was Aditi’s turn to call out his posturing. ‘So you
came all the way here to help me? How kind. Why are you here?’ she
asked.
Prithvi let his hands come to hang at his sides. ‘Chandana here
is a material witness, someone who can help me get to the root of
this whole mystery. I tracked her down last night after .. . after what
happened at the warehouse. We needed somewhere safe to spend a
few hours, so I brought her here.’
‘Why not call in others from your department? Or the police.
Why not go to the police?’
‘I suppose that’s what I’ve done by coming to you, haven’t I?’
Prithvi tried a wisecrack. Realizing it was of little use, he added,
‘Your own department is hand in hand with the very people I’m
after, ACP Kashyap. Or are you going to argue that it never happens?
I’m in the difficult position of having an important job to do, but
there are very few people I can trust right now. I need your help,
even though I’m not authorized to tell you what is going on. For
Chandana’s sake. Please.’
Aditi opened her mouth, intending to offer at least a token
protest, but decided against it. Prithvi was right. And if he were
indeed a CBI officer who was working a case where the police
were . . . involved .. . then a lot of what he said made sense. But that
did not mean she could trust him. She tucked her gun back into the
waistband of her pants and stood looking Prithvi up and down for a
few seconds.
‘Washroom,’ she said, abruptly breaking away to head into her
bedroom. She shut the door, then went into the bathroom and shut
that door too. She waited a few moments to see if there were any
sounds of her having been followed before pulling out her mobile
phone and dialling Haldenkar’s number.
‘Kon-e re . . . sakali sakali? Tichya aaila!’ A sleepy Haldenkar
rasped into the phone in his native Marathi.
‘Haldenkar . . .’
‘Madam!’ The policeman was immediately awake and in form.
‘Are you okay? I tried calling you last night.’
‘My phone died,’ Aditi bluffed, not in the mood to even begin to
explain the night’s events. ‘I’m fine, don’t worry. I need a favour. Can
you run a quick ID check for me? You might have to call Deshpande
at the CBI. Look for an officer by the name of Prithvi. It might be a
black-ops, off the record kind of thing, so he will have to dig around
a bit.’
‘Prithvi. Madam, surname kya hai?’
‘Narasimha.’ She gave the name she had seen on the ID Prithvi
had shown her, not without realizing that it was a little too apt for
their current situation. A man named for the lion avatar of Vishnu
involved in a case where the murder weapon and murderer both
were . . . wait a minute, a lion? Really? Just Darwinian evolution?
A pool of cold suspicion began to form in her stomach, but Aditi
fought it with a slowly fading rationalism.
‘Prithvi Narasimha. Madrasi lagta hai na, madam?’ Haldenkar
offered, on the other side of the line.
‘Yeah, could be. Keep me updated. Thanks.’ Aditi disconnected
the call. Instinct told her that Haldenkar might not be able to come
up with anything useful after all. Her fingers hovered over the
keypad, tracing the numbers to call the police control room without
pressing down on the keys. If Prithvi was telling the truth, then it was
her duty to help him, especially since a young, presumably innocent
girl was now involved. But if he were lying, the best thing to do was
call it in and get him arrested at once. Or was it? There was one hell
of a case here for sure and, even assuming that Prithvi was the prime
suspect, the best way to find out more might be by helping him, or
at least pretending to do so. Otherwise, not only might the case fizzle
out, but worse, someone else would crack it and take all the credit
for it.
But. . . that thing?
A trained lion, she assured herself. A circus animal. Nothing
more.
In all her experience, Aditi noted, the most dangerous creatures
she had encountered belonged, without exception, to the human
race. There obviously was some sick mind behind these murders,
and she was going to arrest the bastard. There was nothing else to be
afraid of.
Flushing the toilet and washing her hands to complete her
pretence of using the washroom, she made her way back to the living
area, patently wiping her wet hands on her pants.
‘All right,’ she told Prithvi, who remained standing as she had
left him, as did the girl. ‘So you’re here, you’re safe. What next?’
‘Chandana and I will leave in about half an hour, and we will no
longer be your problem. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I had
nowhere else to take her.’
‘And . . . and that creature?’ Aditi asked.
‘You should call in sick today, officer. Go back to work
tomorrow, by which time the whole mess will be a distant dream.
Your department will have closed the case, and you can go on with
your work. Forget about everything, including me.’
‘Or else?’
Prithvi shrugged.
Aditi scowled and walked into the kitchen. ‘I need more coffee.’
 [3]

prithvi watched aditi as she pottered around her open kitchen,

doing much but getting little done. He had no doubt that her sudden
foray to the washroom had been nothing but a chance to check up
on his bonafides, but it would take a while for her to realize that his
story about being a CBI officer was a lie. Sure enough, her phone
beeped, and she pulled it out of her pocket to read an SMS before
leaving it on the counter. She did not look at him, but Prithvi could
guess from the set of her shoulders that the CBI database confirmed
the existence of a Prithvi Narasimha. Contacting the section officer
listed as liaison to confirm further would take a few hours more, and
that would be time enough. His priority now was to figure out a way
to get Chandana out of the trouble she was in. It was, as Prithvi had
realized last night, an unusual situation in more ways than one.
Hardly had he begun leading her away from the railway tracks
towards a cluster of small houses, hoping to find more by way of
clothes before he took her to a safe place, when Chandana had
collapsed and begun crying. This had been a different sort of crying,
not the terrified sobbing he had seen moments before, but hot tears
filled with guilt and self-hatred as she understood that she had taken
a human life—many lives.
At the same time, Prithvi had found that Chandana had not
been shocked by the manner of the killing. She not only knew what
she was, but had come to terms with the unbelievable fact of it. She
had entered the warehouse fully transformed, but recollected riding
there in human form, in a dark, windowless van. Once she had
arrived, she told Prithvi, her transformation had been triggered;
she did not remember exactly how, but she said it was not the
only time her leonine side had been so brought forth. She spoke
of a chamber, describing it in a befuddled manner as being the
belly of a massive monster, a place of darkness and blinding light,
with floating ghost-like forms. Pillars of steel, she said, had nestled
against walls of old, grey stone. An omnipresent hum she could
not identify had constantly filled the space. There, she had been
tempted with blood.
As for the night in the field off Powai, all she knew was that she
had been trapped inside a small, stifling void, a hollow, in which
she could not hear her own screams. She had had to get out. She
had had to escape. She had had to break free. A mighty leap, and
she had smashed through the dark walls to land, free, under a smog-
coated sky. She had hunted, against fear, against hunger, against
confinement, killing the three rancid-blooded humans who had
passed for prey.
The word Saimha fell easily off her tongue and not without a
hint of pride. There was no doubt that she had been—or still was
being—inducted into a group of Extremists and trained to kill
specific targets.
But why?
Prithvi did not know whether the Extremists saw Chandana as
yet another individual recruited to their ranks, or they knew who
she was and the undeniable political mileage that would come of
revealing her as one allied to their cause. At the very least, it would
shake the Council’s imposed status quo, which allowed nothing less
than a strict adherence to the Code of Secrecy.
What do they want? A theme park? Affiliation discounts at PVR
Cinemas?
Prithvi had been at the Council meeting three years ago where
that flippant statement had been made. That gathering had been
nothing more than tokenism, a chance for the newer generations of
therianthropes who saw themselves as moderates to air their views
and thus be mollified into submission. In the end, the Council had
been clear: ‘To transform, even once, why, to try and harness the
spirit of the lion even though the body never changes, means that
one is no longer human. There can be no half measures, no awareness
without transformation, and no transformations within the bounds
of the Code of Secrecy. One is either human or Extremist. There is
nothing in between, no simply identifying as Saimha. That word
comes with its dangers. Blood has its own song.’
Those had been Dr Acharya’s exact words, words he had spoken
without looking at Prithvi, who had stood right in his line of vision.
Prithvi had not responded; it had not been his job or place to speak.
He and the other Enforcers in the room had been mere tools, as they
always were. Except, with what he had now done, he was no longer
a tool.
Does it matter? Does anything matter? She is Noor’s daughter. What
else is there to do?
Deciding against taking her to a Council safe house where
Chandana would surely be taken into custody before he could
explain what was going on, Prithvi had decided to go to the one place
that he believed no one would look for them: ACP Aditi Kashyap’s
residence. He had managed to calm Chandana down enough for him
to bring her to Aditi’s apartment and pick the lock to enter. There,
after another cry and a shower, Chandana had told him all of her
story.
She had lived in a small city called Mandya, an adopted child
whose birth parents had died in the Latur earthquake. About a year
ago, strange things had started happening to her. Her eyes sometimes
changed colour, and the doctor her parents took her to said it was
because she was developing a layer of tissue behind her retina.
‘Tapetum lucidum,’ Prithvi had supplied.
‘Yes, that,’ Chandana had confirmed. ‘Anyway, he gave me
eyedrops, and that was that... for a while. But soon, I started having
these dreams, strange dreams . . . like I was running, but it wasn’t
me ... I don’t know how to explain it.’
‘Like something was waking up inside you.’
‘Yes. One day, about three weeks ago, I woke up in the garden
behind our house, naked. I don’t know what happened. I don’t
remember any of it. My parents freaked out. Took me to Bangalore
to see a psychiatrist at NIMHANS hospital. That guy ran some tests
and then asked my parents to bring me back in a week. But I never
went back.’
‘What happened?’
‘There was an accident. When I woke up, I was in that field, and
those guys were . . . And there was this other guy, a voice really, in
the chamber . . . He told me my adopted parents were dead, but he
knew who my birth parents had been, and that they hadn’t died in
the earthquake but had been murdered. He told me other things too,
about what was happening to me, about who I was. He said I was
Saimha. I . . . did you know my parents, Prithvi? Is it true that they
were murdered?’
‘I knew your mother,’ Prithvi had admitted.
‘And my father?’
Prithvi had hesitated even as more words from the past, from a
more distant past, had flashed through his mind: She’s the daughter
ofyour soul. But much had to be said and done before he could make
that or any other admission.
Chandana had persisted, ‘Do you know how they died? Who
killed them? That guy told me I’d have been about five years old.
But I should remember my parents then, shouldn’t I? Was he lying
to me, Prithvi?’
For his part, Prithvi had the very same question too. He suspected
that the accident had been contrived, implying that the Extremists
who had then picked her up knew who she was. ‘What did he look
like, Chandana? The one who trained you, spoke to you?’
‘Like I said, he was just a voice. I never saw him. When I
transformed, it was in this strange room—strange because it was a
big room, but I felt surrounded, somehow, boxed in. There was this
painting though and somehow, that made more sense than anything
he could have told me about who or what I was. It was of a man,
walking through a forest, but. . .’
‘His reflection was that of a lion’s,’ Prithvi had completed,
gritting his teeth at the implications that followed.
‘Yes. Who is he? I mean, the one who spoke to me?’
Despite his strong suspicions, Prithvi had not been ready to
answer that question. Instead, he had told her, ‘All I can tell you
for sure is that he was playing with-your emotions, Chandana. Fear,
rage, sorrow—to feel these things in excess can bring out the beast.
He was trying to rile you up, to get you to transform. Don’t worry.
It won’t happen again. You’re safe now.’
‘But. . .’
‘Rest,’ he had urged her. ‘I’ll explain once you’re up, and you can
see things with a clear head. For now, you have to rest.’
Chandana had argued briefly, then lay down in a silent sulk,
swearing that she would not sleep a wink till Prithvi gave her all
the answers she wanted. She had dozed off in seconds, falling into
a restless slumber that came of a worn-out body. Prithvi had sat
by her, watching her troubled face as he planned his questions for
when she woke up. He wanted to know more about where she
had been kept, how she had been trained, who and what she had
seen; things that might give him some clue as to how to get to
those who were behind this. However, there had been no chance
to ask. Hardly had Chandana woken up, when Aditi had come
in through the door, unaware that she was falling headlong into
more danger.
As far as possible, Prithvi had wanted to keep Aditi out of it.
Even last night, he had tried his best to keep her safe—stopping her
from shooting at Chandana so that the lioness would not see her
as a threat and so attack her. But when collateral damage became
unavoidable, he knew better than to hesitate. By coming to Aditi’s
house, Prithvi was pulling her into the thick of things. He had had
no other option. And if she did not believe his story enough to stay
out of his way, then he would have to deal with her by putting a
bullet through her brain once she had outlived her usefulness.
The eventuality brought a bitter taste to Prithvi’s mouth, all the
more so because it was only the beginning of the mess that would
require cleaning up. He could barely imagine what would happen
when Chandana actually, fully, realized what she had done. He also
had to consider what he had done by letting her live, regardless of
what he could argue before the Council or anyone else.
She has tasted blood, and blood has its own song. She will not be able
to control the beast.
She's the daughter ofyour soul.
Noor.
The thought of her was enough to renew his resolve.
‘Either of you want anything to eat?’ Aditi called out from
the kitchen. ‘Toast? Eggs?’ She paused before adding, ‘Errr . . .
Chandana . . . right?’
‘Yes, it’s Chandana. And I make great French toast. Shall I?’ She
got up and began walking towards the kitchen, when the doorbell
rang.
Aditi popped out of the kitchen, a packet of butter in her hand,
but Prithvi said, ‘I’ll get it.’ He went to the door and peered through
the peephole to see a young man carrying a plastic crate with packets
of milk. ‘Your doodhwalla is here,’ he told the hovering Aditi as he
began opening the door.
A flurry of movement in the next few seconds as Aditi pushed
him down to the floor, even as some instinct already had him on
his way there. The telltale red dot of a laser right before the bullet
splintered through the door, right where his head had been seconds
ago. Indistinct noises from the other side of the door that did not
sound friendly. Mayhem.
Prithvi saw the shooter as he hit the floor; a lone assailant on the
roof of a nearby building, aiming at them through the windows of
Aditi’s flat. He frowned as he recognized the sniper, but before he
could act on the realization in any way, a barrage of bullets ripped
through Aditi’s front door, this time from the corridor outside.
For a split second, Prithvi found himself thinking about the milky
mess on the other side of the door, but he did not let it stop him
from scrambling away. Aditi was already on her feet. Avoiding
the fallen packet of butter in her way, she ran to her bedroom,
Chandana right behind her. The gunfire ebbed as Prithvi made it
into the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him. Aditi
made to shove a desk in front of the door, but Prithvi gestured her
back. With a grunt of effort, he pushed at a massive, old-fashioned
wooden cupboard till, slowly, the heavy furniture began to slide
across the floor.
‘Hurry,’ Aditi said, as the sounds of the front door being kicked
at, then giving way, floated in.
Prithvi gave the cupboard one final heave, bringing it squarely
in front of the door.
‘Now what?’ he asked.
‘The balcony,’ Chandana suggested, clearly calling on her
memory of Hollywood action movies. ‘We can jump into the
balcony of the next flat. That is, if it’s not grilled up all the way to
the ceiling.’
Aditi shook her head. ‘No grills this high up. We’re on the
fourteenth floor. I don’t think anyone expects thieves to clamber
around at this height, not in Bombay, at least.’ She crossed the room
and opened the door that led to the balcony. Prithvi and Chandana
joined her outside.
‘It’s the only way out,’ Prithvi admitted. ‘But even if we get into
the next flat, we would still come out into the same corridor, and we
don’t know how many men are out there.’
‘Agreed,’ Aditi said. ‘That’s why we go up, to the balcony of the
flat three floors above us. The house is empty, and I’m willing to
bet the cleaners’ entrance has been locked from the inside, not the
outside, so we can easily get out. From there, if we go up one set of
maintenance stairs, we can reach the roof. It might be locked, but
if we get onto the roof, it connects to the terrace of the adjoining
tower. We can go into that building and take the lift down to the
main exit.’
Prithvi thought to protest, more on her behalf than his or
Chandana’s. Climbing up was a far tougher task than hopping across
from one balcony to another. And risking a climb up three floors
was sheer madness—for human or therianthrope. However, it was
a good plan.
Come on,’ he said, clambering up onto the edge of the balcony
railing, one hand reaching out to steady himself against the concrete
ceiling above. The next bit was tougher. Balancing himself on the
edge, Prithvi jumped up to grab the iron latticework, pulling himself
up and into the balcony of the apartment upstairs.
Aditi came next. Prithvi leaned over the railing to hold out
a helping hand, half expecting it to be refused. Evidently, Aditi’s
strength and courage were of the smart kind, because she took his
hand without demur, using the grip to curl her legs up under her till
her feet rested on the concrete, then pushing herself up, ninja-style,
to join Prithvi on the balcony. When Prithvi reached out again to
help Chandana, Aditi too held out her arm. Together, they pulled
Chandana up quite easily, though Prithvi suspected she would not
have needed much assistance, after all.
The three repeated the process till they were on the balcony
on the seventeenth floor. That the flat was indeed unoccupied was
evident from the amount of dust that had settled in the balcony.
The grime did not deter the trio in the least. Prithvi was about to
set his shoulder to the door leading from the balcony into the house,
but Aditi stopped him. Taking advantage of her familiarity with the
layout, she drew a credit card from her wallet and slid it into the gap
between the lock and the doorframe, and the simple lock clicked
open, letting them in.
‘They’ll keep searching the other houses on my floor for a while.
We’d better get out of here before then,’ Aditi said. She led the way
through the vacant house to the cleaners’ door in the utility area. As
she had expected, it was bolted from the inside, and getting out took
less than a minute.
They climbed the maintenance stairs to the terrace, ran the
length of the roof to the adjoining apartment tower, then took the
stairs down to the ground floor, all without incident.
‘Keep calm. Chandana, pretend we’re yakking,’ Aditi instructed
as they walked out of the building.
Chandana took the task at face value. ‘You should go shopping,
you know,’ she began. ‘Get more colour in your wardrobe. I like blue
and black too, but a dash of red wouldn’t hurt you any.’
Aditi gave her an is-that-all-you-can-say look.
Their light-hearted behaviour seemed to work, for though two
identical black SUVs idled in front of the twin buildings, the grim­
faced occupants of the vehicles did not notice the trio. Right when it
seemed they might be able to saunter out of the building complex, an
indistinct shout went up, followed by a flurry of activity.
None of the three waited to find out what was going on. ‘Run,’
Prithvi ordered, quite unnecessarily—both Aditi and Chandana were
already sprinting towards the gate. But it appeared to be too late. An
old, army-green open Jeep screeched in through the gate, speeding
straight at them.
‘Shit!’
‘Get out of the way!’ The driver screamed, hitting the brakes.
The Jeep skidded to a halt just short of running them over. Prithvi
realized the driver was some yuppie neighbour of Aditi’s coming
back home from a wild night out. He did not think twice, grabbing
the man by his collar to evict him from his vehicle.
‘What the . . .’ Chandana was more stunned than Aditi, who
calmly got into the Jeep. Taking her lead, Chandana followed.
Prithvi did not wait to check if they had settled in. He jumped
in behind the wheel and floored the accelerator, propelling the Jeep
out of the gate.
The black SUVs roared to life and came behind them.
 [4]

aditi said, ‘head for the police headquarters’ complex. We’ll be safe
there.’ CBI or not, she was not ready to trust Prithvi as yet.
Prithvi did not dispute the instruction, and no one spoke for the
next few minutes as he tried to put as much distance between them
and their pursuers, heading towards the southern part of Mumbai.
Aditi glanced over her shoulder at the black SUVs, then said,
‘You want to tell me who these guys are and why they’re shooting
at us?’ She already had the basics of the answer in her mind: hired
bad guys, trying to stop Prithvi from making a case against the
bigger bad guys they worked for. Indeed, she reasoned, it gave more
credence to his story of being a CBI officer than anything he had
said or done so far. But Aditi was not one to assume things, no
matter how obvious.
Prithvi seemed to judge as much, for he weighed her with a look,
then said, ‘They’re after Chandana. I told you, she’s the only witness
I’ve got to what went down at the warehouse last night. If they get
rid of her, then . .. well, then who’s going to believe a cock-and-bull
story about lions, eh? I mean, even you . . .’
‘Got it,’ Aditi said. ‘But that still doesn’t answer everything.
How did they find you guys? And why did that guy shoot at you?’
Before Aditi could go on, the Jeep slowed down, quite
anticlimactically, at the first traffic light they had encountered so far,
prompting both her and Prithvi to swear in unison.
 They were now entering the downtown area and, despite the
early hour, there were enough vehicles on the road to force them to
reduce their speed. Prithvi glanced in the rear-view mirror, then hit
the accelerator, racing across the intersection seconds after the traffic
light turned red. The SUVs, he noted with satisfaction, were stuck
behind other cars that had stopped at the signal. Making good on the
brief edge, he took a right turn to drive down a less congested road.
In the distance, the brand-new police commissioner’s office—part of
the refurbishment of the police HQ complex—glinted as it caught
the rising sun. Prithvi sped up.
‘There we are,’ Aditi said. ‘Thank heavens.’
But she had spoken too soon. Prithvi took another turn, getting
back onto the main road that led to the commissioner’s office to
find this stretch of the road empty: no traffic was coming down
from mid-town or turning in from the arterial lanes on either side.
The usual checkpoint in front of the commissioner’s office had
been turned into a full-fledged blockade. Metal barricades had been
lined up across the entire width of the road, and in front of them,
two hefty Scorpios had been parked in a V-formation that invited
an errant driver to ram right into them in an act of defiance—and
defeat. More cars and police motorcycles were parked on the side,
and the entire set-up was flanked by piles of sandbags, the figures of
huddled policemen visible behind them.
Neither Prithvi nor Aditi doubted that the men were well-armed
and had orders to do whatever it took to stop any vehicle from
getting through.
The hiss of rubber against tarmac filled the relative silence as the two
SUVs made the turn behind them, effectively ending any possibility of
retreat. None of the occupants of the Jeep said anything out loud, but
each one of them knew it was a trap. And they had fallen right into it.
Chandana let out an unintended gasp of panic. Aditi glanced at
her and made her choice. She asked Prithvi, making her priorities
clear with the question, ‘If we get past the blockade, can you then get
Chandana to a safe place?’
 ‘Yes.’
Prithvi’s categorical tone dispelled enough of Aditi’s doubts. She
ordered, ‘Move over. Let me take the wheel.’
‘But. . .’
Anyone here ever run through a police blockade before? Have
you run through one, CBI Prithvi? Move over!’
Aditi leaned over to hold the steering wheel in place as Prithvi
slid to her side, making way for her to move in behind the steering
wheel. She looked around for a seat belt and, finding nothing,
said, ‘Hold on tight. If you get thrown out, I’m not stopping for
you.’
Despite the circumstances, Prithvi chuckled. ‘You sure you’re
the police?’
The quip went ignored as Aditi hit the brakes, bringing the
vehicle to a complete stop. Then she put the gear in reverse and
pressed down on the accelerator.
‘What on earth?’ Chandana exclaimed. ‘We’re supposed to be
running from those SUVs, not racing towards them.’
The men in the SUVs apparently had the same idea. They
exchanged stunned looks, as Aditi could see in the rear-view mirror,
then sped up. Aditi waited till there were barely twenty metres
between the Jeep and the SUVs, before switching the gear back and
gunning the Jeep forward at a tremendous speed, the SUVs a mere
throwing distance behind.
‘They have guns! They can shoot at us!’ Chandana pointed out,
not approving of Aditi’s plan, whatever it was.
Aditi ignored her, looking instead at Prithvi. ‘Speaking of guns,
are you a decent shot?’
Prithvi held out his hand. Aditi pulled an almost-empty magazine
of bullets out from inside her left sock. She then took her empty
pistol out from her waistband before handing over both weapon and
ammunition to Prithvi, who considered the two straggling bullets
left in the magazine.
‘What? It’s just a back-up,’ Aditi said.
 With a shake of his head, Prithvi palmed the magazine into the
gun and locked it into place before pulling back the top slide to load
the first bullet into the chamber.
‘Hang on!’ Aditi pushed the accelerator hard into the floor of the
Jeep, as though her fervour could add speed to the vehicle. It brought
her two full lengths ahead of the pursuing SUVs, exactly the space
she needed for her next manoeuvre.
Aditi waited till she was about two hundred metres from the
barricade and then jerked the steering wheel. The Jeep swerved
directly in front of one of the pursuing vehicles. Then Aditi pressed
down on the clutch while her other foot remained on the accelerator,
causing the gears to disengage. As they neared the barricade, she skip-
shifted into first gear from fourth. Aiming the front end of the Jeep
at the rear end of one of the two parked police Scorpios, Aditi took
her foot off the clutch. The Jeep’s gears engaged with a horrifying
crunch of metal against metal, slowing it down to a modest speed of
thirty kilometres per hour.
The Jeep rammed into the police car, sweeping it forward and
aside, right into the path of the following SUV. The pursuing vehicle
smashed into the police car head-on and then flipped over, ending
its role in the chase.
Meanwhile, Aditi had slammed into the metal barricades,
flinging them aside. Up-shifting gears, she continued to gain speed,
putting as much distance as she could between them and the broken
blockade.
The second black SUV was not so easy to lose. Despite taking a
battering, it had managed to stay behind them and was now catching
up. Two more police cars that had been parked on the side, as well as
a police motorcycle, also joined the chase.
Prithvi turned in his seat and waited, peripherally aware of seconds
ticking by, of the fact that the SUV was gaining ground and that the
police motorcycle had already drawn up alongside and the cop on it
was aiming his gun. Prithvi shot twice in rapid succession then flung
his empty weapon in the cop’s face, knocking him off his bike.
 The riderless bike veered sideways and right under one of the
police cars, forcing the vehicle to veer into the pole of a street lamp.
The second police car was having problems of its own. One of
Prithvi’s bullets had taken out the front tyre, causing it to skid. The
driver tried to bring the vehicle under control, but propelled by its
own thrust the car ended up going through a pile of sandbags on
the side of the road. A shout went up from within as the trapped
policemen urged the SUV to keep up the chase, but it was too late.
Prithvi’s last bullet had taken out the driver of the SUV in a perfect
headshot.
The goons in the SUV reacted as they had been trained to and
first hit the brakes to make sure the vehicle did not run off course. By
the time they had pushed over the dead man and replaced him with
another driver, Aditi and the others had sped off.
 [5]

the pursuers dealt with for the moment, Aditi eased up on the
accelerator, aware that they would soon have to stop. ‘Flora Fountain,
up ahead,’ she said. ‘The one-way ends there and there’s bound to
be crazy traffic, heading to and from the stock exchange and other
offices. We’re better off ditching the Jeep and going ahead on foot.
We probably won’t even be noticed amidst the crowd of office-goers
at this time of the morning.’
Prithvi nodded. ‘Makes sense. We can walk to the museum and
hole up there for some time, while I get things sorted out.’
‘Why the museum?’ Chandana asked. ‘Is it some kind of safe
house?’
‘Yes, there’s an old tunnel under it that we can use.’
Aditi said, ‘The one they discovered a couple of years ago that
connects various points in the Fort area? The British built it to run
supplies to soldiers and evacuate the wounded, right? I didn’t know it
went up to the museum; I thought it was only a short section under
the hospital and that too has been closed off for safety.’
‘The British built some of it, yes. But they expanded on a network
of tunnels that had been built many centuries before that, much of
which remains unknown to the public. Don’t you remember the
stories about Chhatrapati Shivaji escaping through a tunnel and all?
Quite common in the Maratha empire, apparently.’
‘Wow. And you can get us into the tunnel?’
 Prithvi hesitated, then nodded. ‘I have a friend . . . I’m hoping
he’ll help.’
‘Hoping?’ Aditi was not pleased.
Prithvi shrugged as though to say it was the best he could do, for
the moment.
The matter settled, Aditi parked the vehicle amongst a row of
other dusty cars in a side alley, and they all got out.
‘Right,’ Prithvi said. ‘It’s better we split up, just in case
they’re on the lookout for us. Meet me in front of Jehangir Art
Gallery. Take Chandana with you.’ He added, the words holding
a lot more meaning than usual, ‘Thank you, Aditi. Thank you for
everything . . .’
Aditi said nothing, but rolled her eyes at the melodrama. Prithvi
gave her a stiff grin. ‘Why is it that you and I end up together in little
alleyways?’
‘Would you rather be all by yourself in a police lock-up? Come
on, Chandana.’
‘You’ll meet us soon?’ Chandana asked Prithvi.
‘Yes.’
‘Will you tell me then, about my parents?’
Prithvi said, ‘I will. Let’s get to a safe place and then I’ll tell you
everything, okay?’
‘Okay.’
Chandana and Aditi jogged down the lane to emerge onto the
main road parallel to the one that had been blocked.
Prithvi watched them go, the young Chandana glancing back at
him, her question still in her eyes. He did not want to think of what
the answer might do to her, wishing that she could have enjoyed
being young and carefree for longer. Already, he could see lioness and
woman both tear at her soul, urging her to pick a side and make her
choice, but that was not the worst of it. Prithvi suspected that a part
of Chandana had already begun to enjoy the killing, delighting in the
power and pleasure it gave her.
You can be human or beast. But not both. Never both.
 Prithvi tried not to think of where that would take Chandana,
instead setting his mind to his next steps. It would not do, he knew,
to show up unannounced at the museum. He had to make sure
Bhima was there and willing to help them, else it would be as bad as
the situation they had recently got out of. Though Prithvi had not
answered Aditi’s questions, he knew well why the sniper had shot at
him first and not Chandana. Neel Sengupta, Enforcer, hated him for
more than one reason.
After Prithvi had failed in his mission to kill Chandana last night,
the Council would have sent Neel after them both. That Prithvi had
been Neel’s first target had been personal—and a mistake on the
other’s part.
As for the men who had come in through Aditi’s door and given
chase in the SUVs—Prithvi was not sure who they were. The timing
of their actions suggested they were with Neel, but Enforcers worked
alone or, in rare cases, with other Enforcers. The hired guns had been
Homo sapiens, as far as they were capable of sapience. Of that Prithvi
had no doubt. Who then were they workingfor? Had they been hired by
the same Extremists who had taken Chandana in and trained her? Or,
was Neel a traitor, workingfor the Extremists too? The latter possibility
did not seem like him at all—Neel was notoriously faithful to Dr
Acharya and had been so for as long as Prithvi could remember, right
from the day he had first met the Enforcer, at Modern School. If
both the Council and the Extremists were after them, was there any
safe place left to go to?
Letting the many questions fester at the back of his mind, Prithvi
headed out of the alley and walked into the thick of the crowd on the
main road, against the direction of pedestrian flow, earning peeved
looks from many of those he passed. Things came to a head when
he banged into a young, black-suited lawyer, almost knocking the
bundle of files the man was holding out of his hands.
Abey saale!’ the lawyer began to swear, adjusting his bundle.
Prithvi raised a hand in apology but did not turn around or stop
walking. He kept going for a while before turning into the shade of
a closed bookstore’s awning and looking down at the mobile phone
in his hand. Expensive a brand as it was, it was not new, and the
screen was cracked. Prithvi reckoned he might have done the lawyer
a favour. Shading the screen with his other hand, he studied the ;
phone. His keen eyes picked up the discolouration that gave him the
four numbers, the combination of which would unlock the phone.
He started trying various sequences of numbers one by one and got
lucky on the third attempt. He had to look up the number for the
museum on the phone before dialling it—his lack of contact with
Bhima over the years meant that he did not have the other’s mobile
number. It took two attempts, a connection through a crackly
switchboard and Bhima’s notorious habit for turning up early before
he got him on the line.
‘Bhima. . .’
‘Prithvi? Fuck off. I already told you, we have nothing to talk—’
‘She’s Noor’s daughter, Bhima. The Saimha they sent me after.
She’s Noor’s daughter.’
‘But . . . she’s dead, right? Dr Acharya told me she’d died
when . . .’ Bhima fell silent on the other side of the line.
Prithvi made good on the gap in conversation to say, ‘I need
your help. I need to use the tunnel to hide her, till I figure out how
to sort this mess out. Right now, Neel is on our tail along with some
hired guns, and so are the police. Please ... for Noor.’
Bhima seemed to be considering the situation, by his silence.
At length, he said, ‘All right. Come in through the small pedestrian
gate at the back of the museum. I’ll inform the guard there to let you
through.’
‘We’ll be there in twenty minutes. Thank you, Bhima. Really,
thank—’
‘Save it.’
The line went dead.
Prithvi threw the phone to the ground, stamped on it, then
kicked it into a nearby pile of debris more forcefully than was
needed. For the first time in his life he found himself regretting the
feet that he had cut off all ties with Bhirna after their years together
at university, that not once had he tried to reach out, to explain how,
or why, he had become an Enforcer, choosing a life of hunting down
his own kind. But then, he had never thought he deserved friends,
for he cared little about himself and had no one else to care about at
all; not after what had happened.
Ifonly he had. . .
He cut the thought short, reminding himself that yes, he was
the only one to blame for how things had turned out and nothing
would ever change that. Indeed, all he could do now was stand
by Chandana, no matter the consequences. Prithvi felt bile rise in
his throat. He was the reason why she was in this position today,
motherless and helpless. There was no way he would let anyone hurt
her ... again.
Gogoi
 [1]

prithvi felt all emotion drain from his being, and he returned to a
numb reality and the taste of flesh on his tongue. He looked around
him, at the slaughter that was his handiwork, a godless act of tooth
and claw. At last, he brought himself to look at Noor, at her lifeless
form. He longed to take her into his arms one last time. But, it was
too late for that.
His every step drawing a soft squish from the soaked carpet,
Prithvi walked over to the telephone in the corner of the room and
punched in unfamiliar but well-memorized numbers.
On the other side, Dr Acharya answered the phone after a single
ring.
‘Please come at once,’ Prithvi told him. It was all he could
say.
Dr Acharya did not ask where or why. He knew. And once he
got there, he did not ask who or how. That too, he knew. He took
in the bloody scene, the dead bodies—one half-eaten in animal
rage—with as much dispassion as he could muster. Then he looked
at Prithvi standing there, naked and doused in blood. He left the
room briefly, handkerchief to his mouth as though he were going
to be sick. Presumably, that was all the time he was going to take to
grieve or rage. Emotions would have to come later. Right then, as
always, all Dr Acharya cared about was the safety of their kind, the
secrecy of their existence.
 Dr Acharya moved to the bloodstained phone and picked up the
receiver, making an attempt not to flinch as viscousness stained his
hand. Then, looking up a number in a nearby notebook, he dialled
it. ‘Dev? This is Dr Acharya. We have ... a situation.’ That call
made, he dialled one of the Council members from memory and said
what needed to be said. Finally, he turned to Prithvi.
Dr Acharya pulled a shawl off the couch and threw it around
Prithvi’s shoulders. ‘Go wait outside, in my car,’ he said.
The action sparked the first sign of life in Prithvi. ‘Thank you,’
he said, the words out of place in more ways than one, given their
situation. Then he did as he was told.
Sitting in the back of Dr Acharya’s Maruti 800, still partly naked
and still fully blood-soaked, Prithvi waited as three cars approached
the isolated house. The vehicles came to a stop and a host of figures
piled out. Prithvi recognized Dev Narayan as he passed by, but Dev
did not notice him, or did not wish to.
A few minutes later, Dr Acharya came out of the house, carrying
what looked like a large board; no, a painting. Prithvi smiled bitterly
as he realized what it was. Dr Acharya carefully placed the painting
in the trunk of the car then got into the driver’s seat. As he started up
the car and began to drive, Prithvi asked him, ‘Now do you believe
me?’ He did not wait for a response or hear it, as he let a darkness that
was more than sleep take him.
Just before he shut his eyes completely, he thought he saw, in
the rear-view mirror, a tongue of flame flicker out through an open
window of the house. Then he saw no more.
He woke up the next day in a locked room. Hardly had he
scrambled out of the bed he had been in that the door opened. A
huge, strapping fellow who reeked of an arrogance that came of a
deep-rooted sense of power walked into the room. Prithvi recognized
him at once: the same individual he had bumped into all those years
ago at Modern School and a couple of times since. He must have,
Prithvi guessed, been in his late twenties back then, and though more i
than ten years had since passed, age did not show on his face.
 ‘Neel Sengupta,’ he dully said.
‘Yes,’ Neel replied, hardly surprised at being recognized.
The response filled Prithvi with strange relief. It was over. Neel
Sengupta, the Enforcer, had been sent for. Prithvi would be killed
for what he had done, and he would finally be free of this crazy pain,
this senseless battle between man and beast and love and hate and a
million other things he did not comprehend. It would be over. And
yet...
The situation held doom, but of a different, more frightening
kind. Prithvi looked around him, noticing that the room was hardly
a prison or any other place suited to a condemned creature.
‘Where am I?’
‘In Dev Narayan’s home,’ Neel said. ‘You’re his . . . guest.’ The
declaration held unmistakable contempt. Clearly both Prithvi and
the Enforcer were of one mind on what he deserved and equally
disappointed that he had not yet faced it.
‘Get dressed,’ Neel instructed and left the room.
Prithvi had just about finished pulling on the clothes that had
been provided for him when Dev entered. His voice toneless and
controlled, Dev gave Prithvi his instructions—though they had been
called choices.
‘Your train leaves in three hours. You’d better get moving. Your
tickets,’ Dev said, putting an envelope on the table, ‘and some money
too. We brought your bike back, last night. We’ll put it into storage,
along with the things in your apartment; for when you return.’ He
added, ‘There is one thing Dr Acharya asked me to say to you, if I
> considered you well enough to hear it.’
Prithvi sniggered. His brown eyes were hard as stone. ‘Let me
j guess, Dev. He wanted you to remind me that one can be human or
f animal, but not both. Is that right?’
| ‘Yes.’
Prithvi picked up the envelope and looked inside, at the tickets.
J His destination was Rajkot, in Gujarat. Prithvi did not know whether
; to cry or laugh—they were, he guessed, sending him to Gir, the only
forest in Asia that was a natural home to lions. He said, ‘Do me a
favour. Give Dr Acharya a message from me, will you please?’
‘What do you want me to tell him?’
‘Tell him that whatever happened, it was because I tried to be
the human he wanted me to be. I tried to be human and not beast.’
‘Prithvi. . .’
‘I make no excuses. I don’t blame anyone but myself. I know what
I am, Dev. I realize what I’ve done. And I accept the consequences of
my choice, along with your . . . conditions.’
‘Prithvi, you’re being given a second chance, a very slim second
chance. Don’t squander it. I may not be able to help you again, if...’
The words triggered recognition—and wariness—in Prithvi. '
‘Do you not want me dead?’ he asked, a confused look on his face.
‘Does Dr Acharya not want me dead?’
Dev glared at Prithvi with unfettered anger, but then appeared
to arrive at a decision. He let his ire go and chose his words carefully.
‘I can’t say what it is Dr Acharya wants, but the fact is, what is
happening now is with his assent. And he’s convinced the Council
that it’s for the best. It will go on record that you have volunteered
for this, and no one else need know otherwise.’
Prithvi accepted the statement without demur. He reckoned he
knew what Dr Acharya wanted. Much as he ought to die, it was
too soon for that. He had a lot more to suffer. He deserved to be
punished, over and over, for what he had done.
Dev continued, ‘As for myself, I could pretend it’s because I have
a soft corner for you, but the reason I’m doing this is for me. To have
you—an Orphan—fuck up this big is going to give my detractors the
ammunition they need to shut down what scraps you’ve left of my
work. I’d rather no one knows what really happened. The Prophecy
is far more important than you, or anyone else. It is a chance at
changing lives, at making sure that there are no more Orphans. You
know what, on second thought, I guess I do have a soft corner for
you. You’re an ordinary individual born in the wrong place at the
wrong time and to the absolutely wrong parents. If you’d been from
one of the leading families—the Acharyas or the Rathores or the
Iyengars ... But no. This is where you are. And we both know where
you’re headed next. I hope you will think differently of me—and the
situation—by the time you come back.’
‘I’ll go to Gir, Dev. But you should know that I couldn’t care in
the least if I don’t come back.’
Dev nodded. ‘All right. Neel will see you to the railway station.’
The Enforcer came back into the room as Dev exited. He waited
for Prithvi to ready himself to leave, glowering at him all the while.
Prithvi showed no rush. ‘You hate me for what I’ve done.’ It was
a statement, an assurance that at least someone was willing to show
him the contempt he deserved.
Neel nodded in agreement. ‘Yes. But I hate you more for who
you are and what you are going to do. You don’t deserve this. You
are scum. You don’t deserve this, and, like you said, I hope you never
come back.’
Less than twenty-four hours ago, Prithvi would have had the
wit and the tongue to retort, but as it was, he got up and made for
the door.
Neel continued, ‘You were no good from the day I first saw
you. In fact, when you were Tested, I was quite sure you wouldn’t
be able to keep your beast in check. I don’t know how you did
it then, or since. Oh yes, I knew what you were up to. I told Dr
Acharya that it was only a matter of time before you lost control
of yourself. Blood has its own song, Orphan. You don’t deserve a
second chance.’
Thankfully, it was all Neel said from then till they reached the
railway station, where Prithvi got into the train and took his seat
without speaking.
It was Neel who had the last word, ‘When you fuck up again, as
you certainly will, I will be the last individual you see before you die,
and you will wish then that death comes swiftly. It won’t. I promise
you, it won’t. Dr Acharya might be willing to forgive you, but I
never will. I look forward to our next meeting.’ He punctuated the
assertion by spitting on the platform just as the train began to pull
out of the station.
Prithvi held Neel’s gaze for as long as he was visible, then, with a
sigh, closed his eyes and rested his head against the grimy metal bars
on the window.
That night, his first cogent night since it had all happened,
Prithvi had his dream—a new dream—for the first time. The dream
began with darkness and blood, dragging him into it till he turned
the doorknob to enter the room and find . . .
He woke up in a cold sweat, effectively alone in a fully occupied
railway compartment. The sound of the train’s wheels formed a
soothing background refrain, pierced here and there by snores from a
fellow passenger. But nothing could take away the terror Prithvi felt.
Afraid to go back to sleep, he spent the rest of the night pacing
the small, smelly corridor that led to the toilets, smoking one cigarette
after another.
In the morning, he arrived at Rajkot.
 [2]

as instructed, prithvi travelled from Rajkot to Sasan, near

Junagadh, by bus and presented himself at the ranger station there.
After being given many a dubious look, he was found a ranger’s
uniform in his size and asked to wait for transportation to his assigned
camp. It came in the form of a civilian goods carrier that was ferrying
livestock and fertilizer and other sundry goods to some of the villages
that skirted the Gir forest. Had recent events been different, or his
mood otherwise, Prithvi would have found the ride—the duration
of which smelt incessantly of chicken shit—uncomfortable. Now, he
did not notice.
A few hours later, they drew up at the assigned forest base
camp, Prithvi’s home for the near future. Thanking the driver of
the minivan, Prithvi got down and took in the scene before him—a
single hut, thoroughly nondescript, and in front of it, a single ranger,
equally nondescript.
Niyor Gogoi was of average height, average build and an average
disposition that made him hard to gauge. His face—browned and
wrinkled by a combination of genetics and the outdoors—looked as
though it had never known a smile. It was his eyes that gave away
the most about him—they held wisdom and the pain of having seen
things that no one should have to see.
Ranger Gogoi looked Prithvi up and down, then gestured him into
the small building that served as an office, residence and camp, all in one.
 Prithvi stepped into the dark, two-roomed affair.
‘Office,’ the ranger said, gesturing to the ten-foot-square space
around him. ‘That over there is jny room. Don’t ever fucking enter
it, even if I call you in to save my life. There is no bathroom. We
bathe in the river. The water in the tank is only for drinking, though
I’d rather drink from the river than swallow that rusted piss. Shit
anywhere you want, but only within the outer zone. In an emergency,
you can shit or piss in the jungle, but remember that you leave your
smell for the animals.’ He laughed coldly and added, ‘Most people
piss in fear once they are in there, anyway.’
Okay.’
‘Okay, sir.’
‘Okay, sir. And sir, what am I supposed to do around here?’
Gogoi gave him an amused look. ‘Everything. You do everything.
You cook, you clean, you wash my clothes, you even wash my ass if I
tell you to. The rest of the time, stay close and watch. If you’re not a
total idiot, you might learn a thing or two.’
‘Err . . . sir. You do know who I am? Why I am here?’ Prithvi
began to wonder if there was some mistake about the whole
situation.
‘Why? Are you some famous person? A hotshot politician’s son?.
Or a movie star? Am I supposed to know you? I couldn’t give a fuck '
about who you are. Here, there’s only the two of us, and I am the
boss. So you figure out who or what you are.’
Prithvi spent the rest of the day in abject confusion. Gogoi
seemed to be nothing more than what he appeared to be: a tough, <
wizened ranger turned surly by the nature—and loneliness—of his
occupation. But night brought with it much-needed clarity.
Prithvi had earlier noticed the single bulb that hung from a
cobweb-covered wire in the middle of the hut. He also saw the stack
of firewood that had been piled outside the door. As dusk fell, he
asked Gogoi, ‘Sir, campfire?’
Gogoi’s voice was novel in its softness as he asked, ‘Why? Do
you really need the light? Or do you fear the dark?’ He turned, his
iridescent eyes gleaming as a giveaway. ‘Now, sit here and count the
number of wild geese that will pass by from the river.’
‘Sir?’ Prithvi was not sure what he was reacting to—the discovery
that he was in the right place after all or the fact that he had just been
asked to count ducks.
Gogoi could not care less. ‘Call me when you are done.’
‘But how will I know when I am done?’
‘Sit here till you figure it out.’ Gogoi went into the hut and, in
a signal of what was to be the norm henceforth, shut the makeshift
door.
Prithvi cursed under his breath, defaming, in order, Gogoi,
Dr Acharya, the gods and all of existence in the worst terms he
could think of. He was sure that Gogoi could hear him if the
ranger chose to listen, but right then he did not give a damn.
His ranting done, Prithvi settled himself down in a relatively
comfortable spot with his back against the side of the hut and
prepared to keep a lookout for—he still could not believe it—
ducks. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes, wondering how he
was going to restock in the middle of the jungle. He had barely set
a stick to his lips when Gogoi’s voice sounded out from the other
side of the wooden wall: ‘No cigarettes. Not now, not henceforth.
Learn to use your nose. Stop clogging it up like some dumb
human. Smell the jungle tonight.’
‘Fuck!’ Prithvi scrambled to his feet and strode towards the door,
intending either to barge in and have words with Gogoi or pick up
his bag and head back to civilization. Gogoi met him halfway. ‘Leave
in the morning. You won’t make it alive even to the nearest village
if you go in the night. And till you leave, you do what I tell you. Go
count the ducks.’
Prithvi crumpled the pack and threw it at Gogoi’s feet. Then he
stormed off to plonk himself once again by the side of the hut. He
heard the door shut as Gogoi went back inside. The sound drew a
soft honk, and Prithvi realized that a gaggle of geese was waddling
through the jungle. He began to count them. He did not know when
he fell asleep. He did not leave in the morning, nor did Gogoi ask
him to go. Gogoi did, however, ask Prithvi to do everything, short of
washing his backside. Prithvi complied without protest.
That night brought with it a chilling mist. Prithvi nevertheless
positioned himself by the side of the hut again, shivering from
the dampness of the ground and the sting of the air. He turned ’
expectantly as he heard the sound of the door, hoping that Gogoi
was going to say he could sleep inside.
Gogoi threw him a blanket, then said, ‘Count the fucking ducks.’
Prithvi turned back to the forest before him.
This became their routine. During the day, Prithvi would do all
he was instructed to, from chopping firewood that they rarely used
to fetching water. At night, he would dream, of Noor, of her gentle
speech, her ringing laughter, the soft skin of her hands and the way
the very universe fit into her eyes . . . and the way her blood was
plastered over the floor, the walls, over his very soul. He would wake
in the morning, scared of having to face sleep yet again at the end
of the day and throw himself into every task Gogoi set him with a
vengeance, hoping that he would tire himself enough to not dream.
He never succeeded.
Some nights, he tried to keep awake all through, counting ducks
as Gogoi had suggested. Only after he had done that a couple of
times did Prithvi notice that the ranger never did ask him how many
birds he had seen, after all. He did not know whether to be grateful
for the distraction or riled by the obvious deception. It was a measure
of his state of mind that he decided it did not matter, and that care
as he might, such things made no difference to him any more. It
was, he soon admitted, yet another unsuccessful attempt to fake a
detachment he would never allow himself to feel. The guilt was all
he had left of his love.
Nearly six weeks after he had come to Gir, Prithvi woke up one
morning, screaming at the top of his lungs, his shouts of sorrow
piercing the reddening sky. As the sun rose, he curled himself up
into a ball and cried quietly till at last Gogoi came out of his hut.
 ‘So, how many ducks?’ Gogoi asked, unzipping his pants in
prelude to taking his morning piss in the bushes.
At last, Prithvi understood his punishment. Henceforth, it
would not be the battle between human and lion that haunted him,
but his failure as both. There would be no more running free even
in the secret corners of his mind, the same recesses in which he held
onto the memory of love and loss that had kept him human, kept the
beast at bay. Henceforth, these would be his dreams.
 [3]

reconciled to his punishment, as he believed it to be, Prithvi

tuned in to his surroundings with some degree of interest, emerging
from the mechanical functioning that had been his recent life. He
began to ask questions—sometimes out loud, but mostly in his
mind. He began to take delight in small things around him: the
simple pleasure of drinking his mug of tea before it went cold as
he finished up a chore, or the fact that he had never seen such a
clear sky and so many stars, not even when he had lived at Modern
School.
He also faced up to the reason why he had been sent to Gir, to
Niyor Gogoi.
‘My training. When do we begin?’ Prithvi asked.
Honeymoon over, I see,’. Gogoi snidely remarked. He added,
‘Your training began the moment you arrived.’
Prithvi shot back, ‘Don’t try all that zen master Mister Miyagi
shit on me.’
‘Who is Mister Miyagi?’
‘Never mind.’ Prithvi shook his head.
Gogoi’s voice cut in, ‘If you’ve finished feeling sorry for yourself,
I have a question.’
‘What?’
Gogoi asked him, ‘Have you ever seen a lion?’ His tone suggested
that he did not expect an answer.
 That same afternoon, ranger and trainee both set out for the core
zone, the deep heart of the jungle where few were allowed in with,
and none at all without, permission. And certainly, not a blade of
grass could move in there without Gogoi knowing it.
‘You’ve seen a lion before, right?’ Gogoi asked Prithvi, this time
in all sincerity, as they walked through the dense foliage. They were
still some distance from the core zone, and though the jungle was as
fierce here as it would be anywhere else, the bright sunlight and the
sound of birds singing made their trek feel more of a picnic than an
adventure. Or at least, so Prithvi had thought, till Gogoi’s sudden
question. As images from his recent nightmares came rushing back,
Prithvi hesitated, unsure where to begin his answer. It was just as
well, for it turned out that Gogoi was being far more direct than he
had given him credit for.
‘Not even in a zoo? I know you said you haven’t been to Gir
before, but surely you’ve been to a zoo?’
‘No,’ Prithvi confessed, choosing his words carefully. ‘I’ve never
been to a zoo.’ He added, at Gogoi’s disbelieving look, ‘I spent the
first one-third of my life in a slum, the second one-third locked up in
a government juvenile home, and it feels like I’ve spent the last one-
third walking through this jungle with you. So no, I’ve never been to
a zoo. What’s your point, anyway?’
‘There’s no use shooting or stabbing Saimha when they are in
lion form,’ Gogoi explained. ‘That is, if you get close enough to
shoot or stab one without getting yourself killed. You have to wait
till they’ve turned back into human form. Only then can you kill
them. But to track a Saimha till he or she turns—that is a skill in
itself. Which is where our majestic friends help us. You must learn
their habits so that you can track the transformed Saimha in a safe
and effective way.’
Gogoi sighed and resigning himself to Prithvi’s ignorance added,
‘I suppose it’s for the best that you haven’t ever seen a lion. It’s . . .
interesting . . . when a Saimha comes face to face with the Panthera
leo for the first time.’
 It took Prithvi a moment to realize that Gogoi was using ‘Saimha’
generically, meaning the two of them as much as the Extremists
that they were meant to hunt, and not bothering to hide behind
lukewarm terms like ‘therianthrope’ or ‘were’.
‘Why is that?’ he eventually asked, in response to the pending
statement.
Gogoi said, ‘Well, mostly because they have one of two reactions.
Either they are so used to being human that they look at the lion with
horror, as though they’re seeing a vicious demon. I think they feel
justified in how human they’ve become as if that’s a worthy price to
pay to avoid the sins of the fiend. Then they go home, watch TV, pay
bills and forget what little they know of the lion inside them, other
than to remember to hide it.’
Prithvi was pleasantly taken aback by what he had to admit was
a succinct explanation of most of their kind. ‘What’s the second kind
of reaction?’ he asked, despite himself.
‘They think they know everything there is to know about lions,
because . . . well, because they think we are cousins or nephews, I
suppose.’
Prithvi could well understand what the ranger meant. It was
easy for someone who had never roused the lion within to think
that they knew all there was to know about lions—which was far
from true. He, on the other hand, knew well what it felt like to be a
lion—in form and spirit. As a result, he knew just a little too much.
He emerged from his reverie to find Gogoi giving him a knowing
look—a sympathetic look, as far as the ranger might have been
capable of that emotion. It made Prithvi wonder how it was that
Gogoi had come to be here, in this forest, doing what he did. Perhaps
the ranger too knew what it felt like to let the beast run free. And, like
Prithvi, this was his punishment for that knowledge. Duly chastised
by that notion, Prithvi set his attention to the trail in front of them,
following Gogoi into the forest.
Nothing Prithvi had ever seen or heard before prepared him for
his first sighting of lions in the wild. They were still at a fair distance,
and the pride was a cluster of orange-fire fiir on the horizon. But he
could see them, and he could feel them.
Pure.
Pure animal. Unlike him, who would never truly be, or belong.
Unaware of Prithvi’s inner turmoil or despite it, Gogoi said,
‘Amazing creatures, aren’t they? The big male over there, he’s the
head of the pride. His name is Mobo. Don’t ask me why they gave an
Asian lion an African name, they did. The two females next to him,
they are sisters: Radha and Meera. That’s their mother, Ganga. That’s
Ganga’s sister, Yamuna. That other male is Yamuna’s son, Ramu.
There were two more young males, both Radha’s sons. I haven’t seen
them for a while now. Either they have found new hunting grounds
or they’re both dead.’
Forcing self-pity out of his mind, Prithvi asked, ‘How can you
tell them apart from this distance? I mean closer up, we might see
physical differences, but—’
‘I tell them apart by their scent. Smell, the patterns of their tread,
the sound their padded feet make on the grass, even the sound the
rain makes as it falls on their bodies. I can tell them apart. So can
you, if you stop yakking.’
Prithvi fell silent, the point taken. Together he and Gogoi
watched as the lions lazed around, occasionally rolling belly up or
nuzzling each other. He tried to ignore the pang of longing he felt
as the younger male licked the pride leader’s snout. Confused and
overwhelmed, Prithvi moved away. He began walking back towards
their temporary camp, finding the way without even thinking about
it. He did not notice Gogoi watch him with a pained look before
silently following.

The next morning, Prithvi woke up feeling lighter of heart than he

had felt in a long while. Leaving the still-sleeping Gogoi be, he began
to wander the forest as though it were familiar ground. They had
pitched their camp on a hillock that sloped its way down to a small
plain. On the far end of the plain, one of the many small rivers that
ran through Gir had formed a pool, and on its banks was gathered a
herd of chinkara.
Prithvi sat down on a tree stump and took in the idyllic scene.
The sun was just rising, setting the top of the tree canopy afire with
a green-gold glow, and a symphony of bird calls filled the air. The
chinkaras grazed on, some paying single-minded attention to their
meal, others frolicking in the waist-high grass.
And then, as one, the gazelles turned their heads to the east and
froze.
Prithvi heard Gogoi’s voice in his ear: ‘When all the grass-eaters
look in one direction, you know there is a predator to be found
there, even if you can’t see him or her. There. There he is,’ Gogoi
pointed as he took a seat next to Prithvi on the tree stump. ‘It’s
the young male we saw yesterday. Now watch. While he draws the
herd’s attention, the rest of the pride will circle around to cut off
one of the chinkaras.’
Prithvi scanned the plain. Despite his sharp vision, he had
to look carefully to see the lionesses moving through the tall
grass. Their stealth was as stunning as the animals themselves,
and he was not surprised that none of the gazelles noticed their
movement.
Reaching their respective positions, the lionesses stopped,
standing taut with alertness. Now, the lion began to move forward,
taking one step, then another, before suddenly breaking into a run.
The gazelles reacted by sprinting in the other direction. One of the
lionesses now emerged from the flanks, cutting off three potentials
from the rest of the herd. Two circled around, caught between the
advancing lion and the lioness, unsure and panicked. Their indecision
turned out to be their saviour.
The third gazelle bounded with sure feet, away from both the
herd and her two terrified companions, running directly towards
the spot from where Gogoi and Prithvi sat watching the scene
unfold. She did not make it even a quarter of the way. Three ;
lionesses and a sub-adult maneless male sprung out from hiding. ■
The eager sub-adult was the first to pounce on the gazelle, but
he failed to bring her down, though his claws drew blood. The
metallic smell filled the air, goading on the other lions.
The sub-adult came in from the side for another attempt, but
the lionesses would not have it. One pushed him aside as another
sprung high, landing on the gazelle’s back. Her forelimbs encircled
the gazelle’s chest, her claws dug into the soft underbelly, but the
grass-eater kept moving forward, driven by terror. Then the lioness
sank her jaws with precision into the gazelle’s back, biting powerfully
through bone to sever the chinkara’s spinal cord.
The gazelle stumbled, limbs and brain no longer in tandem,
and fell to the ground. Another lioness moved in to grab the animal
by its throat, careful to remain out of reach of its sharp antlers. The
downed animal thrashed and writhed as it struggled to breathe, but
even before the last dregs of air had emptied out of the gazelle’s
lungs, the first lioness had torn into its abdomen, pulling out the
entrails. Grunts and flesh splattered as the lionesses gorged on the
living meat. The sub-adult remained carefully at bay—it was not yet
his turn to feed.
A rumble, as the leader arrived. The females moved to make
way for the thickly maned male, who would have the pick of the
kill before the females rejoined in the proper feeding. The sub-adult
would be next, and at last, the cubs, if any, would emerge from
where they would have been watching, hidden in the undergrowth,
to eat.
The meal was a noisy, visceral affair, with friendly fights, rumbles,
swipes and tugging at chunks of meat. Maws dripped blood, claws
were red as bellies filled to repletion. Somewhere during the middle
of it all, the downed gazelle went still, as life thankfully left her. The
lions did not care. They continued feeding.
Gogoi tapped Prithvi on the shoulder and signalled that they
could leave if Prithvi was ready to go. Prithvi looked at the stately
pride leader, the excited sub-adult and the milling group of lionesses,
trying to put words to what he felt at the scene before he moved away
from it. He found that he had nothing. Things were the way they
ought to be. In a way, he too felt replete.
Gogoi said, ‘Now you know how they hunt. Soon, it will be
your turn.’
 [4]

prithvi took to the jungle as the geese he had spent his first nights
counting took to water. Soon, he could track nearly as well as Gogoi,
and he had learnt to harness his more-than-human smell, sight and
hearing to add to his newly acquired knowledge and skill.
‘Of course,’ Gogoi pointed out to him, ‘a lot of your tracking
will probably happen in cities or suburban environments. Very rarely
will you find yourself tracking Saimha through a real forest, such as
this. But the methods are the same. The signs are the same, only the
things that cloud them are different.’
‘What do I do once I find whoever it is I’m tracking? I mean,
surely we don’t go through all this trouble simply to watch them
from a distance, as we do the lions.’
Gogoi shook his head. ‘No. That’s what we work on next. Knives
and guns. As for the hand-to-hand and fisticuffs, I’ll leave that to
you, to improvise.’
‘You don’t have to be scared of me . . . sir!
The next second, Prithvi found himself on his back, with
Gogoi’s knee pinning him helplessly down to the ground while the
ranger held a knife to his neck. Prithvi applied himself seriously to
the training after that.
Gogoi taught him how to shoot and how to clean up after a shot
so that he left no trace. ‘You’re a ghost. You don’t exist. Neither does
your quarry. Never leave any signs behind, Prithvi—no bullets, no
prints and no witnesses. Remember, the safety of our kind lies in
secrecy. The smallest mistake can give rise to suspicion.’
To drive home his point, Gogoi challenged Prithvi to hide in
the forest, to move through the jungle without leaving tracks. Prithvi
tried every trick that the ranger taught him, but each time, Gogoi
trailed him down in a matter of hours.
A frustrated Prithvi sat on his bed—a place that had now taken
on a more habitable if not cozy appearance, with a tarpaulin to keep
out the rain and a thicker mattress that was as soft as Gogoi’s own
hard cot.
Gogoi stood watching him a while, as he might have a son or a
pet animal that he found amusing. He said, ‘If only you didn’t hate
yourself so much, you might learn a lot faster.’
The words roused a fury that Prithvi had managed to keep in
check for a long while. ‘My personal issues are none of your business,
sir,’ he spat out.
‘On the contrary, they are very much my business. Particularly
when they get in the way of you doing your job.
‘I didn’t ask for this job.’
‘Then why are you here?’ Gogoi gave him a mocking look as
he added, ‘Are you here because you hate yourself, or do you hate
yourself because you are here? Is it the past or the future that holds
you back, Prithvi?’
Prithvi did not answer. Gdgoi gave a tired grunt and left for his
bed, but not before calling out over his shoulder, ‘Ask yourself what
it is that holds you back. There is little left that I can teach you, but
you have much left to learn.’
Vowing silently that following Gogoi’s advice would be the last
thing he would ever do, Prithvi lay down and did exactly that.
He did not know when he had fallen asleep, but suddenly he was
awake, wide awake, as he had not been in a long time. He paused,
quivering, not on two legs but on four. He felt the tremendous
weight of his body and its lightness, he felt its silent strength ripple
through him as he looked out at his own boot-tracks. He walked
on, pressing down into the mud, erasing the boot-marks he had left
earlier that day and embedding pug-marks in turn.
Delighted at the sudden find, Prithvi threw his head back in
a roar and began to run, as he used to of old. The jungle was a
forgotten playground that he was eager to explore. Bounding his way
over root and stone, Prithvi reached the heart of the forest, the core
zone that was home to those who were nothing like him, yet were his
kin. Looking around, he found the telltale tracks of the lions he and
Gogoi had followed many times—Mobo and his pride. He followed
the trail, sniffing at the ground to-pick up their unique scents—
Mobo’s woody tang, Radha’s seductive musk and the aggressive
signatures of the younger lions.
At last he came upon them, gathered together in a circle in a
moonlit glen as they feasted together on their prey. Prithvi hesitated,
a stranger amongst his own.
But the lions looked up in welcome and moved aside, parting
their ranks to let him into their circle, their feast. Growling his joy,
Prithvi took his place amongst them and sank his teeth into the juicy,
red meat. . . of Noor’s living flesh.
And then Prithvi was running, as beast, as man, he did not know
which, till he woke in his bed, the rough sheet soaked with his sweat.
The relief that it was all only a dream grappled with the horror of
what it had been. And yet, the nightmare had been more real than
anything he had felt in a while.
Gathering himself together, Prithvi looked up at the stars. Barely
past midnight. He sat up on his mattress, thinking over what it was
that he was resolved to do. It would probably get him in trouble with
Gogoi, but that was the least of his concerns. He had to try at least
once to see if there was a place where he could belong. And there was
nothing more he wanted than to believe he was already home. He got
up and began walking into the jungle.
Prithvi kept going for about an hour or so, till there was nothing
but the forest around him. Every suggestion of human life—the
camp, the light from villages in the distance, even old tracks, were
all left behind. Reaching within himself, he parted the shadows as he
would part curtains, inviting the long ignored but never forgotten
resting beast to emerge. He licked at a paw before asking him whether
he was sure.
Yes.
Prithvi did not know who replied to whom, he had lost the
distinction, if it had ever been there, between this self and that. It
was he who stood up, shaking out his gorgeous mane, it was he who
walked, his heavy tread filled with restrained power, his head held
high to delight in the rich smells of the jungle.
The sounds of animal life—the crickets, the small critters—all
ceased abruptly. The forest knew. It invited, making way. Prithvi
threw himself into its embrace. His journey was not a short one—
Prithvi did not run as he had in his dreams. This was a lion’s travel,
a slow, enduring trek over kilometres towards an unknown but
intended destination.
In the early hours, he hunted, bringing down a mousedeer, and
then settled himself in the shade of a tree for the hottest hours of the
day. He began his journey again at nightfall, running a while as the
air cooled before settling into a tireless gait that took him far away
from the world of men.
At moonset on his third night in the jungle, he sensed them.
Musk and blood, sunlight through tall grass, night dew and dawn
wind. The lions smelt of these and more, each smell bringing forth
an ancient memory in Prithvi, as though he had run with these
very same creatures millennia ago. He shivered with delight at the
discovery; cousins, no, these were kin, his kin, his pride. He was
home, home for the feast. The flesh of men, the blood of those
he had loved, none of these mattered any more, for he was home.
Moving forward, trusting age-old instinct to guide the way, he went
deeper into the jungle till he saw them.
Prithvi waited, remaining hidden in the shrubs as the first streak
of red rose in the east, setting their hides afire. The pride milled
around with restless energy, making their plans for the hunt before
them, and it would be best for him to approach them before they
made the kill and not after. Besides, Prithvi wanted nothing more
than to take his place in their midst, to hunt as one tooth and claw.
As the first birdsong rose in the sky, Prithvi stepped out from
amidst the bushes. He was a fair distance away from the pride,
but not so far that they could not see him, if they chose to look.
Standing tall, Prithvi began to speak, his mind forming in waking
the soundless words he had used in his dreams. He called out to the
pride, first greeting them as a cub would his elders, then calling to his
peers with light-hearted joy, here [Link], brothers and sisters, fathers
and mothers. Here I am, where I belong.
The younger maned male looked suddenly in his direction.
Prithvi became acutely aware of himself, of his lion form with its
stranger’s presence, a spirit that the pride could not fully sense. He
put every bit of himself into his next words.
Brother, lam here.
The lion turned in his direction.
Prithvi wondered whether he had cried out in anticipation,
but he must have remained silent, for there was another sound
that caught the pride’s attention—a rustle in the bushes as a lone
grazer wandered dangerously close. Mobo stood up, his body stiff
with attention. Immediately, the other pride members took up their
positions, each one disappearing into the undergrowth to flank the
quarry and hedge the animal in. The young male was the last to go.
He gave a final look in Prithvi’s direction, his eyes glinting red with
the light of the rising sun, before falling into the hunt with the rest
of his kind.
Prithvi could not explain why, but he felt bereft. Not caring to
see the lions’ hunt or what came of it, he turned and mindlessly
headed back towards camp. He walked without stopping till the first
glimmer of dawn broke on the eastern horizon. Then, all alone in
the magnificent wild, Prithvi fell to his knees, pitiful and naked, and
cried, cried till he had made his peace, if that was the word, with the
whole truth.
 Prithvi had long since known that he could never be human, but
now he knew he was not, and never would be, a beast.
Two nights later, Prithvi sneaked back into camp and put some
clothes on before he was detected. He waited, as though he had not
disappeared in the first place, for Gogoi to wake up and come to take
his ritual morning piss.
If Gogoi had any inkling of what Prithvi had done, he did not
show it. Instead, he said, ‘Not bad. I tried following your tracks, but
I had to give up after a day and a half. Well done.’
Prithvi neither dismissed the compliment, nor did he show any
delight in it. He did, however, toy with telling Gogoi the truth of
what had happened. But it hurt too much to speak about it. It hurt
too much to admit that he was not the beast.

Hardly a week later, while they were on their rounds in the outermost
zone, Gogoi stopped in his tracks and sniffed at the air. ‘Poachers,’
he said.
Prithvi did not have to ask him why. He had learnt enough in
the past months to put the smell of Homo sapiens and the stench of
greed that came from them together to understand. The men were
at least a kilometre off, but both he and Gogoi knew the jungle in
these parts well. He began striding through the undergrowth but had
taken only a few steps when he saw that Gogoi still stood where he
was.
‘We should go back to the outpost. Send a radio message. The
faster we do it, the sooner those poachers will be caught,’ Gogoi
said.
‘What!’ Prithvi was incredulous. ‘They’re hardly any distance
from us, we can get to them in ten minutes!’
‘And do what when we reach them?’
‘We can scare them off. Or arrest them. You have the authority
to do that.’
‘Authority means nothing in the jungle, and you know it. And
poachers are not easily scared. There’s nothing we can do, Prithvi,
except follow procedure. And the procedure in a case like this requires
me to go back and radio for help.’
‘And if they kill before that?’
‘In the outer zone? They will be lucky if they get jungle fowl.
Come on, let’s head back.’
Prithvi let himself be led back to the outpost, from where Gogoi
radioed the park headquarters, giving the last known location of the
poachers. Angry with himself as much as he was with Gogoi, he spent
the rest of the day in a sulk. In the evening, he took up his assigned
position outside the shed and sat staring at the stars, when Gogoi
came up to him. To Prithvi’s amazement, the ranger sat down next
to him, back against the wall of the shed, and stretched out his legs
before him. Prithvi neither spoke, nor moved.
At length, Gogoi said, ‘You’re right, we could have gone after
them. If I’d been alone, that’s what I would have done.’
Prithvi spat to the side before saying, ‘Easy words, sir.'
‘You think I turned back because I was afraid?’
‘Then why did you turn back?’
‘You weren’t ready.’
‘Ready for what?’
An exasperated Gogoi turned on Prithvi. Through gritted teeth
he said, ‘What would you have done if we’d gone after them and
found them? Tied them up and handed them over to the police?’
‘I’d have fucking killed those bastards, is what I’d have done.
I’d have torn them apart, ripped their stomachs open and . . .’he
stopped, aware of the words he was using.
Gogoi nodded. ‘Yes. That’s what you would have done. That’s
why I said: you weren’t ready.’
‘That’s the most ridiculous, fucked-up—’
‘You can’t blame your anger, your violence, on the beast, Prithvi.
Anger, hatred, even disgust, are human emotions. You can’t use the
animal in you to justify human emotions, just as those emotions
cannot be used to tame the animal.’
‘Sir—’
 ‘We both know what would have happened if we’d gone after
those poachers. No,’ Gogoi finished, with a shake of his head, ‘you
weren’t ready.’
‘How do you . . .’ Prithvi began, stunned that the ranger knew
about his transformation, but as he formed the words, he felt a cold
anger come over him. He said, ‘You try and speak to the man in me
as if that is what I am, that is all I am. But I am more. I cannot, will
not deny my nature.’
‘You want me to trust a beast?’
‘I want you to trust me.'
‘Then be ready to do your fucking job, Prithvi.’
With that Gogoi got to his feet, dusted off his pants and went
into the hut and shut the door.
Prithvi scowled at the shut door for a while. Then, knowing
that nothing would come of striding off into the night like a moody
teenager, he lay down, pulled the covers up over his head against the
mosquitoes and went to sleep.
 [5]

some days later, Prithvi returned from one of his routine rounds
of the forest’s perimeter to find a lanky youth of about eighteen or
nineteen crouched by the open doorway to Gogoi’s hut, nursing a
cup of hot tea in his hands.
In the many months that he had spent with Gogoi, he was used
to having passers-by, but no visitors. The forest department’s mini­
truck trundled by on the mud road once, or at most twice every
week, the driver stopping to drop off supplies and share a tea and hot
gossip about the officers’ goings-on, but no one stayed for more than
an hour or two. Prithvi was, therefore, quite curious about the new
arrival—all the more so because Gogoi, in his typical manner, had
said nothing about him. He approached the youth, who shrank back
while looking up at him with still-glowing eyes.
A Saimha. Recently transformed or about to.
That explained much. The cub, Prithvi concluded, was probably
yet another for Gogoi to train in the counting of geese. However,
rather than ask the youngster any questions about who he was and
how he had got there, Prithvi went into the hut in search of Gogoi.
‘Sir. . .’
‘Yes.’
‘May I ask . . .’
‘I’ve already answered you, Prithvi. Yes. Now get ready to head
into the jungle; we leave in ten minutes. We’ll have to move fast and
without stopping if we want to get there before the moon is at its
zenith.’
The statement covered any other questions Prithvi may have
had—if the cub was all set to change into lion form, they would have
to deal with that first, before he could be dropped into the hellhole
that was the everyday routine of the camp.
In a move that surprised himself, Prithvi tried to strike up a
conversation with the young one as the three of them headed into the
forest. He was not one given to chatter, but having had no human
company other than the recalcitrant Gogoi for months, he did not
mind the sound of another voice, nor news of the world outside.
Cricket ultimately proved to be a good conversation opener, as also
the young one’s overawed view of the latest Shahrukh Khan movie.
They kept walking well past sundown. Gogoi let them stop only
once, and that too because he was waiting for some animals with
their young to move away. Prithvi believed the ranger had great
sensitivity—if that was the correct word—towards animals, far more
so than he did towards humans. It had made it all the more difficult
to reconcile himself to Gogoi’s role as an Enforcer. Now, with the
appearance of the youngster, Prithvi felt more optimistic about the
career as a whole.
He envisaged himself in Gogoi’s role some years down the line,
maybe in another forest, though there were few others with lions.
Still, there were enough big cats in the country to go around. He
imagined himself as grey-haired and gnarled, spending his days
and nights trudging happily through the woods with little need for
human company or conversation. Of course, there would be some
conversation, particularly when young trainees turned up.
Prithvi smiled to himself at that, feeling happier than he had in
a long time. There was an allure to the paternal or avuncular role—
guiding young therianthropes back into the fold, teaching them to
control their transformations. And those who failed would have to be
watched over, to make sure they did not inadvertently or otherwise
make their way back to the human population.
 A Saimha reserve in the heart of the core zone. How had he
not seen that coming? Those Orphans who were found too late to
be taught to master their change, those who failed their tests—they
were few in number, but they still had to be taken care of. This was
such an obvious way of doing so that Prithvi mentally kicked himself
for not having considered it earlier. But even as he thought of it, he
remembered Raj, and he remembered Neel. The sinking feeling in
his stomach returned.
‘All right. This should do,’ Gogoi said.
Prithvi looked around, gathering that they were in a part of the
forest that he had rarely been to. The full moon cast a silvery glow
that gave reasonable visibility even through the thick vegetation.
This was leopard and langur territory, as opposed to the more open
grassland patches that were better spots for prides.
A night critter—possibly a civet—let out a shrieking cry, making
the new arrival jump out of his skin.
Prithvi shot a comforting look at the frightened youngster. The
cub had no clue why they were there and so naturally feared the worst.
Prithvi could have done well to learn some of that fear.
‘Here.’ Gogoi thrust a pistol into Prithvi’s hand.
‘You want me on lookout?’
Gogoi gave him a flabbergasted look. ‘No, you stupid fuck.
I want you to kill him.’
The words were met with a stunned, heavy silence, which was
promptly pierced by the high, gut-wrenching squeal of a child in
mortal terror. Gogoi responded by walking over to the cub and
dealing him a hard, backhanded slap that sent him sprawling onto
the ground. ‘Shut up! And you, hurry up. If he turns . . .’
‘What. . .?’ Prithvi remained where he was, a vacant expression
on his face. Gogoi strode back over to him and treated him to a harsh
slap too. Prithvi remained standing, but his cheek stung, as Gogoi
had meant it to.
‘You wanted to do your job, didn’t you? Then do it. Do the task
that you were left alive for.’
 Prithvi glanced again at the youngster. ‘He’s a kid, for heaven’s
sake.’
‘He’s a cub. Not a child. A Saimha. One who has tasted blood.
An Orphan too old to be trained in our ways. He is a threat to us all.
Kill him, Prithvi.’
I—’
Gogoi slapped him again, this time a smack on the other cheek.
‘Hai maatherchod, are you going to do it or not? Else there’s more
than one bullet in that gun, you know.’
Prithvi slowly became aware of the weight of the gun in his hand.
He also became aware that he could just as easily shoot Gogoi as he
could the youngster. And then ...
And then?
‘I can’t.’
You can’t, or you won’t? Blood has its own song. He’s a fucking
animal, Prithvi.’
Prithvi looked at Gogoi, willing him to understand all that he
could never say. ‘So am I, Gogoi.’
Gogoi’s voice was soft. ‘Exactly, Prithvi. You chose the beast.
Now you must live with what comes of it. You know what you have
done. You know what this cub will do, if you don’t stop him. Maybe
you’re doing him a favour. Maybe you’re not. You know what, tell
yourself that, if it makes it easier. But do what you know you must.’
Prithvi did not speak, nor did he move. The cub continued to
remain as he was, whimpering. The sound made Prithvi’s stomach
churn. He wanted nothing more than for it to stop. And there
was only one way to stop it. He felt something rumble inside
him at that thought, something locked away in darkness that
asked desperately to be let loose. His fists clenched as his tongue
remembered viscous delight, the ecstatic crack as strong jaws broke
through bone to feast on living meat. He felt his eyes gleam as the
other him stood up, ready to emerge, ready to rule. Prithvi took a
deep breath, forcing shadows and light both back into absence as
he made up his mind.
 Raising his arm, he clicked back the safety on the gun with his
thumb and fired. The thud of the silencer was as loud as thunder in
the quiet of the night. Prithvi waited till the echoes had dampened,
then handed the weapon back to Gogoi and ducked behind a tree. As
the moon reached its zenith, Prithvi painfully vomited out everything
that was inside him.
Gogoi looked up at the night sky for a while, studying the
constellations. When he spoke, it was clear that he had chosen his
words with great care. ‘There will be more like this cub. And it will
be your job to find and execute them, and it is a job you will do well
because few know, the way you do, what happens if you ever let out
the beast. But that doesn’t make it easy. You can either be a man who
hunts monsters, Prithvi. Or you can be a monster yourself, killing your
own species. Trust me, the latter is not an easy burden to live with.’
Prithvi was scathing in his response. ‘Is that all being Saimha
means to you, Gogoi? To choose between being a human I can’t be
and being an animal that I’m not? Gab! And they say we were born
of the gods.’ Prithvi spat on the ground with all the contempt he
could muster.
Gogoi walked over to where Prithvi was still on his knees and
placed a paternal hand on the younger one’s head. It was the first
open gesture of affection that the ranger had shown in all those
months. He asked, ‘Have you ever been to a temple?’
Prithvi wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, trying hard
not to think of the memories that word brought, of student-life
Sundays in search of a good meal and of weddings and promises and
colour and song. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have.’
‘The idol that you saw in the sanctum sanctorum, what was it?’
‘It was an image of god. An idol. That’s what idols are, right?’
‘And do you know for sure that god exists?’
‘What? No. Of course not.’
‘So, the idol is an image of something that does not exist. A
replica with no original. There is a word for it. . . one of those fancy
philosopher words, but I don’t know . . .’
 Simulacrum,’ Prithvi said, breathing hard as all that came with
the meaning of the term hit him. He thought of the painting that he
had seen in Dr Acharya’s office room on his very first day at Modern
School, of how that one image had made him understand what no
amount of words could have explained.
Gogoi said, ‘Very well. Simulacrum. That is what we want to be,
each one of us. A Saimha attuned to his true nature, though we can
never be the lion. But most of us never dare try, and those few who
do, such as you . . . you fail. And so, we must console ourselves with
the thought that being both man and lion is the domain of the gods
and punish those who dare reach for it.’
‘Like when you’re dreaming and it’s a beautiful dream, but
even in that dream, something inside you hurts because you know
this is not real.’ Prithvi unearthed his words, ‘What if the dream is
dreaming us . . .’
‘Yes. That is why you can be man or beast, but not both. But
whatever you are, the other will lurk within you. Some think of it as
a curse. I believe it is a blessing, a gift. It is for you to choose what
you will make of it.’
Prithvi fought back tears to ask, ‘What if I’m neither, Gogoi?
What if I am neither beast nor human?’
‘Then, you are a monster.’
Prithvi did not answer. He looked plaintively at Gogoi, willing
him to speak words of consolation telling him to hold on, wishing he
would explain it all and so make it bearable enough to live with. But
Gogoi turned around and began the long walk back to camp.

Two days later, a forest department Jeep came to their outpost.

Gogoi was apparently expecting it. ‘The driver will drop you at
Veraval. Take the bus from there to Ahmedabad. Your train tickets
to Bombay will be with the station master; give him your name and
mine, and he will pass them to you.’
A visibly hurt Prithvi asked, ‘You’re sending me away? But what
have I done wrong?’
 ‘Nothing, my son. You’re an Enforcer now. It’s time you went
to work.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Well, if you insist, let me be sentimental enough to say that
you’ve given me hope. Though exactly what for, I don’t know. I’m
sending you home, Prithvi. It is up to you to decide where and what
that home is. But you know now that the forest is not where you
belong. Take care.’
That brief conversation was the extent of their goodbye, a fact
Prithvi regretted as soon as the Jeep trundled out of the wooded areas
and onto the main road. He did not know when and if he would
see Gogoi again, but he convinced himself that he did not care, and
neither did Gogoi. Like every relationship Prithvi had ever known,
even this bond of student and teacher was an illusion.
Only one lesson remained. He was neither lion nor human; he
was a monster, a creature who killed his own because if he did not,
those he spared would do as he had done. No, he would kill his own
because that was the only way he could stay sane, the only way he
could feed the hungry beast that lurked within him. It was him or
them.
Blood had its own song.
Chandana
 [1]

for someone who had seen what she had in the past two weeks,
Chandana knew she ought to be a lot less affected by something
as simple as a crowd. But the sounds and smells were maddening:
chatter, cacophonic and grating on her ears, sweat and sewers and
the tang of meat from a roadside stall and the surfeit of touch as
she winced and weaved her way behind Aditi through the throng,
trying to keep pace with the unaffected policewoman. As the city
began to wake and hustle to a working day, the amorphous sounds
of existence and activity grew from rumbles to explosions, and each
time someone bumped or jostled into her Chandana felt as though
she had been struck by lightning. It was as though she had been deaf
all along and had just gained hearing, she had been numb all the
while and was now blessed, no, cursed with sensation, every pore and
cell in her being come alive to electrifying agony.
Reason told her that she was overreacting, that this was simply
her body trying to balance its newfound physiology, to hold lion and
girl within a still-changing body. Instinct told her there was a way to
survive this, if only she would allow herself to . . .
No, I can’t. I shouldn’t. I didn’t need to this morning, did I? And
I’m safe now, or almost.
Climbing over balconies and dodging bullets had felt less
terrifying than this, but Chandana could not comprehend why.
Or, she reconsidered, perhaps she could. She had run from danger
because of who she was. She had fought and killed because of who
she was. And who she was had no place here, in this world of humans,
their squalor and dirt and hate.
She was Saimha.
The word called to her with warmth; inside her an aurulent form
purred. Chandana shut her eyes and let the feeling fill her, reminding
herself that a stranger though she may be to the world of humans, she
was now a glorious stranger.
A stranger far more powerful than the feeble creatures around
her. She opened her eyes and took in the scene with amusement:
moments ago it had been an assault on her senses, but now it all
seemed dim and far, masked by the knowledge that she could strike
down each and every annoyance around her with impunity.
Kill. Feed. Rule.
Her breath caught in a silent gasp as the words became desire in
the depths of her stomach.
NO!
Chandana grabbed Aditi’s hand.
‘What happened?’ Aditi asked, concerned.
‘Nothing,’ Chandana said, though she did not mean it. She had felt
confident, or something akin to it, as long as she had been with Prithvi,
but now her fears resurfaced, bringing an inner voice to the fore.
There is no need to be afraid. lam here. I am you.
The voice was honeyed and seductive, a hiss and roar in one. It
held promises of safety, of strength and fearlessness, all for a simple
trade: Kill. Feed. Rule.
‘I ... I think we’re being followed. We have to get out of here,’
Chandana told Aditi, though she knew it was the voice within that
she was trying to outrun.
Aditi looked set to ask more, but then decided otherwise. ‘All
right,’ she said. ‘Stay close. Don’t fall behind. On second thoughts,
hold my hand. We must be very quick about this.’
Before Chandana could reply, Aditi grabbed her by the wrist
and plunged right into a crowd gathered around a roadside tea-seller,
pulling through the congregation to somehow emerge at the head of
a queue at a bus stop. Oblivious to the abuses shouted at them for
cutting the line, Aditi boarded the bus that drew up, Chandana still
with her. Braving another round of expletives, Aditi moved from the
front of the bus to the back and, as it began drawing away from the
bus stop, got back down onto the street.
‘Keep going,’ Aditi shouted, as though Chandana had any choice
but to follow as she cut sideways through a stinky alley that seemed to
serve as an unofficial toilet, to emerge onto a parallel main road. There,
she elbowed her way again to the head of yet another queue at another
bus stop, boarding a bus that was headed in the opposite direction.
Their destination was hardly two stops away, and before
Chandana could ask any questions, Aditi had her off the transport.

They found Prithvi lounging on the stairs leading up to Jehangir Art

Gallery, his obviousness a disguise in itself as passers-by took him
for a tasteless, rich collector waiting for the gallery to open, or else,
for some lady art aficionado to impress. As soon as he saw Aditi and
Chandana, he picked himself up from his pretended indolence and
began leading the way without a word. The trio headed, as Prithvi
had been instructed to by Bhima, for the rear gate of the museum, a
small, one-person door set into the larger fencing that went around
the entire compound. The solitary guard on duty gave them a curious
look, but saluted and let them through nevertheless.
Prithvi, Aditi and Chandana made it without incident to the main
entrance to the museum building, where they found Bhima waiting.
‘He said you were dead. That all three of you had died,’ Bhima
blurted out on seeing Chandana.
Chandana responded by flashing Prithvi a confused glance.
‘I’ll explain in a bit,’ Prithvi assured her, even as he gestured to
Bhima to lead the way.
Bhima tried to make up for his error by saying, ‘Why don’t you
two ladies head downstairs to the library section. We’ll be with you
in a minute.’
 Aditi got the hint and began moving towards the indicated
staircase. Chandana hesitated, then followed.
Bhima waited till they had gone ahead, then turned back to
Prithvi. ‘She doesn’t know, does she?’
‘No.’ Prithvi shook his head. ‘She has no clue. She’s been
asking me over and over again about her parents, and I don’t know
what to say.’ Grabbing Bhima by his arm, he added, ‘Please. I really
need your help. She is in a whole lot of trouble, and she doesn’t
even know it. The Extremists have been training her to kill, they
unleashed her on those gangsters in Powai. But something tells me
there is more to it than making her a foot soldier. Her identity
is political mileage and you know it, which also means that she
is more than just another rogue element as far as the Council is
concerned. They will do anything and everything to kill her and
end this whole thing. She’s screwed either way, Bhima. She has no
one but us.’
Bhima pointedly stared at Prithvi’s grip on his arm till the other
let go. Then he took a moment to think before saying, ‘Tell me the
whole truth, Prithvi. I will not help you for anything less.’
‘All right,’ Prithvi agreed and proceeded to narrate all that had
happened, from when he had entered the dance bar at Chembur
right up to when they broke through the police barricade.
Bhima’s eyes narrowed. ‘Hired guns, the police nexus ... it
doesn’t sound like the work of the Extremists. I’m not saying this
because I mean to defend them.’
‘Bhima, don’t start. . .’
‘You can only pretend to be above all this for so long, Prithvi.
And twelve years is long enough. It’s not Extremists who are after
Chandana; I say this not because they are not capable of such
intentions, but because there is not much of an Extremist faction
left any more, and those the Council identifies as such are merely
inconvenient moderates and other niggling troublemakers. Thanks
to the Prophecy, the Council has information about every Saimha at
their fingertips.’
 Prithvi pursed his lips in a bid to stop himself from arguing.
Then he said, ‘All right. We don’t have time for this. So why don’t
you just tell me who you think is behind all this, and we can then get
Chandana safely into the tunnel.’
Bhima, however, relied on years of friendship to say, ‘Shut up
and listen. There has been talk lately that crimes are being pinned
on the Extremists, trying to make them seem more dangerous and
militant than we ... I mean they . . . truly are. Once everyone starts
to panic, it would be the perfect time to say that things had gotten
out of hand and take strong measures.’
‘So you’re saying that there is a pureblood conspiracy? That the
Council is trying to start a purge?’
‘Someone is.’
‘Don’t be silly. This is the height of paranoia, Bhima.’ Prithvi
began walking towards the staircase they had sent Aditi and Chandana
down.
It was Bhima’s turn to grasp Prithvi’s arm. He stared hard at
him, though this time his eyes held regret, not anger. ‘When this
is over, you and I need to have a long talk. Whatever it was that
happened back then, Prithvi, you are still the same individual I once
knew. Don’t shut me out again, old friend.’
Prithvi nodded.
The two friends proceeded downstairs to where Aditi and
Chandana were waiting for them.
Bhima led the group through a series of passageways until they
reached a locked door at the far corner of a damp corridor. He
opened the door to reveal a rickety metal staircase that led down
into a seemingly forgotten basement library. He then walked past
endless stacks of dusty, yellowing books and files and through an
unexpectedly new-looking steel door into a storeroom filled with
more dust-covered papers and books. ‘Close the door,’ he ordered
Prithvi, then went over to where a huge metal archive cabinet, the
kind used in the museum to preserve important artefacts, was kept
in a corner.
 ‘Looks like it’s cabinet moving day,’ Prithvi said, with a glance
at Aditi. He pushed aside the heavy cabinet to reveal a rusted grate
set into the wall. The grate was bolted in but gave way with a
single tug to offer entrance to a small maintenance room. Here,
another grate was set into the floor, this one with an old-fashioned
wheel locking mechanism. Bhima turned the wheel, opening the
grate to reveal a metal ladder set into the concrete. Then he spun
the wheel in the other direction, forcing it beyond its limits till a
loud snap could be heard. ‘Right. I broke the mechanism, so once
we close this behind us, it will take a while to open it. In case we
are followed.’
Bhima Rao, you should’ve been a CBI officer,’ Prithvi said,
chuckling.
Bhima ignored the jibe and stepped into the narrow chute
revealed by the grate. ‘Exactly fifteen rungs,’ he instructed as he
lowered himself down. ‘Count them as you go down. You’ll have
to jump off at the end of it. Don’t worry, it’s hardly a six-foot
drop.’
Prithvi responded with a shake of his head and muttered
something about having spoken too soon.
Chandana went down the ladder next, followed by Aditi, who
sent up a loud curse as she scraped her limbs against the rough stone
of the chute. Dropping ofF the ladder, Aditi pulled out her mobile
phone and switched on its torch.
The beam came on to show a large shaft with an arched ceiling,
the size of an old railway tunnel. While the roof and higher levels
of the tunnel had been hollowed out from rock, the lower sections,
including the many pillars and archways, were built with red brick
in a distinctly colonial style. From where they stood, the tunnel
branched off in multiple directions in a perfectly symmetrical
arrangement.
‘Where are we?’ Aditi asked, once Prithvi and Bhima had joined
them. ‘I mean, I know we’re under the museum, but where do each
of these passages lead to?
 Prithvi pointed, ‘This way goes north, towards Flora Fountain
and beyond, up to St George’s Hospital. The other direction takes
you all the way to Nariman Point. Many of these other branches
lead to storerooms, where ammunition and other supplies were
kept. There was an infirmary down here too as well as some dead­
end traps, which are now basically sewers that you don’t want to
end up in.’
He did not add that the Saimhas had converted the entire
network of tunnels to their use even before colonial times, and it was
only in the last couple of hundred years that the tunnels had fallen
out of use. Still, access was kept open in case of emergencies, but
none dared say out loud what such an emergency might be. Most
had all but forgotten about the tunnels, though every now and then
a young Saimha or two would try and get into the place on a dare,
without success. The only ones who came here, as far as he knew,
were Enforcers, the resultant bodies either doused with kerosene and
irreverently burnt or dumped into one of the connecting sewers, to
wash up days later on the beach, decayed beyond identification or
genetic determination.
Never before had Prithvi felt so glad to not work in Mumbai.
Perhaps he owed Dev for assigning him to the more unambiguous
though undoubtedly more dangerous missions, after all.
‘Where’s Chandana?’ It was Bhima who observed that their
party was incomplete.
‘Where did she go off to?’ Aditi said, adding something under
her breath about teenagers these days watching too much TV. Prithvi
and Bhima exchanged smiles in the dark at that—Aditi had no clue
that none of them needed the meagre light from her phone to see in
the tunnel.
‘I’ll go look,’ Aditi said, making for the nearest archway. ‘You
guys wait here; don’t flounder around blindly.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Prithvi replied, his smirk hidden in the dimness.
Bhima waited till Aditi had disappeared down the passageway to
their left before saying, ‘What about her?’
 ‘What about her?’ Prithvi replied.
‘Well, you’ll have to tell her something, at some point of time,
won’t you? Unless...’ Bhima’s face took on an expression of distaste. >
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Bhima. First things
first. We—’
It hit Prithvi’s instinct even before a scream rang out, then was ■
abruptly cut off. ‘Shit!’ he cried out and sprinted into the passage
Aditi had gone through. A confused Bhima, his reaction dulled by
mundane human life, followed.
It was hardly a few seconds, but Prithvi felt as though he had
been running for many minutes before he heard a cry again, this time
much closer. He put on a burst of speed, rounding a sharp turn in
the passage to come to a multi-pillared junction similar to the one
under the museum, but smaller. He did not slow down even as he
took in the scene before him, lit eerily by the jagged glow of a broken
mobile phone.
A few feet away, Aditi huddled against the wall, her fear now
beyond screams. The smell of already-clotting blood from the scrape
on her arm reached Prithvi’s nose, dismissing the need to ask her
what had happened. But before Prithvi could say anything else or
offer words of reassurance, a low moan boomed through the tunnel.
It was the most chilling sound that any of them had ever heard.
And it came from Chandana.
 [2]

chandana stood with her back to a wall, her arms spread wide,
her fingers clutching at the brick as though she were trying to keep
from being pulled forward into some invisible vortex. Sweat soaked
through her T-shirt, and her hair clung to her face in clumps.
Throwing her head back, she let out a shriek that turned halfway
into a wretched sound that was part howl, part roar. Already, her
pupils had elongated, cat-like—a sign that the lioness was fully
awake. It would take less than a minute for her body to transform
in response. Once her metamorphosis was complete, none of them
stood a chance.
Prithvi went directly to her and wrapped his fingers around her
neck. There was no room for hesitation; he had executed cubs much
younger than Chandana, his actions freed from guilt by the knowledge
of what he was, of what they would become if he did not do his job.
Now more than ever, the killing seemed an act of mercy. She did not
deserve to live this way. No one did. He pressed down on her throat.
Chandana screamed, the sound fading abruptly as she began to
choke. Tightening his grip, Prithvi raised her up against the wall,
his hand a veritable noose as he throttled her. Chandana began to
flail and struggle and then, as her lioness fought to live, kicked and
scratched at Prithvi. Her fingers raked his cheek, drawing blood.
Prithvi’s grip remained firm as he waited. In a few seconds,
Chandana would lose consciousness. Her jugular pulse, which now
beat frantically against his palm, would slow down and weaken
before eventually coming to a stop. They would die one by one; first
the lioness, then the human. It was the only way. It was what he was
meant to do, what he ought to do. Blood had its own song.
But the dance is ours. There is a way ...
Prithvi gagged as the realization struck him, along with all that
it meant. He had not dared think of it, leave alone try it, in all the
years since he had become an Enforcer. He had not had the courage ,
to reach out for something he had since decided he could never touch
again. But right then, he had no other choice.
Reaching into himself, Prithvi opened a window that had long
been closed. Barely a crack, still smell and sound and sensation hit
him in an unbearable assault. The jarring shrieks of human speech
and the blare of car horns and backfiring engines and a million other
sounds of odious human life on the tarmac overhead bored into
leonine ears, rendering him incapable of speech or action.
Prithvi tried to remind himself that once, this had been easy, it
had been the obvious way. Yet to draw on the Saimha he no longer
dared to be was to bring up a past he had no strength to face.
She’s going to needyou.
The memory of Noor’s voice hit him as a throbbing ache that led
him spiralling deeper and deeper into darkness till, at last, he could
see the only thing that could save him: a flickering sliver of gold.
He reached out for the sliver And it exploded in his palm, filling his
world with brilliance and fire. Slowly, he let the sensation recede,
willing his human senses again to the fore.
Prithvi made a decision he had known to be inevitable from that
moment, not so long ago, beside the train tracks. He let go.
Chandana hit the ground standing, then doubled over, coughing
violently as air rushed into her lungs. But it was the lioness who
flooded her, filled her and healed her, returning her to her full
strength even as another side made her say, ‘Finish it, Prithvi. I don’t
deserve to live. I killed those men, and I’ll kill you all too, if you leave
me alive. I’m a demon, Prithvi. An animal. Please . . . ARRRRGH!’
 Her words gave way to a piercing screech. The huntress was
finishing what she had started. Chandana’s body elongated, and she
collapsed to her knees, clutching at her abdomen as though she had
an excruciating stomachache.
Prithvi glanced at Aditi. ‘Go. Run for the nearest exit.’
Whether paralysed by fear or awe, neither Aditi nor Bhima
moved.
Prithvi knelt in front of the contorted Chandana. As Aditi and
Bhima watched, he caught her face in both his hands and forced
her to look up. Aditi nearly screamed again at the scene, while
Bhima, who knew theoretically what to expect, recoiled despite
himself.
Chandana’s pupils had taken on a reddish glow, not just
photoluminescent as in a red-eye-marred photograph, but a deep,
burning brightness like embers of coal. As they watched, her pupils
grew in size, the form of her eyes following suit, but the almond-
shaped outline added to her beauty even as it terrified to the core.
‘Prithvi,’ she gasped, but her voice was no longer a single voice, it
was a symphony of words and the gentle rumbling of waves against a
diff, the hollow sound in an empty room. ‘Prithvi.. .’ she called out
again, the name slurring against thickening tongue and razor-sharp
teeth, ivory-coloured shards of death.
‘Look at me,’ Prithvi commanded, gently.
Chandana tried to comply, but her will now had a different
mind. With a growl, she made to shake off Prithvi’s hands.
‘Look at me!’ Prithvi shouted, refusing to let go. Even as he said
the words he reached out with another voice, the voice he had not
used in years. Look at me, lioness.
Prithvi was flung back as Chandana gave a mighty shake and
tried to come onto all fours. Her bones shifted, but her body retained
its outward appearance as one force tried to rearrange things on the
inside while another resisted.
A hideous howl, rising to fill the tunnel. Aditi slapped her hands
over her ears.
 Prithvi scrambled to his feet and approached Chandana again,
this time coming to his knees a few feet away. Chandana growled in
challenge, the sound morphing into a twisted cry of protest.
‘It’s all right, Chandana. It’s all right to be the beast. Trust
yourself. It’s all right.’
Chandana reacted with a blood-curdling roar and a swipe of her
hand, as though it were a paw. Even in humanoid form, her strength
was now enough to send Prithvi flying back.
Her bones shifted again, and she brought her hand back to the
ground as her entire body arched, her spine turning from that of an
erect biped to one of an animal that walked on all fours. Still, the
conflict within Chandana was apparent as her eyes flashed brown,
the warm, sparkling brown of a young girl, then turned again to
hellish red.
Prithvi began speaking, his voice filled with the pain of memory,
‘You asked me if I knew your parents. Yes, I did. Your mother was the
best person I’d ever met. She saw that the beast was not evil. She saw
that it is our choices that make us good or bad, and not whether you
are lion or human. And you’ve already made your choice, Chandana.
You made it when you didn’t attack me or Aditi, in that warehouse.’
‘Prithvi!’ Bhima and Aditi shouted at once, calling him to move
back, though they both knew it would not make a difference, not any
more. There was nowhere to run.
Ignoring them, Prithvi went on, ‘I loved your mother, loved her
with every fibre of my being. And I lost her to this dark void between >
human and beast. I won’t lose you to it too.’
But Chandana no longer heard. A lightning-crack scream and a
shudder that shook the very earth as feral instinct took over all that
was left of human sense. The transformation was complete. The girl
was gone.
 [3]

A splendid young lioness, her hide the colour of silver set alight by
the rising sun. She was tall; even on all fours, she towered over the
kneeling Prithvi, her flicking tail the only movement in her powerful,
lithe body. The lioness looked around, master of all she surveyed.
Nostrils widened; she smelt her prey. Three quarries, all silent
and spellbound. Yet the smell of fear came only from the two that
were further away. Swinging around with an irritated snarl, she took
in the diminutive figure nearest to her. A step, and she was close
enough to sniff her victim, to run her thick tongue over hair and
skin. Her hot breath mingled with his smell, wait, what was that
smell? The distant scent of a lion watching from afar, but it came
from this puny creature before her? It did not matter. The sound of
living blood as it pumped through the scrawny thing’s veins was far
too much intoxication to ignore.
Hunger stirred, not in her belly but in her mind, the lust for
blood, for the power it could give. Steely claws protracted as she
thought of what she could do, of blood, its taste and warmth and the
feeling it gave her as it slid down her throat and into her stomach,
seeping into her veins to become one with her own, filling her with
light and red splendour, each droplet feeding her magnificence. She
gave an anticipatory roar, ready to sink her teeth into the creature’s
neck, to cut through the jugular to release life into her mouth. The
sound was harsh in her ears, grating and alien.
 She paused. Within her, a shadow stood on two feet, the spirit,
or whatever it was of the rational human in her. It spoke, it reasoned,
it convinced with logic.
It told her to kill, promising her pleasure and the glory of might,
the might of a victor, no, a predator, a creature that could rule the
new world, a thing that thrived on death and blood.
But there was another, a voiceless being who spoke without
speech, saying things that could be said only with the sense of instinct.
It is not being human or beast that makes us monsters, Chandana.
It is being neither. Surrender to the other. Own it.
She roared again, trying to push the voice out of her head. But
a part of her wanted it to stay. She raked her claws against the stone,
fighting the urge to strike, to kill and so silence this voiceless speaker.
Trust the beast.
Searching? Yearning? Flesh. Meat. The things that could make
her forget what she could not remember in the first place: who she
was.
Who was she?
You are Saimha. You are the daughter of my soul.
The words sent a ripple through the world as she saw it. Things
were the same as they had been, but also not the same. The human
shadow within her dropped to its knees, the black mists shifting as her
bones had. Thought moved, faded away to make space for knowing,
for being. Smell and sight and taste were no longer sensations but
became ideas, as though there was no difference between perceiver
and perception. She was no longer she, but she was complete and
she was all there is, a solid illusion that was neither myth nor reality.
She saw two visions, two sets of eyes viewing the same events:
blood and gore and fire, endless fire; no, not endless, there had been
sky before that and laughter and a strong hand wrapped around her
tiny, chubby fingers. She remembered burying her face against a
broad chest, the little girl giggling at the feel of buttons and cotton
while the cub breathed deep of a scent that she had as yet no name for;
a scent of kinship, of love and protection and truth. In the distance,
there had been others, part of her world, yet not; there had been a
woman with a sweet voice and kind eyes that she now knew was the
memory of the beginning, her beginning, the forgotten knowledge
of birth and being.
She let out a joyous rumble that held more meaning than any
words she had or ever could have spoken. Then she retracted her
claws, settled down on her haunches, dropped her head onto her
forepaws and watched the world go by with wide cub eyes. Next to
her, the creature sighed loudly and flopped over sideways to lie on
the ground. She gave him a tentative lick, making sure that he was
still alive, before turning back to watch the other two things before
her with renewed curiosity.
The being next to her moved closer; his smell and presence unusual
but also vaguely familiar, like the touch of fathers and forefathers and
of generations to come. She inhaled deeply, recognizing the scent
from her memories, remembering what it had felt like to giggle.
Tired, sleepy and happy, Chandana closed her eyes and fell into the
half-awake slumber of a content lioness, but not before she realized
that she had a name, the thing next to her had a name, and there
were words; words that struggled to mean what was so easily felt and
how cumbersome was that, but also delightful, and this was going to
be very, very interesting.
Prithvi.
I’m right here.
Chandana did not know where the next words came from; all
she had were sensations but no images.
Ammi would be so mad at me.
No, she wouldn’t be. She’d understand. She always did.
Are you sure?
Yes.
Don’t leave me alone, Prithvi. Please don’t leave me alone.
A voice laughed inside her head before saying, No, I won’t. But
the next time you decide you need an outing, lioness, let’s go for a long,
moonlit run instead.
Willyou come with me!
Ofcourse I will. Try and keep up, ifyou can.
Shut up, Prithvi. I love you.
I love you too, my daughter.
 [4]

prithvi let a humanoid Chandana, curled up into a tight ball, sleep

with her head on his lap. The transformation, he knew, would have
been extremely tiring and he wanted her to have her strength back
for what lay ahead. He too required the time to sort things out in his
head.
For too long, he had let himself live with a singular focus, staying
\ wrapped up in his little universe of guilt and violence. So wrapped
up, in fact, that it had taken him a while to recognize the feeling that
had taken form inside him—purpose. In less than twenty-four hours,
his self-absorbed life had been turned upside down and there now
was more to it than simply enduring it for as long as he lived. It gave
him much clarity on what had to be done next.
As for what lay further ahead, beyond the immediate dangers
they faced, Prithvi tried not to think too hard about it. Whatever
came, he resolved, he would protect Chandana at all costs. He had
let her down once when she had been a cub. It would not happen
again.
Aditi and Bhima, who had sat silently at a distance all the while,
walked over to join them. Aware that there was little that could be
said about all that had just happened, Prithvi flashed them a tentative
smile. In response, Aditi reached out to squeeze his hand. Bhima
gave him an encouraging nod.
 Prithvi cleared his throat and said, ‘I guess I owe you an
explanation, ACP Kashyap. I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything before,
but you wouldn’t have believed me anyway.’
‘I’m not sure I still believe you ... or any of this,’ Aditi replied,
visibly torn between what she had seen for herself and what her mind
told her could not be true. ‘What is she? And you . . . who are you?
You’re not CBI, for sure.’
Prithvi said, ‘No, I’m not CBI. And she is Saimha.’
‘Saimha? Wow! There actually is a name for this?’
‘It’s Sanskrit. Means “of a lion” or “lion-like”.’
‘Oh. Like simha?’
‘Yes. Saimhas have been around for ages, Aditi,’ Prithvi began to
explain. ‘Millennia even. You know the story of Vishnu taking the
Narasimha avatar? That is supposed to be the origin of the Saimhas.
Werelions, if you prefer the English term. Or therianthropes. But
Saimhas are a sort of distant cousin of the human race. Homo
pantheris leo.’
‘That’s bullshit!’
Bhima intervened, ‘Is it? You know how Homo sapiens wasn’t
the only species of its kind, right? You had the Neanderthals and
Denisovans and the Homo heidelbergensis. That is, till Homo
sapiens overran them all. Well, all except the pantheris leos, I guess.’
As Aditi shifted her incredulous gaze to Bhima, Prithvi made the
introductions: ‘ACP Kashyap! meet Dr Bhima Rao, PhD.’
Aditi nodded in acknowledgement. ‘No offence, doctor. I know
you guys probably saved my life. But it’s going to take more than
your PhD to make me believe in this, no matter what it is that I have
been witness to.’
‘Do you believe that Manu was the first of humans?’ Prithvi
asked. ‘That Brahma is the creator and Vishnu the preserver, Shiva
the destroyer? You certainly don’t consider these tales the one truth
of all things, but you’re comfortable with the idea that such stories
exist, that they speak of human origin in ways that you might not
consider very modern or scientific in present terms. It works the
same way, Aditi. Everything has a story. The story of humans seems
normal, if not logical, to you, because you already know that humans
exist, it is an indisputable fact. But you’ve now been presented with
a new fact. Just because you did not know this fact all this while
doesn’t mean it is untrue.’
He went on, ‘If you’re looking for a more detailed explanation, a
scientific explanation, all I can tell you is that there must be one. For
now, neither I nor anyone I know has it, but that doesn’t make the
truth of who Chandana is unreal. Saimhas exist. That is a fact. One
that science may or may not be able to fully explain, but it is still a
feet. That’s all.’
Aditi opened and shut her mouth, unwilling to take his
statements at face value, but also at a loss for words of her own. She
turned her discomfort into suspicion. ‘And you are an expert on all
this, because . . .’
Tm an Enforcer.’
‘What is that?’
‘My job is to track down Extremists—werelions who’ve broken
the Code of Secrecy. It is absolutely forbidden for therianthropes
to transform. Youngsters are taught to control their leonine side, to
silence it and never let it awaken. Only when they are capable of
doing that are they deemed adults. They take an oath of allegiance to
never transform in their entire lives, and to live and die as humans,
not once rousing the lion within. For the few that break the law—
well, that’s why I am what I am.’
Aditi did not miss the implications. ‘You were sent to kill
Chandana, weren’t you, Prithvi?’
‘Yes,’ Prithvi admitted, looking down at the sleeping Chandana.
‘And why didn’t you?’
‘I... I couldn’t do it, once I realized who she was.’
‘But can it. . . she ... be killed? Nothing happened when those
gangsters shot at her. I mean, when she was . . .’
 ... in lion form,’ Prithvi completed. ‘Yes, Saimha physiology j
makes it far more difficult to kill one in lion form, particularly using ?
human means and weapons.’
‘And in human form?’
‘Completely mortal. Else I wouldn’t have a job to do, would I?
Of course, they heal faster and can take more pain.’
Aditi’s natural scepticism reared its head. ‘But their physiology >
in human form should be like any other normal human’s, shouldn’t
it? How then . . .?’
‘Saimhas are, at the end of the day, of the same genus as human
beings. The human-like side of their genes counts too. That’s why our
life spans are as long as that of human beings, though lions typically
have much shorter lives. But the Saimha gene causes some mutations
in our system that helps blood clot fester and sends more adrenaline
through the body, making us more resilient to pain. Over time, a lot
of it has been encoded into our human genes, if I can use that phrase.’
‘Our life spans.’
‘Sorry?’
Aditi said, ‘You said “our life spans”.’
Prithvi asked, Should I have waited for you to guess? You were
thirty seconds away from figuring it out anyway.’
‘More like fifteen,’ Aditi said, without smiling. ‘And you, Dr
Bhima Rao?’
Bhima did not answer, but gave her a telling glance.
‘Right,’ Aditi let her breath out in a huff. ‘So is anyone around
here human?’
‘Those thugs who were after us are. At least, most of them. The
sniper, he’s another Enforcer.’
‘Like you.’
‘Like me.’
‘So you have your own guy shooting at you?’
‘Yes. Well, he’s supposed to be on my side, but I think he’s
working for someone else. Besides, I’m not sure my own side know
that I’m still on their side, if you know what I mean.’
 ‘And you have a bunch of other bad guys after you?’
‘Yes. Look, Aditi, I know it’s tough to believe, but—’
‘Hey, I’m sitting here believing that werelions exist and that
I’m having a conversation with three of them right now, but you
think I’m going to have trouble dealing with the fact that there is a
complicated explanation for why you have people out to kill you?’
‘Point well made,’ Prithvi conceded and fell silent.
Then Aditi asked, ‘What do we do now?’
Prithvi managed a wry grin at that. ‘Going to “help” me again,
officer?’
Aditi rolled her eyes in response. ‘Well?’
Prithvi took another look at the sleeping Chandana, gently
brushing her hair off her face. He said, ‘There’s only so long I
can hide her or keep her on the run. In fact, the longer I try, the
more trouble I get her into. Her best chance is to appear before
the Council. She needs to tell them her story, as much of it as she
can, and she needs someone influential enough to make sure they
at least give her an impartial hearing. Then, the Council can set
things right with the police and figure out how to deal with the rest
of this mess.’
‘Dr Acharya . . .’ Bhima began.
Prithyi shook his head. ‘Chandana told me something earlier,
about a painting she saw in the place where she was kept and trained.
I’ve seen that painting before, in Dr Acharya’s study. Of course, I
didn’t think he could be behind all this, till Neel turned up at Aditi’s
place at the same time as those hired goons. And given the fact that
he lied to us all about Chandana being dead, I’m in no mood to trust
Dr Acharya. My plan, when I brought her here, was to use the tunnel
to get Chandana safely to Nariman Point.’
‘Dev Narayan,’ Bhima said. His tone indicated that he did not
quite approve.
‘I don’t like him any more than you do, Bhima. But he has been
fair to me all these years, if not kind. And right now, that fairness
seems to hold out more hope for Chandana than any other tie.’
 Aditi said, ‘Nariman Point? That place has more CCTV and
security than anywhere else in the city. It’s not going to be easy to
move around there unnoticed.’
‘Which is why we have to give the police and our pursuers a
distraction.’ Prithvi appeared to have more to say, but just then
Chandana stirred, waking up from her blank sleep. Her eyes began
searching around as soon as they opened.
‘It’s okay, I’m here.’ Prithvi helped her up to a sitting position
even as his gaze assured her that their conversation had been real, and
that he had meant every word and sentiment. At last she nodded,
understanding.
Chandana looked from Prithvi to Aditi. ‘I’m sorry,’ she croaked,
‘I’m so sorry . . .’
‘I’m sorry too, Chandana,’ Aditi said. ‘But hey, which woman
doesn’t turn into a furry, pissed-off animal once a month.’
The attempt at humour had its intended effect as Chandana
chuckled and unfurled herself. She got to her feet, a little unsteady at
first, but then was soon perfectly all right and perfectly unconcerned
about her nakedness.
Aditi said, ‘Should we go?’
Yes,’ Prithvi replied. He then stood up, as did Aditi, and turned
to address Chandana, ‘Right. Here’s what you need to do: follow the
tunnel in this direction all the way to a dead end. You’ll have to jump
up to grab a ladder like the one we came down through and climb it.
At the top, you will find a heavy trapdoor—similar to a sewer cover.
There should be a wheel to open it. It might take some elbow grease,
but you can get it open.’
Bhima added, ‘Once you get through the trapdoor, you’ll find
yourself in a janitor’s closet. Quite the anticlimax.’
‘Anticlimax or not, that’s your way out, Chandana. Get out of
the building and go to Rex Data Analytics, on the forty-second floor
of the Bankers’ Federation building, which should hardly be a two-
minute walk from the exit.’
‘Wait. Aren’t you guys coming with me?’ Chandana asked.
 ‘No, you’re going to have to do this on your own.’
‘What? No! Prithvi, you promised that you wouldn’t leave me
alone.’
‘Sssh. It’s only for a short while. I’ll find you there, I promise.
Now, listen carefully. Once you get to Rex Data, give them my name
and ask for Dev Narayan. Dev’s staff have standing instructions that
it is a priority reference, so they’ll bring you to him, wherever he
might be. You’ll be safe. Tell him what happened. Everything. Tell
him I said you were .to appear before the Council.’
Chandana shrank at the mention of the Council, though she had
no idea who or what they were. ‘Are you sure, Prithvi? After what I’ve
done? I . . .’ She hesitated, then found the courage to say the words,
Tm scared.’
Prithvi cupped Chandana’s face in his hands. ‘Listen to me,’ he
said. ‘Before this is over, there are many things you will find out
about your mother, about your father . . . about me. I have done
some things in life that I am not proud of. Things as bad as what you
think you’ve done; no, worse than what you think you’ve done . . .’
His voice broke, and he forced a cough to cover it up. ‘And well,
here I am. Remember that for me, will you? Speak fearlessly before
the Council, Chandana. Trust in goodness. It’s what your mother
would do.’
Chandana nodded. Clearly, she wanted to say much but could
say nothing at all.
‘And please, do exactly as you’ve been told to. Don’t act like one
of those teenage kids in every American TV series.’
‘Huh?’ ’
‘Disobey explicit instructions because you think you’re the only
smart one in the whole world and run off to start World War 3 or
something.’
Chandana grinned and nodded again.
‘Good. Now go.’
‘Umm, before that, we have a small problem,’ Aditi said.
‘Concerned for my modesty?’ Chandana asked, looking down at
her naked self.
 Actually, concerned that you’d draw too much attention if you
turned up in the middle of Nariman Point wearing nothing.’
Chandana looked at the three, evaluating what permutation of
borrowed clothing would work best, but Bhima was already taking
off his khadi kurta, revealing that he wore a cotton vest underneath it.
‘Here,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘It should be long enough to
pass for a dress of sorts, for a few minutes at least. People will think
you’re weird at worst, fashion-forward at best, but it’s less noticeable
than wearing nothing.’
‘Tie this around your waist.’ Aditi undid her belt and passed it to
Chandana. ‘And take these too.’ She kicked off her shoes.
‘You?’ Chandana asked.
‘My socks are thick enough. And I don’t plan to trot through
the city anyway.’
Chandana pulled on the borrowed items, mumbling about
packing spares.
‘You look good,’ Prithvi joked. ‘Now go. Take care.’
Chandana took a few steps forward then stopped. Turning back,
she threw herself at Prithvi, her arms going around his wide frame
in a crushing hug. Prithvi hesitated, then held her close, patting her
head as it rested against his chest.
‘You take care too, Prithvi,’ Chandana said. She then pulled
herself away from him and without looking at any of them, set off
down the tunnel before her at .a run.
Bhima waited till she had disappeared from view before saying,
‘All right then, Prithvi. So how do you want to do this?’
Prithvi did not reply, instead staring into the darkness that
Chandana had disappeared into. In a day or two, he hoped, Chandana
would return to the light. She was young, young enough to forget
the horrors she had seen, though it would take time. Of course, there
would be much more heartbreak for her before that could happen.
She would find out that Dr Acharya—the very individual who was
after her—had more to do with her than she knew. She would also
find out how her mother had died. And of course, she would find
out about him. Who knew, perhaps she would remember that she
had known him when she had been an infant, she would remember
the stories that he had told her and the times he had rocked her to
sleep in his arms.
Prithvi let the simple memory fuel his focus. He said,
determined, ‘We need to keep everyone occupied long enough for
Chandana to get to Dev. I figure the best and simplest way to do
that is—’
‘—to get arrested,’ Aditi completed. ‘It will keep those hired
mercenaries or whatever they are out of the equation but still make
whoever is behind this hold off for a while. By the time you’re
processed and the interrogation starts, Chandana should be safe with
this friend of yours. Hopefully, you guys can take a bit of roughing
up in police custody, before your Council manages to get you out.
Of course, if the Council doesn’t buy Chandana’s story, then we’re
all screwed anyway.’
‘ACP Kashyap, you’re reading my mind,’ Prithvi joked.
‘But we can’t simply walk into a police station and surrender. It’s
got to be more than that.’
‘Agreed again. And I have just the idea for that. We’re going to
get someone to turn us in.’
Bhima asked, ‘What if they don’t arrest us? I mean, what if the
police shoot us down at sight, or stage an encounter?’
‘Bhima Rao, you’ve been watching way too many Telugu
movies. Now get moving. I’m hungry. I want to finish this and head
to Ayub’s Restaurant. It’s been years since I had their biryani. Aditi,
can we ask them to get some for us in the holding cell? You can swing
that, no?’
Bhima gave Prithvi an inscrutable look and began walking in the
other direction from the one they had sent Chandana in. Prithvi and
Aditi came close behind him.
Prithvi did not doubt that what Bhima feared was, in fact, the
more probable outcome of their plan. It was quite likely they would
be killed as soon as they showed themselves—either by the police or
by Dr Acharya’s goons. He only hoped that Aditi would not be hurt.
Once again, he regretted having dragged her into this whole mess.
Aditi, on the other hand, either did not anticipate a grim ending
or else was doing her best to not show anxiety. ‘When this is over,’
she lightly began, as she walked next to him, ‘I want to hear the
whole story.’
‘What story?’
‘Arre, your love story. You and Chandana’s mom. Sounds like a
Bollywood love story. But I warn you: you’ll have to buy me a drink,
many drinks if you plan on getting all sentimental and soppy.’
Prithvi recognized that she was trying to make him, and possibly
herself, feel better. He wanted to tell her right then that he knew
where this was going for him, how it would end, that he was all right
with it, and had he even the slimmest chance of staying alive to see
the end of the day, he would love to sit down with her over a beer
and laugh about all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
It was too many words for one who was not coming back from
what lay ahead. He said, ‘You have a deal. Now, let’s go shake the
city up a bit, shall we?’
 [5]

prithvi stood at the door to Dr Acharya’s apartment, admitting

to himself that he had more than one reason for being there. True,
there was nothing more he wanted than to give Chandana enough
time to get to safety, but that was not all. There were questions
he had to ask, after all these years. And one way or another, he
wanted answers. He rang the bell and waited, Bhima and Aditi
with him.
Dr Acharya opened the door. His first reaction was to recoil,
but he recovered. ‘Prithvi! Bhima! I’m so glad you’re all right,
I’ve been hearing all sorts of things. Come in, come in. You too,
Miss . . .?’
Aditi did not reply, waiting for Prithvi to speak instead. He did
not and stood as he was, letting the tension build.
‘Prithvi?’ Dr Acharya repeated. Moving aside, he opened the
door fully and waited.
Prithvi walked past Dr Acharya into the apartment. Bhima and
Aditi followed. Finally, they all stood in the middle of Dr Acharya’s
living room.
Again, Dr Acharya tried to initiate conversation. ‘Umm . . .
why don’t you sit? There is so much we have to talk about. But
first, can I get you all anything? Water? Coffee?’ Then, sighing
loudly at his guests’ unresponsiveness, Dr Acharya went into the
kitchen. After a few minutes, he came out carrying a tray with three
glasses of water as well as a plate of biscuits. He set the tray down
on the coffee table.
The attempt at hospitality seemed to amuse Prithvi. He sat
down and irreverently placed his feet on the coffee table, stretching
his long legs out. ‘You’re right, sir. We have so much to talk about.
You should sit, too.’
Dr Acharya lowered himself into an armchair. ‘What is going
on, Prithvi? And Bhima, how are you involved in all this?’
‘If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll ask the questions.’
Dr Acharya stiffened in his chair, more insulted than afraid.
‘What do you want to know, Prithvi?’ he asked.
Prithvi chose his words with intent. He said, ‘That night, the last
time I was here, you told me that Rahul had said—’
‘Yes,’ Dr Acharya interrupted, as reluctant to make the statement
out loud as Prithvi was. ‘He did tell me what he thought. . . you had
done.’
‘You believed him.’
It could have been the sudden softness in Prithvi’s voice or the
query itself, but Dr Acharya appeared taken aback. ‘He was very
sure.’
‘He was wrong. It wasn’t true, Dr Acharya. What he said wasn’t
true at all.’
‘Let it go. I’ve told you before. We both lost far too much
that night, and it makes no sense holding it against each other.
I’m sorry for whatever I might have said, Prithvi. Is there any way
we . . .?’
‘I’ve spent years wondering why Rahul would think what he did,
but I couldn’t come up with a single reason; I couldn’t think of a
single thing I had said or done to give him that idea. They were both
my friends.’
Dr Acharya looked from him to the others, then back at him. He
rose from his seat to take another one, closer to Prithvi. He put his
hand on Prithvi’s knee. ‘How did we get to this, Prithvi? You were as
much a son to me as Rahul. How did things come to this?’
 Prithvi did not reply, but instead raised his hand to scratch at
his forehead with his index finger. Taking it as a sign of sorts, Bhima
and Aditi moved away towards the kitchen, leaving Prithvi and
Dr Acharya alone.
At last, Prithvi spoke. ‘When I was young, you once told me that
you would do whatever it took to protect our kind, to protect the
secret of our existence. Do you stand by that?’
‘I do.’
‘Then that explains everything.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I suppose, in a way, I admire you, sir. It takes great courage to
do what you have done.’
Dr Acharya sat back, a hard expression on his face. ‘What is this
about, Prithvi? Are you having second thoughts about your job? You
should have thought about it twelve years ago, before you turned
into a murderer.’
‘We are all murderers, Dr Acharya. One way or another, our
hands are bloody. The only difference is whether we call out our
guilt and shame for what they are, or we bury them deep within our
pretended righteousness and convince ourselves that it is for a greater
good—the good of all Saimhas.’
Dr Acharya flinched at Prithvi’s use of the word, but did not
shirk from responding. ‘And so you decided that you know better
than us all. You decided that your petty little conscience is worth
more than the lives of your fellow therianthropes, than the safety of
our kind.’
‘Spare me the hyperbole.’
‘It’s fact, not hyperbole. It is not I who uses righteousness as an
excuse for doing what I must, but you who use it as an excuse for your
weakness.’ Dr Acharya shook his head and added, ‘You could have told
me you needed a break, or wanted out. Even if you’d just let your quarry
go, we could have called in another Enforcer to finish the job. Instead,
you... you’ve compromised everything in trying to protect this Saimha.’
He spat the word out, leaving no doubt as to the meaning he gave it.
 ‘How do you think this is going to end, Prithvi?’ he continued.
‘You really believe the Council will turn a blind eye to all this? What
on earth has got into you? Why are you doing this?’
Prithvi gave the scholar an appraising look. He said, ‘Let me give
you a deal, sir. I’ll tell you what has got into me, if you answer the
question I asked you before.’
‘Prithvi, I—’
‘Why, sir? If you truly cared for me as a son, then how could you
believe what Rahul said?’
‘Prithvi—’
‘HOW THE FUCK COULD YOU BELIEVE IT!’ Prithvi
swung his feet off the table and banged his hand on the wood. The
shudder knocked one of the glasses off the tray and it shattered
against the floor.
In the kitchen, Aditi instinctively made to return to the room,
but held herself back. Crossing her arms, she turned to look out
the window. She cursed and gestured Bhima over. He joined her at
the window and echoed her curse. They both returned to the living
room.
‘Prithvi. . .’ Bhima interrupted.
Prithvi ignored him and continued to address Dr Acharya. ‘I’m
not here to debate right and wrong or philosophy and spirituality
with you, sir.’
‘Prithvi! Police.’
Prithvi turned slowly to look at Bhima, while Dr Acharya
jumped to his feet, visibly relieved. He said, ‘I don’t know what
games you’re playing, Prithvi, or how you got Bhima involved in
this. But you’ve crossed the line. I tried my best to save you the last
time, but this time . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Hyperbole or not, the
safety and secrecy of our kind are paramount. I’m sorry, but there’s
nothing I can do for you, or for you, Bhima. You should’ve stayed
out of this mess.’
Prithvi got up, flicking an imaginary speck of dust off his jeans.
‘You don’t get it, do you, sir? We came here so that your henchmen
would stop searching for us. We came here expecting you to call the
police. And that is exactly what you did when you went into the
kitchen, didn’t you? And in all this time that you and I have been
exchanging useless chatter, this Saimha that you’ve been after has
gotten to safety. That is all I wanted. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we
shall show ourselves out. Some of Mumbai’s finest are waiting for
us outside. No offence, Aditi,’ he added, glancing at her. He began
moving towards the front door.
‘You don’t stand a chance, Prithvi,’ Dr Acharya called out after
him. ‘Neither does the Extremist. Both you and he are dead.’
‘Wait, did you say “he”?’ the interruption came from the so-far-
silent Aditi.
The implication obvious, Bhima, Prithvi and Aditi exchanged
loaded looks. Aditi continued, ‘The Saimha is a girl. I mean, she is
a . . . well, a she.’
Dr Acharya sat back down, the action an acknowledgement of
what Aditi had just said and much more.
Prithvi merely smiled, a sad, mirthless smile, as he addressed Dr
Acharya, ‘Why did you let me believe she was dead? She was all that
stood between me and darkness. For her, I’d have died a thousand
times over, I’d have killed a thousand times over. But you let me
believe that she was dead.’
Dr Acharya shrank back into the sofa, his fingers clenching the
armrests. ‘Oh my god! No, but it cannot be. The Prophecy . . . no!
Not her. It can’t be. She isn’t. . .’
Prithvi walked back to where a confused Dr Acharya sat.
Kneeling in front of him, he grabbed him by his shoulders. He
said, ‘Tell me, please. What happened that night? What happened
to Tara?’
Dr Acharya could not hold Prithvi’s pleading gaze. He looked
away as he said, ‘That night, after I sent you out of the house, I
realized that Tara was still alive. I didn’t know what to do. What
was I supposed to do? It seemed kinder to lie, to pretend she was
dead and send her away to some unknown place where she could
have a normal life, a life where she was just a little girl and not some
murderer’s offspring.’
‘What!’ Bhima exclaimed. ‘Prithvi. . .’
Prithvi did not turn, nor did he show any expression. His gaze,
half-pleading, half-commanding, remained on Dr Acharya.
Dr Acharya covered Prithvi’s hands with his own. His gnarled
touch was as cool as it had been the day he had laid his hand on a
young Prithvi’s forehead. His eyes filled with tears as he spilt out the
words, ‘You think I hate you. No, I don’t. I’ve always, always loved
you, more than you know. I didn’t hide Tara from the world because
I didn’t believe you, Prithvi. I hid her because I did.’
Rahul
 [1]

for someone who had dreaded waking up every day as a child,

Prithvi thought it ironic—though in a good way—that now his
favourite time of day was dawn. He would open his eyes, sometimes
to a glimpse of blue skies framed by the green of leaves, sometimes to
grey storms and the beat of rain against the trees and his own skin.
Always, he would wake to Rahul, to the feel of their naked
bodies pressed together on the dew-cooled earth. Always, Prithvi
would smile as he thought of the night they had ruled together as
lions, of muscle and claw and running and hunting till a mix of
tiredness and contentment took them and they fell, together, into
that nameless world between that of lions and men, where their
bodies and minds knew neither identity, knew nothing but each
other. At length, he would gently wake Rahul up, the only act of
intimacy that followed being to stare deep into each other’s eyes
before they broke their sleeping embrace, completing their return to
their lives as humans.
Prithvi had assumed that being human was a pretence, an act
he would gladly put on to hold onto all that he shared with Rahul.
It even amused him, in the beginning, to live that way, to see the
world as the beast had taught him to see it: a playground in which
it was all a game where he, Prithvi Narasimha, assayed the part of a
quintessential bad boy with his gym-grown biceps and grey T-shirts
that reeked of every vice, and Rahul Acharya was the dignified scholar,
 his neatly ironed shirts as stereotypical as his constant position of
top-rank holder.
But embedded deep in all that carefully constructed deception
was a kernel of reality, of what Prithvi wanted nothing more than to
be reality: Noor.
He tried to tell himself that what he felt for Noor was an act
too, even if he were its only audience, that he meant to hide not just
the animal inside him but also the human secret he would never
admit. But as visions of Noor began filling his nighttime runs, and
the moon became more than a giant beacon, holding shades that he
had never perceived before, tender shades made for staring at, he
began to wonder what it would feel like, how wonderful it would
be, to be human. Fully human. And then, he and Rahul would wake
together in the forest, their feet and arms stained with mud.
Always, Prithvi would remember who he really was and decide
that he ought to forget Noor. Never was he successful, though he had
been trying for all of three years, treating her just as he did the other
girls in his class—some good-natured flirting, the occasional dirty
joke, but not a step out of line. She, in turn, hung out with him and
Rahul often, the two of them speaking far too much about studies for
Prithvi’s enjoyment, but he would stick around to hear her explain
some theorem or the other to Rahul, caring little for what she said,
but revelling in her intelligence, her clear thinking and of course, the
incredible softness of her lips.
Then, sometime during their third year of university, Noor
asked Prithvi, ‘Would you please give me a ride home tomorrow? I
need to drop my Scooty off at the workshop.’
Prithvi was nonchalant. ‘Sure. I think I’m free, anyway.’
The next day, he woke up at 4 [Link]. to wash and polish his bike
before anyone in the hostel could see him do it. He went to all his
classes that day, drawing looks of wonder from everyone, including his
lecturers. When asked about it, he told his friends it was far too hot
outside to hang around doing nothing. In truth, he did not want to
risk letting Noor hitch a ride with someone, else or take the bus home.
 ‘Thank you,’ she said as he dropped her off in front of her house.
‘The mechanic says it might be a couple of more days before I get my
Scooty back. Some problem with the engine. I hate to trouble you,
but I don’t suppose . . .’
‘No problem,’ Prithvi drawled, in his heart wishing every blessing
he could think of upon the mechanic in question.
That left Rahul.
‘Again?’ Rahul was, quite expectedly, disappointed and pissed
off. ‘What’s wrong with you, Prithvi? You’ve cancelled on me two
days in a row. Our boxing classes are supposed to be every day of the
week, you know.’
‘How long do you think we can go on with our “boxing classes”,
Rahul? Sanjay Gandhi National Park is not in the back of beyond
any more. The northern suburbs have developed beyond anyone’s
imagination. In fact, they are no longer suburbs, they are part of the
city. Lions in the middle of Mumbai? Not only will it cause all sorts
of havoc, but for sure the Council will come to know what we’ve
been up to. What then?’
‘You didn’t care all this while. You didn’t care when you dashed
across the fourth-floor corridor giving that irritating nerd Dheeraj a
heart attack and then making it worse the next day by convincing
him it was a cat.’
Prithvi argued, ‘We’ve been lucky, awfully lucky. But have you
considered what might happen when we run out of luck? Didn’t you
tell me your father was saying there was now an Enforcer working out
of Mumbai?’ Prithvi pointed out, knowing exactly which of Rahul’s
buttons to push to distract him. He added, ‘Look, Rahul. I’m not
saying never. We’ll go hiking during the winter break and . . .’
‘That’s bloody months away. You want to sit here like a dumb
human till then, when we could be running free?’
‘Unless you want to transform and sit around in this hostel
room, I see no way around it. We could do that, you know. You’re
taking up the spare bed anyway. Or else,’ Prithvi smirked, ‘we could
camp over at your place.’
 ‘And have my father go ballistic on us? Hah!’
Soon after Rahul had joined university, Dr Acharya had left
Modern School in Sukanya’s care to come live in Mumbai. He had
also taken up a more active role on the Council. Prithvi suspected
that Dr Acharya’s decision had more to do with his concerns about
the company his son kept than any other reasons. For his part, he
preferred to have as little to do with his former teacher as possible,
and so it was that Rahul spent more time in Prithvi’s hostel room
than he did in his own house.
‘All right then. Winter holidays it is,’ Rahul resignedly said. ‘But
remember, Prithvi. We are denying our real selves and I’m not sure
how long we can manage to do that without going mad.’
We are not denying our true selves, Rahul. This is who we are and
will always be. And we will run in our dreams too and lie on the grass
and roar at the moon. No one can take that away from us. You know
you ’ll never befarfrom my heart, Rahul.
Prithvi buried the rest of it deep inside his stomach, not daring
to think it lest Rahul came to know. There now was someone else in
his heart too.
‘All right, then,’ Rahul agreed, out loud. But neverforget, Prithvi.
I won’t. Andyou won’t let me.
He and Rahul fell asleep in the same bed that night, and Prithvi
slept the sounder for it. But that was that, and Prithvi did not think
to want more. To want more would mean to not want Noor and that
was an unbearable thought.
The next morning, Prithvi disappeared earlier than he was wont
to. Rahul, he knew, would not make much of the matter; indeed, he
would have been more surprised had Prithvi dutifully made his way
to class with him. But Prithvi also knew better than to drive up to
the college building with Noor, whom he had picked up from her
home, on his bike. He dropped her off some distance from the block,
saying, ‘If that Applied Thermodynamics lecturer sees me, he’ll make
me attend class.’
Noor laughed at that and went her way.
 The routine went on until the end of the week. Come Monday,
Prithvi was sure Noor had got her bike back and so he did not pick
her up from her home in the morning. His decision left him feeling
inexplicably panic-stricken and that, along with a spark of wishful
thinking, had him waiting outside Noor’s classroom in the evening,
his bike rumbling as he and it both idled. Noor walked out and,
matter-of-factly saying bye to her friends, got onto Prithvi’s bike.
As Prithvi drew up in front of Noor’s house, he spotted her
metallic purple Scooty parked in the driveway. ‘Is the engine fixed
then?’ he asked her, without thinking. Noor’s eyes welled up with
tears of embarrassment and she muttered her thanks and walked
away. That day, Prithvi realized, he would die a thousand deaths
before he would ever make Noor cry. He also understood what he
had to do, though it broke his heart. Better his heart than Noor’s.
Prithvi turned up at the end of classes the next day, but this
time, he continued to hang around the campus, chatting and
laughing with others. He did not ask Noor if she needed a ride. He
also pretended not to see her when, later, she stood at the bus stop,
waiting for a bus.
After that, Noor and Prithvi remained cordial and casual as they
had been before, but their equation had changed. While it did not
strike their other friends as unusual, it did not escape Rahul’s notice.
‘Do you like her?’ Rahul asked Prithvi one day, in the privacy of
an empty classroom.
Prithvi put his feet up on the bench in front of him. ‘Let’s be real
about this, shall we?’ he said. ‘What are my long-term choices—be it
with Noor or with any other woman? I could either tell her the truth
who . . . what I am—’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Exactly. So, my other option is to keep my true nature a secret
from her for the rest of my life. A task that promises to be easier than
it once was in these times of technology and sunglasses and other
paraphernalia. But I’d still have to lie to the woman I am spending
my life with.’
 Rahul sniggered. ‘My, my, Prithvi. You’re a romantic! Look at
you talking about honesty and spending lifetimes with a woman.’
‘Forget it. I’m single for life. Hundred per cent confirmed.’
‘No wonder our population is decreasing dangerously. If
everyone thought as you did, Prithvi. . .’
‘. . . there’d be no more Orphans, Rahul.’
Rahul studied Prithvi for a short while. Then he declared, ‘You
do like her.’
‘What?’
‘All I asked you was whether you did, and you gave me a lecture
on marriage, love and responsible parenting. I’d say that seals it. You
do like her.’
‘Fuck off!’
Indistinct conversation cut short the argument: students walked
into the room for their soon-to-begin class. Rahul flashed Prithvi a
cheeky smile as Noor entered with her friends and took her usual
seat at the front. Prithvi showed Rahul the finger, then shifted to his
customary place at the back of the class, leaving Rahul to slide into
the seat next to Noor’s.
Prithvi remained grumpy for the next few days, and Rahul wisely
refrained from bringing up the topic again. He had understood that
it was not just the mention of Noor that got Prithvi’s hackles up. It
was the mention of who they were, and more importantly, who they
pretended to be.
And that was not a matter that could be easily ignored. Prithvi
did not know what it was he missed more—the running together as
pride-mates or the tender waking into human form that followed, the
entangled limbs and mingled sweat that meant nothing at all yet meant
so much and could mean what it did only because it belonged to that
twilight zone, the dream world that lay between being men and beasts.
He contemplated suggesting to Rahul that they begin their
‘boxing classes’ again, but it felt too selfish and manipulative of him
to do so. He could never be with Noor, he could never tell her he
loved her, but he would never stop loving her.
 And, he resolved, he would never tell Rahul what he felt for him
either; in this world, the world of humans, those hazy emotions had
no place—not because he believed them to be wrong, but because he
could never feel them with the same intensity as he did in the other.
For Rahul’s part, he complained incessantly about their imposed
humanness, though grudgingly admitting that perhaps it was for the
better, after all. As the world of humans changed at a swift pace, so
did that of their kind. Not only were camera traps being set up to
monitor and account for wildlife in forests all over the country, but
the Council had, by its usual methods of influence, secured access to
the information and passed it on to Enforcers. Now, no Extremist
could hide, even amongst animals.
Grateful as Prithvi was for the excuse it gave him and Rahul to
live as humans, he also felt the beginnings of a kind of resentment
he had not known before, something he felt on principle rather than
personal dissatisfaction.
‘Enforcers. Bah! I think that’s just a boogeyman kind of story, like
“Beta so jaa, nahin toh Gabbar aayega.” We’re no longer schoolkids,
Rahul. I mean, have you thought about what it must take to run
a shadow world, a parallel government in a way? Where does the
Council get its money? How do they run for elections? Do we even
get to vote? It’s unsustainable. And we don’t question it because we
are so obsessed with secrecy that we won’t even discuss it.’
‘Shadow world? Nah! More like being in a secret society. You
take a pledge to never talk about it and then go on with your life.
Most therianthropes live their everyday lives as human beings and
have nothing at all to do with their other side. Of course, you and
I are not most . . .’ Rahul finished with a meaningful glance that
Prithvi recognized as yet another invitation from the lion.
He ignored it. ‘You make it all sound so simple.’
‘It is simple, Prithvi. You’re here; we’re together, that’s all that
matters. Don’t overthink things.’ Rahul emphasized the injunction
by placing his hand on Prithvi’s cheek and holding his gaze, saying
much but using no speech, neither human nor Saimha. Prithvi did
not respond, at least not in any way that Rahul seemed to have hoped
for.
At length Rahul said, ‘I should go home. Dad said he’s expecting
me for dinner tonight.’
‘Okay.’
As Prithvi lay awake that night, it occurred to him that after all
these years and for all that had happened, he felt just as alone as he
had back in the juvenile home. Shutting out those thoughts, he tried
to make himself think of Noor, of how she had looked stunning that
day in a short red kurta with jeans. Slowly, he fell into a disturbed,
dream-filled sleep.
He overslept the next morning, stirring only when the warden
banged on his door well past 10 a.m. to tell Prithvi that he had a new
roommate. One look at Bhima Rao and Prithvi knew: he too was
Saimha.
 [2]

bhima, prithvi and Rahul soon found out, was a student of many
subjects. At the university, he studied history, amongst other social
sciences. But a voracious reader, he knew much about many things
and held strong opinions on everything in society—in both societies,
to be precise—and particularly on matters of social justice.
‘The greatest tragedy,’ Bhima began, the very next evening after
he had moved into Prithvi’s hostel room, ‘call it a crime even, is
when those with power and privilege refuse to speak, to lend their
voice to those who have no voice.’
Prithvi listened, half-indulgent, half-curious, but Rahul was not
easily taken in. He sat, not too restfully, in one of the two chairs in
the room, a little peeved at having lost the bed—and his privacy with
Prithvi—which had been his for all of three years, and said, ‘Which
of your privileges would you use, Bhima? Your education? Or the
fact that you are Saimha?’
Even as the two waited to see Bhima’s reaction to the use of the
near-forbidden word, he took the question at face value. He answered,
‘Both, I suppose. They are both knowledge, and knowledge is
power. What one knows and that one knows are distinct but equally
important privileges to be aware of.’
‘Oh, bullshit jargon. All your philosophy makes for great sound
bites, but you know what its practical value is? Zero. Abso-fucking-
lutely zero.’
 At that, Bhima shook his head and muttered about there
being no point debating such matters with those blinded by their
privilege.
Rahul sat forward with a pissed-off look. ‘I dare you, Bhima.
I dare you. Use your so-called power and privilege to make a
difference.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
Rahul’s eyes narrowed. ‘Would you ever transform, Bhima? Say
you had to stop a murderer, a rapist? Would you transform?’
‘What? No!’
‘Why not? It’s the greatest, most potent weapon you have. The
ultimate power. The pinnacle of privilege. Why wouldn’t you use it,
especially in such a situation?’
Prithvi scratched at his three-day-old stubble. He gathered that
Rahul’s questioning—and his aggressive tone—were both actually
directed at him, at his refusal to continue as before. He fixed
Rahul with a telling gaze and said, ‘With 'great power comes great
responsibility. And it is in the exercise of that responsibility that the
Code of Secrecy forbids us to ever take lion form.’
Rahul glared at Prithvi. ‘Whose side are you on, you idiot? Mine
or Bhima’s? Or you don’t have a stand and this is just intellectual
masturbation on your part?’
Prithvi was taken aback. ‘What, now I’m the bad guy of this
piece? Fuck off, both of you! It’s useless talking to either of you.
Pseudo-intellectual wannabe shits.’ He swung himself off the bed,
picked up his bike keys and began making his way out of the room.
He stopped at the doorway as Rahul’s voice sounded out behind
him.
‘What if one transforms, not to take a life but to save one? Would
that make a difference? Or should we sacrifice an innocent life to the
Code?’
Prithvi had no doubt that Rahul was referring to their childhood,
to a fact that he had many times admitted and would continue to
profess: that had it not been for Rahul, for what they had done
together, Prithvi would have become a victim of his own human
rage. He turned to face his friends.
Bhima said, ‘That’s a good question. Well? Would you do it,
Prithvi? Or wouldn’t you?’ He shared a glance with Rahul, the
adversaries turning briefly into collaborators.
Prithvi said, ‘I don’t know what I’d do, Bhima. And that scares me
more than either option you’ve given me. That I don’t know—what
does that say about me, about my sense of right and wrong, after all?’
He went off without hearing what either of them might have had
to say and did not come back all night, rushing in the next morning
barely half an hour before their classes were to begin. Bhima had
already left for the day, but Rahul was in the room—he had slept
in Prithvi’s bed and had since woken up, showered and dressed
in yesterday’s trousers and one of Prithvi’s two shirts. He did not
speak of the previous night’s discussion and instead threw a tube of
toothpaste and a towel at Prithvi. ‘Hurry up, I don’t want to be late
again.’
Prithvi caught both objects and winked at Rahul. ‘Nerd! How
on earth did I get stuck with you!’
‘Cosmic conspiracy. Now hurry up, I can smell the idli-sambar
in the canteen and it’s making me hungry.’
Prithvi sniffed at the air, and duly convinced of the need for
haste, pulled off his shoes and clothes, wrapped the towel around his
waist and proceeded towards the bathroom, leaving a resigned Rahul
in his wake.
A little later, as the two friends were stuffing their mouths full
to the point of embarrassment with idlis, Noor came over to invite
them both to her house for Id, the next week.
‘You must come,’ she said, her eyes fixed on Prithvi.
He nodded and said something incoherent through a wadding
of food. She smiled and walked away.

On Id, Rahul turned up at Noor’s house in a simple but immaculate

white chikan-work kurta over casual pants. Prithvi wore the least
scuffed pair of jeans he owned, one of his usual T-shirts and a ;
two-day stubble. Of course, Noor’s parents said nothing about the
stereotypically ruffianish Prithvi, welcoming all their guests warmly,
but of all of Noor’s friends, they took the most to Rahul.
The next day, in college, Noor said, more as a statement than a
plaint, ‘Would it have killed you to wear a shirt? Or at least shave?
Couldn’t you have pretended to be different, at least in front of my
parents?’
Prithvi responded by roughly grabbing her arm. ‘I don’t pretend.
And if that is what you want, then . . .’
‘Prithvi!’ Rahul shouted, bringing his friend back to his senses.
Prithvi looked at him and then at Noor, supposedly unaware of
what he had just done. He let go of her arm and stalked off, afraid to
be around her, around anyone, as he recognized the strange feeling
that spasmed through his chest, rumbling alive into flames, into
hunger, into tawny-gold pelt and powerful muscles. The beast he
thought he had tamed laughed at him, mocked him with roars that
echoed through his mind till he wanted to scream, he did scream, no,
that was the voice of the other, of the lion, but it was now his voice.
Prithvi disappeared for the rest of the day, wanting to be alone.
But he was never alone, was he? The lion was constantly there;
dangerous if unleashed, more dangerous if caged. He would always
be there.
He wandered through the city on foot, as though trying to
shake off a pursuer before he could reach a destination that he did
not yet have. Without realizing it, he ended up in Wadala, the
neighbourhood of his childhood. Prithvi had not been back since
the day the policemen had taken him away from beside his mother’s
corpse, and he did not understand why his feet had brought him
there now. He avoided the tight sprawl of cracked buildings that
was the slum housing, making his way instead to a local bar where
he sat the whole day and half the night, downing quarter-bottle after
quarter-bottle of cheap rum. The stink of alcohol and the stale smoke
of many cigarettes formed a curtain around him, blocking out the
maddening smell of humanity, of sweat and puke and pulsing blood,
dulling the heightened senses of the beast.
At last, he reached a state of tired numbness that was as much
acceptance as it was defeat. He passed out for a few hours, sprawled in
the dirty plastic chair he had occupied since the previous afternoon. At
dawn, he headed back to the hostel room, waiting till he knew Bhima
would have left for the university. By the time Bhima returned in the
evening, Prithvi had assumed a semblance of normality. Bhima said
nothing and asked no questions, used as he was to Prithvi’s habitual
decadence.
Three days later, Prithvi made his way back to his classes, where
he noticed that his fingers had left a bruise on Noor’s arm. She did
not, however, speak about what had happened, and both she and
Rahul behaved as though the incident had not taken place at all.
Prithvi decided to follow suit. With each of the three now following
a different specialization in their studies, it was not difficult to keep
up that, or any other, pretence.
 [3]

prithvi began to go out of his way to avoid Noor. He did

not know whether it was the cause or the consequence, but the
more he told himself that he and Noor could never be together,
the stronger the beast lurked, tempting him with joy, safety
and freedom, a state of being where heartbreak and regret did
not exist. But to give in to the shadow, Prithvi felt, was akin to
betraying Noor, though he could not fathom or explain why he
felt so.
Or maybe he could. Once, during a moonless night, huddled in
a dark corner of the hostel toilet where no one could see him, Prithvi
cried his heart out, admitting to himself that he would never stop
caring for her, or so he believed. To find escape from the pain that
came of that love was infidelity in its own way.
After that night, Prithvi began to avoid Rahul too, though to
less effect.
At the same time, Prithvi’s proximity to Bhima forced the
beginnings of a friendship between them, partly because of his self­
imposed distance from Rahul and partly because, unlike Rahul,
Bhima never told him that he thought too much.
It started the day Bhima walked in on Prithvi—who had been so
engrossed that he had not heard the other approaching—to find him
reading a book that most people would have assumed he would use
only as a paperweight.
 ‘Aha!’ Bhima said, smiling. ‘I had this feeling about you. That
you don’t want to be seen as a serious guy, but. . .’
Prithvi scoffed. ‘Reading books makes me a serious guy?’
Bhima pointed at the title. ‘Reading about hyper-reality might.’
Prithvi said, ‘We live in a hyper-reality, Bhima. A simulation
world built for Saimhas. A world built to influence, if not control,
our behaviour. Ours is a bubble world within the human world. One
word or act out of place, and this bubble will burst.’
‘If you’re talking about the need to keep our existence a secret, I
get what you mean. But I’m not sure I’d agree with you on control.’
‘The anti-establishmentarian won’t agree with me that we are
being controlled?’
Bhima laughed and sat down at the foot of Prithvi’s bed. ‘Control
assumes that there is an authority, a force that is part of our society
but also external at the same time. But our secrecy laws are collective
in nature, they are for the greater good of our kind. So, who is it that
controls us? And why? What would anyone get by doing sb?’
Prithvi looked from Bhima to his book, evaluating the scholarly
words in both. He eventually settled on an explanation that was
more to his liking. ‘Let me put it this way. You know how Superman
is extra-strong and fast and, well, he’s a superhero on earth. But on
his home planet of Krypton, he’s just a normal guy. When other
Kryptonians turn up on earth, they too have superpowers compared
to human beings. It’s the same with Saimhas—or anyone like us.
You can argue that a single Saimha is a super-being as compared
to humans, but compared to the rest of us, he or she is an ordinary
individual. On the other hand, if none of the Saimhas, except one,
used or knew how to use their powers, then he or she would be a
superhero amongst their, that is, our own kind too.’
Bhima said, ‘But this argument, this set-up, works only if there
are Saimhas, or at least one Saimha somewhere who transforms, uses
his or her leonine powers to some end.’
‘Are you telling me there aren’t? Are you telling me that there are
no Saimhas who use their eyesight, their other senses to get an edge
over humans, in simple, everyday ways? Come on, you and I know
when the local train is pulling into the station long before everyone else
on the platform does. Don’t we instinctively move forward because of
that? Aren’t we always the first to get on the train? When was the last
time you missed your local, Bhima? If that is possible, isn’t it possible
that there are Saimhas who turn? How far is one from the other?’
‘Very far, Prithvi. You and I getting a seat on the local train
isn’t the same as breaking our basic moral code. But to think that
our whole social structure is based on disempowering most of us
so as to create a class of individuals who are, to use your language,
superheroes, now that is a conspiracy theory if I ever heard one.’
Bhima added, ‘I like it!’
That was the beginning of many more discussions and pointed
debates, each one cutting closer to a truth that Prithvi knew but did
not want to admit.
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Bhima explained on another occasion,
‘I’m all for autonomy and self-identity. But there is a difference
between questioning the principle and questioning those who stay
in power by wielding the principle to their own ends. I’m not an
Extremist, I don’t question the principle. At the same time, I won’t
hesitate to question the class structure and pureblood hierarchy that
uses this to their advantage.’
‘My interest is the individual, not the collective,’ Prithvi argued.
‘No matter how principled the .collective, the more powerful it grows,
the more individual rights are compromised. To someone like me,
who is an outsider, it makes no difference what the collective stands
for.’
‘You’re hardly an outsider.’
I’m an Orphan. I’ll always be an outsider.’
Prithvi let the conversation end there because he could not help
but think of Rahul, whom he had not seen except in passing, in a
few weeks. Rahul, he remembered, would wince when Prithvi called
himself an Orphan, as though the notion hurt him physically, and
the reminiscence made him realize that he missed Rahul, not just as
a friend but as a part of himself, a feeling that he could only describe
as seeming like he had forgotten the way home.
For a moment, Prithvi considered reaching out to Rahul in their
way, speaking as they had not spoken to each other in more than
months. He decided against it, though a part of him did hope that
the very intent would count for something.
Consequently, Prithvi was only a little surprised when, the
very next day, Rahul burst into their room without announcement.
Bhima was at his table, studying, while Prithvi lay on his bed, eyes
closed, earphones plugged into his Drscman, noiselessly lip-synching
to his earworm of the week. Rahul pulled at the cord, yanking out
the earphones so that he had Prithvi’s attention.
‘What the . . .’ Prithvi started, then stopped, both pleased and
confused to see Rahul there after all this time.
‘Arre, shut up and listen,’ Rahul said. ‘Inderjit was Tested two
weeks ago . . . Guddu?’
‘And?’
‘And what? Bugger’s on a plane to America. He has a scholarship
to Brown!’ Rahul made an aeroplane ascending gesture with his
hand.
‘Good for him, the bastard,’ Prithvi said, delighted on their
friend’s behalf. Bhima, however, wore a reserved but condescending
look.
Rahul turned to him. ‘Oh ho! Mr Karl Marx reborn! Don’t tell
me we are in for one of your rants on privilege and class. Forgive me,
your plebian highness, but I can’t help that we studied in what you
call an elitist private school while you were brought up in some caged
enclosure.’
Bhima crossed his arms, a sign that he was in the mood for
debate. He said, ‘I’d hardly call our community a caged enclosure.
But it will soon end up being one. What else is to be expected when
the whole system of testing and oath-taking is . . .’
‘Flawed?’ Prithvi supplied.
‘Obsolete. Oppressive. Simply unjust. Take your pick.’
 Prithvi argued, with himself as much as with Bhima, ‘It’s a system
that maximizes the greatest good, not only of the greater number but
also of the most vulnerable—in this case, humans.’
‘By killing some Saimhas and forcing others to make unnatural
promises?’
‘Woah!’ Rahul responded. ‘That’s anarchist speech, dude.’
Bhima said, ‘Is it? So who makes the promise, Rahul? Who takes
the oath?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Human or beast? Who can make a promise?’
‘Bhima . . .’
‘And which one is the more reliable? The promise made by a
human, or the promise made by an animal?’
‘Animals can’t make promises. It’s a human concept.’
‘Indeed. And that is why such oaths can be broken. That is why
we need codes, laws, punishment and coercion to keep to a promise,
to preserve a condition that is fundamental to who we are, something
that pervades our essence and soul.’
‘Then how do you suggest we take the oath, Bhima? Or do you
believe that we should not take the oath at all?’ Rahul was visibly
angry.
Bhima did not directly answer the question. Instead, he said, ‘In
my tribe, we have stories, old stories of werelions, myths from the
times when humans and werelions coexisted with each other. They
say that when a Saimha was born into the tribe, they would raise the
child with full awareness of who he was, till his first transformation.
Then, on that night, the entire village, including the Saimha’s
parents, would stand around him, chanting, speaking to him as the
urge to turn took him.’
‘And then he would change into a lion and eat them all up,
and there is your version of a scary bedtime story; so sleep children,
before the Saimha comes. Right?’ Rahul said.
‘The notion of evil is a very human thing, Rahul. My ancestors
thought it wiser to trust in animal nature.’
 Prithvi asked, ‘What happened once the Saimha took human
form again? Or if he managed not to turn in the first place?’
‘He was told stories of what happened. He was told stories
of what he could or could not do. He was given a choice. Most,
I believe, would never transform again, but it was a choice that
was made by the inner nature of the individual—be it the man or
the beast. There was no need for promises and oaths. As Rahul
said, I doubt the concept of a promise makes sense to an animal
anyway.’
Prithvi said, ‘You say these [Link]. So, your people don’t
follow these practices any more?’
‘And have the great and wise Council send down a bunch of
Enforcers to wipe out entire villages and brand us Extremists once
we are dead? No thanks.’
‘Oh please—’ Rahul began, but Bhima cut him short.
‘The Enforcers are nothing but the Council’s hitmen,’ he coldly
observed. ‘A bunch of goons used to preserve the existing hierarchy
of power. Why else would you need one “on call”, as they call it, here
in Mumbai? Nearly half the Council lives here.’
‘But. . .’
‘You can say what you want to, Rahul, but when was the last time
you had an Extremist from one of the leading families? Of course,
you can argue that that’s because there are no Orphans or misguided
individuals from those families, but before you say anything, think
about it, will you? It can’t be that there are no dissidents amongst the
purebloods, only that they get treated differently.’
‘In the wild, orphan lion cubs are killed by other lions, you
know.’
‘Not always true. Many are raised by the pride. Remember what
I said about evil being a human quality?’
Rahul responded by storming out of the room. He did not visit
them again, and Prithvi’s meetings with him dwindled from coffee
and conversation after class to passing each other in the corridor and
waving hellos across the canteen. Prithvi did not know whether he
was more relieved or disappointed, and he did not understand why
he would feel either way.
Once in a while, when he and Rahul exchanged pleasantries,
they would ask each other, ‘Are you all right?’ They both knew
what the question meant, that it had nothing to do with politeness
and everything to do with that part of themselves that they had left
behind.
Always, Rahul would reply, ‘Of course I’m all right,’ and Prithvi
would believe him. ‘What about you?’
‘Me too,’ Prithvi would lie, every time.
 [4]

despite the months of silence that had persisted between them,

soon after they graduated, Noor called Prithvi to congratulate him
on his new job and give him updates of her own. Prithvi took the
call, but was as brief as politeness allowed. Some days later, when she
called again and proposed meeting up for a coffee, Prithvi responded
without enthusiasm, claiming he was too busy with his work as a
code-tester with a software firm, a job he had little interest in and
had. taken up only because he had to earn a living. Noor tried one
last time to reach out, calling him on New Year’s Eve to wish him.
Prithvi did not pick up her call, nor did he respond to the pager
message she sent, asking him to call her back. She did not try to get
in touch with him again after that. Only then did Prithvi realize that
he wanted her to reach out after all, not because he wanted her to
care for him, but because the renewed ache he felt each time served
to silence the waiting beast. He would love Noor for as long as he
lived and live with the pain that came of his love. To let the animal
through would ease that pain, and that would be infidelity.
About two years after their graduation, Rahul proposed to Noor.
She accepted. Her parents were delighted—Rahul had recently
joined hands with a hotshot scientist-entrepreneur named Dev
Narayan to set up a cutting-edge technology firm called Rex Data
Analytics. Smart, successful and a thorough gentleman, Rahul was,
they admitted, everything they could have wished for in a son-in-law.
Neither Noor nor her parents knew that not only Rahul but also Dev
Narayan were therianthropes.
Prithvi was taken unawares by this turn of events. He had
not thought that Rahul cared about such things, which may have
been why he never saw what it was that Rahul felt about Noor. Or
perhaps, he had noticed, but had not wanted to admit as much, not
because he could not bear the thought that another was attracted to
Noor, but because he could not bear the thought that anyone could
be more important to Rahul than he was.
Prithvi was effusive with his congratulations in public. In
private, he opened up about Noor—how he had felt about her for
over six years now and why he had forced himself to move away from
her—to Bhima, who had since graduated and was working as an
anthropologist at the Prince of Wales Museum—a position that let
him remain in the thick of Saimha political affairs.
Bhima listened, unpredictably, without comment. When Prithvi
was finished, he got straight to the heart of the matter.
‘You pretend,’ he declared, ‘that you’re this cool, unconcerned
person to whom all this is a matter of amusement. You want to
believe that you don’t give a damn about right and wrong, but there
is nothing more important to you than doing the right thing. The
problem is, what is “right” here,’ he tapped at his own forehead, then
placed his hand over Prithvi’s heart, ‘and here, are different.
‘And now that you see Rahul make his decision, you wonder
whether you’ve been a fool about the whole thing; whether what
you thought to be right was wrong, after all. But his decision
doesn’t change who you are, Prithvi. Your right and wrong remain
the same, no matter what his morals, his decisions. You remain
the same.’
Prithvi meant to disagree with Bhima, but when he opened his
mouth an entirely different set of words tumbled out. ‘How doyow
know, Bhima? Can you tell right from wrong? Your human mind,
your animal heart—do you dare follow your lion’s heart and only
your lion’s heart? How do you know what is right?’
 ‘I don’t,’ Bhima admitted. ‘And no, I dare not listen to my heart
alone—though I don’t know whether it is human or lion. And my
compromise is this: I follow the wisdom of my people, of my ancestors
and forebears, the wisdom of their hearts. But you . .. You’re a much
better creature than I am, Prithvi; much better than most individuals
I’ve met and braver too. You just don’t know it.’
For once, Prithvi did not discard the approval with a snide
retort. He said simply, ‘Thank you, Bhima,’ though he did not
mean it for the compliment. He felt lighter, cleaner than he had in
a long while.
Two days later, Prithvi called up Noor and asked to see her. She
agreed.
They met at a cafe that was close to her place of work as an
architect. She said her hello, ordered a cappuccino and waited for
Prithvi to speak.
Aware that the whole conversation may well be an indiscretion
on his part, Prithvi bluntly asked her, ‘Do you think you know Rahul
well enough to marry him?’
‘And what don’t I know about him, Prithvi?’
‘Nothing. I meant. . .’
‘You’re not one to speak behind your friend’s back, behind
anyone’s back. And yet, here you are, reaching out to me after so long
to talk about him. It means there is something you think I should
know. What is it?’
Prithvi found himself caught off guard. He looked at Noor,
looked long and hard as he had so often wanted to, taking in her
green eyes, the lips that he still wanted to kiss. Her candour, her
simplicity, her complexity—every single thing about her haunted
him in the most pleasurable of ways. How could he let her go? How
could he spend his life without her? Perhaps it was time to tell her
the truth.
Prithvi flinched as he felt the beast stir. And what truth is that?
the shadow whispered in his head. Which truth? That you’re Saimha?
I am you, Prithvi. Can you tell her that?
 Noor sensed his indecision, but mistook its origins. She pushed
her chair back and stood up. ‘If you don’t speak now, Prithvi; if you
don’t tell me what is in your heart. . .’
‘My heart? Noor, I think you’ve got this all wrong. Rahul is my
best friend. I wanted to be sure you felt about him the way he feels
about you.’ It was a lie, and Prithvi was telling many of late. Possibly,
Noor knew it for a falsehood too.
She shook her head, then walked off in a huff, but not before
saying, ‘You’re an idiot, Prithvi Narasimha.’
Silently agreeing with her, Prithvi paid the bill and proceeded
straight to Rahul’s office at Nariman Point. There was another half
to the conversation that he still had to have.

Rex Data Analytics had taken up a small but fancy space in one of
the older, prestigious buildings on the seafront. An array of other
businesses filled the high-rise, and Prithvi ended up first in the wrong
tower, then in the wrong wing, before he found his way.
Rahul was more delighted than surprised to see him. ‘Finally!’
he greeted Prithvi with a hug. ‘I’ve been asking you to come on a
visit for ages now. Glad you could make it.’ He turned to instruct an
office assistant to bring them some tea, but Prithvi stopped him with
a shake of his head.
‘We need to talk. Privately.’
Rahul gestured to Prithvi to come with him.
Prithvi followed Rahul into his office. Ignoring the inviting view
of the sea as well as refusing to take the seat that was offered, he
asked, point blank: ‘Does Noor know about you . . . about who ...
what we are?’
Rahul frowned, unsure of the context. ‘No,’ he admitted.
‘How can you do this, Rahul? How can you do this to her? And
how can your father and the rest of the Council allow you to do this?
This. . . this is not fair!’
‘What’s not fair? What the fuck is your problem, Prithvi?’
 ‘What happens five, ten years from now, Rahul? What happens
if your child—and Noor’s—is Saimha? Will you just walk out on
her? Will you take her child away from her? It might seem simple and
straightforward to you, but. .
‘Is that all you think of me, Prithvi?’
‘I don’t know what to think of you, Rahul.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Prithvi . . .’ Rahul turned away, clenching
his fists as he tried to get a rein on his anger. After a while, he began
to speak. ‘Our child will be human, Prithvi. Human, not Saimha. I
made sure of that before I even asked Noor to marry me.’
‘What do you mean?’
Rahul drew in a breath, let it out and then faced Prithvi again.
‘I love Noor. The last thing I want is for her to be hurt in [Link].’
Prithvi was unflinching. ‘Spare me the soppy dialogues. Tell me
how it is that you are so sure.’
Rahul hesitated, then said, ‘Come with me. I’ll explain everything,
just come with me.’ He caught Prithvi by the arm and began leading
him out of the room.
‘What the . . .? Where are you taking me, Rahul?’
‘To the Prophecy.’
 [5]

the lift was a nondescript affair, large and meant for cargo. But
there was something about the reinforced steel doors that made
Prithvi feel there was more to it than met the eye. True enough,
there were no floors marked, save for the one they got in on and
their destination—somewhere lower than the basement level where
he had parked his motorcycle. The lift opened out into a corridor
that looked like a cross between a World War II dungeon and a
modern industrial garage, with slit-style skylights that were covered
with thick glass in view of the excessive air conditioning and stone
walls that Were overrun by shiny new steel ducts.
Rahul explained, ‘These spaces were built in when the land for
Nariman Point was reclaimed from the sea. Of course, we didn’t
know then that we’d end up- using it for this, but some previous
Council member had the foresight to think that such spaces would
come in handy—that too, right under the upcoming heart of all
business and commercial enterprise in Bombay. We’re working on
connecting the far end of this corridor to tunnels that criss-cross
south Bombay, but for now, it’s just this. Being close to the sea also
helps with the cooling system.’
‘Spare me the guided tour, Rahul,’ Prithvi snapped. ‘Get to it.
What is this Prophecy? Who is spouting such shit anyway?’
Rahul stopped in front of another reinforced steel door, this one
in the middle of the corridor. For all the brute effectiveness that the
door promised, its locking system was a rather modern one, requiring
a security password that had to be typed into a nearby console. Prithvi
could not help but notice as Rahul typed in a familiar date, at which
the door unlocked with a click. He then turned to Prithvi and said,
‘Seem familiar?’
‘You remember the exact date?’
‘I never forgot it, my friend.’ He winked and pushed the door
open the rest of the way.
If Prithvi had been taken aback by what he had seen so far, what
awaited him inside was nothing short of mind-blowing. The huge
hall—or chamber seemed a better word for it—had the same stone
walls as the corridor, and more skylights let in weak sunbeams. For
the rest of it, the room was a treasure trove of technology, though
in a quiet way. A corner had been set aside for what appeared to be
a chemistry laboratory, complete with test tubes and more complex
paraphernalia. Most of the space, however, was taken up by huge
cabinet-like structures that were anything but. The row upon row
of latticed metal bins were, Prithvi recognized, state-of-the-art
computing servers. The engineer in him was impressed despite the
circumstances he was seeing them in.
‘The Prophecy,’ Rahul declared, a clear note of pride in his
voice.
‘A computer programme?’ Prithvi asked, frowning.
‘More than that, Prithvi. It’s not what it is that makes the
Prophecy so important, but what it does. This, my friend, is the
future of Saimha society, a future where our biggest problems can
be solved. A future, in which every Saimha will have a complete
and fulfilling life while our race awaits the eventual destiny that is
promised to us.’ He added, ‘That is, if you believe in those myths.’
‘And what does it do?’
Rahul paused, calling upon some well-rehearsed description that
he had probably given earlier to the Council. But even before he
launched into the spiel, he abandoned it in favour of a more personal
explanation.
 ‘Dev and I,’ he began, ‘we’ve been working on a way to
predictively isolate the therianthropic gene—dominant or recessive—
to use it to calculate the probabilities of whether a child will carry the
gene or not, and whether it will express itself. In simple terms, we’ve
been trying to come up with a way to predict whether the child of
a therianthrope will be a therianthrope too. The human side of it
was my final-year project, and then we developed it further. In fact,
we have now begun building a model of the therianthrope genome.
This server farm holds both the database we are building and the
programme that analyses the data.’
Prithvi shrugged, as though he did not see the point.
Rahul cleared his throat, then said, ‘If Noor and I have children,
they will be human, not therianthropes.’
Prithvi was taken aback. ‘How do you know?’
Rahul smiled, ‘Which favourite author of yours was it, with
that line: “In a good cause, there are no failures.” Asimov, I think,
right? Anyway, I thought I’d hit failure, Prithvi. What you see today
as the Prophecy began as an attempt to map the Saimha genome.
But I couldn’t do it. There is a missing link in the Saimha genome
map; something that we haven’t been able to figure out or fill, and
it has to do with the way our DNA interacts with human DNA. It
is probably the same thing that causes transformation, but at that, I
can only guess. That apart, what I can be sure of as a result of all this
research is that my offspring—and their future offspring—will be
Saimha only if I have them with a female of our kind. Any children I
have with women will be human. That is the curse of my pureblood
gene pool.
‘You don’t have to be a geneticist to understand, Prithvi. The
crux of it is that, from what we know so far about our genetic
make-up, it looks as though therianthropy is not only a double-
recessive gene but also an X-chromosome-linked one. My father is
Saimha, as am I. For that reason, my son simply cannot be Saimha.
Theoretically, I could have a therianthropic daughter, but only with
a female of our own species. Ironic, no? As Dev often says, “natural
selection is a bitch”. No wonder our population dwindled; the
purer the therianthropic bloodline over generations, the more
fragile it becomes, till it dies out completely. And that is where
nature leaves us.’
‘Are you sure?’ Prithvi pressed.
‘For god’s sake, Prithvi; don’t you see, this is not just about me
and Noor. This technology will be the beginning of something big,
something that can change things for the better, for all Saimhas.
Bastard, do you even realize that this whole idea began with you?
Did you think I didn’t know how much you hurt, or did you think
I would forget? I’ve cried as many nights as you have, for that
Orphan who showed up at Modern School fifteen years ago, but I
could do nothing more. That helplessness . . . that question that has
haunted me all my life: what makes us Saimha? What made you, the
son of two humans, who you are, condemning you to the life that
followed?’
Rahul shook his head, as though retreating ifrom the emotions he
had just revealed. ‘You don’t get it, do you? Instead, here you are . . .
oh never mind. Go away, Prithvi, before I say things that we’ll both
regret.’
Prithvi felt an electric joy shoot through him and for a moment
he wanted to pull Rahul into an embrace, to hold him close in a
wordless proximity they had not shared since the days of waking up
naked in the jungle. He willed himself to stay still till the moment
passed. A great part of his concern had been allayed, but there was
more he had to know.
Steeling himself against Rahul’s inevitable anger, he asked the
question he had not asked in years, though he had often wanted to.
‘Can you do it, Rahul? Can you silence the beast? After all that we
have done? Is it simply a matter of genetics?’
‘Would you be able to do it, Prithvi? Would you be able to
silence the lion in you to live as human?’
Prithvi ignored the jolt he felt within to answer, ‘If I truly loved
someone, yes.’
 ‘Then, believe that I can do it too. I love Noor, and that means
that I’ve already made my choice; that my heart is human, whether
I’ve fathomed it or not. I will swear to it if that makes you feel any
better. Never. Never again. Not in my dreams, nor in reality. I am
human and only human. I am human, even in the depths of my
heart. I love Noor. The last thing I’d ever do is hurt her.’
Prithvi looked long and deep into Rahul’s eyes. He found nothing
there but sincerity. His own eyes, he knew, were flecked with hidden
yellow, the eyes of the lion that could never forget what it had been
to roam free. That settled things for him. The beast in him would
never let him live as a human, but Rahul still had a chance. ‘Thank
you,’ he said and made to leave.
Rahul stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘You do love her.’ It
was a statement, not a question.
‘Now who’s being silly!’ Prithvi remonstrated.
However, Rahul was not convinced. His eyes held a strange light
as he repeated, ‘You do love her.’
Prithvi placed his hands on Rahul’s shoulders. ‘I’m happy for
you both. Of course I’d be happy. My best friend is marrying my
other friend. How could I not be happy?’
‘Then prove it,’ Rahul urged. ‘I miss you, Prithvi. Surely our
friendship is stronger than this? Please, can we try to be friends again?’
‘We always were and will remain friends, Rahul. But you do
realize that with this invitation and your getting married and all, I’m
going to start living out of your refrigerator?’
The joke dispelled some of the tension in the air. They never
spoke of that matter again.

Two months later, Prithvi was a witness as Rahul and Noor were
married in a simple ceremony at the registrar’s office. He played the
part of the groom’s best friend to perfection; looking after all the
guests, laughing the loudest and, to everyone’s astonishment, hardly
drinking at the party afterwards. As the newly married couple left
on their honeymoon—a surprise trip that had been arranged by
Prithvi—he joked boisterously about it and saw Rahul off with a rib­
crushing hug. To Noor, he simply said, ‘I wish you every happiness.’
But his voice held the warmth of the world and more. Rahul noticed.
A little over a year later, Tara was born.
Prithvi had kept as congenial a distance as he could from Rahul
in the interim, meeting him a couple of times for a drink and
exchanging hellos on the phone now and then. He would ask ‘all
well?’, never specifically referring to Noor by name.
This too, Rahul noticed and used to his advantage when inviting
Prithvi to Tara’s naming ceremony. ‘-Noor insists that you come,’ he
said. ‘Besides, it will give you a chance to finally meet Dev Narayan.
He’ll be coming too, along with everyone we know. You can’t not
be there, Prithvi.’
Prithvi could protest no further and agreed to attend. Besides, he
was curious about Dev Narayan. Not only was Dev the happening
topic in their small circles, but also, Bhima never had his fill of airing
his dislike of the individual and his disapproval of his new genetic
mapping programme.
Bhima had, on the singular occasion when he met Rahul along
with Prithvi, tried to convince him of the many reasons why the
notion was not only unethical but also dangerous. ‘It’s the beginning
of the end, Rahul. Imagine the kind of information, the kind of
power it places in the hands of a few.’
‘Imagine the kind of good it can do,’ Rahul had argued. ‘Besides,
genome mapping—which is what we are trying to do—gives us so
much information about our species as a whole. And yes, it gives
information about an individual too, but what is wrong with that?
If we can use that information to identify and bring in potential
Orphans before it is too late, is that not a notable cause?’
Bhima had not been convinced. ‘Every tool is as good or as
evil as the one who wields it. Whatever use there may be for this
technology, whatever good it might serve, the fact is you are building
a database. Who is to say that this database won’t be used to cull
Orphans, rather than protect them? And you, Prithvi—don’t you
remember what you used to say about a few controlling the many?
This sort of technology gives information about the many to the few,
it lets them make decisions for the many. If definition and labelling
isn’t the beginning of oppression, I don’t know what is. How can
you stand for this?’
‘Wait, are you saying that this is a tool of genocide? You’re out
of your fucking mind, Bhima. A typical example of how all this so-
called revolutionary propaganda gets in the way of actual progress.’
‘This is no progress. This is persecution.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Fuckj/ott!’
Prithvi had, however, opted to stay out of the conversation. Not
only had he not wanted to be caught between both his friends, but he
also did not know what it was he stood for. At times, it seemed that
he had few opinions and fewer principles still. Between the woman
he could not want and the beast he dared not satisfy, he had been left
empty; a mere shell that feigned existence. To speak for or against all
that he had held such strong opinions on before—it felt like lying.
But to not speak up for what he knew was right, or against what he
believed to be wrong was even worse.
He had let himself obsess over the intellectual predicament,
hoping it would distract him from all that he felt. He had even agreed
to go with Bhima to a ‘meeting’ the next day, the emphasis on the
word alone enough to convey Bhima’s newly formalized allegiances.
But there too Prithvi had been disappointed as he had stood in the
shadows and listened to the group bicker and quarrel about whether
it was more important to replace the Council with a new Authority
or to lobby the Council to legitimize the use of the term ‘Saimha’ for
all therianthropes who passed their Test in good standing.
After the meeting, Bhima had been enthusiastic but also
apologetic. ‘It’s hardly where we ought to be, but it’s a start,’ he had
confessed. ‘At least we’ve got the debate going on the right issues.
Not everyone who identifies with their real nature is an Extremist,
you know. It’s high time the elite stopped classifying everyone who
disagrees with them or threatens their hierarchy by condemning
us for wanting our basic dignity, the one thing that makes sense
of everything around us. You know what that’s like, Prithvi. As
children, we are called freaks, or feel like it, and can’t understand
why. Now that we are adults, it’s not about wanting to be different,
but about wanting to know why we are made to feel that way, to
know it’s not all in our heads. Sooner or later, we will reclaim our
name, our identity.’
Bhima’s optimism had irked Prithvi. He had snapped, ‘There
is nothing to reclaim. Not for me, anyway. Don’t you see, you
Saimhas, as you so proudly call yourselves, are no better than the
human-wannabe therianthropes you hate so much? Sure, you don’t
use words like pureblood, but that’s because you see it as a matter
of class or social stratification rather than species. But whether it’s
you or them, one thing is clear. There is no room for the likes of me
amongst you. I am an Orphan. And that is the only identity that will
stick to me, Bhima; not human, not Saimha. I am an accident that
should never have happened, the result of a gene that should have
been eliminated from the chain a million times over by the process
of natural selection. I am not supposed to be here in the first place,
so what is there for me to reclaim?’
‘Prithvi. . .’ Bhima had tried to calm him down.
‘Save it. No, screw it. And screw you.’
As he often did, Prithvi had found solace in a seedy all-night bar
in the company of rum and cigarettes, having long since recognized
the two vices as having the power to dull his sense of smell and thus
the slumbering beast. It was not the first time, nor would it be the
last, or so he had thought.
 [6]

on tara’s naming day, Prithvi’s life took a different turn as he

made two discoveries, one far more startling than the other. First,
he found out, by the rather direct means of being told as much,
that Dev Narayan—a slim, dapper male who was one of the rare
therianthropes who wore glasses and seemed to consistently dress
in banker-blue shirts—was an Orphan too. Hardly had they been
introduced to each other and left to continue the conversation when
Dev mentioned the fact in all its seeming glory. Prithvi did not know
how to react and so remained impassive.
‘Surprised?’ Dev asked, amused at Prithvi’s feigned nonchalance.
‘I’m guessing you thought a gora-chitta like me was from one of the
leading families or such, right? No, I’m not. I’m an Orphan, like you.
Born to human parents who didn’t know what the hell was going on.
The only reason they didn’t disown me was that I was a whiz at my
studies. I think they thought I was on drugs or something—genius
one moment, junkie the next. Anyway, Dr Acharya, in his kindness,
took me into Modern School too. I passed out a couple of years before
you came in. Rahul and I overlapped at the school for about a year,
but he was a kid then, and we hardly knew each other. It was only
after he graduated and approached me with this gene-mapping idea of
his that I got to know him. And I got to know about you.’
Prithvi did not miss the stress on Dr Acharya’s kindness and
guessed that Dev too had found the scholar’s benevolence, such as it
was, condescending. But neither that, nor Dev’s admission to being
an Orphan, endeared the other to him. He took the opportunity
to pass his personal grievance off as public concern, saying, ‘And
together, you guys developed the Prophecy, which, it turns out, was
instrumental in helping Rahul marry the woman of his dreams.’
Dev missed the innuendo completely, instead taking Prithvi
for a fellow collaborator in the matter. ‘Did Dr Acharya blow a few
fuses when he found out about Noor, or what! I mean, his son, the
potential head of the Council in twenty years, marrying a human—
quite the political disaster. All the more so since it pretty much spelt
the end of their genetic line. You know, right? Rahul’s offspring
could have been Saimha only if he’d had them with a Simhika. Any
children he has with human women will be human. The curse of his
gene pool. I suppose the curse of our kind as a whole.’
Dr Acharya’s reaction was news to Prithvi, though on reflection he
found himself unsurprised by it. For all his zeal in rescuing Orphans,
Dr Acharya prized nothing more than the elite responsibility—and
need for secrecy—that came of being therianthropes. Rahul’s marriage
to Noor compromised their pureblood lineage for sure, but it also
threatened the security of their kind, as did every cross-species marriage.
It also occurred to Prithvi how distant he and Rahul had grown that
the latter had not mentioned a word of this to him.
‘Survival of the fittest is a bitch,’ Dev continued, unaware of
Prithvi’s ruminations, ‘particularly when it comes to hominins. Till
some years ago, it was generally believed that Homo sapiens was the
pinnacle of evolution, that all other hominins were but stepping-
stones to that pinnacle. Not true. Homo sapiens was simply the one
that exterminated the others, the one that conquered and survived.
What does that say about us therianthropes, about the fact that the
only thing that keeps us from being the dominant hominin species
on the planet is our restraint, our own reluctance to use our strength
to kill and conquer?’
‘So the dominance of Homo sapiens is a matter of morality? Our
morality, to be precise?’
 I’m a scientist, Prithvi. Morality is not my domain. Genetics
is, and genetics tells us that this is where natural selection rolled her
dice. Nature will need help if our species is to survive. You see, the
traits that help a species survive have a greater chance of being passed
on, while those that compromise survival are culled out. If you think
of it in mathematical terms—as an engineer such as you might
prefer—then over generations, living as humans increases the human
side of our genetic make-up, the things that help us hide, if you will,
and reduces the therianthropic side. This means we pass on less and
less of therianthropic genetic matter to subsequent generations, as in
Rahul’s case. For all you know, our species may die out in another
century or two.’
‘Maybe it’s best if we don’t survive,’ Prithvi shrugged. ‘I mean, if
you believe in natural selection as an environmental mechanism, why
try to fight it? Maybe we are meant to go the way of the dinosaurs
and the many other hominins before us.’
‘Maybe. But we are here for now. And while we are here, I want
to do my little bit to make a difference. When Rahul first approached
me with the idea that is now the Prophecy, I was blown away; even a
little jealous that I didn't come up with something like it myself. But
now that I’ve met you, I finally get it. It wasn’t passion for science or
technology that drove him to this. It was friendship.’
Prithvi frowned, pretending not to understand, though the
last thing he wanted was for Dev to explain. He tried to turn the
discussion in another direction by feigning an interest he did not
feel, ‘So, how does the Prophecy work? I mean, I know it can predict
multiple generations of outcomes when you enter a pair of genetic
profiles, but what does it do beyond the matchmaking?’
‘Predict is a strong word,’ Dev said, taking off his glasses and
cleaning a non-existent speck of dust. ‘I prefer the term “significant
probabilities”. But I’m being pedantic; from a lay individual’s point
of view, the difference is immaterial. To answer your question, what
the Prophecy allows us to do in the long run is genome mapping. We
can build a picture of any organism’s DNA, including an entire set of
its genes. And before you ask, we can do this for Homo sapiens too;
in fact, that’s what subsidizes the research part of it—we lease time
on the Prophecy out to global scientific institutions that do genetic
research, like a computer-for-hire. It’s quite a lucrative business and
allows us to do our work without violating the Code of Secrecy.
Meanwhile, we can go about trying to build the Saimha genome
map. In other words: figuring out what it is that makes us Saimha.’
Before Prithvi could react to Dev’s use of the phrase, Rahul came
up behind the two of them, cradling his newborn in his arms. ‘Don’t
let dad hear you, Dev,’ he said. ‘He still thinks of it as a forbidden,
evil kind of word, even though I keep telling him that as scientists,
we can’t be afraid of calling things by their proper names, no matter
what the social connotations. Saimha is nothing more than the
ancient term for Homo leo pantheris, and there is nothing wrong in
using it. But,’ he sighed, ‘I guess he’s too much of a politician these
days to see it that way. To him, Saimhas and Extremists are the same
thing.’
Prithvi was spared the necessity of further discussion on that or
any other matter when Rahul thrust the infant Tara into Prithvi’s
arms and ran off to see to some aspect of the ceremony, giving him
the perfect excuse to move away.
And that led to Prithvi’s second discovery of the day, and it
changed his life in ways he had neither expected nor imagined were
possible.
Prithvi had always supposed that he was not father material.
Indeed, the thought of wailing infants and stinky diapers horrified
him. But holding baby Tara, looking down at the child sleeping
peacefully in his arms, he felt a muted joy he had not known much
of before. He felt a little less torn apart by things that could not exist.
He found that he could finally heal.
He began to smile again. He even laughed on occasion. He
stopped feeling sorry for himself, because, what was there to feel
sorry for when the world was so delightful and filled with adventure
at every turn, as it was when seen through a child’s eyes.
 Slowly, Tara became the crux of a renewed bond between Rahul
and Prithvi, who found her reason enough to bury the past and
focus on the future. It also gave Prithvi an uncomplicated friendship
with Noor, though there was not a moment in which he did not
love her still. But, he learnt, there was a difference between missing
something and wanting things to be different so that he could have it.
For nothing in the world would he trade his role as ‘Prithvi Uncle’, as
Rahul playfully referred to him even during their own conversations.
Almost nothing. But almost was good enough, to the point that he
became an integral part of Rahul’s family.
It was Prithvi who patiendy drove Noor around for shopping, even
helping her select furnishings for the new suburban villa that she was
moving into. He carried Tara and followed in a bored daze as Noor
haggled with shopkeepers over the price of curtain materials, and it was
he who made Rahul ‘get ofF that lazy arse and help’ put up paintings
and shift furniture till the house was to Noor’s satisfaction. He did,
however, resist once; when Rahul brought home the painting of the
man with a lion’s reflection that used to hang in Dr Achaiya’s study.
‘Come on,’ Rahul argued with him. ‘It’s just art as far as Noor
is concerned. A symbol of courage or nobility or a thousand other
explanations that we can give.’
‘Don’t you think it’s too . . . pointed?’
‘There’s a rather intricate statue of a dancing male figure with an
elephant’s head right at the entrance to the house. You don’t think
that’s too pointed?’
Unable to convince Rahul, Prithvi helped him put up the
painting in his study. He remained distinctly aware of it for a while,
but then, as with much else in the house, or in life, if it amused Tara,
then Prithvi was fine with it.
Come weekends, Prithvi would ride over, as he had once
promised Rahul, to live out of their refrigerator, serving happily as
a babysitter for Tara while the couple went about their chores. He
spent the entire week in anticipation of those two days and lived the
days after in the memory of the weekend past.
 The first day Tara attended junior kindergarten, it appeared that
Prithvi was more nervous about the whole thing than either Rahul
or Noor. That night, as they all sat around Noor and Rahul’s living
room, Prithvi fawning over one of Tara’s scribbles, which looked, in
his opinion, indisputably like the letter ‘A’, Noor said, ‘You’re quite
the parenting expert now, Prithvi. I think it’s high time we found
you a nice girl and got you married off.’
‘Paagal! You’re mad or what. Me and getting married...’ Prithvi
said, bundling a sleeping Tara up closer against his chest. ‘I’m neither
husband nor father material, Noor. I’m the cool uncle who will take
Tara out for her first drink, argue with you two about her curfew
timings and buy her her first bike and all that. Don’t you dare hoist
responsibility and stuff on me!’
Laughing, Rahul reminded him, ‘She’s got a good fifteen years
to her bike and her booze, Prithvi. Enough time in between for you
to settle down and . . .’
‘Drop it, Rahul,’ Prithvi hissed, his harsh tone startling little
Tara awake. As she began whimpering, he said, ‘Now look what
you’ve done.’ With a thoroughly disapproving glance at Rahul and
Noor, he got up and headed upstairs to Tara’s nursery.
When, a while later, Rahul and Noor peered in, they were
greeted by the incongruous sight of Prithvi fast asleep and spilling
out of Tara’s small bed, the child draped over his chest and safely
ensconced in his arms.
 [7]

prithvi was at work when he received the call from Noor. ‘There’s
been an accident,’ she said on the phone. Her voice was exceedingly
calm, as she though she were forcing herself to remain strong. Tm
okay. But Tara . . . Tara was thrown out of her seat and . . .’ Her
voice gave way and she sobbed out, ‘We’re in the ambulance now,
we’re heading to the hospital. I can’t reach Rahul, I’ve left him a
message, but I . . .’
‘Which hospital?’ was all Prithvi said.
By the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital, Prithvi was
there waiting for them. He took one look at Tara, blood all over her
clothes and blanket, a gaping wound on her small forehead, and drew
Noor into a tight hug—partly to reassure her and partly to hide his
own anxiety.
Rahul reached the hospital just as the doctor attending to Tara
emerged from the ICU to give them news of her progress. ‘How is
she?’ he asked.
The doctor replied, ‘She is well. Not at all as awful as it looked.
I admit, when they carried her in, I was worried that she might not
survive such a serious head injury; there was a 90 per cent chance that
she would haemorrhage. But we were lucky.’
‘Thank heavens!’ Noor clasped her hands together in prayer.
The doctor continued, ‘Indeed. The bleeding stopped quite
quickly and the wound was only superficial—a cut on the skin. She’s
had stitches of course, and we still want to keep her in the ICU for a
couple of days to watch her, but I’d say she’s going to be absolutely
fine.’ He gave Prithvi a squeeze on his shoulder and added, ‘Her dad
is quite glad to hear it, I’m sure. He was quite a mess, though I don’t
think he realized he showed it.’
Consumed by relief, Prithvi did not grasp exactly what the
doctor meant.
Rahul, on the other hand, did not miss it. He curtly said, ‘I'm
her father. Not him.’ The doctor apologized for his mistake and said
that Rahul was lucky to have such [Link] friend. Rahul did not
look any happier for it.
When at last they were allowed into the room to see Tara, Rahul
kept staring at her for a long time.

It was Noor who first noticed that something was wrong.

Wrong enough that she called Prithvi, not from their home
phone but from a public phone after dropping Tara off at her
playschool. This time, it was she who asked to meet Prithvi in
private.
‘The coffee shop near—’ he began, but Noor interrupted him.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll come over to your place? Any chance you
could head back early from work?’
‘Three in the afternoon okay with you?’
‘Yes.’
Noor arrived early by fifteen minutes, but Prithvi was already
home. A harsh stink that he could not place hit him the moment
he opened the door. He did not think about it further, for it was
clear from the expression on Noor’s face that things were very wrong
indeed. Then he saw the plastic bag she was carrying.
Without hellos, without any explanation, she handed him the
bag, then came into the flat. She waited for Prithvi to close the door
before saying, ‘I couldn’t bear to touch it. But nothing I say can
describe it, Prithvi; you have to see it for yourself. At first, I thought
it was some wild animal or . . .’
 Prithvi led her to the sofa and sat her down before opening the
plastic bag to look inside. That he had seen such a thing before did
not make it any less abominable.
A small deer, no larger than a mongoose. The blood had long
since drained from its body, giving the torn-open abdomen a whitish
appearance. Entrails, pulled out and cut ofF at jagged angles, hung
out from the wound. Despite the stiffening of the cadaver, it was
clear that the internal organs were missing. One of the hind legs
was gone too, and the other was torn and tattered as if it had been
gnawed at. On the back of the deer’s neck, a wound made by large,
sharp teeth that had clamped down on the creature in a killing blow.
‘I found it hidden behind some sacks of fertilizer we had bought
for the garden,’ Noor said. ‘Two days ago, I found a wild pig in the
garbage bin. Before that it was a couple of rabbits.’
In the most unaffected voice he could muster, Prithvi said, ‘This
looks like the work of a wild animal, probably a leopard. I told you
guys that suburban villa of yours is no place to live. It’s a veritable
jungle that you’re in the middle of. But yes, this is scary. You should
put up an electric fence around the house and—’
‘What wild animal do you know that can open garbage bins and
move fertilizer sacks?’
Prithvi forced a smile. ‘Haha, very funny. My guess is Rahul was
getting rid of the carcasses before you saw them. Have you asked him
about it yet?’
Noor bit her lip, clearly nervous. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I wanted to,
but. . .’ She buried her head in her hands.
Prithvi moved forward to comfort her, but she looked up on her
own and said, ‘Rahul... Rahul and I don’t sleep in the same bed any
more, Prithvi. I mean literally as well as metaphorically. About two
months ago, right after we brought Tara back from the hospital, he
moved into the guest room. He said he was going to be working late
nights and didn’t want to disturb me or Tara. I ... I first thought
that he was angry or upset, but then he was the same loving guy as he
always is when it came to everything else. So I took it at face value.’
 ‘Noor, you don’t have to tell me . .
‘Some nights ago, I heard a noise outside. I went to wake Rahul
up. He wasn’t there.’
Prithvi made a ‘so what?’ gesture with his hands. Noor did not
answer. The implication was clear.
‘Oh come on, Noor. What are you trying to say? That Rahul’s
doing this? You’re mad!’ He added on a laugh for good measure.
‘Come on, let me come with you. We’ll pick up Tara and then drive
out to your place. I’ll take a look around, figure out what all we need
for a fence. I’ll have it set up this weekend. In fact, why don’t the
three of you check into a nice hotel for the rest of the week? Come
Monday, you’ll have an animal-proof house!’
An expressionless Noor listened to him before asking, ‘Am I
mad, Prithvi? Really? Am I mad?’
‘Noor—’
She stood up, cutting him ofF. ‘Thank you, Prithvi. You’re right,
I’m probably overreacting. I’ll speak to Rahul about it tonight.’
‘Noor, I—’
‘Oh, ho! I said I’ll speak to him. Now come on, show me around
your flat. Do you realize this is the first time I’ve ever been here?’
Prithvi stood watching as he let Noor wander through the house,
all other concerns briefly forgotten, but an old pain renewed. He
etched every visual, every sound into his memory—the image of her
studying his bookshelves, the way the setting sun caught her hair as
she peered out the kitchen window, the sinuous movement of her
throat as she pulled a bottle of water out of his fridge and threw her
head back to gulp directly from the container. He soaked it all in as,
for a few borrowed minutes, he pretended that his dreams had come
true after all.
Her tour of the flat done, Noor spent a short while making small
talk before saying bye. Prithvi saw her off with a smile, which faded
as soon as he shut the door and returned his attention to the problem
at hand. Picking up the phone, he rang Rahul at his workplace. But
Rahul did not answer. Prithvi tried again and again, without success.
 Finally, he got through to a switchboard at Rex Data Analytics. The
operator told him that Mr Acharya had already left for the day.
As evening wore on into night, Prithvi considered going down
to Noor and Rahul’s house, not only to check on Noor but also to
sneak in a word with Rahul, though he had no idea what he would
actually say.
If this was Rahul’s doing . . .
No. He promised me he never would. And we’re no longer kids. This
is our Code, and breaking it is a serious thing. Besides, he sincerely cares
for Noor and Tara and would never put them in harm s way.
Thus convincing himself, Prithvi went to bed, but as he lay
awake, the words rose up into his consciousness from long-buried
memory. But who makes the promise? The human or the beast?
He did not sleep a wink that night.
 [8]

when he did not hear from Noor at all the next day, Prithvi’s
attempts at convincing himself that all would be well were no
longer effective. In the evening, he swung onto his bike—the same
Bullet that he had bought during his university days—and headed
for her house.
As he turned into the tree-lined lane that led to the two-storey
villa, Prithvi was presented with a picture of domestic bliss. The lights
from the house bathed it in a warm glow. An old Hindi movie song
floated out on the wind, embellished now and then with a child’s
laughter. The smell of rotis, freshly rolled and cooked on an open
flame, sat on Prithvi’s tongue before sliding down to fill his stomach
with relief.
Taking some courage from the picturesque setting, Prithvi
parked his bike, walked to the door and rang the doorbell.
Rahul opened the door.
Prithvi smiled. ‘Hey, dude! I invited myself over for dinner.
Noor’s cooking can be smelt all the way across Bombay.’ He was
about to enter the house when Rahul stopped him with a hand on
his chest.
Prithvi flinched, then tried to make light of it, ‘Okay, okay,
I’m being cheap here. But you should be used to it by now. Hey,
Noor! Your husband has some serious food aggression issues, you
know!’
 Rahul stepped out of the house and shut the door behind him.
‘The only reason I’m not ripping you to shreds right now is because
I love my wife. I love my daughter. I’m not going to lose them over
your fucking disloyalty, is that clear? So, go away, never come back,
and we can all get on happily with our lives.’
‘What . . . what are you talking about, Rahul?’ Prithvi was
completely flummoxed.
‘I know, Prithvi.’
‘What do you mean, you know? In fact, I should be the one
telling you that I know. I should be the one cautioning you, not the
other way round!’
Rahul’s expression changed from pissed off to delighted. ‘Oh, the
animals, you mean. Prithvi, blood has its own song. You remember
what that felt like, don’t you? That joy, that power. What are all
these petty human concerns about women and family and fidelity
against that. . . that majesty? But I wondered; was it the animal in
you she saw and wanted? What if I could be the animal she needed,
instead?’
‘Fidelity? Animal? What the fuck are you talking about,
Rahul?’
And then Rahul was the individual he had just been moments
ago. ‘So how long has this been going on? You and Noor? I mean,
I knew you were in love with her right from college, and much as I
tried to ignore it, I could tell that she felt the same way about you.
She was never the same when I met her without you around, you
know. Almost as if she was talking to me only to get to be with you.
No wonder then. I guess she wanted you as much as you did her.
If it had only been love, I could have forgiven you. But this . . .
And you two didn’t stop fucking each other even after she and I
got married, did you? It’s quite obvious, given the date Tara was
born—’
‘Rahul!’ Prithvi raised both his hands as though he meant to
throttle the other, but then restrained himself. Chest heaving, he
took a step back. There was a look in Rahul’s eyes that scared him, a
feral gleam that spoke of many hidden angers, many minds of man
and beast. He understood now what Dr Acharya had warned him of
time and again. You can be human or you can be animal, Prithvi. But
not both. Never both.
Rahul, it seemed, was both and neither. He was dangerous.
Prithvi felt a chill run down his spine and he willed himself to
keep calm. ‘If you want me to leave, I will,’ he said, holding up his
hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘But that has nothing to do with the
other part of it, Rahul. You can’t go on. You can’t transform.’
‘And what are you going to do? Tell my wife? Whisper it in her
ears as you . . .’
Prithvi squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the accusation
that Rahul was about to make. Thankfully, Rahul did not speak the
words. Instead, he was again the other Rahul, saying, ‘When did this
become about her, Prithvi? What about usV He reached out to place
a hand on Prithvi’s cheek, his touch as tender as it had been over a
decade ago.
Prithvi could not help but close his eyes and relish the warmth,
if only for a moment. Then he said, ‘This is about us, Rahul. This
is about who we are, who you will choose to be. You have a family.
If anyone finds out what you’re doing, can you imagine what would
happen to you, to them? You can’t keep doing this!’
Rahul jerked his hand back as though he had been burnt. ‘Go
away, Prithvi. Go away, and all will be well. Get out of our lives. You
are the reason why things are so messed up. You’re the reason why I
even need to turn. I can’t hold the anger within me in human form,
it’s just too much. I feel as though I’m going to burst with the rage
and end up hurting Noor and . . .’ He stopped, tears glistening in his
eyes, and looked directly at Prithvi. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Leave us alone.
That is all we ... I and my family, want. I don’t care if Tara is your
daughter. I don’t care about you and my wife. Let us forget all about
you and live happily, please.’
Prithvi swallowed the denials on his tongue along with the lump
in his throat. This was the price he had to pay for what he had started
all those years ago. This was his fault. The admission hurt but also
made it easier to accept what he had to do next.
He nodded and retreated towards his bike. As he turned it
around and started it up, he became aware of the front door opening
behind him, of Noor’s fragrance as she came out onto the porch.
Prithvi imagined the expression on her face as she asked Rahul what
was going on. Or perhaps she would not. It did not matter. He had
to do what he had to do. All the more so because Rahul was right,
after all. Yes, he had been, and still was, in love with Noor. And
nothing would ever change that.
 [9]

midnight brought a knock at Prithvi’s open door. ‘You’re leaving.’

It was a statement, not a question.
Prithvi did not turn around and continued to pack what few
possessions he deemed worth carrying into a large backpack.
‘Is it true? Rahul told me that you . . .?’
Prithvi threw down the T-shirt he was holding in an exasperated
huff and turned around to face Noor.
‘Is it true that I love you? Yes. I think I’ve loved you from even
before I knew that I loved you. But that doesn’t excuse what he
said about. . .’ He slammed his fist sideways into the wall, rage and
disgust welling up as he remembered the allegations.
Noor came further into the room. She let go of her child’s
hand. Tara ran forward with a delighted squeak to throw up her
small, chubby arms in anticipation of Prithvi’s hug. Prithvi smiled
and picked the child up, responding to her excited account of the
unexpected drive there with all seriousness.
Noor did not let the topic go. She said, ‘You’re too decent for
that, aren’t you, Prithvi? Too decent to hit on your best friend’s
wife?’
‘Is that how little you think of me, Noor? You aren’t some object
to be spoken for by anyone. You made your choice when you married
Rahul. That choice, I respect. You aren’t a thing, for one guy to stake
a claim over in the absence of another.’
 Tara apparently agreed for she clapped her tiny hands in delight
and said ‘Butterfly.’ She then pointed. A moth, drawn to the light,
was fluttering against the glass of the closed window. Prithvi took
Tara closer. She put her hand on the pane, trying to catch the insect
on the other side and screwed her face up in an effort not to cry when
she discovered she could not. She then let the lights in the distance
distract her, jabbing at the pane as she identified colours to herself
in some made-up song, ‘Red, blue, blue. How are you? Red, blue,
blue . . .’
Noor came to stand by them, a hand on her daughter’s back.
‘You’re right, Prithvi. The choice was mine. The fault was also
mine. I never had the guts to tell you what I felt about you. And
once Rahul proposed to me, and you seemed so happy about it,
I thought ... I don’t know. Perhaps it was wrong of me. Or that
was what was expected of me. I don’t know what I should have
done.’
No response. The moth’s wings created a soft susurrus against
the glass pane.
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Prithvi?’ Noor burst out. ‘All those
years, why didn’t you tell me once that you loved me? One word.
And we were supposed to be friends, dam ...!’ She swallowed the rest
of the expletive, given Tara’s presence.
Prithvi said, ‘I’m not the right kind of guy for you, Noor.’
‘And Rahul is?’
Prithvi did not reply; he had no response he could give that was
logical, and no logical response that was his to give.
Noor continued, ‘I asked Rahul why he thought you and I... I
asked what made him think that we’d been together. Was it that he
didn’t trust me, or that he didn’t trust you?’
‘Noor, please . . .’
‘You know what he told me, Prithvi? He said it was because Tara
is just like you.’
‘I’ve no idea what that’s supposed to mean. Tara is the spitting
image of you.’
 ‘You’re an idiot, Prithvi Narasimha,’ an exasperated Noor
declared. She paused, considering her words, then said, ‘I’m going
to ask you to please stay. Not for me, not for your own sake or for
Rahul’s. I know it sounds silly, but Tara needs you. Don’t you see?
She is like you. She may be born of me and Rahul, but she’s the
daughter of your soul. She’s going to need you.’
Prithvi finally forced out words. ‘I have no place in Tara’s life.
Or yours. I’ll only make things worse if I stay. For all that Rahul
has said and done of late, he is not a bad sort. Besides,’ he added,
looking warmly at Noor, ‘I think you can take care of yourself.
You’ll be fine, and so will Ms Wonder Woman here.’ He placed
a gentle kiss on the child’s head. She responded by grabbing his
face in her hands in a strangely adult way, before returning her
attention to more interesting things, such as the window and the
world beyond.
Noor glared at Prithvi. He met her eyes briefly before looking
away. The moth was gone and Tara was searching for it. Without
speaking, Noor took her daughter from Prithvi’s arms and headed
for the door. She did not wait for him to call her back, to try and
placate her or to offer to stay. They both knew his mind was made
up.
‘Bye, Prithvi Uncle,’ Tara called out, surprised that the visit was
over so soon.
Prithvi did not reply. He stood as he was for a long while, too
numb to act or even think. Then he finished packing in silence,
locked up the flat and dropped the key off with the security guard,
asking him to pass it on to the owner:
Getting on his bike, he rode towards CST railway station, though
he had no idea which train he would catch to go where once he got
there. He did not care. Traffic, time, people and sounds became a
blur as Prithvi went blank. He parked his bike, entered the station,
bought a ticket, all on a dazed autopilot mode. He found his berth
in the train, threw his bag into a corner and sat down. He had paid
for the entire A/C First Class coupe because he wanted to be alone.
 Sir, dinner?’ The attendant stood at the doorway, notepad in hand.
Prithvi shook his head in dismissal and the man moved away.
Eat, my friend. Come, feast with me.
Prithvi gulped loudly, as though he had been physically struck,
but the blow had fallen on indescribable inner space. It was not just
the words or the voice that hit him, but the unstated malice that
came with them, the hatred and anger and the sweet smell of blood
and a leathery taste that he ought not to know but did.
Rahul. . .
Laughter.
Rahul, please, whatever it is that you ’re doing. . .
Come soon, Prithvi. Come, we will share her. That’s what you
wanted, didn’t you? Did you think I wouldn’t let you have this simple
thing, my dearest bestfriend?
Prithvi got up and hurled himself out of the cabin, down
the corridor and towards the carriage door. The train was already
moving, but he ignored the emergency passenger chain-brake,
instead jumping out onto the platform. His distress overrode his
innate reflexes and he landed right on top of a lady passing by. Even
as she began to shout, Prithvi straightened himself up and ran down
the platform, taking the stairs at the end three at a time to reach the
exit, where he knew there was a public pay phone.
Throwing himself inside the booth, Prithvi punched in numbers
with panic-stricken fury. The .number he was trying was in use.
Cursing loudly, Prithvi disconnected the call, then dialled again and
again, aware that he was running out of time with each try. Finally,
he gave up and sprinted towards the parking lot, shoving aside all
those who came in his way, oblivious to the shouts of abuse and
disapproval directed at him. Swinging on to his bike, he pulled out
in a tearing hurry, nearly running over the parking attendant who
approached him for payment.
Horns honked and brakes screeched as he shot into the middle of
the traffic on the main road, uncaring of the chain of fender benders
that he was causing.
 Don’t worry, Prithvi. Take your time. I’ll waitfor you. Can’t have
all the fun by myselfnow, can Z?
Gunning the accelerator, Prithvi made for an address in the
Worli Seaface area. He needed help. And right then, he could think
of only one person who could give it.
 [10]

prithvi had never imagined Dr Acharya as an elderly scholar who

might spend his evenings at home in a white kurta pyjama, watching
TV. But that is exactly what he saw when Dr Acharya opened the
door, though he hardly noticed.
‘Prithvi!’ The surprise was obvious and merited—after all, they
had barely spoken to each other since Prithvi had left the school,
only exchanging greetings at Rahul’s wedding and Tara’s naming
ceremony.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you at home, sir. But I must speak with you.
It’s urgent. Very urgent.’
Dr Acharya moved aside and waved Prithvi in. ‘My son, you
are welcome here anytime. I can’t tell you how delighted I am to see
you.’
‘Sir, please. Spare me the sentimentalities. I’m here because ...’
He faltered, aware that he was suddenly sentimental himself. ‘I
promised you once that you wouldn’t lose Rahul because of what
you thought I had done. I’m here to warn you that you must act at
once if you don’t want to lose your son.’
Dr Acharya was stunned. ‘What do you mean, Prithvi? Are you
still . . . and is Rahul doing this with you? You promised, Prithvi;
why can’t you leave my son alone!’
Prithvi’s lips curled in a silent snarl, but he kept his voice even.
‘It’s true. I am to blame for Rahul’s actions. I am to blame in that I
never stopped him, for my own, selfish reasons. But all that is in the
past. Right now, Noor and Tara are in danger.’
‘How do you know?’ Dr Acharya’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
‘Rahul told me. He ... he taunted me, sir; he threatened to hurt
them.’
‘When was this?’
‘Less than twenty minutes ago. I sped through traffic to get here
because you’re the only one who—’
‘Twenty minutes ago?’
‘Yes.’
‘Rahul spoke to you twenty minutes ago?’
‘Yes. I mean . . .’
‘Look, is this your way of causing trouble, of getting back at
Rahul? He told me, you know. He told me this morning, about you
and Noor. I know you, Prithvi. Better yet, I know Noor; she is as a
daughter to me. I don’t think she could have ... In fact, I tried telling
Rahul that there must be some misunderstanding. But now you’re
making me wonder if he was right—at least about you—after all.’
‘Sir?’
Dr Acharya said, ‘Twenty minutes ago, my son was on a
conference call with me and my publishers, discussing the next
edition of my algebra textbook. He spent forty-five minutes on that
call with us, and it ended less than five minutes ago. During that
entire time not once did Rahul leave his seat or speak to anyone else
on the phone. Unless you’re going to say someone was impersonating
him on the call. Oh, wait, Tara came into the room while the call was
on, and he held her on his lap for a while, and she cooed a rhyme into
the phone, for good effect. My editor found the whole thing rather
cute. But you want me to believe that at that exact same moment,
Rahul was threatening you with the safety of his daughter and his
wife. Is that right?’
‘He didn’t call me, sir. But yes, he did threaten their lives.’
‘And how did my son achieve this amazing feat?’ the scholar
continued to be as sceptical as he was annoyed.
 The question—or was it the scholar’s disbelief—opened the door
on a vortex of emotions, sensations that Prithvi had long suppressed.
Anger, always there, always first, followed by amusement at the
other’s ignorance and then the fierce, joyful intensity of something
coming alive, not another side or creature, but the key to a whole
other world, a different way of seeing all that was.
He—or was it his beast—decided that a demonstration was in
order.
He let himself recede, blend into the larger oneness, senses
sparking alive all over again as though he was getting up from a long,
deep sleep. Inside him, the beast stretched and shook itself out.
Prithvi could feel the golden gleam in his eyes as he looked at Dr
Acharya, focusing long-unused skills to search, like a receiver tuning
into a radio frequency; no, like a ghost, flitting from being to being,
looking for a home.
It was easy to find Dr Acharya in the otherness of the mind­
world, for they were face to face and alone with each other. But to
make himself heard, that was proving difficult. Prithvi gently, then
with force, tested what felt like solid boundaries, looking for a sliver
of space to let his voice pass through. But there was nothing, no gaps
or crevices that he could find. Dr Acharya’s inner animal had been
long repressed and was deaf to his shouts.
‘Arrgh.’ Prithvi fell to his knees from the sheer effort of trying.
His head ached, as did his body, as though he had been throwing
himself at a wall, even as a part of him registered disbelief. The
only other individual he had ever tried reaching out to in this way
had been Rahul and that had been so . . . pleasurable, a languorous
conversation carried as sighs on the breeze.
Rahul!
Prithvi pulled himself up to his feet. He did not have much time
and he knew it.
Dr Acharya was caught between concern and wariness at Prithvi’s
actions. He moved forward to help, but then said, ‘What’s going on?
What game are you playing now, Prithvi?’
 This time, Prithvi let the voice act as his guide, the sense of
speech a fine thread that connected to Dr Acharya’s other senses. He
pushed, though he was not sure what at; fingers clenched into fists
and sweat trickling down his face, he pushed.
Can you hear me, sir?
Dr Acharya stumbled back; he looked around the room as
though he expected to see the speaker suddenly appear. But there
was no one else. There never had been. Placing his hand on a chair
behind him for support, he looked at Prithvi.
This is how, sir. This is how Rahul told me. Exactly as he lookedyou
in the eye, exactly as he held his daughter on his lap, he told me that he
was going to hurt them.
But Prithvi’s lips did not move.
Dr Acharya let out a cry—a soft mewl filled with as much terror
as it held dismay. He collapsed into the chair. ‘Get out,’ he hissed.
‘Get out, you monster!’
Prithvi shakily got to his feet. Call me what you like. Do whatever
you want—tell the Council, call the police. But please, right now, help
me. We have to get Noor and Tara to safety. I can’t do this alone. I don’t
dare do this alone.
The declaration seemed to inspire a new courage in the scholar.
He looked Prithvi resolutely in the eye. ‘My son would never hurt
another being. And certainly not his own wife and child. Rahul is in
control of himself in every single way. It is you who provoke him, you
ungrateful bastard! Leave now and never show me your face again.’
Prithvi left without another word.

Dr Acharya watched him go, wondering if he ought to call the

Council, warn them of what Prithvi had done, could still do, and
how unstable he was. Left unchecked, Prithvi could be a menace to
them all. He moved towards his phone. He picked it up and began
dialling a number, but then hesitated to press ‘call’.
Spare me the sentimentalities, Prithvi had said, and Dr Acharya
knew that he had been right. However, it was easier said than done.
He remembered the very first time he had seen Prithvi lying on a
hospital bed, his non-human body desperately fighting not only
his illness but also his disillusionment. That young cub had wanted
nothing more than to die, and he had wanted it so bad that even his
body had struggled to heal.
Should I have let him go! Dr Acharya wondered. Should he have
let Prithvi die quietly, without a fuss, one more Orphan dealt with in
the best way there was? Had that been his mistake, that he had seen
so much of his own son in the Orphan cub that he had watched over
Prithvi day and night, coaxing him to live, promising him there was
a better life in store for him, after all.
Ungrateful bastard son ofa murderer!
His anger assuaged with the insult, Dr Acharya put the phone
down. He then picked it up again, this time dialling his son’s number.
‘Hello? Dad? What’s up?’
Dr Acharya listened to the warm voice, to the sounds of
domesticity and happiness in the background. A child’s gurgled
protests. A mother’s gentle chiding. Pots and pans clanging as the
trio made dinner, to be consumed together in laughter and joy before
they would all retire for the night, to sleep peacefully.
And Prithvi had wanted to disturb that peace.
‘Dad? You okay?’ Rahul’s voice came over the phone.
‘I’m fine, beta. Just felt like speaking to my granddaughter, that’s
all. What’s the little princess doing?’
‘She’s giving her mother hell, dad. Throwing a tantrum and
refusing to eat her food.’ He added, ‘It’s quite funny, but don’t tell
Noor I said that. She’ll go hyper. Wait, let me get them for you.’
‘No, no! It’s okay. I’ll talk to them tomorrow. Don’t disturb
them. Poor Noor has her hands full with two babies—one child and
one pretending to be a grown-up.’
‘Haha! Very funny, dad. You’ve been waiting for a chance to use
that line, haven’t you?’
Dr Acharya laughed, then said, ‘Goodnight, Rahul. Give my
love to Noor and the baby.’
 ‘Goodnight, dad.’
Dr Acharya put the phone down and stood staring sightlessly
into space for a while. Then he pulled himself together. Switching off
the lights and the TV, he went to bed. It took him longer than usual
to fall asleep, but he eventually did. By the time the phone rang and
he woke up, it was too late.
 [11]

prithvi found the front door locked, but he broke it down with a
few well-placed kicks. The house was eerily silent; not even the sound
of traffic could be heard. Rahul had wanted it this way—a secluded
house away from the city, with nothing but nature around. Prithvi
wondered why he had never questioned the choice before. Now, of
course, it was too late to blame himself, but hopefully, he was not too
late to stop things before they got out of hand.
Standing at the threshold, Prithvi took a look around him. The
nearest inhabitant lived over a kilometre away, too far to help. As for
Dr Acharya, there was no point waiting for the scholar to see reason.
Prithvi entered the house and did a swift search of the ground
floor. Not a thing was out of place, but for the stillness, the heavy
stillness that felt as deafening- as the silence. Slowly, he made his
way upstairs, acutely aware of the soft click of his shoes against the
granite-covered stairs, of the Cerelac-spill stain on the bannister and
the forgotten toy in the middle of the landing: Tara’s least favourite
car, a police jeep with sirens. Prithvi bent down to pick up the toy
and, climbing up the last few stairs, set it on the slim console at the
top of the staircase. He walked through the corridor, looking at but
reluctant to open the closed doors to the various rooms on either side
of the passage. Noor and Rahul’s bedroom, Tara’s nursery, the guest
room that he had often slept in.
Here.
 The call came from behind the door at the far end of the
passage—the book-filled study that Rahul had, without realizing
it, set up in close replication of his father’s office back at Modern
School.
Prithvi walked down the corridor and placed his hand on the
doorknob, but did not turn it. He knew he was being summoned
inside, but the last thing he wanted to do was enter. Already his sense
of smell told him that he was too late, that it was all over, and only
the stuff of nightmares remained. He longed to turn around and
run away from the house, from the mess that was his life, run until
nothing remained but blankness and the end of everything.
And then, a gasp, a near-inaudible gasp that boomed as thunder
in his ears. ‘Prithvi. . .’
Throwing open the door, Prithvi barged into the room. His very
first step had him standing in a red, viscous puddle. He cried out in
despair and dropped to his knees, his hands soaking into the still­
warm blood.
You came. Good. I wanted you to see her like this. I wanted her to
die in front ofyou.
Noor lay on the carpet—the Persian carpet Prithvi had helped
her pick out as a housewarming present—alive but barely so. A single
wound—an open, jagged hole in her belly—marred her lovely form.
Her intestines spilled out onto the carpet, and she was breathing
in a way that suggested she had already lost cognizance of her
surroundings but not of her pain.
‘Prithvi...’ she wheezed again, even as she tried to move her arm
to search for something. Prithvi did not have to guess what it was
she searched for—a few feet away, Tara lay face down, her light blue
baby pyjamas soaked ruddy brown.
Why do you grieve, my friend? She is gone now. Only you and I are
left. Things can be the way they once were, Prithvi. You and I, together,
free. No more suspicion, no more doubt. I don’t care what you and she
might have shared, I don’t even care about the child. All that is over.
Come to me, Prithvi. Let us run together as we used to. Let us rule the
night and wake to dawn in each other’s arms. No human will get in our
way again.
Prithvi tore his eyes away from the carnage before him and looked
up. The study lamp on the desk was on, but had been knocked over
and threw its light and long shadows across the bookshelves in a
grotesque pattern. Blood splatters covered the wall to his right and the
curtains on the window beyond, as well as the papers neatly stacked
on a side table that also held the telephone. On the other wall, the
painting that had once graced Dr Acharya’s study, the illusion of man
and beast as one. Below it, a sofa with coloured patchwork cushions
that he and Rahul had often occupied after Tara and Noor had gone
to bed, nursing their rum and talking of things of no consequence
till they would fall into the silence of being together, a silence laden
with all the things they shared but would never speak of, not again.
Rahul sat on the sofa, naked. His body shimmered with drops of
rust; sweat and blood covering him like some ritual anointing. His
slender fingers were crusted with red-brown threads, tatters of skin
and specks of flesh, and his lips were unnaturally dark against the
flushed skin of his face. His pupils were the long, yellow slits of light
of his lion.
Beast
 [1]

chandana reached the end of the tunnel without incident. As

Bhima had told her, the tunnel opened up into a small janitor’s
closet, and she ended up walking right into a bunch of dirty mops.
Gathering herself together, she peered out of the closet. The door
opened out into a small recess containing the closet and a gents’
washroom, but beyond that was a busy corridor and at its far end
a glass-fronted atrium. That, she assumed, was the way out of the
building.
Realizing that there was no way she would not attract attention
in her borrowed attire, Chandana figured the best thing to do was
to act as if she expected, even anticipated it. She mussed her hair up
and pushed it all purposively to one side, adjusted Aditi’s belt around
her waist and walked out of the janitor’s closet. Pushing her chin up
in vyhat she hoped passed for snooty elegance, she began walking
through the corridor of the building as though she owned the place.
Indeed, the very first people she ran into—two stockbroker-types
clutching takeaway coffees—looked her up and down, sniggered,
then resumed their conversation. Chandana had to make an effort
not to grin at how her plan was working out, lest it spoil the effect.
After that, the few minutes it took her to reach her destination—
Rex Data Analytics—were easy, even entertaining. People gaped at
her, turned around to look at her again, but not one of them stopped
or spoke to her.
 Inside Rex, Chandana received a practised polite welcome
from the receptionist, though she was still drawing stares. She
tapped her finger on the counter in pretended impatience as the
receptionist made the required phone calls before telling her,
‘Ma’am, through the door on your left please. Our security person
will meet you at the end of the corridor and escort you to Mr Dev
Narayan’s office.’
Chandana thanked the receptionist, then hesitated. To her right
was a normal office, with the usual artificial lighting, monotonous
grey cubicles and clustered employees. To her left though, the panels
were shaded opaque, as was the door she had been directed to. She
wondered whether she ought to turn around and walk away, despite
Prithvi’s instructions.
Don’t act like one ofthose teenage kids in every American TV series,
he had said, and Chandana could not help but feel happier at the
thought of him. Perhaps, when this was over . . .
Warmth surged through her at that. Ignoring what clearly
were stupid fears on her part, she went in through the smoked-glass
doors.
The men moved in swiftly; she did not even have a chance to
make a run for it. One clamped a damp cloth over her nose and
mouth, while two others grabbed her arms and a third picked her
up by her ankles. Before she could try to fight back, everything went
dark.
Chandana jerked awake to sterile coldness. For a moment,
the white glare of the overhead lights made her wonder whether
she was in a hospital or already dead in a morgue. Then, as her
senses registered the lingering smells, and her fingers felt the
texture of the sheet under her, she realized that things were far
worse. She was lying on the very same bed in the very same room
she had been kept in but a day ago by someone she had never
seen. Except, that someone, she suspected, was no longer a voice
over a speaker but sat on the chair next to the bed, peaceably
watching her. She sprang to her feet, glad to find that whatever
had knocked her out had left little residual effect, but beyond that
was unsure as to whether she ought to speak first or wait for the
other.
The man, no, the Saimha, made her decision for her. ‘I owe
you an apology,’ he began. ‘I should’ve been straightforward with
you from the start. But I thought you too young to understand.
It was a mistake, one that led to much confusion. Really, I’m
sorry.’
Chandana did not know what it was the male meant but
recognized his voice as indeed being the one she had heard in the
chamber during her so-called ‘training’. This time, however, she had
a name she could put to both face and voice. ‘Dev . . .?’
He laughed. ‘Yes, I’m Dev Narayan. Didn’t take you long to
figure that out. But then, you came here to find me, didn’t you?’ His
expression turned sombre as he added, ‘Thank goodness for that. I
was beginning to get very worried about you.’
‘But . . .’ Chandana began, more out of shock than
incomprehension, ‘But Prithvi sent me to you. He said you would
help me.’
‘Of course I’m going to help you! Oh, Chandana, this is exactly
why I apologized for not being forthcoming with you. I’m on your
side, my dear.’
Chandana met the assertion with a look of patent disbelief.
Dev took off his glasses, polishing the lenses against the sleeve
of his shirt before putting them back on. He said, ‘If I wanted you
dead, would I have sent Prithvi, the one Enforcer who would hesitate
to kill you, after you? I mean, you know by now, right, that you
bear an unmistakable resemblance to your mother? So, here was my
situation: either I had to send someone after you, or else the Council
would. I sent Prithvi. Doesn’t that tell you that I’ve wanted nothing
more than for you to be safe?
‘Safe? You taught me to transform; you made me kill people.’
‘That too was for your safety, my dear. As I said, I owe you an
apology and an explanation.’
 The argument struck a chord with Chandana. She frowned,
thinking the matter through before relaxing a little bit, enough to sit
back down on the bed she had been lying on.
Dev’s eyes crinkled in a comforting smile. ‘As for my men
out there—well, all I can say is that they are blunt instruments. In
future, I shall think twice before saying: “bring that girl to me at
once”. They seem to make the worst of it.’ He laughed, a mixture of
embarrassment and an attempt at light-heartedness.
Chandana felt relief surge through her. She was safe. And soon
Prithvi would be too. Prithvi!
‘Prithvi!’ she began. ‘The police are after Prithvi. If anything
happens to him. Please . . .’ She sat forward and grabbed Dev’s hand
in both of hers. ‘You have to help him. You have to save him!’
Her earnestness appeared to catch Dev unawares. He looked
down at the sight of his hand in hers, then slowly pulled his fingers out
from her fervent grasp and patted her cheek with avuncular affection.
‘Prithvi. Prithvi. It amazes me that one so undeserving of affection has
been blessed with a surfeit of it. First your mother. Now you. Hah!
But you have no idea, have you? You see, my little lioness, your friend
Prithvi is a cold-blooded killer. He hardly deserves your concern.’
‘You think you know him,’ Chandana shot back, ‘but you don’t!’
‘Prithvi has done nothing but hide the truth from the second he
saw you, the truth of who you are and—’
‘He told me he knew my mother. He ... I know he loved her.
You can’t fluster me by throwing that at me.’
Dev nodded, the action of one who gracefully admits defeat.
‘Love? Yes, I suppose Prithvi loved her, in a way. But that love led to
nothing but pain—for her, for you, for your father.’
‘My father?’
‘Yes. You’d all have been one happy family, if it hadn’t been for
that no-good Prithvi.’
‘Liar! Why should I trust you?’
Dev said, ‘Your father did. Surely that counts for something?’ he
added, as Chandana floundered to reply, ‘Did you ask Prithvi about
your father? Did he tell you who killed him? No? But you would
rather trust Prithvi than me.’
The questions were far more potent than anything Dev had
said so far and had their intended effect. The first traces of doubt
glimmered in Chandana’s eyes. Her lips rounded as she noiselessly
formed the question that she did not dare ask out loud.
Dev took a firm but gentle hold of her shoulders. ‘You’ve no
idea who you are, Chandana. You’ve no idea how important you are.
Your father . . . your father would have been so proud of you, of all
that you have done and can do. My-dear, your very birth is nothing
short of magic!
‘Science tells us that female offspring get their genes from
their mother, but Noor—your mother—had no recessive genes in
her. And yet, she bore a Saimha child. Do you understand what
that means? You are the key to our future. You are of an old and
ancient bloodline that failed, but you were born nevertheless—to
a human woman with no Saimha in her. You are the evolutionary
step that nature’s dice game cheated us out of, the secret to our
genetic code. Like humans, we too will be able to breed freely,
knowing that our offspring will be just as we are. No more of this
sick human world, in which your mother had to die at the hands
of someone she trusted and your father was murdered by his best
friend.’
‘What. . .?’
Dev paused, then said, fervour in his every word, ‘Help me,
Chandana. And in return, I will give you your father’s killer.’
‘I . . . but . . . who?’ Her voice held the desperate defiance of a
frightened teenager whose world had fallen apart once too often and
was now crumbling to pieces all over again.
‘I wish to god that you didn’t have to hear this from me, but
you do.’
‘For heaven’s sake . . .’
‘It was Prithvi. Prithvi killed your father, Chandana. Prithvi
murdered him in cold blood.’
 ‘No!’ Chandana spat out the denial, but her tone held more pain
than conviction. ‘No . . she said again, this time in a feeble whisper,
before sliding forward off the bed to crumple to her knees. ‘Prithvi...
my father . . .’ she sobbed, even as she felt the heaviness of knowing it
was more than one loss she cried for.
Prithvi!
Prithvi had killed her father. Prithvi had wanted to kill her too.
No, he saved me, he’s risked his lifefor me.
Or had he?
Before this is over, there are many things you will find out about
your mother, about yourfather. . . about me.
No!
I have done some things in life that I am not proud of. . .
As the beginnings of comprehension dawned on her, Chandana’s
mouth contorted in a soundless scream, then another. Finally, she let
herself fall sideways to the ground, still curled up in a ball.
Dev sighed and said, to no one in particular, ‘Now that really
is dramatic.’ He caught the unresisting Chandana by her wrists and
pulled her to her feet. Pushing tear-and-sweat-clumped strands of
hair off her face, he told her, ‘Oh, the secrets inside you ... I feared
that if we didn’t bring your beast to the fore, we would lose them
forever. And so, I trained you, honed the animal inside you, stoking
it to primal purity. Now, you are ready to fulfil your father’s dreams.
Don’t you want to do that, Chandana?’
‘I . . .’ Chandana uncertainly began.
‘Do you want to fulfil your father’s dreams?’
‘Yes. . .’
‘Do you want to set things right with the world, the way your
mother would’ve wanted you to?’
She looked up, meeting Dev’s calming gaze. Sniffling back her
tears, she nodded.
Dev wrapped an arm around her and began leading her out of
the room. ‘Don’t worry, it will all make sense, soon. Come on, let’s
go find you a rabbit. There is so much more that you need to learn.’
 [2]

‘Change of plans,’ Prithvi declared. ‘We can’t let the police arrest
us.’
‘What!’ Aditi hissed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m sorry. But it’s the only way. Chandana might still be in
danger. If it wasn’t Dr Acharya who was behind all this, then . . .’
‘Then who?’ Bhima asked.
Prithvi did not answer, using the moment to promise himself
that when this was all over, he would take himself to task, and how,
for missing such an obvious thing. But for now, dealing with his own
stupidity would have to wait. He returned his attention to Aditi and
Bhima, trying to explain as much as he could, as briefly as possible.
This was, he was aware, the first time that Bhima would hear much
of this story.
‘It’s ... complicated,’ he said. ‘Rahul, that is, Chandana’s father,
was my friend. He was a therianthrope, unlike Chandana’s mother,
Noor. A few years into their marriage, Rahul thought that Noor and
I. . . that is, he suspected me and Noor of. . .’
‘No goddamn way!’ Bhima burst out. ‘Why did you never tell
me, Prithvi? That bastard, how could he . . .’
Prithvi reached out to squeeze Bhima’s shoulder, calming him
into silence. He continued, ‘Anyway, I never did understand why
he believed what he did, till I met Chandana last night. You see,
Rahul was working on a system called the Prophecy—an analytical
database programme that was meant to map the Saimha genome.
Based on this, he believed that his daughter would not be born a
therianthrope.’
‘But when it turned out that she was one after all, he assumed it
must be because you were the father, not him,’ Aditi said.
‘It’s the only explanation I have, Aditi. In retrospect, I can see
what might have made him begin to wonder about his daughter’s
therianthropy—she once had an accident that few humans could
have survived. But I never saw it; I never once doubted Rahul’s
assertion that she was human. He and I . . . we’d been friends since
we were ten years old.’
Aditi frowned, hurt on Prithvi’s behalf, though he did not see
it. ‘If he really was your friend,’ she snapped, ‘he’d have double­
checked his database or whatever it was, instead of accusing you.
Sorry . . .’
Prithvi shook his head. ‘Maybe he did. I’ll never know. But
Rahul was right; his daughter is Saimha. The thing is, she is also
supposed to be dead. She was supposed to have died the same night
her parents did.’
He went over to Dr Acharya, who sat, a broken individual, with
his head buried in his hands. ‘Except, Dr Acharya must have realized
that she wasn’t dead, after all. He had her sent away, believing she
could live a normal human life because there was no Saimha in her.
She was adopted by a couple in Mandya and grew up there with
no idea of what and who she was, until her therianthropy began to
show.’
‘All right,’ Bhima said. ‘But once it turned out that she Was
Saimha, she should have popped up on the Council’s radar; except
she didn’t. Someone hid her from them, brought her to Mumbai,
trained her and set her loose on those three guys in Powai. Why?
Why send her to the warehouse? Who could be behind all that?’
‘Someone who realized that Chandana’s being Saimha is more
than chance, or a mistake. Someone who understood the logic behind
why Rahul thought she could not be a therianthrope. Someone who
sees that she may be the answer to a larger question: what makes us
Saimha?’
The phrase brought Dr Acharya out of his gloom. ‘Rahul used
to say that,’ he offered. ‘I thought it was a philosophical question.’
Prithvi shook his head. ‘It might have been more than a
philosophical question.’
‘What are you trying to say, Prithvi?’
‘Rahul thought I was Chandana’s father because science—such
as it was then—-told him that his child with Noor simply could not
be Saimha, because she would lack the genetic material to be one of
us. So, he jumped to the conclusion that she was not his offspring.
But there is another possible explanation. There was something in
Noor’s human DNA that allowed for her daughter to be Saimha.
Nature’s cheat in the dice game. Chandana is the missing link in the
human—Saimha genome. And there’s only one other individual who
could have seen that.’
Dr Acharya said, ‘Dev Narayan.’
Prithvi addressed Dr Acharya with a respect that had been
lacking in his voice thus far. ‘Sir, the painting. The one that used to
be in your study at Modern School. . . what happened to it?’
‘I gave it to Dev. He said he wanted it to remember Rahul by.
He said he wanted it to remind him to go on with their work, no
matter how tiring, or how difficult the choices he made. He said . . .’
Dr Acharya’s voice faltered. ‘He said: “Rahul’s greatest dream was a
world where there would be no more Orphans like Prithvi.’” Their
eyes met, and an understanding passed between them.
Dr Acharya drew in a deep breath and courage with it. ‘I’ll
explain it all to the Council. But Tara . . .’
‘He’s right,’ Aditi said. ‘We have to get to Chandana, that is,
your Tara, before anything happens to her.’
‘Not we,’ Prithvi corrected. ‘Bhima, stay with Dr Acharya. The
two of you must convene the Council at once. Tell them everything.
Aditi, you’d better stick with them.’
‘And you?’ Aditi asked.
 ‘Step one: I get past the cops out there. Step two: I get to
Chandana.’
‘That sounds easy.’
‘ACP Kashyap, your sense of humour is working overtime, you
know.’
Aditi said, ‘Actually, I have an idea.’
 [3]

‘on the ground. You have ten seconds to obey,’ the orders blared
over a megaphone as Prithvi walked out of the apartment building
with his hands up.
Policemen fell in around him on all sides, cutting off any
chance of retreat or escape. The gates to the complex had been shut,
the few residents in the vicinity ushered to one side, and barricades
pulled into place for additional security. Two full battalions of
policemen were in formation in the courtyard, rifles at the ready.
Behind the lines was an array of officers. A man Prithvi identified
as a deputy commissioner by his stripes was speaking into the
megaphone.
‘On the ground,’ the man repeated as Prithvi continued
walking towards them. He then started counting, ‘Ten . . . nine . . .
eight. . .’
A rhythmic click as safeties were pulled back on a host of rifles.
'. . . five . . . four . . . three . . .’
Prithvi uncurled the fingers of his right hand, letting everyone
see what he held in it.
‘A bomb! He has a bomb!’
It was not obvious who had shouted, but the words had enough
vigour in them to create a stir.
‘Move back!’ The forces fell back a few metres, creating a
narrow pathway. Prithvi began walking quickly through the passage,
knowing that it would not take long for the police to change their
tactics. Indeed, he was only halfway to the gate of the building when
he heard what would have been inaudible to human ears: the soft hiss
of a sniper’s silencer-fitted gun. He reacted with the same more-than-
human instinct to dodge the bullet and broke into a run before the
slug buried itself in the concrete at his feet.
The sniper’s actions also brought the assembled troops back
to attention and they took up their positions again. Prithvi
responded by changing directions, barrelling through a group of
policemen to run towards the adjacent building, on top of which
the sharpshooters had taken position. He then bounded up the
side of a parked police van and jumped onto a window ledge.
Grabbing hold of a nearby pipe, he clambered up the building and
onto the roof.
The two shooters turned to aim their guns at him, but before
they could fire, Prithvi rammed the butt of one man’s rifle back into
his chest and kicked the other soldier’s gun out of his hand. The
first man fell unconscious to the ground. Prithvi landed a punch on
the second man’s jaw, making him join his prone companion. Then
he picked up the weapon and pointed it at the mob of policemen
below.
Prithvi began to shoot at their hands, forcing them to drop their
weapons with as little injury to them as possible. Much as he would
have preferred to finish things neatly with a series of headshots, he
had a feeling that Aditi would never forgive him if he killed any of
her colleagues.
The clip in his gun spent, Prithvi ran to the other side of the
building and hurled himself off the roof. He hit the ground eight
floors below on one knee in a perfect cat-like crouch, but as he tried
to get up an intense ache shot through his ankle. Prithvi flopped back
onto the tarmac. The fall, he reckoned, had broken a bone or two.
It would take him a good half-hour to heal enough to stop feeling
the pain.
 ‘Need a hand?’ Aditi pulled up in a battered Ambassador car.
‘I told you to stay with Bhima,’ Prithvi remonstrated, though
without conviction. He gratefully got into the car before handing
over the slim, duct-taped TV remote he had been passing off as the
bomb trigger to her. ‘That was one hell of a plan. You, officer, are
one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.’
Aditi took the compliment with a quiet smile. ‘Nariman Point?’
she asked, pulling away from the building and into the stream of
traffic on the nearest main road as fast as she could.
Prithvi said, ‘Dev knows that we’ll come looking for Chandana.
The first thing he’ll do is beef up security. If those black-overalls
weren’t working for Dr Acharya, they’re surely Dev’s lackeys, not
to mention that other Enforcer he’s got doing his bidding. We need
backup.’
‘We could go to the police,’ Aditi said.
‘ACP Kashyap, are these jokes going to become a habit?’
‘Oh shut up, Prithvi,’ she replied. ‘And hang on.’
Aditi swung the car around, taking an unauthorized U-turn at
a junction. She then sped away, leaving a host of blaring horns and
shouted insults in her wake.
Prithvi said, ‘Are we going where I think we are going?’
‘Yes,’ Aditi replied. ‘I think some old friends of yours might be
able to help us.’

Regal Dance Bar was as quiet as it was empty, save for the ‘manager’,
who sat at a table nursing a splendid black eye with an ice pack and
a glass of neat rum. He looked up as Prithvi and Aditi walked into
the place, no bouncers to stop them this time. ‘You’ve a lot of nerve
coming back here,’ he said, picking up a gun from the table before
him.
‘You don’t need that,’ Aditi declared. ‘We’re here to talk.’
‘Talk?’ •
‘Ask for your help, actually.’
 The manager snorted and downed the contents of his glass in a
single gulp.
Aditi drew up a chair to sit down at the table, leaving Prithvi
standing.
‘We know more than you think,’ she began. ‘We know what
happened to Rajan. We also know what happened in warehouse
number thirty-eight. More importantly, we want to get the one
responsible for all of it.’
‘So go arrest him,’ the manager sullenly declared.
For what? So that some politician can bail him out? Look, I’m
not an idiot. I may be a policewoman, but sometimes, breaking the
law is the only way to enforce it. This murderer is a sick bastard, and
I want him dead. As do you.’
The manager cast a look at Prithvi before returning his attention
to Aditi. ‘You’re right. There’s nothing I want more than to nail the
fucker responsible for all this. But that I can handle myself. I don’t
see why I should help you.’
Aditi sat forward, both hands on the table. ‘You can act like a
big shot, but we both know how things stand. He’s holed up behind
the best of security that money can buy. There is no way that you
and a bunch of half-rate thugs are going to get to him, especially not
given the law-and-order situation out there. Now, I can deal with
him, but. . .’
‘But you need my help dealing with his suited and booted
guards, don’t you?’ The manager gave Prithvi a derogatory look. ‘Eh,
Rambo. You can’t help her or what?’
Prithvi shrugged. ‘I can’t be everywhere, can I?’
The manager shook his head and fiddled with his empty glass.
He then refilled it from a bottle, downed the shot and said, ‘I have
about twenty men. I mean, I have more, but only about twenty I can
rely upon. The state in which we found the warehouse . . .’ He did
not finish, and he did not have to.
‘We understand,’ Prithvi said. ‘Twenty will do.’ He added,
choosing his words carefully, ‘They’re only a distraction.’
 The choice of words did not go unheeded. The manager looked
up, fixing Prithvi with a telling gaze. ‘You know what it was in that
warehouse, don’t you? You know what it was that killed Rajan?’
‘I do.’
‘Can you kill it?’
Prithvi hesitated, but then said, ‘Yes. I can kill it. I will kill it.’
‘All right. What else do you need?’
Prithvi smiled, though it seemed more a snarl. He said, ‘A gun.
Actually, more than one.’
Aditi looked down at her dirt-stained socks. ‘And a pair of shoes
in my size, too.’
 [4]

by the time Aditi and Prithvi reached the Bankers’ Federation

building, all the staff had been evacuated with the excuse that a gas
pipe was leaking. Yet, neither fire brigade nor maintenance crew had
been called in. Very simply, the Bankers’ Federation building had
been turned into a private fortress in the middle of the city’s business
district. Dev was waiting for them.
From the outside, though, the building presented a normal, if
somewhat quieter, facade, and the rest of the world carried on about
its business. Few noticed anything amiss with the place, and fewer
still saw the battered old Maruti van—an anomaly in this day and
age—pull up at the service entrance to the building, nor did they
hear the driver of the van begin arguing with the security guard at
the entrance that evacuations be damned, he had to make his delivery
or lose his job.
Within the building, Prithvi and Aditi headed up in the lift.
‘He owns the whole place?’ Aditi asked, taking in the state-of-
the-art surrounds.
Prithvi nodded. ‘Rex Data started up in the old building that
used to be here—one of the first that came up after the land at
Nariman Point was reclaimed. A few years ago, the old structure
was torn down and this new one built. By then, of course, Dev had
enough money to buy the whole building, though I don’t know what
he does with all of it.’
 ‘Probably nothing good,’ Aditi said. ‘By the way, isn’t this a
little too easy? We’re here, we’re inside and we’re almost at his office.
Shouldn’t we be in trouble by now?’
In answer to her question, the lift jerked to a sudden stop at the
fortieth floor, two levels below their punched-in destination. Prithvi
pushed the button for the forty-second floor a couple of times, but
when the lift did not move, he jammed his finger against the ‘close’
button, holding the doors shut as he and Aditi glanced at the small-
lettered sign against the floor button. ‘Canteen,’ he said. ‘You know
what that means.’
Aditi nodded, ‘Open space. They’re pitting their entire force
against us in one go. Taking no chances.’
Prithvi pulled out one of the many guns he had ‘borrowed’ from
the manager of Regal Bar. He said, ‘You might want to take cover
behind me for this one.’
‘Sure.’ Aditi nodded, drawing two weapons of her own. Then, as
Prithvi let go of the button and the doors opened, she threw herself
out of the lift first to take up position behind a pillar.
Prithvi did not waste breath on protesting but followed, moving
in the opposite direction. Saimha speed gave him an edge, and he
had found cover behind a serving counter even as the first of the
enemy’s bullets began whizzing at him.
Raising his silencer-fitted machine gun over the top of the
counter, Prithvi let loose a volley of shots. In the densely packed
room each of his bullets found a target. Aditi was being more
judicious with her ammunition, picking off those of the hired
goons who were scrambling to vantage positions to deal with
Prithvi, who was purposively drawing their fire. Even so, she had
to keep ducking behind the pillar every other second, to avoid
getting shot. She and Prithvi swapped silent glances, confirming
their next step.
As Prithvi let loose another salvo of bullets, Aditi moved forward
under the cover of his fire to the relative safety of another pillar. This
one brought her to the left flank of their enemy, effectively splitting
them as targets. But it also took her out of Prithvi’s line of view, and
the two of them could no longer see each other or communicate
through signs. It also meant that neither one of them would know
when the other ran out of ammunition.
Realizing as much, the hired soldiers changed their tactics,
slowing down their fire in a bid to get Aditi and Prithvi to keep
shooting and so use up all their bullets. What they did not
count on was that ‘fast’ and ‘slow’ were completely different to a
Saimha.
Prithvi dropped his machine gun and, pulling out two smaller
automatic pistols, jumped up onto the counter. He emptied the
clips in both guns before throwing himself at the three men who
were closest to him. Kicking the first man in the chest, he used
the man’s weapon to shoot down the next thug before springing
through the air to kick the third man in the head, finally using the
same momentum to propel himself back into the cover of a nearby
table. A host of bullets that had left the mercenaries’ guns when he
had first emerged from behind the counter now thudded harmlessly
into various surfaces many feet away from where he was. He braved
yet another hail of bullets to skid across the floor, joining Aditi
behind her pillar.
‘Bullets?’ he asked.
Aditi held up her handgun, then handed him her only extra clip.
She wryly said, ‘It’s not a back-up.’
Prithvi grinned and snapped the clip into his own weapon.
‘How many targets left?’ Aditi asked.
‘Too many,’ Prithvi replied. ‘And we don’t have the time for
this.’
Aditi nodded at a door not too far away. ‘The stairs. We can take
the stairs up to Dev’s office. Let’s make a run for it.’
‘Okay.’ Prithvi switched his gun to his left hand and grabbed
Aditi’s wrist with his right. As she gave him a defiant glare, he
explained, ‘A stray bullet or two won’t kill me.’
‘A headshot will,’ Aditi argued.
 Prithvi put an end to the debate by throwing himself out from
behind the pillar, swinging Aditi around so that he was between her
and the gunmen. But as the waiting gunmen began to fire, the service
elevator opened into the canteen with a melodious ding. The chime
was followed by a loud explosion. Flames bellowed out from the
open lift and into the canteen, causing immediate mayhem. Rajan’s
men had done their job well.
Aditi and Prithvi did not stay to express relief or to continue the
gunfight but made good on the opportunity to run for the emergency
exit and throw themselves through it-and into the stairway. Using his
now-empty gun, Prithvi jammed the handle of the door from the
other side, so that they could not be followed. The two of them ran
up to the forty-second floor, leaving the mercenaries and the mafia
men to continue the battle.
Aditi and Prithvi emerged from the staircase into the main
bullpen where the bulk of Rex Data’s employees ought to have been.
But the area was empty, and flickering monitors and still-on lights
gave away the fact that the occupants had been asked to leave in a
hurry.
Signing to each other, the two split up to better cover the
space. Aditi tucked her gun into the back of her pants as a matter
of habit and wove her way through the many cubicles in the
direction of Dev’s office. Prithvi moved through the reception
towards the doors on the other side that he had once been told led
to a boardroom and conference centre. It was, he suspected, the
best place to keep Chandana hidden, especially given that she had
turned up at the office during working hours and in full view of
the employees.
The door to the conference centre opened too easily for Prithvi’s
comfort. He found himself in a wide corridor that led on his left to
a large meeting room, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out
onto the Arabian Sea. To his right were two smaller rooms, complete
with whiteboards and projectors. The corridor continued along the
length of the rooms till it came to an abrupt dead end. Prithvi began
walking back towards the reception, his eyes drawn instinctively
towards the stunning view from the room.
It was, he recognized, a view he had seen before, in exactitude.
He rushed into the room and cast around, searching for that which
he knew ought to be there but was not. Then, a set of calculations
made in his head, he strode back out into the corridor.
Moving over to the dead-end wall, he looked around for some
sort of button or lever. Finding nothing, he decided to resort to
muscle power instead. Prithvi gave the wall a series of strong kicks
and then threw himself at it, shoulder first. The wooden panelling
splintered, revealing the shine of steel beneath. Prithvi set himself
to the barrier with renewed strength, tearing away at the false wall
with his hands, uncaring of the splinters that cut at his skin. At
last, he had broken down enough of the wall to reveal a pair of slim
steel doors, and the buttons next to them that marked them for a
hidden lift.
Dev, he concluded, had not dismantled the lift shaft of the
old building when putting up the new structure. Instead, he had
concealed it, creating a secret access.
Prithvi understood where Chandana had been kept earlier, where
she probably was even now. He did not dwell on the irony, instead
pressing the button to call up the lift. He glanced over his shoulder,
looking for Aditi, but she was not to be seen. Prithvi turned back to
the ascending lift, deciding it was best she be left behind from this
point on, after all.
The doors opened absent the usual sound indicating arrival.
Prithvi made to rush in, but hardly had he moved forward when a
searing pain shot through his head, the ache the first sign that he had
been punched right in the face. Before he could gather his wits there
was a second blow, this one a kick to the chest that threw him back
the length of the corridor.
Prithvi found himself staring at the tall and impressive bulk of
the Enforcer who had shot at him back at Aditi’s apartment.
 ‘Neel..Prithvi said the name tentatively, as though testing the
other’s response.
Neel’s grin was malicious. ‘I told you if I ever got the chance to,
I’d kill you. Didn’t think I’d have to wait so long, though.’
‘You can kill me all you like. I know you hate me for what
happened to Dr Acharya and his family, and that’s fair. But the
Saimha, she’s his granddaughter, Neel. She’s Rahul and Noor’s
daughter. You can’t let Dev hurt her; you can’t let anyone hurt her.
Please. . .’
Neel’s grin turned into laughter, a short, chilling chortle. He
said, ‘Granddaughter? Another half-breed bastard. I should’ve burnt
her down with the house twelve years ago. But, I thought, there was
no need to; she was a useless human who could live her pitiful life
out till we overran her entire kind. I suppose she has her uses now,
doesn’t she? Of course, I can’t say the same for you.’ He cracked his
knuckles in anticipation as he added, ‘One more Orphan, culled and
sliced up for the test tubes. For what it’s worth, half-blood, know
that her sacrifice won’t be in vain.’
Prithvi frowned. Much as Neel’s words explained what had
happened all those years ago, there were other things that did not
make immediate sense. But this was not the time for clarifications.
Picking himself up from the floor, he readied himself for a fight. Neel
rushed at him, vicious joy on his face. Prithvi met the attack with a
strength that came of old anger and newborn fear.
Prithvi’s first few blows hit nothing but air, and it was only
when he doubled over from a punch to his stomach that he
managed to make contact, by twisting up to smash his elbow into
the other Enforcer’s jaw. The move gave him a chance to step back
and take quick stock.
Neel did not look as if he had aged since the day Prithvi had
first seen him, but more than youthfulness there was an unnatural
strength, a musculature that ought to have been impossible for him
to have in human form. Prithvi ran his eyes over him, trying to figure
out what was so different, but he could not put his finger on it. Neel
laughed at that, clearly finding Prithvi’s confusion amusing. It made
Prithvi pissed off enough to give him a brief edge.
He grappled with Neel, running him back against the broken
false wall to bring it down completely from the impact of their
combined weight. In the same move, he hoisted the winded sniper
onto his shoulder and threw him down.
Neel hit the ground with a grunt but was back on his feet
at once. Prithvi tried to rile him, making good on his temporary
victory, ‘For someone who hates half-breed bastards as much as you
do, you’re doing a good job of serving one, you know. Dev Narayan
is an Orphan. Just like me. What’s a pureblood like you doing as his
slave?’
‘You don’t know the half of it, do you, Prithvi? Sometimes, even
an Orphan can find redemption serving a greater cause. And this is
the greatest cause there is: a world where natural evolution has its
way, and we Saimhas rule, not from the shadows but as masters of
the light. The end is closer than you think.’
‘We shall see.’ Prithvi put his fists up, readying for another
round.
Neel responded in kind, adding a sneer for effect. He was about
to take a run at Prithvi when he spun around with supernatural speed
to face another quarry.
‘No!’ Prithvi cried out, but before he could act, Neel had already
wrapped his arms around Aditi, lifted her high and flung her across
the corridor. It was all Prithvi could do to cushion her fall, and the
two of them ended up in a heap on the floor.
Neel gave a satisfied grunt and waited for them to make the next
move, which came from Aditi.
‘Wow,’ she said, staggering to her feet even as she rubbed at the
back of her head. ‘I know you told me your kind were extra-strong
and all, but this guy . . .’
The response came at once, not from Prithvi, but from Neel—
his eyes flashed with an opaline glow as he said, ‘We’re not the same
kind, woman. He is a half-breed Orphan. And you . . . you’re a
fucking speck of dust.’
‘Oh well. Whatever.’
Prithvi scrambled to his feet and readied himself to engage in
another round of fisticuffs, but Aditi stopped him with a hand on his
chest. ‘Go. Find Chandana. I’ve got this.’
‘What? Aditi. . .’
‘Seriously. Go. I can take cover behind you.’
Prithvi glanced at the massive Enforcer, then back at Aditi. She
made for a diminutive figure, standing between him and Neel, her
eyes burning into him, willing him to understand. He ultimately did.
Prithvi walked, matter of fact, into the lift, saying as the lift doors
shut on him, ‘Catch you later.’
Aditi turned [Link] the hulk before her.
Neel gave her a disbelieving look, stunned momentarily into
inaction by the unbelievably stupid behaviour his two opponents had
shown—leaving a human to deal with a Saimha. ‘You’re dead, bitch,’
he declared, tearing off his shirt and throwing it aside, revealing thick
muscles. Neel then reached down into his high boots and pulled out
a long, serrated hunting knife. Leering at Aditi, he twirled the knife
in his hand, moving it over his head and around his body in a display
of his martial arts prowess before bringing it up to an attack position.
Aditi looked at him, expressionless. Then she pulled the gun out
from the back of her pants and fired.
The Enforcer toppled over without a sound: Aditi’s last bullet
had gone through his forehead.
 [5]

prithvi furiously pounded the single, unmarked button inside ,

the lift. He had no doubt it would take him to the basement of
the building. From there, he knew the way. Rahul had shown it
to him, many, many years ago. As he expected, the lift opened out
into a corridor that was familiar, though he had been there only
once before: it led, at the far end, into the tunnels underneath the
city. And in the middle of the corridor, an old door with no locks
or handles.
Despite the glossy keypad next to the door, instinct told Prithvi
that some things had not been changed—such as the electronic
locking system. He reached out to punch in the code that he had
once seen Rahul use, a pin he could never forget, for it was not the
date that Rahul had met Noor,- or married her, not even the date
Tara had been born. It was the date on which he and Prithvi had first
run together as lions. Prithvi did not know whether to be surprised
or heartbroken when the door opened with a click, letting him in
after all these years.
He walked into the chamber that had been the space that housed
the mainframe and servers of Rex Data. The servers were still there in
a corner to his left, newer, shinier versions of what he had seen years
ago. But there was more.
Prithvi staggered back at the sight that greeted him. Rows of
what originally had been diving chambers were stacked upright to
form person-sized test tubes, filled with what he supposed was some
sort of conductive—or preservative—liquid. Within these chambers
were bodies, some surgically mutilated, some remarkably pristine, all
young.
All Saimha.
Orphans, culled like pests.
Prithvi realized his worst fears had come true. This was
not just about Chandana. Dev was using the Prophecy to find
Orphans to conduct his genetic research on, chasing his dream of
finding out what made them Saimha. Prithvi swallowed the bile
that rose in his throat as he counted thirty chambers, two of them
empty. No doubt, had Dev not killed these Orphans to suit his
own purposes, Prithvi would have been sent to execute some of
them anyway.
For what it’s worth, half-blood, know that her sacrifice won’t be in
vain.
As the foil meaning of Neel’s words dawned on Prithvi, he was
filled with a sudden, chilling terror. He stumbled around, looking
into the lifeless faces of the bodies that floated in eerie suspension,
searching for the one face that he dreaded to find. And then, he saw
her.
Chandana!
Relief fuelled his legs, and he ran the length of the massive
chamber to its end where she stood looking forlorn and strained,
but very much alive and unhurt, in front of a large, familiar
painting.
‘Thank god you’re okay, Chandana.’ He grabbed her by the
wrist. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’
She did not move. Her body was tense, tight with many
emotions—anger, hatred, confusion. Prithvi felt his heart skip a beat
as he suspected what had happened.
‘Chandana . . .’ he began.
‘Is it true, Prithvi?’ she asked.
‘Chandana, I. . .’
 ‘Did you murder my father?’
‘There’s more to it than that, my love. Your father . . .’
Chandana’s eyes blazed red, her voice was a growl as she shouted,
‘Did you kill my father, you bastard?’
Silence hung heavy between them as Prithvi squarely met her
gaze. Then he said, ‘Yes. I killed him, Chandana. I killed your father.’
An unbearable silence, then Chandana shrugged off Prithvi’s
hold. Her slap echoed around the room. Spitting on the floor in
front of him, she stepped back to stand next to Dev Narayan.
Brimming with delight, Dev pulled out a gun. ‘Finish him,
Chandana,’ he told her. ‘One final training hunt. Let his blood bring
forth your beast. Surrender to it, kill this creature and avenge your
father. Then you and I have a world to conquer.’ Turning back to
Prithvi, Dev raised the gun and pulled the trigger.
Prithvi felt the bullet sear through his body, cutting sinew and
vein in less than a second. But it felt to him as though each nerve
the metal ripped apart was a memory slowly coming undone, every
drop of blood that oozed forth was pain escaping the confines of his
being. The slug grazed his heart—a heart he no longer cared whether
human or lion—mending the many rifts and fissures in its complex
depths. He felt remorse and doubt and a lifetime of hiding disappear.
In that moment, he knew he had done right. In that moment, he was
who he was, not a shattered soul. He was more than either this form
or that, man or beast.
He was thrown back, and his breath came in a huge wheeze as
he hit the ground. Blood spurted from his mouth and sprayed back
upon him, splattering onto his face as gruesome rain. Coughing and
spitting, he turned over onto his stomach and lifted his head to look
up at the scene before him.
Prithvi had no doubt that Dev had not meant to kill him; that
task he had left to Chandana, who stood as she was, fists tight and
eyes screwed shut against the hunger that had been stirred with
the smell of blood. She screamed out loud, clutching herself as she
struggled against the transformation. Then she jerked up straight as
a rod, gasping, her eyes open wide and brimming with tears as she
looked at Prithvi.
Prithvi knew the emotion he saw in them all too well. Guilt.
Guilt that came not of the cause but of the consequences, of
knowing that what was done was done for the right reasons, but it
had still turned out so wrong. The guilt that he saw in his own eyes
every time he looked in the mirror. He had lived with it for long
enough and now, the last thing he would do was let Chandana feel
it for even a second.
‘It’s okay,’ he wheezed. ‘Let youfself go. Be who you are.’
Be who you are, daughter ofmy soul.
Chandana stared at him for what felt like forever, her eyes asking
him questions to which his very life was the answer. At last, her
breathing slowed down to evenness, as though she had been freed
from some invisible stranglehold. Her limbs still unnaturally stiff, she
staggered over to Prithvi and pressed down on his bleeding wound.
‘No! No! No! Prithvi, no!’
Prithvi laughed softly through his pain. ‘It’ll heal,’ he assured
her. He slowly pulled himself onto his knees and then stood up,
Chandana helping him.
‘Cubs these days,’ Dev said, shaking his head. He moved forward,
grabbing Chandana’s wrist with his more-than-human strength. The
bone cracked, and she screamed.
Prithvi intervened, but Dev used the butt of his gun to whack
him across his face. The strength of the blow sent him flying across
the room.
‘Weak,’ Dev hissed. ‘So weak. Look what living as human has
done to you both. The curse of our species. Even you, Tara, with the
genes of Narasimha himself in you, have failed. Your father would
be so disappointed.’ He began to laugh, the sound stirring the very
bowels of the earth before turning into a harsh, grating growl.
‘Oh shit!’ Chandana exclaimed, her dread showing through her
pain.
Prithvi took a deep breath. ‘You can say that again.’
 Dev was no longer Dev. His shoulders and foreshanks were
broader than any lion’s should normally have been, and his body
larger and disproportionately so. He was both more than a lion and
less, as though many different lions had been fused together in an
unnatural forge—or a test tube. His mane was stiff, making him
look more an abominable caricature than the real thing. Yet, his face
retained a humanness that was out of place in the rest of his body.
His eyes remained set close and in front, instead of being side-slanted
and large like a feline’s. The pupils were laced with a milky green
tinge that was alien to both species. Dev’s forepaws too were large, to
go with the heavier forelegs, but his rear paws were unusual in that
the claws seemed longer and thicker, in fact too much so for the legs
that bore them. His tail was—there were no other words for it—
thickly muscled, as one might expect in a primate rather than a lion.
As Prithvi looked, unafraid, into the eyes of the genetically
augmented creature before him, he found neither majesty nor
compassion; neither clarity of reason nor certainty of innate
knowledge, of instinct. There was only corruption. Corrupted form,
corrupted thought, driven by a force that was unknown in the animal
world, in the purity of nature and the fire of creation. This was no
beast.
This was a monster.
‘Prithvi. . .’ Chandana began.
He gave her a reassuring smile, then turned to face Dev.
This time, Prithvi did not have to reach within or part shadows.
Beast and human no longer hid each other, no longer battled each
other. They simply were. He let the bliss of being Saimha, nothing
more, nothing less, set his veins on fire. Muscles bulged, bones
melded; the bullet from Dev’s gun popped out from his flesh and
fell, harmless, to the ground. His eyes shifted, pupils lengthening, the
blaze in their depths coming to the fore. That blaze would burn the
world for the sake of all that he loved.
Shaking out his mane, Prithvi roared.
 [6]

for a while, Chandana forgot the situation, the terrifying events

unfolding around her. All she could do was gaze, wide-eyed, at the
Saimha before her with filial pride. It was more than strength of form
or beauty that made Prithvi so breathtakingly stunning. He radiated
a sense of being complete, of being whole.
He killedyourfather, Dev’s words resurfaced in her mind.
Chandana closed her eyes, admitting the fact once before
dismissing it forever. Henceforth, he is my father. Though I am not
bom ofhim, he is my father.
The admission also sent a pang of fear through her as she opened
her eyes and took in the grotesque Dev, the fiend that Prithvi now
faced.
Dev looked in her direction and snarled, pulling his lips back
to reveal jagged teeth of steel before gnashing them together in a
jarring crash. Then he pounced, closing the distance between him
and Prithvi in a single leap.
Prithvi met the attack head-on. Their limbs entangled and a
thunderstorm of growls filled the air as each lion fought to bury his
protracted claws into the other. As survival instinct prevailed, both
broke their holds and fell back.
Chandana knew nothing more of lions than what she had seen
on National Geographic, but from the way the two males began
pacing, circling each other, she had no doubt that this was mere
posturing, and that the real fight was yet to come. She shrank back
into the shadows, her realization solidifying into a nameless terror
that bordered on despair.
Close to each other, the two lions looked so different: Dev
towered over Prithvi, appearing thrice his size and weight. His
malformations—Chandana had no other word for them against
Prithvi’s magnificence—gave Dev the upper edge when it came to
a fight. His claws were veritable talons, long and gleaming, and his
teeth were powerful in their asymmetry, the incisors protruding like
those of an ancient sabre-toothed tiger.
Well aware of his superior strength, Dev put it to good use. He
sprinted at Prithvi, building up enough force in the short distance
between them to barrel right into him. But the smaller, more agile
Prithvi rolled over, springing to his feet and leaping at Dev in the
same move.
Prithvi’s teeth drew first blood, cutting into Dev’s shoulder to
catch the nerve that ran all the way down the foreleg. Dev bellowed
and shook his body, throwing Prithvi off as though he were a small
cub.
Prithvi made another run at Dev, who waited, solid and steady
in his enhanced resilience, for the direct attack.
Dev staggered as Prithvi’s weight plowed into him, but he did
not go down. Instead, he dived sideways in a very human move,
throwing Prithvi against the wall, crushing his limbs against the stone
with his sheer bulk. Prithvi’s jaws unclamped in a howl of agony and
he toppled to the ground. Dev jumped back. His roars rose and fell,
as though he were laughing, a cackling humanoid laughter. Then he
came at Prithvi again. It was his turn to draw blood, and he did it
with a vengeance.
Dev pounced; Prithvi went up on his hind legs to meet the
assault. But at the last moment, Dev dropped down, bundling
himself up to come at Prithvi from below. His claws and his teeth
both sank into the more pliant flesh of Prithvi’s abdomen.
 Prithvi’s blood spurted out, coating Dev’s copper mane. He tried
to pull back, but that only served to increase his torment as his belly
tore open further. The pain sent a primal surge of adrenaline through
him and he found the strength to bring his forelegs up to sink his
claws into Dev’s face, swiping at his eye. Instinctively reacting, Dev
let go. Prithvi bounded out of reach, and the two resumed their
circling.
Again, Dev moved first, but this time, he bounded not at Prithvi
but at the watching Chandana. She stood as she was, too shocked
to scream or move as the giant descended on her. But even as Dev
reached out with his scythe-like claws, a golden force jumped between
him and his target. The two males collided, the impact knocking
Dev over while Prithvi went spiralling through the air and thudded
to the ground.
Slowly, Dev got to his feet, shaking himself out. Prithvi remained
prone.
Run.
Chandana heard the warning even though it had not been
spoken, but she could not find it in her to move.
Run, Chandana.
Even as the voice repeated itself in her mind, another barked
loudly: There’s nowhere you can run or hide.
Making good on the assertion, Dev sprung in her direction. But
he did not get far. With the last dregs of his strength, Prithvi clamped
his jaws on Dev’s left hind leg, holding him back.
Chandana realized that Prithvi was buying her time, even though
it was but a few seconds. She frantically cast around the room. Dev
was right, there was no running or hiding, he could smell her out
from any crevice or corner. But there was one place he could not
reach her, at least not in lion form. She began sprinting towards the
array of diving chambers.
A guttural roar as Dev tried to wrest free of Prithvi’s grip.
Succeeding, he then turned to strike again at the prone Prithvi,
driving his claws deep into Prithvi’s chest. Prithvi howled through
his teeth, but did not let go of Dev’s leg.
Chandana did not look back. Prithvi’s cries were as fire in her
ears. She ran, stumbling over the cluster of pipes and wires in her
way, but she did not stop. Climbing up and over, she jumped down
into the narrow gap between four adjacent chambers.
Then she huddled down in the hellish space, protected on all
sides by the cadavers of her kind, trying not to meet their lifeless,
accusing gazes as they held their suspended poses. The only way
in or out remained the gap above, from where she had clambered
down. It was, she knew, too small for Dev to squeeze through in
lion form.
Think you’re safe? Dev taunted. And what about yourfriend here?
Oh, but you don’t care, do you? Why shouldyou care about yourfather’s
murderer?
Chandana slapped her hands over her ears, but the human
gesture was ineffective against the lion’s silent speech.
I’ll slaughter him slowly, Chandana. I’ll eat his entrails while he’s
still alive, andyou can hear him scream. I hope you enjoy it.
‘Dev, no! Please!’ she cried out, despite herself.
Then come. Destroy him yourself. He deserves it. Just as yourfather
deservesjustice. Avenge your parents, Chandana. Do it, andyou can rule
this world with me.
Laughter, human laughter, filled her mind. She bent her head
over her knees, squeezing her eyes tight to shut it all out, shut out
vision and sound and the ghastly, fucked-up world around her.
She tried to hold on to the things that mattered, to think of warm
and good and happy, but there was nothing, nothing like that in
her life any more. Her parents were dead—both those who had
raised her and the ones who had birthed her. She was alone, all
alone.
No, not alone. There was Prithvi. He was a friend. He cared.
No, he had killed her parents. Dev was right, she ought to avenge
them. No, she should know better than to believe Dev, it was a lie,
all a lie, except Prithvi had admitted it, had he not? He had accepted
it, he had killed her father, and she knew she ought to hate him for
it, hate him with all her heart, but she did not want to. She did not
know what she wanted any more.
She tried to pretend she was elsewhere, though she did not know
where, nowhere seemed safe, nowhere at all, except. . .
Silence, a different sort of silence, in which small sounds
came and went in their insignificant way, unnoticed and
unappreciated. Somewhere, a TV was on. The wind whistled in
through the gaps in closed windows. A musical jingle from a
child’s toy.
Chandana opened her eyes. She was in a house that felt familiar
in a never-seen but well-known sort of way. Everything was peaceful
and quiet, the smell of food wafted up to her, and she could feel clean
wooden floors under her feet. Then she saw Prithvi standing there, in
the same corridor that she was in, in front of a door.
Come with me, Chandana. Please.
Chandana understood that she was in Prithvi’s memory or some
version of it. He was trying to speak to her in their own wordless
language, show her that which he wanted her to see. Not fully
comprehending, she gave the Prithvi in her mind-vision a questioning
look.
He was in human form, but his face was bruised and bloody from
his lion’s battle with Dev. The T-shirt he was wearing was plastered
to his chest where the bullet had gone through, but was ripped and
tattered around his stomach—as was the skin and flesh.
Please. We don’t have much time.
He reached out to place a bloody hand on the doorknob, waiting
for her assent before he opened it.
Chandana did not know what hit her harder—the admission
that Prithvi was mortally wounded, dying, or that before he died,
he wanted to show her what had happened that night. That night,
when he had killed her father. That night, when her mother had
died.
 She wanted to say no. She wanted to turn and run, out of that
house, out of Prithvi’s memories and into Dev’s waiting maw so that
she too could be torn apart into pieces so tiny that they could hold
no memory of anything, no pain could exist. But she did not. Slowly,
she nodded. Prithvi opened the door.
 [7]

satin-cream walls and embossed curtains, bright patchwork

cushions on a plush sofa and shelves filled with books. Windows that
looked out onto woods and stars and freedom, their glass panes now
stained dark with blood.
‘Prithvi. . .’
Chandana felt her heart shatter at the voice, the voice of her
childhood, of the warm songs that were sung over her as she slept, of
gentle endearments and promises that she was safe and loved.
Ammi!
She went into the room. A squelch, as her very first step had her
standing in a pool of viscous red. In front of her, Prithvi cried out
in despair and dropped to his knees, his hands soaking into the still­
warm blood.
Chandana screamed.
Noor lay on the carpet, her stomach torn apart in a lion’s way
of hunting, her intestines spilling out, the blood draining from her
body along with her life.
‘Ammi!’ Chandana shouted. She wanted to go to her mother, to
touch her, to feel her touch in return, if only for an instant. But Noor
could not, did not, see her. Her eyes remained on Prithvi.
‘Prithvi. . .’ Noor gasped even as she reached out for something
beyond her grasp. A small child, face down and motionless.
Chandana was looking at herself.
 The words came: I wanted you to see her like this. I wanted her to
die in front ofyou.
Chandana looked up. Her father sat waiting on the sofa, naked,
covered from head to toe in gore. His eyes were the long, yellow slits
of light of his lion.
She recoiled, stumbling back and falling to the ground, blood
splashing up to dye her face, her hair.
‘You killed her!’ she shouted. ‘You killed Ammi!’
But her father did not hear her. Nor did Prithvi, next to her. All
she could do was watch, seeing with Prithvi’s eyes, feeling with his
heart and head.
She flinched again, as a howl left Prithvi’s body. His voice caught
in his throat as he cried, slamming his head onto his fists, against the
floor. Still wailing, he crawled towards Noor, then gently raised her
off the ground to take her into his arms.
Noor heaved at his touch and her eyes fluttered open. ‘Prithvi...’
Her hand twitched as though she wanted to reach out to caress his
face, but she could no longer move. Prithvi took her hand in his and
guided it to his cheek, staining his skin with her cruor.
Chandana watched as they looked into each other’s eyes, her
heart breaking for them as she saw all that could have been between
them, but had not been, not because they did not love each other
but because they did. She could sense that Prithvi wanted to tell her
mother so many things, he wanted to tell her that he was a brute, a
creature just like the one that had done this to her, he wanted to beg
her forgiveness for not having protected her and her child—from
himself, from everything and everyone. But it was too late. Noor
closed her eyes, and her head tilted listlessly to one side.
Prithvi stopped sobbing. He was in far too much pain to cry
any more.
In the silence that followed, he lowered Noor’s body back onto
the carpet. Using the back of his hand, he wiped away the last of his
tears, leaving red streaks in their place.
Then he looked up, right into the face of a lion.
 Chandana gasped as she saw how to Prithvi everything about
her father hovered on that scintillating edge between comforting
and exquisite. The sleek, dark mane, the crushed grass and tree-bark
scent, those dark wise eyes and the tail that inevitably gave away
Rahul’s mood no matter how hard he tried to hide it, these were
things Prithvi knew and loved, as much as he had loved her mother.
Her heart filled, then burst, as she soaked in all that their friendship
had been, their long runs and their shared secrets, the warmth of
their naked embraces and their bold laughter. This was Prithvi’s old
friend, the one for whom he had let down the woman he loved. This
was his best friend.
This was a monster.
Chandana scrambled back as Rahul pounced, his left paw
landing on the mangled remains of Noor’s chest, crushing the last
wisps of life out of her. His other paw swiped at the kneeling Prithvi.
‘No!’ Chandana rushed towards her father, but he did not see
her; she was not there.
Or was she? She saw Prithvi fling himself over her five-year-old
body, though he believed her to be dead. She watched as her father
buried his claws into Prithvi’s human form, making him scream,
before throwing him aside with a flick of his paw.
Prithvi landed, not on two feet but on four, his tail shifting
to keep him balanced. A growl escaped him, the sound of a deep
stirring, the murmur of shadows parting to make way for fire.
Claws, tempered by anger into steel, protracted from the ends of
his paws.
He turned to look at Chandana, the here-and-now Chandana,
his eyes willing her to understand, to see the anguish, rhe anger and
the regret of love lost in vain but never forgotten that had driven him
to what would happen next.
She nodded.
It was all Prithvi needed.
Wonder glimmered in Rahul’s eyes; his lips curled as he bared
his teeth in anticipation . . . and fear.
 Chandana cared neither for his trepidation nor his aggression.
All she knew was that Prithvi’s senses, her senses, were soaked with
the smell of Noor’s blood.
Prithvi pounced, burying his teeth into Rahul’s chest, striking
deep to pierce through to the heart. He began to feast and did not
stop till the odour had faded, cleansed by the taste of Rahul’s flesh.
 [8]

prithvi’s chest heaved, struggling against the force of Dev’s paw to

rise and fall. He had long since let go of his hold on Dev’s leg, using
what was left of his mind and body to speak to Chandana, to show
her what she needed to see to understand.
Perhaps he had done the wrong thing, the selfish thing. But
instinct told him that this was the only way they could both heal,
the only way she could go on with her life, and he could die in peace.
She was safe, to the point that Dev did not try to reach her.
Instead, he had decided to take pleasure in giving Prithvi as torturous
a death as possible. Prithvi did not care, not any more, but he knew
that the longer he resisted, the longer he fought, the more time
he bought Chandana. Soon the others would be here—Aditi and
Bhima, Dr Acharya and the rest of the Council. But were they any
match for Dev? Even if Aditi brought the entire firepower of the
police force with her, would that be of any use?
Prithvi gagged as Dev placed another paw on his throat, not
cutting through the jugular vein, but pressing down enough to choke
him. As darkness descended on him, Prithvi willed his mind to cast
out his last words, hoping Chandana could still hear them.
She loved you, Chandana. Your mother loved you very much.
She loved you too, Prithvi. I know she did.
It all lasted for less than an instant—the thought came a fraction
of a second before smell and sense guided movement, animal
decision. Dev’s claws landed on Prithvi’s head; he meant to crush
Prithvi’s skull. But before the sharp edges could sink in, he jumped
back, his paw leaving nothing but a swipe wound. Something had
lunged at him from behind, distracting him.
An astounded Prithvi did not waste the chance, using it first to
draw in much-needed air into his lungs and then to scramble out of
Dev’s reach. He knew it was a temporary reprieve. There was only
one way this was going to end. Still, this was his chance to put up one
last fight. And then he would die a lion’s death, a Saimha’s death, a
warrior to the end. Prithvi tried to get back up on all four feet, but
his right foreleg gave way and he stumbled back onto the ground. It
was all he could do to hold his head up in defiance.
Dev stalked around the room with the arrogance of one who
knew he had already won, despite the minor setback. He had had
enough waiting; it was time to relish the kill. He coiled himself, ready
to pounce, but then crouched down in instinctive caution as a roar, a
sound of ascending will and resolution that promised triumph, filled
the air.
Let’s turn this fight into a hunt, shall we?
Prithvi responded with a growl of affirmation that filled him
with renewed strength. A guttural rumble in his throat against the
pain, and he forced himself to a standing position.
A lithe figure moved out of the shadows to stand next to him.
Prithvi flicked his tail in a sign of readiness. Yes, lioness. We hunt.
Without speech—silent or otherwise—Prithvi and Chandana
began their slow, measured circling, stalking Dev from opposite
directions. A whiff of apprehension, followed by the stark stink of
anger to hide it: super-Saimha or not, Dev was coward enough to
feel afraid once the odds had turned against him and vain enough to
try and hide it.
Prithvi scoffed; it came out as a disparaging snarl. No beast
would think to deny instinct. No beast would ever be bound by
shame. These were human traits, and here and now, they were
Dev’s weaknesses. He threw every ounce of his red-hot fury into
a deafening roar, the sheer force of the sound pushing Dev to take
a step back and then another. Prithvi moved in, walking straight
at him in the no-nonsense manner of one who was the king of the
jungle and knew it.
Dev dropped his shoulders and raised his rump, his tail stiff as he
rumbled in challenge. He wound himself up to spring at Prithvi, the
two lions now face-to-face, hardly metres apart. But before he could
strike, a blur ploughed into his side with pure wrath.
He and Chandana went sliding over the stone floor, entangled,
claws swiping, growls rising till Dev used the sheer power of his size
to bring them to a stop. Chandana tried to attack, but Dev deftly
pinned her down, his strength renewed by the human knowledge
that killing her first would cause Prithvi more pain than anything
else he could do. He opened his maw, hot saliva dripping down onto
Chandana’s pelt.
Are you watching, Prithvi? I will tear her apart the way you’ve tom
yourselfapartfor years, lion and man bickering, fighting within you. But
you are neither, do you see? You are neither. You are weak.
No, Dev. lam Saimha.
It took barely seconds, but to all three, time slowed down into
the many heartbeats that made up the moment, the hiatus between
each an eternity, in which instinct was all there was.
Dev realized that he was exactly where Prithvi and Chandana
wanted him. He tried to move, to ready himself against the imminent
attack, but he could not as Chandana struck at the softness of his
underbelly. The bite was far from enough to kill Dev, but it was
enough to hold him in place.
He thrashed, swiped furiously at Chandana, but she was safe
from his claws under his own huge form. Dev then tried to pull
himself free, no matter that he would rip open his own abdomen in
the process. But Chandana held on.
Dev let out a desperate roar, the action holding more human
malice in it than the calm acceptance of death that came naturally to
the beast when all hope of survival was gone.
 Prithvi showed no emotion. Putting every last bit of strength left
in him into a great leap, he descended on Dev’s back, sinking his jaws
into the nape of Dev’s neck. He did not bother to bite through the
jugular, to let Dev’s blood flood his mouth and rinse it of the taste of
death and the bitter sorrow that had been left there.
With a snap of his jaws, Prithvi crushed Dev’s backbone, severing
spine and nerve.
Dev stiffened, but before he could think, before he could react, it
was all over. He gave a shudder and one last horrendous cry that was
neither human nor animal. Then he fell sideways onto the ground,
never to move again.
Prithvi jumped off Dev’s back seconds before the behemoth hit
the ground, landing awkwardly as his hind legs buckled from his
shattered hip bones. Letting pure survival instinct dull the pain, he
grabbed the dead Dev by his prickly mane and pulled, shifting the
body enough for a battered but unwounded Chandana to scramble
out from under the lifeless bulk.
That done, Prithvi heaved a huge, hot sigh before letting himself
crumple to the ground. The pain hit anew as his bones realigned
and his muscles shifted back into humanoid form, and he cursed
loudly through clenched teeth. He felt a thick tongue lap at his face
before teeth caught hold of him by the back of his neck, their vice as
soft as velvet. Still in lion form, Chandana dragged him away from
Dev’s mangled remains and propped him up against the stone wall.
She then looked at Prithvi through retroreflective eyes, accepting the
weak caress on her head as though she were a pet before shifting into
her human form.
‘Oh shit!’ Chandana said, taking in Prithvi’s wounds, particularly
the gash on his abdomen. ‘We need to get you out of here!’
‘Hey, relax. I’ve told you before, I’ll heal. Now sit tight till Aditi
and Bhima get here and bail us out.’ Prithvi was lying through his
teeth and he knew it, but Chandana appeared to believe him.
Squinting through his swollen human eye, Prithvi looked her
up and down. Other than bruises and scrapes, she appeared to be all
right. Exhausted, but all right. Relieved at that, he let his head fall
back against the wall, his eyes closing of their own will.
‘Hang on!’ Chandana ran to where she knew some blankets
were kept. Picking up a few of them, she dashed back to Prithvi.
Pressing one down on his stomach against the oozing blood, she
covered his naked form with another. Then, bundling herself up in
a third blanket, she sat down next to him, her head resting on his
shoulder.
‘Hang in there, Prithvi. Just hang on,’ she comforted him, as he
had her.
Prithvi smiled, enjoying the silence that meant it was all over.
Of course, Chandana would want explanations, and so would the
others, but those explanations would not be his to give. It really was
over.
Unaware of his ruminations, Chandana asked him, ‘Things will
be fine now, won’t they? It’ll all get sorted out? Aditi and Bhima—
they’re also here?’
Not wanting to scare or disappoint her, Prithvi said, ‘Yes, I’m
sure things will be fine. Aditi helped me get in, and Bhima is bringing
Dr Acharya—your grandfather—here. They’ll help us explain things
to the Council and fix matters. Soon, we can get back to living our
boring lives.’
Chandana took in the information in silence. Then she said,
‘Okay. In that case, once it’s all done, can I come live with you?’ She
gave Prithvi a hopeful look.
‘Umm, yeah, sure,’ Prithvi replied, surprising himself as he saw
how the answer would irrevocably change his life. For one, he would
have to move into a bigger apartment. Then, there remained the
question of bringing women home. No, no women, he decided. No
liquor either. Shit! He chuckled silently at himself, at the futility of
his thoughts, but it all warmed him nevertheless.
Chandana continued, ‘But I don’t have to call you “Dad”, do I?’
This time Prithvi laughed heartily, the sound filling the dark,
cold space. He reached out, grimacing against the pain to wrap an
arm around Chandana and bundle her closer. ‘No. You can still call
me Prithvi. But I get to decide your curfew timings.’
Chandana giggled and snuggled up against him. Prithvi winced
at the touch, then relaxed, grateful for the oblivion that crept up on
him. He felt the heat radiate from where Dev’s claws, his malice­
laden teeth, had ripped through his abdomen. Unlike the bullet
wound from earlier, this cut had failed to clot. He was bleeding
out, and fast. By the time Aditi and Bhima found them, it would
be too late for him. But Chandana would be safe, and that was all
that mattered.
His mind swirled in eddies of blood and darkness. He wondered
what would become of Chandana after he was gone. Of course, she
would not be left destitute—her grandfather would take care of her,
and she would have Bhima for a friend. And ACP Aditi Kashyap
too. She could go to university, right here in Bombay. He could buy
her a two-wheeler to ride—a Scooty. No, Chandana would probably
prefer his old Bullet. They could rent themselves a small apartment,
maybe somewhere on the sea face, so that they could go for long
walks along the beach. Maybe . . . No, there would be no maybes for
him, and that was all right.
Prithvi saw himself, king of the urban jungle, a heavy-maned
lion sitting on his haunches on top of a Mumbai high-rise, nostrils
flaring as he drew in the living squalor of humanity and traffic, of
sweat and emotion and the here and now laced with the promise of
lush green forests that were not close but were never too far either.
He bathed in the light of the moon, the occasional flick of his tail the
only sign of the joy he felt and would continue to feel.
He laughed silently, without discontent. These, he reminded
himself, were precious dreams, wonderful in their mere existence
even though they could never come true. If only Gogoi could see
him now . . . He stopped, wondering what that name meant to
him as his hold on thought and memory began to falter. At last, his
ebbing consciousness dulled the pain, and he began to slip quietly
into whatever it was that awaited him.
 He felt a warm gust of air, a presence within, as a great beast
sat itself down slowly, maned head dropping to rest on a forepaw
as though this were yet another lazy summer afternoon’s nap in
the sunshine. Pure, bright sunshine. No more darkness, no more
shadows.
Prithvi took a deep, satisfying breath. Beast or human, he had
never been more himself than he was at that moment.
It was a good way to die.
 [9]

the slap was hard and painful.

If this were a dream, Prithvi decided, it was not a pleasant one.
But it was not a dream. Or was it? The sting on his cheek was only
the beginning of the nightmare. His chest ached; a sharp throbbing,
as though someone had pummelled into him with all their might,
pulverizing his innards. And then, the pain tore through the rest of
him, radiating from his torso, shooting up his body till it reached his
throat and tongue to make him scream in agony: ‘Arrrrrrrgh!’
‘Oh thank heavens!’
The ache hit his head, making him feel as if it might explode if
he opened his eyes. But he had to. He needed to see to believe.
A blur, then another and another. Finally, three figures came
into focus, all staring down at him with concern. Bhima let out a hiss
of relief on seeing him come to while Chandana, wrapped up in what
appeared to be a dressing gown, threw her arms around him and
hugged him, her sheer joy making her oblivious to his pain. Next to
her, Aditi looked on, her eyes showing emotions that she dared not
express, not yet. She had, Prithvi realized, been the one slapping him
and pounding his chest in an effort to revive him.
Behind the trio was a wash of brightness. Floodlights had been
set up, adding to the thick stream of sunlight that poured in from
a jagged hole in the roof—or was it the wall? As the scene began
to make sense, Prithvi saw that the explosion that had been set off
in the elevator shaft had not only served to engage most of Dev’s
hired security thugs, but had also been instrumental in helping
Aditi and the others get to him and Chandana in time by blowing
away part of the parking lot wall, revealing a maintenance access to
the subterranean chamber. He also observed that people in various
colours of uniform—police, fire department and military—were
pouring in and out of the place, and police tape marked off various
areas.
Numbers and tags had been stuck on things that might serve as
evidence, including the huge server arrays and the human-sized test
tubes. Prithvi did not know whether it was a clean-up in progress
or the beginnings of a larger mess. Dev’s body had already been
removed, and Prithvi had to make an effort to not ask questions, at
least for the time being, about where it had gone or what was being
done with it.
The manager of Regal Bar caught his eye and gave him a
meaningful nod before he and what remained of his men left the
premises, the police—including Aditi’s colleague Haldenkar—
turning a blind eye to their exit. Prithvi managed a wry grin at that.
Clearly, the Council already had things under control, and he had no
complaints about it. Of course, he would have much explaining to
do and possibly hell to pay for, but all of that was for later and felt far
from important right then. Something told him that he would sleep
well henceforth, without nightmares.
For the first time in years, Prithvi looked forward to the next
day, and the day beyond, without dreading the nights in between.
‘He’ll be fine now,’ a voice declared. Prithvi realized that Dr
Acharya was also hovering over him, a woman at his side. No, not a
woman, a Simhika. She pulled out a torch and flashed it into Prithvi’s
eyes, making them glow iridescent in its beam. Then she pocketed
the light with the matter-of-fact manner of a physician.
‘We got to him just in time,’ she confirmed. ‘The serum is already
helping the wound coagulate. Now that the bleeding is arrested, his
natural healing will kick in. He’ll be fine in a few days’ time ... if he
can stay out of trouble in the interim,’ she finished with a meaningful
gleam in her eyes.
Prithvi had to agree. He already felt better enough to notice that
the female was rather attractive, and that she made no attempt to
hide the fact that she found him equally appealing and ...
Even before he finished the thought, Prithvi caught Aditi’s
intense gaze on him and was pleasantly taken aback by the moment
of awkward tension that resulted between them. ‘Umm . . .’he
searched for something to say but was saved from having to speak
by Chandana, who cleared her throat in an attempt to draw their
attention to their obviousness. Prithvi looked embarrassed, while a
pretendedly oblivious Aditi stood up to make way for Dr Acharya.
‘I suppose,’ Dr Acharya began, kneeling down at Prithvi’s side,
‘we have some apologies to make to each other. I do, at least. I should
have trusted you. As it is, it is you I must thank for bringing Tara
back to me.
Prithvi shook his head. ‘It is I who should apologize for . . .’
‘Arre yaar!’ Chandana jumped in. ‘Full soap opera in progress.
Enough, this is supposed to be a happy ending.’
‘Indeed,’ Bhima said, winking at Prithvi. ‘Once ACP Kashyap
sorts things out with the police.’
‘Yeah, right!’ Aditi scoffed. ‘If only it were that easy.’
Dr Acharya stood up and said, ‘That is what the Council is for.
And what having politicians is for. Don’t worry. We will sort this
out. Besides, there’s been no loss of life. Well, innocent life.’
Prithvi pushed himself up to a sitting position, testing his
balance, then got to his feet. He took the pants Bhima was
holding out—part of the uniform of one of Dev’s dead goons—
and putting them on, said, ‘This is hardly an ending. It’s the
beginning. Chandana’s appearance was the only reason why we
even caught on to Dev’s megalomaniac plans. We don’t know
what else he might have been up to or has used the Prophecy for.
The perils, as Bhima says, of too much information in the hands
of a few.’
 Dr Acharya jumped in, ‘The Prophecy will be . . . reconsidered,’
he said. ‘Deleting a database is a little more complex than just
destroying the servers, so it will require planning. In any case, there
is much to talk about and more to be done, but you need to recover
first.’
The assurance filled Prithvi with joyful tiredness, as though he
were finally home after a long, difficult journey. He found himself
speaking of things he had not noticed he was already thinking of.
‘Actually, I have to go house hunting. A place near the university
might be convenient. But then, I suppose, we could buy a Scooty...’
Dr Acharya gave him a confused glance, but Bhima and Aditi
looked at him with knowing smiles.
‘But first, Ayub’s Restaurant!’ Bhima declared, beginning to
walk towards the exit.
Aditi fell in alongside. ‘Sounds like a plan!’
‘I need a bath.’
‘You need more than a bath, Dr Rao. You need to be disinfected
and sterilized, after all the muck we’ve crawled through.’
‘Speak for yourself, ACP Kashyap.’
Prithvi smiled, content to watch the squabble between those
he gratefully called his friends, no, his family. His life, he now saw,
would never be the same again.
A tendril gently tapped at him, knocking at the door to his mind
before coming in. Prithvi welcomed the voice into his soul, relishing
the warmth, the love that burned through him, a love he had not
known himself capable of, a love he had never felt before for anyone,
not for Rahul, not even for Noor.
He turned to look at the silent speaker at his side; she barely
came up to his shoulders. She threaded her small fingers through his
large hand; the cool, soft touch still that of the five-year-old he had
once known.
Next time, father, we shall run together.
Prithvi smiled. Yes, my daughter. We shall run with the night. Try
and keep up, ifyou can.
 Acknowledgements

This book would not have begun but for my ‘Ninjas’, the community
of writers who’ve always had my back: Sukanya, Nikita and Jason.
Also, this book would never have seen the light of day but for
Sukanya ‘Ma’am’ Venkatraghavan—friend, editor, critic and much
more. If only you were a werelion too. (Maybe you are and we just
don’t know it yet.)
To Jai: ‘Husband’ says much (yes, yes, we know you suffer).
‘Best friend’ says it all. You brought both words and beasts back into
my life.
To Mom, for being Mom.
Aravind: Permanent beta-reader. For giving me faith in my ideas
when I lack them. You got mentioned in this book too, so you can’t
escape reading the next one.
Milee Ashwarya: For giving me the space and time to write the
book I wanted to write. You’ve no idea what that means to a writer.
And Jayapriya Vasudevan, super-agent and friend, for making it all
come together.
The rest of the team at Penguin Random House for the gazillion
bits of magic that have gone into making the manuscript a book:
Saksham Garg, particularly for putting up with midnight emails and
panic attacks, Shreya Chakravertty and Shreya Dhawan for their
work on the manuscript (and for dealing with my comma addictions),
326 Acknowledgements

Meena Rajasekaran and Akangksha Sarmah for the stunning cover,

and Khyati Behl and Peter Modoli for making sure the world (and
my mom’s tailor) knows about the book.
And finally, to all of you, named, unnamed and ‘OMG, how
could I forget her; have we gone to press already . .
Thank you.
May your lives be filled with sunshine, long walks and belly rubs
whenever you want them.
 A Note on the Author

Krishna Udayasankar is the author of The Aryavarta Chronicles series

(Govinda, Kaurava, Kurukshetrd), 3, Immortal and Objects ofAffection.
She lives in Singapore with her family, which includes three bookish
canine children, Boozo, Zana and Maya.
 IT WAS ALWAYS THE SAME DREAM, A DREAM
THAT BEGAN WITH DARKNESS AND BLOOD.’

When Assistant Commissioner of Police Aditi Kashyap

is called upon to solve a gruesome triple homicide in a
Mumbai suburb, she is dragged into the terrifying world
of the. Sairahas—werelions—who have lived alongside
humans, hiding amongst them, since ancient times.

Faced with the unbelievable, Aditi has no choice but

to join hands with Prithvi, an Enforcer called in to hunt
down this seemingly otherworldly murderer.

But can Prithvi overcome the nightmarish burdens of

his dark and violent past to unravel the mystery hidden
deep within this secret world of werelions? Can he be
trusted to save lives, or will he choose to serve a different,
more powerful master?

As a greater conspiracy unfolds and the very survival of

humankind is placed unde# threat, Aditi and Prithvi must race
through the dark underbelly of Mumbai—from quiet suburbs to
gritty brothels, from forgotten colonial tunnels to the lights and
uday X
K R IS H
glamour of the inner city—in search of a dangerous truth.

In search of a monster.

Cover image © Shutterstock

Cover design by Meena Rajasekarar

isbn Tva-a-ma-MHMha-D
Fiction

FSC E-book available

91780143 444480

[Link] PENGUIN
EBURY
For sale in the Indian Subcontinent only PRESS