Returning to the room, I find Karun hasn’t moved from the sofa. I do not reveal my decision to stay with our marriage. Instead, I go to the bathroom and wash my face, then bring out a wet towel and hand it to him. “We have to see the Devi. She’s taken quite a shine to Jaz. If anyone can save him, she will.”


THE GUARDS EXPLAIN their orders apologetically. We’re allowed to descend chaperoned to the garden, but cannot converse with anyone. An audience with Devi ma is out of the question. They’ll let me talk to Anupam, but technically, even she should be off-limits.

Before they can change their minds, I hurriedly give Anupam my message. “Tell Devi ma my husband saw her beloved Gaurav taken prisoner in the hotel annex. She has to find him and free him at once or Bhim will have him killed.”

Anupam gets very nervous—she won’t remember the message, she has to report to the kitchen for work, do I really expect anyone will allow her up to see Devi ma? I tell her she can convey it to Chitra in that case, make her repeat the lines a few times, and send her on her way.

There’s little to do now but wait. The prospect of lingering in the room with the claustrophobia of what’s passed is too grim, so Karun and I sit on a bench near the base of the steps. He will not look at me—holding his head in his hands, he rocks his body to and fro silently. Every few minutes, he gets up to pace, like an anxious relative keeping vigil outside an operation theater. I try to summon up sympathy for him, but my own self-pity keeps getting in the way.

I expect the Devi to send for us, for Chitra to appear, or even Anupam to return and tell us what happened. But nobody comes. The hotel turrets turn gold, then crimson in the setting sun, their shadows lengthen over the pool and badminton courts. An attendant brings us tea, then a plate of biscuits and samosas. The sounds of dholak and musical tongs waft across the gardens—I notice an audience has clumped around the stage. Through the darkening twilight, a large white buffalo shape glides surreally past the backdrop of the farthermost hotel wall.

Just when Karun seems to have rocked himself into a trance, and I’m despairing that everyone’s forgotten about us, the guards approach. “They’ve called you upstairs. To Devi ma’s floor.”


THE CLERKS OUTSIDE the suite are as stubborn and nitpicking as before. They want to know who Karun is, where he has appeared from, why they weren’t apprised of his visit in advance. Our escort of guards fails to impress them—only when Chitra appears and answers all their questions, do they grudgingly allow us to proceed.

“I’m glad Gaurav was able to find your husband,” Chitra says, her tone sounding anything but pleased. “Though letting him go off with Guddi has created a big headache for us. Devi ma is very upset. She keeps asking for her Gaurav-ghoda. Without him, she refuses to eat or even talk to anyone.”

“But I sent you a message. Through Anupam. Didn’t you get it?”

“Yes, yes, the girl from the kitchen who ruined her sari. She came up to say that Gaurav’s been captured—somewhere in the annex, apparently. Despite all my warnings to keep away—now you see what happens to those who don’t do as I say.”

“But haven’t you informed Devi ma? All she needs is to give the order. To have Gaurav freed, no matter where he might be.”

Chitra makes a scoffing sound. “If only it were that easy. We’re talking about Bhim’s annex—despite what you might imagine, Devi ma doesn’t control everything. If that’s where Gaurav is, we can’t just blunder in—why do you think I kept pretending it was unoccupied? Guddi seems to have vanished as well, or I’d ask her what happened, exactly.”

“You mean you haven’t done a thing to look for him?” Karun cuts in. “All this time my friend might be getting killed and you’ve kept us waiting around uselessly? I’ve already told you what happened, what more do you need?”

Chitra stiffens. “I have bigger problems to worry about, whoever you think you might be. If your friend had listened to me and not gone in there, he’d be safe. Instead of endangering not only himself, but also poor Guddi—”

“If he had listened to you, he’d have never found me—”

“What my husband means,” I interject with a conciliatory note, “is that perhaps you could at least try telling Devi ma, to see if something might come of it.”

“Tell Devi ma?” Chitra laughs. “Do you hear that racket outside?” I pause to listen—muffled crashes issue from the terrace, interspersed with yells and screams. “That’s her, breaking every bottle and plate because Gaurav’s missing. Any minute now she’s going to decide to escalate into her Kali mode—demand a drink of human blood or try to set fire to the place. My job is to protect her, prevent her from getting to that stage. Goading her on about Bhim, when she can’t really do anything about him, will only get her more inflamed.”

Chitra shakes her head. “Besides, Bhim is the only one who can calm her down from this state. He’ll be here any moment now—in fact, he’s the one who ordered you brought up to wait for him.”

“Well, I’ve waited enough,” Karun says. “If you won’t tell Devi ma, I will.” Sidestepping Chitra, he strides towards the terrace. He dodges the guards and bursts out through the door, as Chitra, shouting for him to stop, gives chase. I follow as well, narrowly escaping the grasp of a Khaki who lunges my way.

The air outside smells of burning plastic—by the edge of the infinity pool lie the smoking remains of a beach chair. One of the potted trees is also on fire, which the attendants try to douse with water scooped out from the pool in a saucepan. Biscuits and pakodas and colorful orange laddoos float in the water, along with wooden trays, a plastic table, even an upturned throne bobbing amidst a swirl of red fabric. The terrace is littered with such a profusion of broken china that I wonder who could have supplied the Devi so many plates. At first I can’t locate her amidst the pandemonium of all the people running around. Then, behind a ring of devotees broken free from their guards, I spot the flash of a neck painted gold, the glimpse of a stunted arm.

We all run up to this human barricade, where Chitra tries to cajole the Devi out. The devotees chant and raise fists in response—the plates must be spent, because only a few odd pieces of cutlery come sailing out. A cry of pain shudders up from behind the cordon—through the shifting thicket of legs, I catch a glimpse of an attendant lying ashen-faced on the ground. Red stains the collar of his beige uniform. The Devi lies stretched atop him, her face buried deep into his neck, as if engaged in something carnal. The legs shift again, and now she looks up. Blood drips from her mouth, like from a feeding animal’s snout.

“Get them away,” Chitra shouts, and the guards get busy using their rifle butts to knock devotees down. But each time one falls, two more surge in, their passion so strong that first one, then another Khaki gets swallowed by the crowd. Somewhere in the melee, the supine attendant manages to crawl away, his neck awash in blood, as if punctured repeatedly by a fledgling vampire just learning to suck. I catch a glimpse of a woman disciple eagerly take his place—she unbuttons her blouse to bare her neck, a look of beatific anticipation on her face.

Eventually, though, the rifle butts prevail—the gauntlet is penetrated, the Devi exposed. Startled, she springs off her new and freshly bitten donor, landing cat-like, on her hands and feet, in a crouch. She hisses at the advancing guards, then rises to her full height and growls. “Careful,” Chitra cautions. “Remember that touching Devi ma is not allowed.”

“Yes, remember touching me is not allowed,” the girl mocks, lunging at the guards, forcing them to back away. She raises her good arms above her head, then flaps them up and down, as if chasing after birds or pretending to be a plane taking off. It’s a move I remember from Superdevi, used by the heroine each time she wanted to change herself into a particularly fearsome avatar. Nothing happens—the Devi girl remains untransformed. “Kneel down and touch your foreheads to the ground,” she commands, apparently undaunted by this deficiency in her transmogrification powers.

One by one, the guards and attendants obediently prostrate themselves, with the devotees (those not already knocked down) enthusiastically joining in as well. Chitra looks on tight-lipped as Devi ma steps on the nearest Khaki, mashing his face into the floor with her foot. She zigzags across the arrangement of backs as if playing a sprawling game of hopscotch. “Why are you still standing?” she demands, coming to a stop before us. She beats her arms vigorously—perhaps a last-ditch effort to give her metamorphosis a kick-start.

Chitra draws back a bit but Karun stands his ground. “Because I have something to tell you. I know where your Gaurav is.”

“Who are you?”

“His friend. The one he came to find. We were together when Bhim captured him.”

No sooner has Karun pointed the finger when Bhim himself walks through the terrace doors.


I’VE SEEN BHIM in photographs and videos, but never in person, nor in full regalia. Locks cascade from under warrior headgear, gold breastplate and armguards gild him as splendidly as Devi ma, the fringe of his tunic billows in a brocaded swirl. He strides across the floor, decked out like an emperor of yore. Despite quibbles about appropriate heft and height for one so powerful, the awe he commands is palpable. Khakis and devotees alike jump back guiltily to their feet, as if caught playing games in class by a roving principal. And yet his manner, as he bends down level with the Devi’s face, is gentle. “Is something the matter?” he asks.