Daughter of the Mountains

Chapter 3

That night, they camped. From what the locals said, it was obvious they had reached Vanga. Her father, despite the recent skirmish, was convinced that this was as good a time as any to take a break. When Dhaula pointed out that the ambush had nearly killed them all, he nodded sagely and said, "That is why they will not come after us right now. Who in their right mind would camp where they have been attacked?"
And that was, sadly, sound logic.
It was not something Gauri was particularly bothered about. The local men told wickedly hilarious tales, and the women gossiped like they were paid for it. It was hotter here, so she had to give up her warm clothes and now dress in bright cotton sundresses. A girl of her age, who lived in the village close to their camp, taught her how to make garlands of wildflowers and put them on the goats.
Even their food was different. Gauri loved the taste of it – the burning tang of mustard and spice, the blossoming sweetness of their sweetmeats, and the tongue-pinching sourness of their fruits. She wished she could live their forever. Thinking like this was, of course, the easiest way to jinx the whole situation, so not even a week had passed when someone came knocking on the door of their makeshift cottage.

Her father opened the door. Moinak had already straightened up, and was squinting in suspicion, as if he could see their visitor through the wood. She shifted towards him almost instinctively. They could hear their father ask, "Greetings, noble one. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
And a soft, honey sweet masculine voice replied, "With your leave, Your Majesty, I would be honoured to make acquaintance of Princess Parvati. May I see her?"

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"So, you are Parvati?"
"That is my birth name. Though those close to me call me Gauri."

It took her father and brother quite a lot of time to even own up that Shailadesha had a princess. Gauri had to give it to her interlocutor – he was persistent. She looked up at the man wonderingly. He was tall, verily so, and his skin was the colour of dusk, or the sky right before a storm – a strange dark hue that was neither black nor blue. His lips seemed to be curved in a perpetual smile, and Gauri had to admit, there was something boyishly handsome about him. On one lean hand, he clutched a lotus by its stalk, and after being appropriately vetted by both her father and brother for hidden weapons and intentions, he had presented it to her, saying, "How can I come all this way to meet you sister, and not bring a gift?"
Gauri liked the flower. But she was wary of the man. Now he abruptly sank onto the grass beside her, flourished his angavastra, spread it on the ground and patted invitingly.

"I know I said we should walk, but Gauri, your brother is going to scare off all living creatures we come across with his scowl. Come sit."
Gauri sat obediently. He clasped his hands together and said, "My name is Hari."
Unsure of how to respond, she only nodded. He continued, "Do you know anything about Mahishasur?"
Gauri sniffled, then said bluntly, "He killed my mother. He took our kingdom. And one of his patrols tried to kill us a few days ago."
Hari furrowed his brow, concerned. "Is everything okay now? Is anyone still injured?"
"We won, as you can see. Things are better now."
"I see."
There was a pregnant pause. A bird was chirruping close by. Gauri closed her eyes, then wearily asked, "What do you want?"
"I beg your pardon?" Hari sounded startled. He had not expected that.
"I said, what do you want?"
"Why should it appear to you that I want something?" The divot was back between his brows, and okay, Gauri did not care for the man. "I may not be the wisest, but I'm not stupid." She knew she sounded irritable. "You came all the way from wherever you live, and you decided to speak to me, not my father – who used to be a King – and not my brother – who is a warrior known all over Aryavart even today. So forgive me, but I do think you want something."

Hari's gentle smile disappeared. Now he looked melancholy. Turning to her he murmured, "I apologise. Clearly, you realise that there is something bigger in this, yes? Tell me, do you have, in your possession, a long silver spear with a three forked end and a single pointed one?"
"I do. You need to take that? I'll get it for you."
But Hari stopped her immediately, "Oh no, sister," and now he sounded tired, "it is too late to give it back now. You have been chosen."
Gauri stared at him, "Chosen for what?"
"Little one," he sighed, "you have picked up the Trishul, of the Mahadevas. Whosoever shall wield it now, shall save the world from the one that torments it."
"That's stupid." Gauri protested, anger coiling in her gut.
But Hari stood up, towering over her, and spread his palms with a huge flourish. The sun silhouetted his lean frame, making him look almost divine. Gauri absently noted the peacock feather stuck in his hair. Looking down at her, he spoke softly, each word a thunderclap, "Parvati, daughter of the mountains, I, Hari, the Vishnu, invite you to walk the path of your destiny."