The Vishakanya's Choice by Roshani Chokshi Read Free Book Online Page B

glittering on the banks, she curled her toes.
    The makara wiggled beneath her. “You’re trembling, vishakanya.”
    â€œDon’t call me that.”
    â€œA poison maiden? But that’s what you are.”
    A school of silver fish swam past them and before she could wonder where they were headed, the makara guzzled them. She shivered and rubbed her arms. Even now, she could feel the fish’s desperate flapping through the makara’s skin. They were drowning, all their silver scales dissolving into opalescent gastric juice. Her stomach flipped. Was that how all prey felt?
    â€œYou picked a bad trade to have a conscience,” said the makara.
    Sudha steeled her nerves. “I don’t have a conscience.”
    â€œYes, you do. Silly girl. Silly choice.”
    â€œI never had one,” Sudha said tightly.
    As if in response, the red sari constricted. Her hand flew to her stomach as she sucked in a deep breath, challenging the scarlet. She held onto the breath until she felt lightheaded, until she felt the threads panicking and unraveling. This was her breath and no one could take it. But perhaps she’d gone too far. Within seconds, the red gathered into a knot, pummeling against her stomach and releasing her lungs.
    Up ahead, the river converged at an ivory port strewn with golden marigolds, pink carnations and wreathes of jasmine. Unlike the stony beauty of the Hastinapur Harem bedecked in cold gemstones and silks, the city before her seemed burgeoning with all living things.
    â€œI hope those slippers are thick. A trail of withered flowers is rather obvious. I’ll be here when your deed is done, vishakanya,” it said, flipping onto its back and floating in the water.
    She pulled the crimson veil over her face. “My name is Sudha.”
    Double-checking for holes in her slippers, Sudha slipped into the crowd. Past the port, glittering amber tents sprawled across the valley. Silver reflection pools filled with ambrosia and wine dotted the shores of the river, while tables piled high with savory dal, crispy paratha and creamy kir lay near a group of musicians. The city was celebrating the victories of a man who would soon be dead. Sudha walked past the feast, her eyes demurely fixed on the ground.
    Beside her, an emerald seahorse whinnied into the neck of a buxom apsara. Across from them, a host of gandharvas played the lute, and the horned asuras swayed in dance. Sudha wanted to stay and hear the music, but already the sari was pulling her past the crowds and into an amber tent. Any attempt she made to dig her heels into the ground was immediately rewarded by a constricting sensation. In the back of her mind, she heard Urvashi scolding her. Before her was a glorious opportunity to bring honor to the Hastinapur Kingdom and fully embrace her sisters’ legacy. But Sudha bristled and dug her nails into her arms. Just a moment longer amongst the trees. One more second of music. Of life.
    The moment she fulfilled her assignment, the damp walls of the Hastinapur Harem would swallow, quarantine and hide her. When she grew old within its marble courtyard, when her veins stooped under the weight of poison, what then? Would they give her a poison her body couldn’t metabolize? What memories would she tuck under her tongue other than a snatch of light, a half-chorus of music and the smell of the jungle?
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    The sari didn’t care for her reflections. It yanked her along, pulling her through the opening of an amber tent so quickly she could only glimpse the name in a blur:
    Tributes to the Emperor Alexander.
    When she emerged on the other side, her skin crawled. Alexander was not a handsome man. His skin was extremely pale. Only the broken blood vessels along his nose and knuckles broke the expanse of greying skin. He sat on a throne of bleached bones, a conquered soldier’s helmet beneath each foot and under each arm. Above him, a thousand ribcages bolstered the tent,