26
Baiga
I felt movement and woke to find myself staring up at a dark green canopy. Kishan was carrying me through the jungle. He looked like himself again, which I have to admit was a relief. I’d been uncomfortable staring at him in his disguise.
“Kishan? Where are we going?”
“Shh. Relax. We’re following the Baiga deeper into the jungle. We have to get as far away from the encampment as possible.”
“How long have I been out?”
“About three hours. How do you feel?”
I touched my jaw lightly. “Like a bear punched me. Is he . . . okay?”
“He’s out of it. The Baiga are carrying him on a makeshift gurney.”
“He’s safe though?”
“Safe enough.”
He spoke softly in another language to Mr. Kadam who approached to examine my face and lift a canteen to my lips. I drank slowly, swallowing painfully as I worked my jaw as little as possible.
“Can you lower me, Kishan? I think I can walk.”
“Okay, lean on me if you need to.”
He carefully lowered my legs to the ground and steadied me as I swayed, trying to regain my equilibrium. I hobbled for a while on my twisted ankle, but Kishan growled and soon picked me up again. I settled back against his chest and could feel my whole body aching. Bruises covered most of my body, and I could barely move my jaw.
We were part of a long procession. The Baiga wove between the trees quietly. I couldn’t even hear their footsteps. Dozens of people passed and nodded in a show of respect as they stepped around us. Even the women and children didn’t make a noise, not a whisper of sound, as they moved silently like ghosts through the dark jungle.
Four large men carried a stretcher with a slumped form on top. As it passed, I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of him. Kishan fell into step behind them so I could see Ren’s inert form. He adjusted his grip easily and hugged me a little tighter to his chest, his expression unreadable.
We walked for another hour. Ren slept the entire time. When we came to a clearing, an older Baiga man approached Mr. Kadam and humbly prostrated himself before him. Mr. Kadam turned to us and said that the Baiga would camp for the night. We were invited to their celebratory feast.
I wondered if it might be better for us to keep moving toward our rendez-vous point, but I decided to follow Mr. Kadam’s lead. He was the military strategist, and if he thought it was safe, it probably was. Actually, it was refreshing to let someone else take charge for once. It also couldn’t hurt to let Ren sleep a bit more before we traveled farther.
We watched the Baiga set up camp. They were extremely efficient, but they were missing most of their supplies. Mr. Kadam took pity on them and used the Divine Scarf to create sleeping quarters for each family. My attention diverted to Ren. The men carried him into a tent just as Mr. Kadam called me over.
Kishan, seeing I was torn, told me he would check on Ren, set me down carefully near Mr. Kadam, and then headed toward the tent. He mentioned that it would be better for me to stay with Mr. Kadam but didn’t explain why.
After he left, Mr. Kadam asked if I would use the Golden Fruit to create a feast for the Baiga. They needed to be fed. Several of them were starving too. Lokesh had forced them to stay in camp and use their magic to keep Ren safely contained. They hadn’t been able to hunt for a long time. He gave me instructions and then used the Divine Scarf to create a thick rug that the entire tribe could sit on.
I took the Golden Fruit out of my bag and began creating the dishes he’d requested. Rice with fragrant steaming mushrooms, chopped mango mixed with other local fruits that I hoped I pronounced correctly, roasted fish, wild salad greens, grilled vegetables, and for good measure, I added on a giant strawberry shortcake with fresh whipped cream and Bavarian filling, like we’d had in Shangri-la. Mr. Kadam raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
He invited the Baiga to sit and partake of the feast. Kishan soon came back and sat beside me. He whispered that the Baiga were taking good care of Ren. As everyone took their places, I tried to excuse myself to join Ren. As I struggled to stand, Kishan wrapped a hand around my arm firmly, whispered that I should stay near Mr. Kadam, and emphasized again that Ren would be fine. He seemed earnest about it, so I stayed. Mr. Kadam began speaking in their language. I waited patiently for him to finish his speech and kept looking at the tents, hoping for a glimpse of Ren.
When Mr. Kadam was finished, two young Baiga women walked the perimeter of the circle, bathing each person’s hands in fragrant orange blossom water. When they’d washed the hands of every person, huge bowls of food were passed around. There were no plates or utensils. The Golden Fruit could have created them, but Mr. Kadam wanted to feast after the fashion of the Baiga. We took a few handfuls, ate, and then passed the dish on to the next person. I wasn’t very hungry, but Kishan wouldn’t take the bowl until I’d had at least one bite of each type of food.
When the food made a full circle and everyone had had a portion, the bowls were passed around again. This process continued until all the food was gone. I used my canteen to clean my hands and tried to be patient as the Baiga moved on to the next ritual. When I whispered to Kishan that time was of the essence, he said that we had plenty of time and that Ren would need a while to recover.
The Baiga began celebrating in earnest. Musical instruments were brought out. They chanted and danced. Two women approached me with bowls of black liquid and spoke. Mr. Kadam translated, “They are asking if you would like a tattoo to commemorate your husband’s victory over the evil one.”
“Who do they think I’m married to?”
Mr. Kadam blushed. “They believe you are my wife.”
“Don’t they think I’m a little young for you?”
“It’s a normal practice for very young women to marry older, wiser men in the tribe. They’ve seen you use the Golden Fruit and believe you are a goddess, my mate.”
“I see. Well, thank them for me, but I will remember this victory fine on my own. Just out of curiosity, what, or who, do they think Kishan is?”
“They believe he is our son and that we are here to rescue our other son.”
“They think I have two fully grown sons?”
“Goddesses can remain young and beautiful forever.”
“I wish that were true.”
“Show them your hand, Miss Kelsey.”
“My hand?”
“The one with the henna drawing. Make it glow so they can see the marks.”
I raised my hand and summoned my lightning power. My hand glowed, lit from inside. The skin became translucent, and the henna drawing surfaced—red on a white background.
Mr. Kadam quickly spoke to the two women and thankfully they bowed and left me alone.
“What did you say to them?”
“I told them I’ve already given you a tattoo of fire to remember this by. They believe that tattooing their women makes them more beautiful. They wouldn’t have understood if I’d said I didn’t want your skin to be tattooed. All Baiga men desire a wife with intricate tattooing.”
The Baiga danced and celebrated. One of the men was a fire-eater. I watched his performance, impressed with his skill, but I was in pain and exhausted. I leaned on Kishan, who put his arm around me as support. I must have slept for a while because when I woke the fire-eater was done. Everyone was watching movement at the tents. I became immediately alert. Ren emerged, accompanied by a Baiga man on each side. They’d bathed his wounds and dressed him in one of their wrap-around linen skirts, leaving him bare-chested.
Ren limped, but he looked much better. Although still severe, his wounds were better than they’d been. Someone had washed Ren’s hair and slicked it back. His eyes took in his surroundings and settled on the three of us. Quickly, his gaze shot past Mr. Kadam and me to fix on Kishan. A lopsided grin lit Ren’s face as he moved toward Kishan, who stood to greet him and offer his support. My heart began thumping wildly. Ren hugged his brother and patted his back weakly.
“Thank you for saving me and sending in the food. I couldn’t eat much yet, but I feel . . . well, better anyway.”
Ren took a seat next to Kishan and began speaking in his native language. I tried to make eye contact, but he didn’t appear interested in talking to me.
Finally, I cleared my throat and asked, “Would you like more to eat?”
His eyes glanced at me briefly. “Not right now, thank you,” he said politely and turned back to Kishan.
Mr. Kadam patted my hand as the Baiga’s gunia approached. He knelt in front of Mr. Kadam and spoke quickly. Then he stood and clapped his hands. A Baiga man knelt in front of Ren and bowed to the ground. He was the same man who I’d seen in my Scarf vision, the man who’d hurt Ren. Ren narrowed his eyes at the man who quickly lowered his gaze, spoke several words, and pulled a knife from his shirt.
Mr. Kadam translated, “Please forgive me, noble one. I fought against the demon as long as I could, but he hurt my family. My wife and children are now dead. There is nothing left for me. Unless you will restore my honor, I will leave the tribe and die alone in the wilderness.”
Reaching up a hand, the man carefully unwound his jura. Long black hair fell from the top of his head and piled on his lap. With two more words, he swept the knife up and through the ties, shearing off his long, beautiful ponytail. He picked up the shorn hair reverently, bowed his head to the ground, and with open hands, offered it to Ren.
Ren looked at the man for a long time, nodded, and held out his hands, palms up, to accept the shorn hair. He spoke a few words, which Mr. Kadam translated for me again.
“I accept your offering. We have all suffered at the hands of the demon. We will punish him for his crimes, including the unforgivable act of depriving you of your family. Your actions against me are forgiven. I return your honor. Go your way with your tribe and find peace.”
The man placed the hair in Ren’s hands and backed away. Next, the gunia had two beautiful Baiga maids brought out before us. They knelt in front of Ren and Kishan. Their dainty hands lay in their laps as they looked demurely at the ground.
The women had long, beautiful, glossy black hair and fine, delicate features. Their trim waists were accented by thin belts made of polished stone. They were curvy in a way I would never be. Both had delicate tattooing running down their arms and legs, which disappeared under the hem of the thin skirts they wore, making me wonder just how much of their bodies were tattooed. I could see why the tattooing was considered attractive. This wasn’t the kind you’d see in America. There were no giant eagles or “I Love Mom” in a heart.
This tattooing was tiny. Whirls, ringlets, curlicues, coils, flowers, leaves, and butterflies trailed down their limbs like the fine border of a picture frame or the scrollwork of a medieval book. The tattoos highlighted the features of the beautiful woman within its margins and accentuated her, making her into an exquisite, otherworldly creature. The gunia spoke, pointing first to one girl and then the other.
Ren rose awkwardly and smiled widely. I stared at him hungrily. I knew it was my disguise that had kept Ren from recognizing me and had caused him to strike out. Now all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around him and get him out of here. Sadly, we all had roles to play. He walked, limping but dignified, around both girls. Then he picked up the hand of one girl, kissed it, and smiled at her. I narrowed my eyebrows in confusion. She smiled shyly up at Ren. Kishan wore a shocked expression, while Mr. Kadam looked grim.
I whispered, “What is it? What’s going on?”
“Wait just a moment, Miss Kelsey.”
Kishan stood and spoke quietly to Ren. Ren folded his arms across his chest and indicated the two women again. Kishan began arguing quietly with his brother. He looked over at me and then at Mr. Kadam as if asking for help. Ren seemed more confused than angry. He asked something that sounded like a question. In response, Kishan gestured adamantly and pointed to the gunia. Ren laughed, touched the hair of the girl, rubbed it between his fingers, and said something to her that made her laugh.
“Are those girls planning to cut off their hair too? I asked.”
Mr. Kadam frowned. “No. I don’t believe so.”
Kishan bowed to the gunia and the two women, said a few words, and then turned his back to Ren and sat down by me again. Ren smiled at the girl, shrugged his shoulders, and sat back down near Kishan.
“Mr. Kadam! What just happened?”
He cleared his throat. “Ah, yes . . . it would appear that the Baiga wish to offer our two sons permanent membership in the tribe.”
“So they’re asking them to join the Baiga club? Okay, so they join. What’s the harm in that?”
“The way they join is to marry two Baiga women. These two sisters have offered themselves to our noble sons.”
“Oh.” I furrowed my brow in confusion. “Then what were Kishan and Ren arguing about?”
“They were arguing about . . . whether they should agree or not.”
“Uh-huh. Then why was Ren touching that woman’s hair?”
“I . . . really couldn’t say.” Mr. Kadam turned aside, obviously unwilling to continue the conversation.
I thought about what I had seen and then elbowed Kishan. “Kishan, if you want a Baiga wife, it’s okay. I mean, if that will make you happy, then go for it,” I whispered. “They’re both very pretty.”
He growled at me quietly, “I don’t want a Baiga wife, Kells. I’ll explain later.”
Now I was more confused and slightly jealous, but I shook it off remembering that different cultures interpreted gestures in different ways. I decided to drop it and watch the festivities. By the time the celebration was over, my head was drooping sleepily on Mr. Kadam’s shoulder.
Kishan shook me awake. “Kells? Come on. Time to go.”
He pulled me to my feet and slid my backpack onto his own shoulders before giving Ren instructions. Ren seemed happy to do whatever Kishan told him to. Mr. Kadam said his good-byes to the Baiga, who all settled in for the night while we made our way toward our rendez-vous.
Mr. Kadam turned on a fancy military gadget. It was a watch with a video screen about the size of a deck of cards that uploaded satellite imagery as we walked. Not only did it show our current longitude and latitude, but it kept a record of how many miles or kilometers we had to go to reach our destination.
Ren changed to a tiger. Kishan said that it would help him heal faster. He trotted along behind us. I tried to walk again, but my ankle was swollen to the size of a grapefruit. Mr. Kadam wrapped it with an ace bandage before we ate, gave me some ibuprofen to reduce the swelling, and made me elevate it, but I needed ice. It still throbbed. Kishan let me walk for a little while because I was being stubborn about it but insisted I use his arm for support. Ren passed near me, but when I reached out a hand to touch his head, he growled at me softly. Kishan quickly put himself between us.
“Kishan? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s . . . not himself, Kells.”
“It’s like he doesn’t know me.”
Kishan tried to comfort me by saying, “He’s probably responding to you just as any injured animal does. It’s a protection thing. Perfectly natural.”
“But when you two were injured in the jungle before, I took care of you. Neither of you tried to hurt me or attack me. You always knew who I was.”
“We don’t know yet what Lokesh did to him. I’m sure he’ll snap out of it as his wounds heal. For now, I want you to always stay near me or Mr. Kadam. A wounded tiger is a very dangerous creature.”
“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly, “I don’t want to cause him any more pain than he’s already in.”
After indulging me in a few more painfully slow minutes of walking, Kishan picked me up. When I protested that I’d tire him, he scoffed and said he could carry me for days and not be tired. I slept in his arms as we hiked through the jungle. When we stopped, he set me down gently. I wobbled, and Kishan’s arm around my shoulders was the only thing that kept me upright.
“Mr. Kadam? What is this place?”
“It’s an artificial reservoir called the Maithan Dam. Our transportation should be arriving soon.”
Not a moment later, we heard the drone of propellers as a small plane passed over us heading toward the lake. We hurried to the pebbly shore and watched the plane land on the smooth, moonlit water. Mr. Kadam waved a neon light and waded into the dark lake. Kishan guided me along, but I hesitated, looking at the white tiger.
“Don’t worry, Kells. He can swim.”
He waited for me to go first. The water was cool and actually felt good on my ankle. As the plane drifted closer to shore, I sunk down to my neck and started swimming. Mr. Kadam was already standing on the plane’s water ski, holding onto the door. He leaned down and grabbed my hand, helping me in. Nilima smiled at me from the pilot’s seat and patted the space next to her.
Apologizing briefly for getting her wet, I settled myself as Kishan climbed aboard and then watched the white tiger swimming through the water. When Ren approached the plane, he changed back to a man and lifted himself up, swinging into the seat next to Kishan in the back. Mr. Kadam secured the door and buckled himself in next to me.
Nilima warned, “Hold on everybody.”
A surge of motion pushed us forward as the propellers revved loudly. We picked up speed, bounced on the water a few times, and then climbed into the night sky. Ren had changed back into his tiger form. He’d closed his eyes and was resting his head in Kishan’s lap. Briefly, I smiled at Kishan. He returned my gaze quietly and looked out the window.
Mr. Kadam covered the two of us with a blanket. I rested my head against his wet shoulder and drifted off to the droning sound of our seaplane.