weird sitting there, so close to the snake, but what was weirder was the oily residue in the bottom of the pot. The oily stuff seemed to have crept up the edges of the pot so that it now filled it to the brim. Looking into the pot from where I sat, I saw the flames of the fire and the smoke of the incense reflected on its surface. But I also saw something else. What looked like a jungle appeared in the oily reflection. In the jungle, a man-sized monkey with enormous yellow fangs leapt from tree to tree as flames erupted from a burning lake.
The reedy tune faded out as Mukta spoke again. “One very evil Vanara we will call the Monkey Man. The Monkey Man was different from the other Vanaras. He had great power. His tail was very strong. He could move earthly things with his mind. He could make fire rain down from the sky.”
The reflection of the jungle inside the brass pot washed away to reveal a new reflection of a beautiful woman bathing in a dark lagoon. The woman had long dark hair, but I couldn’t see her face. She wore a blue sari. A spotted blue butterfly fluttered above the lagoon.
“What the Monkey Man wanted, he took. What the Monkey Man saw, he wanted.”
Leering at the woman from the undergrowth was the half-human, half-animal Monkey Man. If that’s what a Vanara looked like, I didn’t want to meet one. The Monkey Man’s eyes glowed red and he looked mean — nastier than anything I had ever seen. I felt the need to interrupt, Mukta. It was a habit I had. When something came to mind, I just had to say it, and I thought I knew who this Monkey Man was. It was the god drawn in mosaic on the bottom of the swimming pool back at the hotel. He was in the chapter of the India book I had skimmed over.
“Are you talking about Hanuman, the monkey god?” I asked.
Mukta stopped dancing. He didn’t say anything for a long moment and I was pretty sure he hadn’t liked the question.
“No, Mud Devil. I am not discussing Hanuman here,” Mukta said. “Hanuman is a great god who was born of a Vanara mother. That is where the similarity ends.” Mukta lowered his voice. “The Monkey Man is a great embarrassment to Hanuman and all Vanaras. Most Vanaras wish the Monkey Man had never been born. But he was born and his followers have grown to many. That is why you must listen to my story. The story will answer your questions.”
The shimmering reflection in the brass pot faded out yet again to be replaced by a bright sunny day inside an old-fashioned courtyard. Spotted blue butterflies fluttered in the sunlight. The Monkey Man was hunched down on one knee, his shoulders bent, offering a shining silver collar to the maiden. Once again, the maiden’s face was hidden. Instead of taking the collar, she ran. Good for her. I wouldn’t have married him either, especially if he gave me a collar. That was just creepy.
“One day,” Mukta said, “the Monkey Man happened upon a maiden whom he could not have. And she whom the Monkey Man could not have, he grew to hate.”
The flames returned to the shimmering reflection as the Monkey Man pursued the maiden on horseback, sword held high in his long tail.
“So he ended her life,” Mukta said.
The Monkey Man thrust his sword down.
I turned my eyes from the pot and rose, the black cobra still undulating back and forth. I was careful not to startle the snake or the lizards, but I was determined. Enough was enough. I didn’t want to see anymore. I grabbed Zak by the arm.
“End of story. Thank you, Mukta. We have a plane to catch,” I said.
“No. It is not the end of the story,” Mukta said. “This story takes place in India where troubles do not end at the grave.”
Zak and I looked at each other. We both knew things were getting weird. Did I say weird? I should have said, super weird. Even Zak looked like he could use a time-out. But we were curious again, too curious to simply get up and leave without finding out what had happened. We turned our eyes
The reedy tune faded out as Mukta spoke again. “One very evil Vanara we will call the Monkey Man. The Monkey Man was different from the other Vanaras. He had great power. His tail was very strong. He could move earthly things with his mind. He could make fire rain down from the sky.”
The reflection of the jungle inside the brass pot washed away to reveal a new reflection of a beautiful woman bathing in a dark lagoon. The woman had long dark hair, but I couldn’t see her face. She wore a blue sari. A spotted blue butterfly fluttered above the lagoon.
“What the Monkey Man wanted, he took. What the Monkey Man saw, he wanted.”
Leering at the woman from the undergrowth was the half-human, half-animal Monkey Man. If that’s what a Vanara looked like, I didn’t want to meet one. The Monkey Man’s eyes glowed red and he looked mean — nastier than anything I had ever seen. I felt the need to interrupt, Mukta. It was a habit I had. When something came to mind, I just had to say it, and I thought I knew who this Monkey Man was. It was the god drawn in mosaic on the bottom of the swimming pool back at the hotel. He was in the chapter of the India book I had skimmed over.
“Are you talking about Hanuman, the monkey god?” I asked.
Mukta stopped dancing. He didn’t say anything for a long moment and I was pretty sure he hadn’t liked the question.
“No, Mud Devil. I am not discussing Hanuman here,” Mukta said. “Hanuman is a great god who was born of a Vanara mother. That is where the similarity ends.” Mukta lowered his voice. “The Monkey Man is a great embarrassment to Hanuman and all Vanaras. Most Vanaras wish the Monkey Man had never been born. But he was born and his followers have grown to many. That is why you must listen to my story. The story will answer your questions.”
The shimmering reflection in the brass pot faded out yet again to be replaced by a bright sunny day inside an old-fashioned courtyard. Spotted blue butterflies fluttered in the sunlight. The Monkey Man was hunched down on one knee, his shoulders bent, offering a shining silver collar to the maiden. Once again, the maiden’s face was hidden. Instead of taking the collar, she ran. Good for her. I wouldn’t have married him either, especially if he gave me a collar. That was just creepy.
“One day,” Mukta said, “the Monkey Man happened upon a maiden whom he could not have. And she whom the Monkey Man could not have, he grew to hate.”
The flames returned to the shimmering reflection as the Monkey Man pursued the maiden on horseback, sword held high in his long tail.
“So he ended her life,” Mukta said.
The Monkey Man thrust his sword down.
I turned my eyes from the pot and rose, the black cobra still undulating back and forth. I was careful not to startle the snake or the lizards, but I was determined. Enough was enough. I didn’t want to see anymore. I grabbed Zak by the arm.
“End of story. Thank you, Mukta. We have a plane to catch,” I said.
“No. It is not the end of the story,” Mukta said. “This story takes place in India where troubles do not end at the grave.”
Zak and I looked at each other. We both knew things were getting weird. Did I say weird? I should have said, super weird. Even Zak looked like he could use a time-out. But we were curious again, too curious to simply get up and leave without finding out what had happened. We turned our eyes
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