Dalbir S. Sehmby

Racing, the villagers would be rid of this monstrosity once and for all. Pundit Ji was behind the pack of frantic men and women, but with the hoisting of his marble cane, the riotous mass froze and split, making a path for the wise one.

Extending the cane and spinning in a circle, the pundit pushed back the villagers, clearing the center of the mass, of which he was the eye. The pundit didn’t speak any audible words, but his grunts and mumbling were enough to inspire silence.

His eyes rolled into his forehead. Flickering his lids, the whites of his eyes flashed ominously. He spoke loudly now, but in a tongue foreign to all dialects in the region. After a fitful shaking that worried the villagers, Pundit Ji returned to his human self.

Panting, he declared: “It is done!”

At this, the villagers rejoiced, smiling and laughing in relief. This was the first time I would witness the power of the holy man.

“We are safe now!” cried a voice in the crowd. “No longer shall we suffer,” said another. “At last,” beamed an elderly lady.

I wanted to ask what all the commotion was about, but I chose to smile instead of appearing foolish. I followed Pundit Ji around for days, but he did not say a word to me. He was not mean to me in an outright fashion, but he was strict. Discipline is the path.

I would sit outside his office, a hut near a tree, where he would dispense advice. Finally, one morning he decided to lecture.

“You are of the highest caste. You are born with greatness. This is your birthright.”

That was all, for three days.

I served him. I brought him food. I brought clothes. A nervous newlywed couple came, asking for a child and he spoke with them sternly, wagging his finger. In two days, he gave them a bottle of thick paste she was to rub on her thighs without fail for seventeen full moons.

I took notes carefully, desperate to know what herbs went into his treatments. I had studied plants and herbs with my mother, but she shied away from telling me about the good stuff, the magic.

I had to leave home to learn the ways of a pundit.

One evening, he pulled me towards him and said, “You are always right!”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I giggled at his outburst. He slapped me hard. I bit my bleeding lip and dropped to his feet, but he walked away. My heart whipped me the entire night, berating me for being so foolish, so disrespectful. He is to tell me the secrets of the most powerful magic in the world, and I laugh at him like a child. I couldn’t stop myself from crying throughout the night.

I didn’t look into his face for an entire week. He spoke more to me, but I just nodded and obeyed. “Drink this,” he said.

And I drank, peeking a glance at his eyes through the bottom of the glass.

“You are always right. If they don’t get what they want, they have done it wrong. Your magic never fails.”

I nodded, unsure as to why I was nodding.

“The drink you have is a magic potion. It will make you take your rightful place as the true ruler of this village. Kings ask you for advice. Queens want their palms read by you. Princes, dukes, and warriors will not think without your magic.”

“What is in this potion?”

He smiled, “You will discover it soon enough. Remember to keep order. Each caste in its place. Each villager in place. Everything must be kept in place. Lives are in your hands. More than any doctor or soldier or even a mother, you are the sculptor of fate. Use your magic wisely. Most wise is to never lose your power.”

“How could I lose my power?” I asked, worried.

“You ask too many questions!”

Then he walked away. No words for me, for another day and then, as I served him tea the next evening, he nodded with a grin, “You will never learn.”

He doesn’t understand how much power his words have over me. Just four words and I wanted to kill myself. Overwhelmed with hopelessness, I longed to plunge into the well that I stared down into each morning. Bucket after bucket after bucket of water. Splashing against my legs, tears rolled down my eyes as I filled the troughs of the cows. Their calm lack of worry helped me to dry my tears.

“You have all the answers.” He whispered. And walked away. I knew what would follow next. He’d go silent, leaving me to obsess over his words. I stared at his slow, confident movements, billowing the dirt beneath his already dusty brown sandals.

What is he doing? As much as I hated to say it, even within the supposed safety of my mind, Pundit Ji frustrated me. I couldn’t turn my eyes back to my work. One phrase, one day, and then, nothing. The buckets of water were becoming heavy in my hands. And then, the next day, the opposite. I stared at him move further away. He made no sense. Instead of letting him walk away, this time, I dropped the buckets of water and raced towards the crazy old man. My teeth were tight with rage, my eyes determined, and my feet struck the weak earth with vengeance.

Only a few feet away from him, he quickly swung around to face me. Halting, I almost slipped onto the path of dirt. He jostled some gold coins and made them disappear into thin air.

Mesmerized.

Without words, we moved inside his hut again. He gave me some more of the potion.

I gulped it down.

“Savour it.” He advised. And I did.

I made certain that every drop of that liquid entered my veins. He told me to drink the potion every day until he told me to stop. I nodded, excited by the electric charge the potion gave me. I felt myself becoming greatness.

“You are always right. Your power is in their obedience, their fear, their hope in you. You rule the world.”

I didn’t understand, until the next full moon.

The villagers were frantic once again, falling to their knees at the sight of the gray marble moon. As with the first day, the villagers were in a panic, desperately searching for the holy man, urging him to come out of his hut.

“They want you outside, wise one.” I stated.

“Make them wait. And the world is yours.”

I scribbled that down in my notepad, but he slapped my hand. “No writing.” He tapped his long bony finger against his temple, “It’s all in here.”

“Why are they afraid of the moon?” I asked. “What will it do?”

The old man cracked a wide smile and leaned in closer to me. I could smell the onions on his lips. “Nothing.”

Puzzled, I wondered if I heard correctly. “The alignment of the earth’s axis . . . “

He put his fingers over my lips and handed me the glass of the magic potion, “Nothing.”

“The stars will . . .” I drank it, finally noticing that the magic potion was just water.

Pundit Ji whispered again, this time more slowly, “Nothing.”

I nodded. “Nothing. The world is yours.”

He pointed at me and handed me the cane, “The world is yours. Go. Save them.”

And I did.


Copyright©2005 Dalbir S. Sehmby. About the author