Ma would be scared. Furious. Crying.
But her little Jhilmil was not washed away in the monsoon. No, when the rain had been to hard to run, the girl had taken refuge in an already toppled mud brick house, its dislodged, rusty metal roof too rusted to salvage, but barely keeping a dry nook inside for Jhilmil to crawl into.
It had been an ornate house once, for the village. But now it was well picked over. A worthless eyesore, but still owned by someone forgotten… but as soon as someone would try to clear it, there would manage to be trouble.
But in the middle of a downpour, as shelter from the rain and lightning, it would probably do.
The wind blew through, the thunder rattled, but for as quiet as it wasn’t, it was a spot, not tall enough to stand, where her clothes could dry.
Jhilmil tried to push accumulated dust to the side, to sit and wait out the storm. Her eyes wandered around what still existed of the dampening room. Some was old cut stones, some mounds of dirt that would have once been wall. It must have been a very impressive house once, having stone and not cinderblock.
Amid tumbled stones she caught a glimpse of something reflecting lightning. She reached in, tugged – and eventually yielded a brass object. some sort of weird… tea pot? Maybe it was supposed to be a diya? It was caked in soot. She gingerly positioned it under one of the streams pouring off the roof, taking care not to get the wet soot splashed onto her clothes.
In the failing light and intermittent lightning, the brass was dazzling. Finely etched. Brighter and brighter as the soot was washed away.
The girl turned her attention to the area she had dug it from – maybe there was fuel left. A wick. A lighter. Somthing that could make the lamp useful once the sun was completely gone – but all she came back with was scraped fingers and cinder.
The sun was gone – but the lamp seemed to hold the light, even in the dark downpour. She gingerly grabbed it from the stream of water – wondering if it would be hot – it was warmer, perhaps, than wet clothes, but but not uncomfortably so – beaded with water, it was not so bright that it illuminated anything but itself. She pulled it close, trying to make something of the orate etching that glowed, brushing it dry on her shirt.
There was a rumble, a steam, a chant of words Jhilmil did not understand, what little room there was was filled by pitch black cloud. And in that blackness – something stared at her. Through her.
The voice changed in timber. the eyes resolved to the same glow the lamp had shone with – silvered brass, showing a cloudy outline, but illuminating nothing.
“I am the guardian of this path, this gate which stands astride. And you? no merit to go past, ‘tween outside and outside. Turn now, away, from this path, hate nor relations sour. And I shall bestow three gifts, if they are in my power.”
“I… I don’t like sour things.”
The djinn sighed. Slumped. It had been a good minute since any humans had actually came close to the gate. Too long, really. The words going through this one’s mind were barely enough to communicate – this had to be an accident.
The lightning crackled. Oh, Bhuloka could make some noise, could it? The guarding Djinn stepped a little farther form the gate, out into the … ‘night’. Right. When the unliving rock blocked the nearest star. This one was quite wet, for being so close to the rock.
The mountains were roughly in the same place – the gate hadn’t been relocated by its newest visitor. Not to many varsha had passed. Just the normal spiraling of rocks.
Right. Couln’t just leave her alone. The Djinn ducked back inside.
Jhilmil looked up into the Djinn’s eyes, then back at the lamp.
“How do you fit?”
Oh, it definitely was a mistake.
“Oh, it has plenty of room for me to fit. It was built large enough for an army.”
“So I can fit?” This look was a familiar one. Nervousness. This house might have once been large enough to hold the two of them – the living fire and the living dust – but at the moment it was so crowded she could hear the thunder but not see the lightning.
“You may not pass the gate. But you may shelter in the Gate, and look upon what is beyond it, if that is your wish.”
The Djinn offered what Jhilmil would see as a hand, and the two disappeared from Bhuloka.
~
The river crested. There was daylight. There was mourning. There was frantic searching.
The river receded. The moon waned and filled. Chill, heat. The abandoned house continued to collapse.
Memories lost their owners, who became memories themselves. Unliving fire loosed from living dust – and something more, but it was not living fire.
The mountains moved, spinning, but in the circles they were accustomed.
~
«Ah, it seems the entrance has been blocked during our tour. One moment, please.» A pile of rust exploded upwards, revealing, A girl and an much less defined figure.
«It’s been a pleasure. I… wow. I’m suddenly famished.»
«I’d be glad to prepare you a feast, if that is what you wish.»
«Hardly, hardly, I would not compel you to such a menial task. Besides. I don’t want to end up as another Huram.»
«It would have been completely compatible with his biology, if he’d just phrased it a little different. It isn’t like I was the one that wanted him dead.»
«I don’t … ow. OUCH.» The pain was unlike anything she could remember.
«Wait. It’s the dance. you’re back in Bhuloka’s dance. All the… biology. The processes. Are restarting».
She was Hungry. Thirsty. These were words she knew in the djinn tongue, but others same to mind from ages ago. When she had last felt them. She had to remember what she did back then…
The river. It wasn’t far. She collaped beside it and shoved her head in, taking in as much as she could manage, gasping for air- she needed that too- and shoving her head back in for more.
The djinn was abandoned at the wreck of a house- again. Looking around- the land had changed again, and not just because of bright skies. He had to admit, the tour had gone longer than he had thought it would- the girl had seen the murals of the gate’s past, and wanted to know their stories. There were no small number, the Bhulokha side of the gate having passed though many human hands since it was created. But her own mind couldn’t hold them, couldn’t hold the facts of the cosmos. So he had taught the girl language. Logic. Secrets – well, did the humans know such things? They had to, to have constructed the gate – but not this little human.
The gift was his to interpret. And besides, he had time to fill until he was relieved by the next guard of the gate. Perhaps, being properly educated, whe girl would as for gifts with a positive result.
If she came back. She really should have taken the gate with her – her short sightedness did not bode well, no matter what her state had been.
Ah, she was making her way back. Well, waddling. She had, not knowing how much she should hydrate, so she kept drinking until she was full. And she was apparently not used to the sensation of being full. because her extremities were deformed by the amount of water she had taken on.
The Djinn observed her without comment – apparently living dust could settle in strange ways, outside the effects of it’s home realm.
“I have granted you one gift; will you name to others?”
“I really don’t know what I’d ask for – can I … ‘sleep’ … on it?” The girl seemed to gargle a bit form the water taken on. It had taken a moment to remember another word from childhood.
The Djinn sighed, “Please do not abandon The Gate this time,” He paused. Dramatically, “If you should loose your opportunity, do not think less of me.” And it disappeared into the gate – or the teapot as she had once referred to it.
She picked it up and headed home.
~
But it was not her home she arrived at.
It was the same house, a little changed. Patched, re-roofed. With strangers in it. The other houses, her neighbors – all the same. Some houses replaced. But all filled with strangers. Who looked at her with worried expressions, becoming more worried each time they saw her pass.
She hid in an outside corner – less familiar than she would have hoped. How long had that tour lasted?
She considered herself – gorged with water. Too much – she realized. and in the body of a child. But not the mind of one. She had too many memories – years worth of memories – she wasn’t a child anymore.
She had a thought – pinching skin to pliant to be human. She tried an asana, pulling her back longer, letting the water seep into her – and somthing seemed to work. She bent backwards, forwards, twisted and tugged he body into a shape more suitable for an adult.
She stood on too-long legs, forcing herself past the first rubbery waddles into an assured stride. She found discarded clothes to better suit her frame. and slept along the river that night.
In the morning the child’s dimensions were almost back, so she refilled her body, eating from the trees and drinking form the river beside, then set to refining her hundred asana to reshape her to an adult body.
She hoped to be recognized. But no recognition came.
She took to the road. Whatever her future was, it was no longer here.
~
It took a while to piece together the language of her childhood – but it was not enough to understand the murmurings on the road. She was slow to find a bed, and a new home – perhaps because she could sleep anywhere, conforming to nooks and crevices and rocks, in dark corners where none would disturb her.
She stuck close to rivers, to the wild. Downstream one way, upstream another, occasionally getting a little money from a day job, but afraid to try and start a life anywhere.
She occasionally recognized the mane of her home village, and tried to ask about a flood there. Nobody knew details. The farther she went, the less it’s name was spoken.
She asked of Bhuloka – to find people that knew the name thought it was religious.
Every few nights, in quiet moments, the Djinn would reappear. It grew increasingly more anxious, perturbed, wanting the girl to name her two remaining gifts, “Anything in my power.” Of course, quiet moment meant awkward moments – perhaps more so if the two had not spent decades together.
The girl had seen the history of wishes granted – their intentions, their failures – and was well aware her current life was the shadow of one. She was afraid to give one that could be granted.
“Then close the gate.” She managed, after taking a moment to down the largest jackfruit she had ever seen – a process which had her head looking like a lumpy snake when first asked, mouth barely containing a mass about her equal. It had been more a question if she could than if she should.
“I can not.” Eventually the Djinn left.
“Then give me wisdom”
“I can not.” Eventually the Djinn left.
“Then let me pass through the gate.”
“I. Can. Not.” Eventually the Djinn left.
“Abandon your duty.”
“I will not.” Eventually the Djinn left.
— yoga to stretch to adult size
— pushing her to name the gifts before he is relieved, or he may be dicipled for his slow reaction
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