Star Daughter(32)

Across the chamber, two jeweled thrones rested on a dais. Her blood thrumming, Sheetal took in their owners. There sat Indra, warrior king of the demigods and the heavenly realm, bringer of thunder and rain, wielder of the thunderbolt. On his left lounged his queen, Indrani, the goddess who presided over wrath and jealousy but paradoxically also over their banishment.

Sheetal stood just feet away from the gods. The gods! Her knees quaked with deference, with dread. My mom lives here, she marveled, hurrying Minal into an alcove where they could try to get their bearings. Right alongside the gods.

What did she know about being noble, let alone divine? Even that guard hadn’t believed she belonged here.

It didn’t matter, she told herself, annoyed that any part of her cared. All she had to do was find Charumati. Then she could put all this behind her and go back home.

Minal nudged her. “Wow. Sheetu, how is this even happening?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

Svargalok was massive, an entire other realm. The adrenaline she’d been riding high on flagged, and all the bruises on her heart resumed throbbing in concert. She needed sleep. She needed time to process all of this.

Time she didn’t have, not if she wanted to save Dad.

The sound of a sitar rang out, followed by a tanpura, and onstage, a troupe of apsaras in vivid green saris swept into motion. Their performance was breathtaking, full of involved movements and flirtatious glances, and the gandharvas’ music swift and complex, but Sheetal barely noticed. She was too busy searching the room for a familiar face.

The crowd around her was distracted, too, yakking away. Minal, though, was riveted, taking pictures until the dance had finished.

“Wow,” she repeated, fanning herself. “So pretty!” With a grin, she added, “I’d take one of them as a reward for my loyal service. Any one. I’m not picky. They like hanging out with humans, right?”

Despite herself, Sheetal laughed. “I’ll see what I can do, my dear maidservant.”

“Thank you, ladies, for that superb recital!” a herald cried out. “Such a marvelous opening piece to a competition we have not seen in many an eon. It is a fitting tribute to the reign of the Esteemed Patriarch of House Dhanishta.” He waited for the applause to die down before continuing. “And now, let us recognize the competing nakshatras and their mortal representatives. Welcome to House Magha and its champion, Priyanka Chauhan!”

Houses Dhanishta and Magha. Those were nakshatras. And they were competing?

Foreboding coiled in Sheetal’s stomach like a cobra. It couldn’t be, could it? This wasn’t why she’d been summoned?

Surely you heard the call.

“Hey, didn’t that guard say something about a welcome ceremony?” Minal whispered. “Guess this is it.”

No, Sheetal was just overreacting. And who could blame her after the day she’d had? As unobtrusively as she could, she peeked out from the alcove again.

The first thing she saw was a spiky-haired human girl a couple of years older than her, one who dangled a Rajasthani-style marionette and made it dance. Then, looking past the girl, Sheetal glimpsed stars. Lots and lots of stars both on-and offstage, all chattering excitedly. All gorgeous and glowing, like figures out of a fairy tale.

Something tugged in her chest. Her people.

That meant her mom was probably somewhere in this room, too. Her palms grew tingly.

“Priyanka is single-handedly reviving the art of Kathputli puppetry in her community,” one of the older stars of House Magha proclaimed. “She has mastered the craft of creating the traditional marionettes and performing with them, earning herself a number of prestigious prizes, and we are confident she will shine brightly as our champion.”

So this was some kind of talent competition. Envy surged through Sheetal. Must be nice to show off a talent instead of hiding it.

Studying the groups by the stage, she realized she could pick out various nakshatras by the constellation embroidery on their clothes. House Krittika, House Ashvini, House Magha, House Revati . . .

Where was Charumati?

Minal tapped at her phone. “No service, like I thought.” She snapped a few more pictures and showed them to Sheetal. “I was trying to get Indra and Indrani, but all I can catch is light.”

“Everyone would think you Photoshopped them, anyway.”

The band of stars cleared the stage to a round of applause, and another group swiftly took its place. “Welcome to House Krittika and its champion Leela Swaminathan!”

Leela looked like a typical desi grandmother: short, plump, and wrinkled, her white bun matching her plain white cotton sari. She beamed, evidently at home here. Definitely more at home than Sheetal felt. As Leela raised a paintbrush for all to see, one of the elder stars spoke.

“Our champion found her way to the easel late in life, but her work with the dark feminine has already set the Mumbaikar art scene alight. It is said she paints not with pigment but with emotion. House Krittika could not be more delighted to have Leela representing us.”

It was a good thing Sheetal wasn’t competing. It wasn’t like she had anything to recommend her. No juries awarding her prizes, no fans clamoring for her next album. No one even knew who she was.

Maybe if she hadn’t had to hide, she thought, still combing the crowd for her mother, she would have had all this, too.