Spring 2018 Indian Epics

Pour you a drink, kid? Who, that? Why son, don't you know that picture there's the Honorable Judge Goodness? He rid this town from Black Bennett and his gang... This was back in, oh, '85 or '87 I suppose. Before the century turned, at any rate. Bennett had began rustling from a few of the north side pastures come early fall, and the ranchers were pissed. Horace Goodness, not a judge yet then, was working deputy part times. Sheriff Dugan was getting up there in years, and Horace was the one you came to if you had a problem.  I'm sorry? No, he didn't kill them! He was the kindest son of a biscuit you ever met, and I don't think he so much as swatted a gnat in all his days. No, son, what he did was much smarter than that. See, the Bennett gang had grew considerable over the last few years, and bolder too. A firefight was out of the question.  It was after they raided the Gunter's homestead; that was messy business and left the whole tow...

The shrine itself was unremarkable, but its visitor was not. Vidura's annual pilgrimage was easier now than it was in the old days. The rush to return to the city was no longer necessary since he had stepped down as prime minister, and each year he enjoyed stretching his journey out longer. The hermit greeted him each year in silence, but always offered him tea and food. Neither knew the other's name nor spoke, but each ate together near the fire each night. Vidura had tried to offer his own provisions in the early years, but the hermit always refused. Each year Vidura approached the shrine, and each year he began his vigil. The incense came first, six bundles carefully placed in the basin below the weathered statue. He did not know who the statue was supposed to be, and it did not matter to him. This was not a rite of devotion, but of penance. He chose the shrine forty years ago for its isolation, and it was here their remains were buried. Their names he never learn...

"Grandmother, tell me a story!" The winter sun sunk beneath the horizon as the ship approached. The village was cold for that time of year, and several fires burned although the night was not yet full. Soldiers and townfolk lounged alike, casting dice together while others ate and drank the chill away from their bones. The army had occupied this territory for nearly two years, and the enmity between the villagers and the soliders had mostly evaporated this far from the capitol. The troops had grown comfortable and soft; this was why they died so quickly. Her ship was silent and grey, difficult to make out against the coastline. The only sound before the attack was the screaming of a banshee in the wind. "Now, for Lanka and my Lord!"  Armored figures poured from the boat; the attack was over in minutes. Soldiers half-drunk and freezing were chopped down by angry, screaming women swarming across the town. The women returned to the boat. The ...

REIGN OF KING SAGARA King Sagara’s grandson Anshumat found the ashes in an open plain.  The horse was there also, but hours passed before he realized that the powdered grey sands he trod upon were the ashes of his uncles. As any good nephew would, he searched for water to consecrate their deaths. There was none. He traveled north, then east, and finally south. In the far south of the plains he found a man, who explained that no water would suffice for oblation save that of the Ganga, the holy celestial rivers of heaven. Anshumat left the plain of ash, and returned the horse to his grandfather. King Sagara despaired, but resolved to find some means of moving the Ganga to earth. King Sagara spent his reign in mourning for the loss of his sixty-thousand sons. He failed to attract the attention of the gods.  His rule lasted thirty-thousand years. REIGN OF KING ANSHUMAT I wait. Many thousand years have passed, and I wait. My brothers wait with me, all sav...

There lived a monkey tribe in the Himalayas, and their leader was Devadetta. His consorts were many, but his sons were few, and cursed. None lived to the age of adulthood, and he despaired at finding an heir to his kingdom, a prosperous and wholesome land. What Devadetta did not know was that among his consorts there hid a Rakshasi, a wily shape-changing spirit who schemed to take over his kingdom, seeding her curses through the land and preventing any other heirs from interfering with her plans. This Rakshasi waited until she carried the king’s child, then spirited him away to a far forest. She raised him with falsehoods of the king’s depravity and awful deeds. The child grew to hate his unmet father. When the young monkey reached his coming of age, she rejoiced in his strength and courage. “See, my son, how valiant and cunning you are,” she told him as they journeyed back to the kingdom of Devadetta. “Your evil father cannot stand against you.” When the young...