Ghost Monkey, стр. 32
"If I live?" he asked. There was hope in his breast. A coin toss chance at life was better than assured death.
"Retirement to the countryside. You gave so much to us, and though it's the path of an old man, you deserve it."
Sugriva scowled. "I'm not old enough. The Ashtadash do not care what we do in a short time, but in the time given. I cannot stop walking my dharma."
The crowd fidgeted. Humbari avoided eye contact. A knot formed in Sugriva's gut. He would not have a good reincarnation if left where he was, but it seemed it was hermitage or death. He could always figure something out from his secluded hut, some way to redeem himself without getting involved in Jayan affairs.
The brahmin stood off to the side, and Sugriva looked to them. "Priests, you know what the path is and isn't. Am I ready for hermitage? If you give me your blessing, which comes from the spirits, I will walk it." Sugriva prayed hard the brahmin would allow this, or he just consigned himself to death.
One of the priests, in his blue robes, stepped forward. "The spirits have given you much and taken much. You shouldered the burdens admirably. Take your rest from the kingdom, as they have other plans for you. Plans for you to wrestle with corruption. If you can fend off the demon's evil, you could be a great teacher for others."
Sugriva bowed. "With the blessing of the brahmin, I take on my new dharma."
"I'M TWENTY-FIVE," HE muttered, sweeping his cottage's front porch. "I should be hunting bandits and cutting down rebels."
The cottage sat on a cliff which overlooked the Jayan Empire, with the capital off in the distance, a massive palace piercing the canopy. Sugriva spent hours in the morning and evening meditating on the cliff, staring at his point of contention. It was not simply a forced hermitage, but exile. Smoke exuded from his nails, and he could feel his vision tint red.
It's not right what they're doing to you, the voice said. You should return, and be the shadow you were against the Fang. Become the demon they think you are.
"No," he sighed, turning from the palace. The smoke of his nails diminished slightly. "I won’t be the monster."
Why not? You could eat, screw, pillage. Whatever you want. Why deny yourself from those denying you? Your rightful path is the warrior, and Prince Anka told you not to follow it. He is dooming your reincarnation. Slit his throat. Chop up Humbari and serve him to his men. Steal their power and the power of Jaya.
He sighed, exhausted from the banter. Kill this person. Eat that person. If only the voice was more creative.
"Excuse me, are you the warrior Sugriva?" A hawk janaav took Sugriva out of his head. The hawk wore a loin cloth and ceremonial leather bangle.
They've come to finish you.
"Good," Sugriva whispered.
"Actually, I'm hermit Sugriva. I don't walk the path of the warrior anymore." He stared at the stew, stirring it. "I'm preparing supper. Join me."
He will just kill you while you eat. The voice wore at Sugriva's nerves.
The hawk took a sniff and winced. "I think I'll pass." The janaav was regal and proud, chest feathers puffed out. A general? He looked familiar to Sugriva, and warriors were the only people he spent much time with.
"Then why bother me? A messenger already brought my stipend, though I'd take double pay."
"I think you're wasting your time in this village. Don't you?"
A ploy. Don't let down your guard.
Sugriva grabbed his head and shut his eyes hard. Tears threatened to streak down his cheeks. "Shut up," he whispered. Then he looked up at the hawk, who was startled but didn't step back. "What are you saying?"
The hawk hesitated, but after a pause, he continued. "You're a warrior. I want to give you back your identity. I don't want the chaos to consume you. Otherwise, one day we will come up here to find everyone dead, and we will put you down."
See? They are here to kill you. They threaten you and the village!
He bit his tongue, then his lip, until both bled. When he calmed his mind, he asked, "When do I leave?"
WATERFALLS SLAMMED into Sugriva's shoulders and drowned out the world. Even the voice in his head was no match for the violent deluge. When the sun rose or set, Sugriva sat in the canopies, watching as the rays burned away his uncertainties and fears. A cave welcomed him, and in that darkness, the dampness seeping into his bones, he found the corruption was not everywhere, and isolation could be his friend.
Foul and sweet poultices were administered by physicians. A few physicians looked at what Sugriva took previously, but it was impossible to recreate the chaos flower. Yogis taught yoga, and Sugriva contorted his way to peace. Flexibility in the body aided flexibility in the mind. The entire time, the voice screamed at him. It said he was unworthy of the opportunity. It commanded him to kill everyone. Then it faded to a whisper, a small tug at the back of his mind. Calm entered his soul, and he could see his path clearly once more. Though, as he continued his habits, he realized that it took nearly a full day of meditation to keep the voice in check.
Divyan approached Sugriva one morning, as the monkey watched the sun rise. "It's time for you to fight. Just one bout."
The thought of violence gripped Sugriva's heart, and the voice screamed with the opening. It's time, monkey. They just want you to kill. Why are