The animal landed awkwardly and even as it struggled to get to its feet, it began tumbling forward, drawn in by the demon’s irresistible hunger. Vima had half-expected this to happen, but he could not have anticipated what the stranger did next. To Vima’s complete surprise, the big man threw himself onto the rope trailing behind the goat and caught it in his massive hands. He had time to wrap a twist of the line around his wrist before it went taut, snapping rigid as if connected to a team of chariot horses. The stranger’s jaw clenched and the muscles of his upper arms bulged as he began straining to haul the goat back from the demon’s maw.
Vima managed to overcome his shock. “What are you doing? You must not interfere with the sacrifice.”
Mindful of the invisible force that had snatched the goat, he took a tentative step forward and knelt alongside the stranger, attempting to wrestle the rope from the man’s grasp. The hands that held it were as unyielding as forged iron. Nevertheless, the stranger snarled at him, and then said something in a language that Vima did not recognize.
Vima redoubled his efforts. The man might have been as strong as a water buffalo, but Vima had proven himself in games of skill and combat, and he was no trifling opponent. Besides, he did not need to overpower the stranger; all he had to do was get the man’s grip on the rope to weaken.
He tried striking the man with a closed fist, but his arms now felt as heavy as lead. The man shrugged off the ineffectual blow and then, with the casual indifference of someone shooing away a fly, let go of the rope with his left hand and wrapped his fingers around Vima’s throat.
Dark spots clouded the young warrior’s vision and all thoughts of doing his duty and delivering the sacrifice were pushed aside by an overwhelming desire for self-preservation. His hands went to his throat, struggling to loosen the iron grip but his strength fled along with his grasp on consciousness.
The stranglehold did relax, but not because of anything Vima had done. At the edge of complete darkness, he felt the man release him and then, with no more effort than that required to pick up a sleeping child, the big man tucked him under one arm.
Vima was faintly aware that the man had begun to move, crawling along the ground and dragging his twin burdens. Vima felt heavy, as if mired in mud, but as the man pulled him further from the demon’s cave, the sensation diminished. When they had crossed about half the distance to the assembled group-the crowd was no longer statue still, but their movements seemed unnaturally slow and languid-the big man got to his feet and quickened his step. Vima’s head cleared enough to make another attempt at resisting his captor, but the man seemed to sense his intention and tightened his grip, keeping Vima all but completely immobilized. Then he spoke. “Do not fight. I am trying to save you.”
The words were delivered haltingly, giving evidence of the foreign man’s unfamiliarity with the language. “You will destroy us all,” Vima countered, the words burning past the ache in his throat. “If we do not feed the demon-”
“If you feed this thing, its hunger will only grow greater.” The man offered no further explanation, but a few moments later, they reached the assembled villagers who were now moving normally. The magi were talking animatedly with the yellow-robed monks, but then the big man spoke loudly in a language Vima did not comprehend. All conversation ceased and every eye turned toward him.
“The darkness in the cave cannot be appeased with offerings,” one of the monks translated. “It will only grow stronger and consume everything: the village, the mountain, the entire world.”
Vima struggled to his feet, ready to engage the man in combat if so directed, but judging by the rapt expressions of the priests, it was evident that his own role in the drama had ended. The magi craved guidance; God had abandoned them and the decision to make an offering to the demon had been one of desperation, not divine inspiration.
“What can we do?” implored the chief magus.
A grim but satisfied smile turned up the corners of the big stranger’s mouth as he spoke again.
“The darkness that threatens you is the embodiment of desire. Desire, hunger, greed…these things can be conquered through meditation. I will teach you a mantra-”
The monk did not translate this word, but Vima inferred that it must be something like a magic spell.
“-in the language of the first people,” continued the stranger. “When you chant this word, together in one harmonious voice, and empty your minds of all desire, the darkness will depart. Will you do this?”
The magi exchanged a glance and then the chief magus addressed the foreigner. “It may be that God has sent you. We will do this.”
The next few moments were surreal, like something from a dream. Vima had been prepared to offer his life, if necessary, to end the demon peril, but this was almost beyond his comprehension. With the rest of his fellow villagers, he surrendered completely to the guidance of the monks, and sat down on the rocky ground at the edge of the area that had been scraped raw by the demon’s hunger. In a matter of only a few minutes, they were arranged along the semicircle, and all were, like Vima, looking to the stranger for direction.
The monks, stationed at equidistant points around the perimeter, translated the man’s stentorian utterances. “The mantra I will teach you is but a single word. You may know this word, for it is a word of great power and many who seek truth by different paths have discovered it. All of the universe is contained in this word, and when you say it, you will become one with the cosmos.”
There was a pause and then the men in saffron robes began to hum in unison, a single syllable. “Om.”
Vima shivered as the sound resonated in his chest. The utterance lasted only for a few seconds, then ceased at a gesture from the stranger.
“When the monks raise their arms, you must breathe in deeply, filling your lungs with air. Imagine that your body is a clay pot, and that you are pouring air into it, filling it up slowly, from the bottom to the top.”
The monks proceeded to raise their arms, and Vima heard a rushing sound as the entire population of the village inhaled together. To his surprise, he also began to draw in air, caught up in the power of the foreigner’s charismatic presence.
“When they lower their arms, you must sound the mantra until your breath is no more. Then breathe and utter the mantra again.” The stranger let his gaze sweep across the gathering. “Once we begin the mantra, the word must continue to be spoken without interruption. No matter what happens. Only in this way can the darkness be conquered.”
Just when Vima felt his lungs were about to burst, the monks lowered their arms and the villagers began to hum. Their combined voice was low and discordant at first, as if some were uncertain about committing to this strategy. Vima certainly was; he was a warrior, and his faith was in the strength of his hands and his skill with arms, not in magic chants invoking foreign gods. And yet, what had he accomplished with his might and prowess? He had not even been able to best the foreigner, much less defeat the demon.
Banishing his doubts, he closed his eyes and focused on the mantra, channeling his breath into the back of his throat, letting the sound reverberate against the roof of his mouth and out through his nose. The other villagers also seemed to have set aside their reservations, for by the time Vima was forced to draw another breath, the air had come alive with a steady and insistent hum.
The mantra vibrated through every fiber of his being and distorted his perception of time…of reality itself. Hours might have slipped by or perhaps only a few minutes, but his awareness of the world was reduced to that single syllable, his ability to reckon the passage of time measured only by uncounted discrete inhalations.
But then something intruded on his strange calm. A disharmonious vibration shuddered up from the ground beneath him like a note played by a setar with a loose string. Vima’s eyes fluttered open and he heard the intensity of the collective humming diminish as his fellow villagers became distracted by the strange tremor.