Savitri: A Demigod's Tale, Part One

“We must learn to regard people less in the light of what they do or omit to do, and more in the light of what they suffer.” 
-Dietrich Bonhoeffer

--

Demigods.

The cross-breeding of a mortal human and an everlasting deity. They bear the power and longevity of the gods, but the heart and soul of a human. These half-breeds are looked upon with wonder by mortals, and either indifference or dislike by gods.

Hercules, Perseus, Theseus, the list went on in folklore and mythology. Though their heroics are passed down through generations, none know of what their lives were like after their feats of heroism. Some believe they died like normal men, some believe that they would become gods themselves, while others still believed they faded into obscurity.

Those are the ones that are well-known, however. Deities have bred with mortals countless times and sired several children. Dozens would not rise to become heroes as well known as Hercules, but remain obscure and hidden from history.

The story of most demigods began with a child, and such was the case with this one. The time was the seventeenth century A.D., and the place was central India. The child in question, however, looked completely miserable. About twelve years in age, she was taller than most children her age. Under the filthy and tattered rags that were her only clothing, she was very thin as though she hadn't eaten a satisfactory meal in months. Her hair was overgrown and messy, and her face was frequently adorned with the dark trails of long-dry tears.

The girl sat on the side of a path with her knees pressed up to her chest and her face buried in her knees. Her tattered robes concealed her arms, so she could hold herself without anyone seeing just what she was trying to hide.

The girl's father abandoned her and her mother before she was even born. The mere thought twisted a wicked dagger into her heart, yet it got worse when she thought about her mother's fate. A plague had blown through their hometown...and her mother was one of many that lost the fight. With no family to go to and everyone else believing her to be either cursed or a disguised asura: a demon of Hindu legend, the girl was left to fend for herself.

There were few things she could do about her lifestyle. None in the village gave enough of a damn to find her a home, let alone take her into their own houses. She had to compete with stray dogs for food, to hide and remain silent so she could steal food and..."clothing" was only loosely putting it.

Years ago, she had a home for shelter and warmth. Years ago, she would eat square meals. Years ago, she had friends, a family, people who loved and adored her. Now she had none of those things. Tears did not fall from her eyes...she didn't have any to shed anymore.

"Excuse me?"

The girl's head snapped to her side at the sound of the soft and gentle-sounding voice, her chocolate-brown eyes peeking out from black hair that was long and unkempt--a testimony to years of neglect. The person that spoke to her was a rather old man. He had an expression that was hard to read. He didn't look too intimidating, yet at the same time, he wasn't too overly-cheery either. He wore deep-blue robes and his beard and hair were starting to turn silver.

"Would you mind if I sat with you?" he inquired.

It was an honest question, one that had no threatening air or a hint of ill intent, yet the girl hesitated to answer. This wasn't the first time someone offered her kindness. Other times before, they had used this as a ploy to further abuse and humiliate her, typically children pretending to be her friends.

The memories of them asking her to play only to ignore her or turn the game into "beat up the outcast" rang fresh in her mind. She didn't snap at him, but simply returned her gaze to the dirt-road and remained silent. She hoped that, if she was quiet enough and did nothing to him, he'd leave her alone and pass her by.

From the sound of footsteps, followed by the relaxed exhale that typically followed someone sitting down, he had disregarded her attempt to ignore him. She didn't turn to face him, thinking he just needed time to get the message that she had no interest in conversation with him...or with anyone in general.

For a minute or two, they just sat in silence, then she heard a slight shuffling noise. Perhaps he was finding a more comfortable position or just shuffling because he had nothing else to do.

"Here." The girl felt the man tap something on her arm and turned in surprise. He was holding something out to her--a pear. "You look like you might be hungry."

The girl's eyes stayed on the green-skinned fruit in the man's hand, wondering if he'd just move it away if she made to take it. She decided to take no chances. In the blink of an eye, the fruit was gone much to the old man's surprise. She kept it close and began biting out large chunks, chewing them quickly, and swallowing them.

"Take it easy." The man said, grabbing her sleeve, "You'll upset your stomach if you eat that fast."

The girl gave him a quick look, then slowed slightly. She ate all but the stem of the fruit, not realizing how fast she had eaten it until the small piece of wood was left in between her thumb and forefinger.

"By the gods, when was the last time you ate?" the man asked in slight shock. The girl looked at the man, then shook her head. "You don't know?" The man stroked his beard in thought, then stood up. "I'm afraid I have to be on my way, little girl." He took a few steps, then looked back at the girl before producing another pear from a pouch on his waist. "Don't worry. I'll be back tomorrow." With that, he handed her the pear (which she grabbed almost as fast as the last one) and vanished into the crowd.

The girl watched him disappear, then ate the pear until, once again, all she held was the stem. Within a few hours, she was still ultimately been convinced that this person, who had taken the time to talk to her and feed her, was a once-in-a-lifetime event. In the depths of her heart, though, she actually wished that this wouldn't be one of those moments.

--

Tomorrow came and the girl sat at her usual place. Today was not a good day for her, even by her standards. She had been chased off by stray dogs in her search for food and received the usual treatment when she had asked for food--ignorance and disgust. It was about high-noon when a familiar voice met her ears.

"Hello again."

The girl turned and saw the same old man she had met the other day. This time, he greeted her with a pleasant smile. Her heart leapt slightly, but she stayed in place and kept a wary eye on him. The old man walked over and sat down next to her. She didn't object or ignore him this time.

The man reached into a pouch on his hip and pulled, not a fruit, but a disc of flatbread. "My wife made it. Should fill you up better than fruit."

The girl didn't even think twice and took the bread from the man, taking a big bite out of it. It was still rather warm, probably baked very recently and handled with utmost care to maintain that warmth.

"I'm sorry that I'm late. Took a little longer to bake that bread than I thought." He had a slightly-embarrassed laugh in his voice. She didn't respond, more content with eating than contributing to lively conversation. "If you don't mind me asking...where are your parents?"

The girl stopped eating, then just stared, numbly, at the remains of flatbread in her hands. "D...dead." Her voice was shaky and frail as her appearance. It had been the first time she had spoken to someone in a long time...one that wasn't either a plea for help or a yelp in pain.

"Oh," the man said, "I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't sound too insensitive." The girl shook her head and the man, thankfully, understood that she had no intention of wanting to chase him away. "How long have you lived like this?"

Another pause, then the girl answered. "I dunno...since I was very small."

The man looked a little aghast at this revelation. "You...you must be, what, twelve years old and you've been living like this for years? How have you survived this long?"

The girl looked at the bread. It was almost gone. One more bite and it would be no more. She stared at it, intently. If she focused on it hard enough, she wouldn't have to look at the man or anyone else...and just turn and run away.

"I did...what I had to." she managed to force out. If she said anymore, she didn't know what she would do without thinking.

"And were they things that you're ashamed of?" the man asked.

The girl pulled her knees up and, forgetting about the bread entirely, wrapped her rag-clad arms around her legs and buried her face into her knees. Yes...she had been ashamed of what she did to survive. Even when she had no choice, the very memory of her acts appalled her, forcing her into a pit of shame.

Something rested itself on her head and she jumped in surprise. She had reason to be jumpy when something touched her hair--often at times, people would grab her by the hair if they wanted her out of their sight. When she turned to see who was doing it, she was met with the old man, yet his hand never gripped her dark locks firmly and, instead, gently trailed down to the back of her head before replacing itself on her crown and repeating the process.

It felt good, good enough to calm her after her startled reaction and relax her breathing. She could already tell that this man meant no harm to her.

"Tell me," the old man said, "Would you like a better life than this?" The girl looked at him again, this time with a mix of surprise and confusion. "If you don't mind, I can give you a home. I can't imagine you would enjoy living like this."

He stood, then offered a hand to her. There and then, without thinking and just so touched by this act of kindness and thrilled by the thought of actually having a home, the girl reached out and laid a hand on the man's open palm...causing one of her rugged-looking "sleeves" to slide down and reveal her hand.

"By the gods..." the man said in surprise.

The girl had just realized what she had done, too little and too late. What was underneath that tattered sleeve was a hand, but one that was not of flesh. Her hand was made of what appeared to be solid gold, but also jointed, as though she were wearing some kind of metal gauntlet. Around her wrist was something that looked like a ring-shaped bracelet, and the golden surface had ornate symbols emblazoned on it.

The girl quickly withdrew her hand in panic and turned to leave. She hadn't even gone two paces when a hand firmly grasped her by the arm.

"LEMME GO!" she shrieked, half in shame and half in terror. She knew this routine--anyone who saw her for what she was would either chase her away or hurt her.

"Calm down!" the man's voice ordered. He then whirled her around to face him and put a firm hold on her shoulders, yet she still averted her gaze. She didn't want to look at him, to meet furious eyes--the look of those who put her down.

"Look at me."

Odd...he didn't sound angry. He was being a bit firm, but didn't sound aggressive or make it sound like she was in trouble.

Maybe...just this once?

The girl scrunched up her face, then opened her eyes and looked from his midsection up to his eyes. Her scrunched face softened, for the man was not angry, quite the opposite in fact. He looked concerned and even apologetic.

"I'm sorry for scaring you like that. You just surprised me is all." the man said, sincerely, "Did I say something wrong?"

The girl's posture relaxed and the man felt he could let go without fear of her running away. She laid out her right arm and, with her left hand, pulled back the sleeve. The golden hand, it turned out, wasn't just limited to her hand. It was as though she was wearing a long, golden glove--the type worn by women in some far-off country that ended just above her elbow. She reached with her exposed hand and did the same with the opposite arm to show that it was the same way.

The man's eyes widened and the girl spoke at his reaction. "My arms have looked like this since I was very young." she shook her head, almost in denial, and added, "I didn't do anything, I swear! They just...APPEARED! When anyone sees them, they either hurt me or chase me away. Something about me being some monster child..."

She felt close to just breaking down, but the old man put a hand on her shoulder and gently coaxed her to look at him once again. "I'm not like these people." he gently assured her, "I don't care who you were born from or what you look like. I want to help you-to give you a life better than what you've been living." He stood again, offering her a hand. "Unless you'd prefer to stay, of course."

The girl paused, shocked that someone was treating her like this for once. Not since her mother had she ever met someone...she shook the thought from her mind. Without any further hesitation, she reached with her gold-coated hand and took the man's own. When their gazes met, he was smiling warmly down at her.

"My home is a bit of a journey from here. I hope you don't mind." the man said, leading her through the village. The girl shook her head, politely, and remained at his side.

In time, the two arrived at a merchant's wagon, all packed up and ready to leave, a zebu already strapped up and ready to go. With a boost from the man, she took the seat as he stepped up into the driver's seat.  He took the reins and with a small snap of them, goaded the ox to get moving.

The two had been on the road for some time before the weight of tiredness started to bear down on the girl. She yawned and her eyelids began to grow heavy.

"Tired?" the man asked, "Well, I suggest you go into the back. You won't have to worry about falling out if you go there."

The girl nodded, then clambered to the back of the wagon. It was slightly cluttered, but she managed to find a few cloths to use as a makeshift bed. It beat sleeping on hard wood or in the dirt.

Sleep took her quickly and, before submitting to the calls of slumber, a pleasant thought rang through her mind. She felt safe now. She felt warm, secure, and looked-after.

For the first time since she could barely remember...she could sleep in peace.