Parvati Patil sat with her back straight and the parchment report laid open before her. She blinked once. Twice.
"A giant statue of Lord Ganesh spontaneously came to life, got off its throne and began to run away from the crowd taking it out to sea?" She surmised.
Mr. Khan, representative of the Indian Ministry of Magic nodded. He was a wizard with a bulging gut and a rapidly receding hairline. "Ganesh Chathurthi is an important festival among the native Hindu community, particularly in the western states of India. We have seen incidents like this before, but nothing at this level. The perpetrator has yet to be caught."
Parvati hunched over to examine the photos of the incident. The statue of Lord Ganesh sat atop its throne as it was being led to the Arabian Sea, lifeless for a moment until the elephant-headed god's eyes acquired a sudden spark of life and sprang to his feet, much to the shock and surprise of the thousands of muggle pilgrims celebrating his pending immersion.
"What have the Obliviators done so far?"
Mr. Khan shifted in his seat, "The Oblivioators gave up soon after they got to the scene. This event is uncontrollable. Thousands witnessed it and millions more have since seen it in their homes, on their muggle boxes and muggle blocks. I have received word that muggles as far as America and Brazil have seen this within minutes. I don't know what kind of power these muggles are using, but the evidence is there."
Parvati sighed and leaned back in her chair. It was hard enough trying to explain electricity to the average witch, but there has been no greater threat to the Statute of Secrecy than the advent of the Internet.
"We will explain it away as some kind of high energy spiritual event. The Hindus will believe it's a sign from the gods and we can let them believe whatever it is that they want. In the meantime, we need to catch the rogue witch or wizard that did this. One event will ultimately be forgotten if it remains isolated, but should this happen during the next immersion day festivities, it will be harder to suppress." Parvati paused to scratch some notes onto her pad. "When is the next immersion day?"
Mr. Khan scratched his long beard. "I will have to check with the Ministry officials. I am not as familiar with the Hindu calendar."
Parvati tutted under her breath but her expression remained neutral. "I shall come to India myself with my team to further investigate. I trust that your Ministry will co-operate."
Mr. Khan frowned before hurredily adjusting his expression. "India will not tolerate the influence of colonisers in its territory."
"It's a good thing then that the ICW is a supranational body and I will ensure that my team's constitution is appropriate given the strong cultural apprenhension in play," she said with practised ease. Every nation had its standard excuse to resist ICW probes and former colonies used the coloniser reasoning routinely.
Mr. Khan let out a loud exhale, "I supposed we will let you in on that basis. But make no mistake Ms. Patil, we are vigilant of the colonisers, even the lapdogs of the white devils."
#
Indira subemerged her hands in the manure at the cow pasture outside of her slum. She pulled cakes of the manure up and into her hands and began slapping and shaping them into blocks. The coarse texture of the manure grated the rough skin of her palms, but at least she had long since grown accustomed to the smell. As the noon sun swelled high in the sky and she felt sweat dripping from her body and into the manure, she knew it was time for a break or the dehydrataion would hit again. The nearby sound of a plane taking off from the airfield next door was ambient background music at this point.
She grabbed the manure blocks that had dried and hardened and placed them in a basket. She shakily got to her feet and with all the strength in her tiny body, she pulled the basket up and on her head and balanced it like she had seen her mother do everyday.
"Indira, is that too heavy?"
She turned to the source of the sound. Her mother, all sharp features and skin dark as wood, stood near another, larger pile of manure. A much bigger basket of blocks sat balanced on her mother's head with much greater ease.
"I'm okay, Mummy," Indira said.
Her mother nodded and indicated that they should start walking.
Indira carefully took one step after another, her small hands holding up the straw basket as she followed her mother down the rolling hill from the pasture to their home, in the Dharavi slum. She felt for a moment as the basket grew too heavy and wavered and a panicked breath escaped her lungs. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed hard for balance. In a flash, she caught herself. The basket on her head with all the manure blocks grew light as a feather and she smiled at the ease of it.
As the rough road gave way, shanty houses made of pipes and mud and manure and bricks passed them by. Local merchants hawked wares of subsidised vegetables and rice while the resident handicapped beggar sang an off-key Bollywood tune while drinking tea at a nearby stall.
Indira's mother led her straight to their shanty hut in the outer centre of the slum. From the outside, it looked like a ruin, but on the side, over the years, Indira's mother had painstakingly cleaned and maintained the space. Indira dropped her basket carefully near the beaded entrance of their home like her mother did everyday and went in behind her. There was only a single living space that was covered in pretty blue carpet that Indira's father's previous employer had given them one Diwali. Indira and her parents slept together on the carpet. On the other side was a giant plasma screen TV.
Indira's father sat in front of the TV and lazily pulled the hose of his hookah machine to his mouth as he took a long drag and let out concentric rings of smoke. The TV was switched onto a news channel showing a clip of the living Ganesh that had arisen from his chair and run away.
Indira had been there when it happened. She remembered the feeling of being in the dancing crowd while being sat on her father's shoulders. She remembered staring at the statute of Ganesh and wishing, praying for the lord to feel her love for him. Her skin felt tingly and flushed, drums were playing and pseudo-religious Bollywood music was blasting from the speakers placed carefully at the edge of the giant statute. Everyone around her, the Tea-Selling Uncle and his family, the other Aunties who made mud cakes with her and her mother everyday, her street friends and her cousins, were dancing and rejoicing in the name of Ganesh.
She wondered if Ganesh knew how he was being celebrated, if he knew that his followers in her neighbourhood loved him and prayed for his grace harder than any of the rich people in the big buildings up the street or flying in and out from the airport that bordered their little slum. She wanted Ganesh to show them that he cared.
And then he did.
"Oy, come here and put some charcoal in this," Indira's father called out to her mother.
Indira's mother emerged from the kitchen and carefully put some burning charcoal in the hookah boiler. She miust have taken too long to do it because her father slapped her mother's legs and instructed her to hurry up.
Indira hated it when he did that. She pulled her attention back to the TV screen with the news running and smiled once more.
#
Parvati clenched her hand into a fist on her table. She used her free hand to adjust her glasses as she addressed the Inner Council of the ICW.
"Our search for the preparator of the God Event continues. So far all investigation leads have turned up empty. The Indian Ministry has devoted all resources to resolving this issue but nothing has surfaced thus far," Parvati read her script out to the panel.
The dark-skinned representive from the American MACUSA leaned forward in her seat, "Are we certain that this was a premeditated attack?"
Parvati paused for the appropriate length of time before delivering her prepared answer. "Given the nature of the incident and the randomness of the magic involved, it does appear that this could have been an event of accidental magic. The Kaarmana Ashram in Rajasthan is actively working with the Indian Ministry to contact all known muggleborns, underage or otherwise, that are on the Mumbai census. So far nothing has come up."
The Brazilian representative cleared his throat and rasped out. "Is there a possibility of this event recurring?"
Parvati nodded to him. "If this is indeed an incident of accidental magic, then, no, it would be unlikely. The next immersion day following the God Event is tomorrow. Ministry and ICW officials will be covering all the major hotspots including the large congregations, temples and popular immersion beaches."
The British representative rapped the table. "I think that's fine for now, Ms. Patil. Please keep the committee apprised of any developments and please emphasise to your people the gravity with which the ICW is considering this event and any future infractions involving the Indian subcontinent."
Parvati clenched her fists under the table and smiled thinly at the British representative. "Of course."
#
"How many times have I told you not to waste money on that stupid fraud!" Indira's father stumbled into their house with redrimmed eyes and a snarl unmistakably birthed from alcohol.
Indira's mother's body tensed. She grabbed a heavy scarf from the floor and threw it at Indira. Indira knew what to do next. She wrapped the scraf around her body to protect her modesty and began to slowly inch around their shanty home towards the exit, which her father was currently blocking with his large form.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Indira's mother responded.
"I know what you're trying to do. Those charity people came around taking names of all the girls to put in their new school and I know you put Indira's name down. Indira needs to work." He staggered towards his wife, his hands raised in fists.
Indira watched as her marched forward like an angry cat encircling a rat. She watched her mother's face go from worried to resigned, the tension stiffening her body as she steeled herself for the inevitable.
Indira ran as the first blows landed.
#
A young man in a fashionable new Indian suit came running up to Parvati, a wand held surreptitiously in his palm and up his sleeve. Parvati was trying not to get distracted by the hundreds of people milling about the immersion day.
"Parvati-ji, all areas remain secured, we are now on the third sweep," he said.
Parvati nodded at the young Auror, not taking her eyes of the crowds passing by. A dozen reports were being sent to her every few minutes as she monitored events.
#
Indira placed the torn neem leaves in a wooden bowl and used a mortar to press and crush them to form a paste. She placed the paste on her finger and then leaned over her mother and gently dabbed the stinging paste on her mother's cut forehaead and other wounds. Her mother smiled at her even though Indira knew it hurt her to smile.
"I don't think there's any point in going back to school, Mummy," Indira finally said.
Her mother placed her hand on Indira's and laid it to rest to the side. She then turned her body with some difficulty to face her daughter. She winced at the effort but persevered.
"I don't care what your father says or what lies I have to tell, but you will go."
Indira placed her hand on her mother's gently and removed it from atop her own. She went back to applying the neem paste on her mother's bruises. She didn't argue with her mother.
"I take us to the highest pasture of the cow hill every morning, do you know why?"
Indira shook her head in the negative.
"The planes. I want you to see the planes, every day."
Indira looked on confused.
"They say the sea looks like a shinning crystal from the sky. I have never seen it. But you will. I will make it so."
Indira stuttered. She nodded.
"Good. Now go get ready. We need to meet your father at the temple."
#
Indira held her mother's hand as they followed her father towards the large temple in the city centre. Indira looked around in excitement at the women dressed in colourful saris and men with red powdered tikkas on their foreheads. Laughter was heard in all directions as they neared the temple.
She eyed the bright yellow marigolds being sold by a flower seller and wished she had the money to buy some to place as a garland at Ganesh's feet. There was a palpable buzz and excitement in the air as people moved about with an extra spring in their step. Would Ganesh appear again? Would he reveal himself to us once more?
Indira had a very clear purpose today. She would stand in line to appear before Ganesh's statue for as long as it took because today she would ask Ganesh for a blessing. She wanted Ganesh to make her father a better man.
Scores of people were lined up to wait their turn to go to the gods' statues. Indira tapped her feet and swayed from side-to-side while whistling a tune. She could hear her parents whispering but she paid them no mind. As they proceeded up the line, Indira got her first glimpse of the large statue of Ganesh. The elephant-headed god stood proudly with a broken tusk and a mischievous smile. She grinned and waved at him.
When it was finally their turn, her father went up ahead to take the holy plate from the pundit. Indira clasped her hands and jammed her eyes shut.
Ganesh-ji, Ganesh-ji, please help me, please help my father be a better man. I don't want him to hurt us, I know he loves us, please help him stop drinking. If you help us this once, I promise I will offer you food every day for a year even if it means that I have to give up my food. But please, please, please, do this for me.
Indira felt a strange tingling sensation in her chest and in her fingertips. A shinning, moving wave of energy that encased her in warmth and comfort. It was like Ganesh was holding her in his arms. She had never felt such peace before in her life.
Until the yelling started.
#
"Parvati-ji, Parvati-ji!" a young Auror was tearing through the crowds and rushing towards.
Studying the panic in this face, Parvati knew. She latched onto his arm and said as calmly as she could. "Take me there."
With a crack of apparition, Parvati found her disorientated world reorientate around her in the middle of a loud screaming crowd. Scores of colourfully dressed people of all ages were running in all directions. Flowers and garlands, the smell of sewage and incense sticks was strong in the air as Parvati observed the centre of the commotion, the temple less than two dozen steps.
There were multiple statues of Lord Ganesh at the Siddhivnayak Temple and it seemed that every single one of them had decided to come alive and attack the temple goers, causing a panic. Parvati cast a notice-me-not and disillusionment charm on herself and pulled out a shrunken broomstick from within her robes. She enlarged it, mounted it and took to the air in a few short heartbeats.
The wind swirled around the ICW Operative as she bizarre scenes of Ganesh statues picking up and throwing middle-aged men. One of the statues had a broken trunk, which might have fallen off as its victim fought back. A mewling old man lay at the feet of another statue that looked on dispassionately.
Parvati raised her wand and pointed it right at the temple and with a deep breath, intoned, "Finite Incantatem."
#
Parvati and Mr. Khan sat in a closed-door session with the Indian Minister of Magic, Shreemati Kantaben. Minister Kantaben was a strict woman with a no-nonsense air about her. Her demeanour reminded Parvati of old Professor McGonagall if McGonagall had had a penchant for patterned saree robes instead of her uniform tartan attire. Parvati leaned back in her seat as she observed Mr. Khan stutter an explanation to the Minister of Magic that provided nothing helpful yet took on none of the blame for the debacle that occurred on immersion day.
"...Kanta-ji, as you can see from the report, we covered every exit and were fully vigilant. The Siddhivinayak incident was brought to heel-"
"-by her," said the Minister bluntly.
And there was the rub of it.
"Sixteen aurors in the Siddhivinayak temple proper, another thirty on the perimeter. Yet when all hell breaks lose, an ICW Operative comes in and uses a Third Standard Spell to quell the disaster that my fifty-odd Auror team was somehow paralysed from resolving. What kind of explanation could possible be given for such a shameful showing from my Auror Department?"
Parvati winced. She had been on the receiving end of her fair share of tongue-lashings from superiors, but it was always especially brutal when your superior was in the right and you had rightly cocked things up.
Representative Khan dithered. "I was not in-charge of the Auror corps, merely with being the conduit of communication between the Auror department and the ICW Team. When it was reported to me that the Auror Department was unable to deal with the threat at the temple, I immeditaley dispatched a call for the ICW Operatives."
The Minister placed her hands on her table and leaned forward, her calm facade slipping with every passing second. "Then get your fat ass up and go get me the Auror Captain. NOW!"
Mr. Khan sprang to his feet and bolted for the door. He need not have left, he could have made a floo-call from the fireplace in the Minister's office, but she empathised with his fervent desire to put as much distance between himself and his boss in this particular moment.
The two women stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Parvati was the first to look away and plant her gaze on the table in front of her. The office felt heavy with silence, punctuated only by the sounds of Minister Kantaben's laboured breathing.
The Minister then pulled her chair back and sat down, showing for once the exhaustion of leadership in a crisis. She pulled out a beedi cigarette. Parvati's eyes widened in recognition, having not seen a beedi since her grandfather passed away when she was five years old.
The Minister noticed her interest and chuckled as she lit her cigarette and took a long drag. She exhaled. "I know, I know. The Minister of Magic smoking hand-rolled, overly tobacco-infused beedis? But it helps with the image of being a tough-as-nails sexless leader. When you're a woman, the perception and projection of power has to be amplified if you are to have any clout-"
She abruptly stopped talking to let out a hacking cough, exposing her yellowing teeth. When her cough subsided, she called up all the smoke-induced phlegm in her throat and spat onto the floor.
Parvati flinched.
The Minister picked up her wand and vanished away the mess. She twirled her wand in one hand and continued to smoke the beedi with the other. "Do you know who did it?"
"Not yet."
"When will you know?"
"When your Aurors choose to co-operate with us instead of treating us like the enemy," Parvati said.
The Minster chuckled with a phlegmy after-sound. "Can you blame them? The last time you foreigners came to help, you refused to leave for 150-odd years."
Parvati grasped her wand under her robes and for the first time, raised her head and looked the Minister right in the eye. "My father was born in Kerala and my mother in Manipur. I am Indian."
The Minister didn't respond immediately, she took a long smoke of her beedi and regarded Parvati carefully. "No, you are not."
The door to the Minister opened and Mr. Khan re-emerged with the Auror Caption in tow. Both men stood before the Minister's desk and nodded.
"Report, Auror Captain," The Minister said.
The Auror Captain hesitated, giving Parvati a look and then turning to the Minister.
The Minister followed his line of sight and looked at Parvati as well. She took a drag of her beedi and let it out.
"I will have the Auror Captain inform you of pertinent details that fall within your jurisdiction. You can wait outside Parvati-ji."
Parvati nodded, keeping her face carefully blank. She rose from her seat and made her way to the exit. As she closed the door behind her, she felt a spell automatically lock and silence it. She leaned her back on the door and took a few deep breaths.
Minister Kantaben's words echoed in her mind, No, you are not.
#
Indira sat beside her father unmoving, still in shock. Her father loudly moaned and complained as neighbours helped dress his large open wound from where the statue of Ganesh had struck him.
"We should take you to the nearby government hospital?" One of the them said.
"For what? So he can be ignored by the one doctor and two nurses taking care of two hundred other patients?" The other chimed back.
His wound was not that deep, it was agreed by the community, so he would be treated at home.
Nobody wanted to mention the fact that Indira and her father returned to Dharavi alone, without her mother.
Seeing that her father was no longer complaining as loudly, Indira slowly went towards him and placed her hands on his arm. He looked at her with some annoyance, but that melted in the face of her clear fear.
Indira's father gently wrapped his arms around his daughter and held her close.
"Papa, where's Mummy?" Indira asked.
He didn't say anything, only held on to her. They sat curled up in silence for the rest of the night. And waited.
#
Her world was black and someone was interrupting it.
"Indira, Indira wake up." Came a voice followed by a hard shake.
Indira gently opened her eyes and shielded herself from the blinding sun above. Her father was kneeling next to her, his leg in homemade bandages and wraps. He seemed strange that morning.
"Where's Mummy?"
Her father froze. "Indira beti, your mother is dead."
Indira got up and looked at her father intently. She was young, but she had grown up in the largest slum in the country. Death was not an unknown concept to her. She knew that it happened, she knew that it came after floods and illnesses and violent family encounters. But Indira's mother was not ill and there had been no flood and while Papa did hit sometimes after drinking, it was never so bad. So how could she be dead? This made no sense.
"How can she die, Papa?"
Indira's father looked pained as tears welled in his eyes. "The Ganesh statue that attacked me created a big scare in the temple yesterday. We all started running away, you remember?"
Indira nodded.
"Your mother ran in a different direction and she fell down. But so many people were running scared, she could not get back up and people kept running. Your mother got very hurt. Ganesh felt so bad for causing your mother to feel so hurt, he came and he said sorry to me last night. He would have said it to you too, but you were asleep and he didn't want to wake you. In return for his big mistake, he said that he would take your Mummy with him so she can feel good and healthy again." Indira's father patted her head, his voice getting stronger as his story went on.
Indira nodded at his explanation, but inside, she grew angrier. Why would Ganesh cause her mother to suffer harm? How could he make such a big mistake?
"When will he bring her back?"
Indira's father enveloped her in a hug. "When she feels better."
Yet Indira knew her father was lying. She was young, but not stupid. She knew that after death, you wore white and cried and ate bad food for a few weeks. But most importantly, she knew that the dead person no longer came around to meet you or talk to you. They were gone. Forever.
Indira latched on to her crying father, but she did not shed a tear. She could not. Not yet.
#
The anti-apparition wards had been set up around the perimeter and all muggles had been summarily evacuated. The Muggle Prime Minister and local Legislative Assembly Leaders from both sides of the aisle had used their considerable might, political and extralegal, to keep the press at arm's length.
Magical India had exhausted every favour to catch this fiend who dared to shatter the Statute of Secrecy.
Parvati was running as fast as her legs could carry her. She couldn't understand why now, why here? The first attack was during a procession of one of the largest statues of Ganesh in the city. The second was at the largest Ganesh temple in the country. The third attack at a local Ganesh shrine where the statue of the Lord was the size of a labrador. Not exactly awe-inspiring.
Aurors had swarmed the temple, but none were willing to enter. Parvati slowed as she approached the steps and saw blinding light emanating from within. A low drumming sound could be heard flowing out of the temple. It was rhythmic, melodic.
A few of the local Aurors had dropped down to their knees and were praying with their heads pressed to the grounds. Parvati understood then that the Aurors' reticence to quell these scenes was not due to failure or lack of ability, but something much more potent and dangerous: faith.
Mr. Khan had finally caught up with her. He was panting. His eyes were wide as saucers at the sight and sound before him. "Yah Allah," he said and bowed his head low.
The British-Indian witch gathered her courage and started to walk up the short flight of stairs. She cast a shade charm on her eyes to protect her from the blinding light. As she grew closer to the centre, the sound of drums grew louder and more erratic. It sounded welcoming. It felt foreboding.
The floor beneath Parvati's feet evened, the steps had ended. Parvati had ascended. Through the shade shielding her eyes, she could see the animated statue of Ganesh, bent over and covering its head. It was cowering. Nearby a middle-aged man with spotty skin and chapped lips lay unconscious, likely knocked out by the light. A priest and a local woman in a saree lay similarly unconscious nearby.
In the centre of the melee, with tears streaming down her tiny face, sat a magnificent little girl, resplendent in her power. She slammed her tiny fist on the floor of the temple, creating a dent and then slammed the other fist next to it, deepening the dent. With every slam, a loud drum-like sound was let lose into the ethos.
The little girl was muttering angrily to the Ganesh statue, which, upon closer inspection, looked like its head had been hollowed in, likely from the girl's fists. The child was yelling, screaming, even. Her words came out guttural and angry and spiteful. Parvati did not understand her local language, but she understood sentiment, she understood pain.
She went to the girl and knelt beside her. The girl did not notice her. Parvati placed her hand on her shoulder gently. The girl startled and looked to Parvati.
#
Indira had tried to reason. She had been patient and kind and appropriately dutiful and begged and begged and asked and begged and begged and begged. With a little tingling and a lot of prayer, Lord Ganesh had answered her call. He had manifested himself in her local temple. She then fell to her knees and begged Lord Ganesh to please send her Mummy back. Even if her Mummy was sick, even if she was unwell for the rest of her life, Indira would care for her, would love her.
But Lord Ganesh didn't listen to her, he ignored her and played games with the other people in the temple. He hugged the priest and danced with the women. Other people knelt next to her, they too began to beg Ganesh for favours and boons and mercies. Some asked for love, many asked for money, everyone asked. Her voice was being drowned out. Indira grew worried, how would Ganesh hear her when everyone was screaming so loudly?
No! No! No! She called Ganesh here. She begged and pleaded. She showed she was good, she was kind. She felt Ganesh's spirit in her heart, in her very bones, not once, not twice, but three times now and he showed up every time. This was her time, her right to talk to Ganesh.
"Please stop talking, please let me talk to Ganesh," she said. But nobody listened.
Their voices grew louder. Their pleas for aid and squels of delight and murmurs of wonders and expressions of awe grew louder and stronger and wider and greater. Indira felt smaller and ignored, she felt lost and invisible, she felt missed.
Then she got angry.
Everything felt like a blur, there was a lot of light and all the people started running. Her father tried to grab her too, but she wouldn't go, no, this was her chance! She approached Ganesh, who was covering his eyes, the light was too bright and mewling like a toddler. Her father's grip on her had slackened and he let her go too.
"Ganesh-ji, Ganesh-ji, please listen. Ganesh-ji, my Mummy is with you. Ganesh-ji please send my Mummy back to me," she said.
But he wouldn't say anything, he wouldn't do anything. The tiny Ganesh statue come to life was much smaller and slightly rounder than Indira herself. It laid on the floor with hands over its eyes, shielding itself from the light and it mewled piteously and curled up in a ball.
Then she got really angry.
She struck him. He yelled. She smacked him. He screamt. She beat and hurt and maimed and harmed him. She shook and turned and cried and broke.
That's when the angel woman came to her. Her hands were soft as paper on her body. She turned to face her. She stood like a figure of midnight surrounded by light, blinding fury all around her and yet she was unbothered by it all. The angel's eyes were a stormy black, like Indira's own, like Indira's mother's. Those eyes were looking right at her.
The angel spoke, she said something, Indira squinted her eyes, trying to understand her. She assumed it was English, she heard a word or two that seemed familiar.
She pointed a finger at herself. "Name, myself, Indira," she said.
The woman seemed surprised and Indira smiled despite her tears for having delighted the angel. She pointed to the angel. "You, Apsara."
The angel shook her head no, she pointed to herself and said, "Parvati."
Indira nodded in awe. Parvati, goddess of love and children, of mothers.
She hugged the goddess and all went black.
#
"So it was all because of one slum-dwelling muggleborn girl?" Said the British ICW Representative.
Mr. Khan nodded.
"And the matter is now contained?" Asked the Brazilian ICW Representative.
Mr. Khan nodded. "We thank you for the assistance of the ICW Operative Team. Their assistance was invaluable in resolving this matter."
"Yes, yes, that is all fine," said the MACUSA representative, "but what plans do you have to prevent this from reoccuring?"
"Reoccuring?" Mr Khan looked nonplussed. "The power displayed by this muggleborn was unprecedented. Our internal indicators and tests have her magical ability at some of the highest ever observed. Regardless of her origins and manner of discovery, there is no denying that she is poised to become a sorceress of great renown as she grows older."
"She nearly undid the Statute of Secrecy!" Said the British representative.
"She is a child, sir. What would you have the Indian Ministry do? Kill her?" Parvati butted in using her calmest, most reasonable voice. "Here I thought we had purged the British Ministry of all Death Eater sympathisers."
The British wizard's hackles rose up in anger. "I will have you know I lost my favourite aunt in the muggleborn camps, don't you dare speak to me in that way, Ms. Patil. I don't care what your government does, but this incident has irreparably harmed the Statute of Secrecy, so yes, this one girl has to pay the price, someone has to!"
"Excuse me, sir, but Ms. Patil does not speak for my government. She speaks for yours," Mr. Khan said.
Flustered, the British representative was momentarily distracted. "What? Yes, of course."
Parvati smiled and didn't speak another word for the rest of the inquiry. Her outbursts would likely do more harm than good.
#
The inquiry lasted too long, far too long. But with a quick word to Mr. Khan, Parvati was allowed to apparate directly to Kaarmana Ashram in Rajasthan. The old Ashram was a housed in one of the ancient palaces in a forgotten province of the once-great kingdom. Hidden from muggle eyes and built on a site of powerful magical workings, the Kaarmana Ashram had been a site for learning and magical development since the inception of Hindu ideals.
Parvati walked through the long domed gates and into the palace gardens. At the entrance of the palace-proper, one of the Yogis dressed in yellow was conversing quickly with Minister Kantaben. Upon seeing her enter, the Yogi bowed deeply to Parvati and the Minister and bid his retreat.
The Minister stepped out of the palace hallway and into the gardens. She did not smile upon seeing Parvati or indicate at all that she was interested in her presence.
Steadily, the Minister unrolled a beedi cigarette and sat down on a bench, the other half of the bench left purposefully empty. Parvati took the hint and seated herself.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Parvati leaned back looked up at the boiling Rajasthani sun. She allowed the heat of the sun to push through her cooling charm and bathe her. "I came to see how Indira is doing."
"Indira is a citizen of India, she is none of your concern."
"That doesn't mean I don't care," Parvati said.
The Minister let out a hacking, phlegmy cough and spat her phelgm in a nearby bush. She then took another drag and considered Parvati's words. "What is your real concern, Parvati-ji?"
Parvati regarded the Minister. "Her power, it was not normal."
The Minister chuckled. "Power is power, if it does not inspire awe, then it does not deserve to be called so."
"There were rumours of breeding experiments and magical rituals to boost the powers of magical children," Padma said breezily, pretending as if she had not levelled an accusation.
The Minister spoke after a long pause. "Rumors are carried by haters, spread by fools, and accepted by idiots. Many were spread about us to justify our continued oppression by your masters. I wouldn't put much stock in them Parvati-ji."
"Hmmm..." Parvati tilted her head and looked at the Minister at last. "The British occupation and divison was not kind. The magical aftereffects of what the colonisers did permeates in our culture to this day. If, hypothetically of course, in those desperate times, desperate measures were sought, which bear consequences to this day, well, there's nothing wrong with some kind of insurance policy for the future after all. Evil is always lurking around the corner, ready to pounce."
The Minister took a long drag and looked at Parvati with calculated interest. "Which side of the line would you fall on, Parvati-ji?"
Parvati smiled. "We will be in touch, Minister."
Parvati got to her feet and apparated out.