left-handed path, the dark path, and no one would have listened to what the priest had to 
say if the panic over the plague hadn't been in the air. The priest brought his 
blasphemous ideas, but many listened to him because of their fears for the plague. He 
said the plague was the result of an evil rakshasa or demon that had taken offense at our 
worship of the great God Vishnu. He said the only way to free our village of the rakshasa 
was to call forth an even greater being, a yakshini, and implore the yakshini to eat the 
rakshasa.
  Some thought this idea was reasonable, but many others, myself included, felt that if 
God couldn't protect us, how could a yakshini? Also, many of us worried what the yakshini 
would do once it had devoured the rakshasa. From our Vedic texts we knew that yakshinis 
had no love for human beings. But the Aghoran priest said that he could handle the 
yakshini, and so he was allowed to go ahead with his plans.
  Aghorans usually do not invoke a deity into a statue or an altar but into the corpse of 
someone recently dead. It is this practice in particular that has them shunned by most 
religious people in India. But desperate people often forget their religion when they 
need it most. There were so many dead at the time, the priest had his choice of corpses. 
But he chose Amba's body, and I think the fact of her late pregnancy attracted him. I was 
only a child at the time, but I could see something in the eyes of the priest that 
frightened me. Something cold and uncaring.
  Being so young, I was not permitted to attend the ceremony. None of the women were 
allowed. Because I was worried what they were going to do with my friend's body, however, 
I stole into the woods in the middle of the night they were to perform the invocation. I 
watched from behind a boulder, at the edge of a clearing, as the Aghoran priest with the 
help of six men-one of them my father-prepared Amba's naked body. They anointed her with 
clarified butter and camphor and wine. Then, beside a roaring fire, seated close to 
Amba's upturned head, the priest began a long repetitious chant. I did not like it; it 
sounded nothing like the bajans we chanted to Vishnu. The mantras were hard on the ear, 
and each time the priest completed a verse, he would strike Amba's belly with a long 
sharp stick. It was as if he were imploring her to wake up, or else trying to wake 
something up inside her.
  This went on for a long time, and soon Amba's belly began to bleed, which frightened 
the men. Because she bled as a living person, as if there were a heart beating inside 
her. But I knew this could not be. I had been with Amba when she died and sat beside her 
body for a long time afterward, and not once, even faintly, had she drawn in a breath. I 
was not tempted to run to her. Not for a moment did I believe the priest had brought her 
back to life. Indeed, I was tempted to flee back to my mother, who surely must have been 
wondering where I was. Especially when a dark cloud went over the moon and a heavy breeze 
began to stir, a wind that stank of decay and waste. The smell was atrocious. It was as 
if a huge demon had suddenly appeared and breathed down upon the ceremony.
  Something had come. As the smell worsened, and the men began to mutter aloud that they 
should stop, the fire abruptly shrank to red coals. Smoke filled the air, curling around 
the bloody glow of the embers like so many snakes over a rotting prey. Some of the men 
cried out in fear. But the priest laughed and chanted louder. Yet even his voice failed 
when Amba suddenly sat up.
  She was hideous to behold. Her face dripped blood. Her eyes bulged from her head as if 
pushed out from the inside. Her grin widened over her teeth as if pulled by wires. Worst 
of all was her tongue; it stretched much longer than any human tongue could, almost a 
foot, curling and licking at the air like the smoking snakes that danced beside what was 
left of the fire. I watched it in horror knowing that I was seeing a yakshini come to 
life. In the haunting red glow it turned to face the priest, who had fallen silent. No 
longer did he appear confident.
  The yakshini cackled like a hyena and reached out and grabbed the priest. The priest 
screamed. No one came to his aid.
  The yakshini pulled the priest close, until they were face to face. Then that awful 
tongue licked the priest's face, and the poor man's screams gagged in his throat. Because 
wherever he was touched by the tongue, his skin was pulled away. When the priest was a 
faceless mass of gore, the yakshini threw its head back and laughed. Then its hands flew 
up behind the priest's neck and took hold of his skull. With one powerful yank it twisted 
the priest's head around until it was facing the other way, his bones cracking. The 
priest fell over dead as the yakshini released him. Then the monster, still seated, 
glanced around the campfire at the terrified men. A sly glance it was. It smiled as its 
eyes came to rest on me. Yes, I believe it could see me even as I cowered behind the huge 
stone that separated me from the clearing. Its eyes felt like cold knives pressing into 
my heart.
  Then finally, thankfully, the monster closed its eyes, and Amba's body lay back down.
  For a long moment none of the men moved. Then my father-a brave man, although not the 
wisest- moved and knelt beside Amba's corpse. He poked it with a stick and it did not 
move. He poked the priest as well, but it was clear the man wasn't going to be performing 
any more ceremonies in this life. The other men came up beside my father. There was talk 
of cremating both of the bodies then and there. Hiding behind my boulder, I nodded 
vigorously. The stench had blown away on the wind, and I did not want it to return. 
Unfortunately, before more wood could be gathered, my father noticed movement inside 
Amba's belly. He cried out to the others. Amba was not dead. Or if she was, he said, her 
child was not. He reached for a knife to cut the infant out of Amba's womb.
  It was then I jumped from behind the boulder and ran into the clearing.
  "Father!" I cried, reaching for his hand holding the knife. "Do not let that child come 
into this world. Amba is dead, see with your own eyes. Her child must likewise be dead. 
Please, Father, listen to me."
  Naturally, all the men were surprised to see me, never mind hear what I had to say. My 
father was angry at me, but he knelt and spoke to me patiently.
  "Sita," he said. "Your friend does appear dead, and we were wrong to let this priest 
use her body in this way. But he has paid for his evil karma with his own life. But we 
would be creating evil karma of our own if we do not try to save the life of this child. 
You remember when Sashi was born, how her mother died before she came into the world? It 
sometimes happens that a living child is born to a dead woman."
  "No," I protested. "That was different. Sashi was born just as his mother died. Amba 
has been dead since early dawn. Nothing living can come out of her."
  My father gestured with his knife to the squirming life inside Amba's bloody abdomen. 
"Then how do you explain the life here?"
  "That is the yashini moving inside her," I said. "You saw how the demon smiled at us 
before it departed. It intends to trick us. It is not gone. It has entered into the 
child."
  My father pondered my words with a grave expression. He knew I was intelligent for my 
age and occasionally asked for my advice. He looked to the other men for guidance, but 
they were evenly divided. Some wanted to use the knife to stab the life moving inside 
Amba. Others were afraid, like my father, of committing a sin. Finally my father turned 
back to me and handed me the knife.
  "You knew Amba better than any of us," he said. "You would best know if this life that 
moves inside her is evil or good. If you know for sure in your heart that it is evil, 
then strike it dead. None of the men here will blame you for the act."