The Willing Spirit - Piers Anthony, ebook
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Piers Anthony and Alfred Tella
The Willing Spirit
Thanks to Professor Krishnamurti Chandrasekar for sharing his knowledge of
Indian mythology, and to whom this tale owes so much
Contents
Prologue
1.
The Palace of the Zamindar
2.
The Zamindarini
3.
The Cave of the Guru
4.
The She-Demon
5.
The Eye of Kali
6.
Pitali: City of the Rajah
7.
The Rana and the Rani
8.
The Endless Caverns
9.
The Loan
10.
The Sack of Grain
11.
The Lake Palace
12.
The Rider in Black
13.
The Zamindar
14.
Mohini
Authors' Notes
Page 1
Prologue
Finally Mohini turned to face him.
Ravana!
she exclaimed in a petite fury.
Why won't you leave me
alone, you repulsive horny monster?
Ravana smiled, revealing grotesque ragged tusks. He angled his ugly head to show the horns to better
effect.
Because you are an Apsara, the most beautiful creature of lndra's heaven, and I am
smitten by your lovely features. You will not easily be rid of me.
But I am not smitten by YOU, you horror from no realm I would care to know. I am a lesser
goddess who prefers to associate with personable folk. What can I do to make you go away for a
century or two so I can have some peace?
Ravana considered.
You might deal with me. Perhaps we should wager on a game with suitable
prizes.
Now Mohini considered, realizing that while she could never escape the evil male spirit through flight or
avoidance, she might do so by means of wit.
What kind of game?
He shrugged, causing his discolored scales to grind against each other.
Why not a game with mortals
as ignorant pawns? They are often entertaining in their confusion, especially when their gore
spills out just before they die.
Mohini winced, but remained lovely regardless, for she was incapable of ugliness.
I much prefer
romantic games that tweak mortal heartstrings and lead to expressions of tenderness, music, and
poetry.
Ugh!
But Ravana knew that he could never make her submit to his desire without her cooperation; he
had to compromise.
Perhaps a game of romance and violence.
Mohini was intrigued.
The romance for me, the violence for you, as befits our natures.
Rape and vengeance,
he suggested.
Love and loss,
she countered.
They were getting somewhere.
For what stakes?
A century of peace from you.
A century of erotic frenzy from you.
She paused, reconsidering. The prizes did seem fair. Surely she could beat this monster, if the game was
fair.
Agreed.
Agreed.
Having settled the fruits of victory and defeat, they focused on the nature of the game itself. In due
course they hammered out a situation that offered a number of intriguing ramifications. They would
choose a single mortal man, whom neither of them would touch directly, though both could read mortal
Page 2
 thoughts. The man would go where he wished and do what he wanted, except when they deflected his
course by indirect means, taking turns. Mohini would act only through mortal females, and Ravana only
through mortal males, touching each with a single act or emotion, then allowing the consequences to
proceed in their natural fashion until the other spirit acted; then the turn would change again. Each act had
to appear natural to the mortals, so as to attract no suspicion of supernatural intervention. If any such
suspicion arose, the one responsible would forfeit the game.
If Mohini could seduce the mortal man in seven different guises, through different women, without
Ravana killing him, she would win. Since she would enjoy the seductions, and he would enjoy the
mayhem, the game should be interesting throughout.
Now we must find our innocent mortal man.
And soon thereafter I shall be slavering over your dainty quivering posterior.
Or propelling your own brute buttocks rapidly elsewhere. We shall see, Ravana.
We shall indeed.
1
The Palace of the Zamindar
Many village maidens wept when young Hari announced he would don the white mantle of austerity,
take leave of his friends and family, and set out upon the open road in search of truth and wisdom.
Beloved for his beauty, cleverness, and gentle ways, he would not heed the pleas of his mother and
sister, uncles and neighbors, to remain among them in his ancestral home. It was not because he was the
only son of a widow or for need of his labor that they wished him to remain; rather, it was for the joy he
brought to his family and all who knew him.
Ravana!
Who calls me?
Tall, slender, sturdy of limb, blessed with the cherished lightness of skin the color of ripe wheat, sharp of
feature, unspoiled, and in the fullness of his youth was Hari. Yet, if the gods had smiled upon him, still he
was not content. Restlessness gnawed at his heart and wanderlust tugged at his soul.
I, Mohini, am calling you, dullard. Here is the one! Come and see if it is not so.
Of late his thoughts and fancies drifted to imaginary far-off places, like shadows in a waking dream. He
remembered the stories his father had told him as a child, of strange peoples and customs in distant lands
and the talking animals that had illuminated the many subtleties and foibles of human character. And had
not his venerated teacher, Bava, the village pundit, taught him to love and seek out knowledge, to value
and learn from all experience? Surely, he told himself, such experience encompassed the outside world
and the senses as well as the mind and spirit.
Page 3
 This idiot mortal? Mohini, his naïveté is grotesque. He thinks that mortal creatures exist for
some purpose other than the entertainment of immortal spirits.
Hari had refused to consider offers of marriage, though it was a village custom that eligible bachelors of
high caste take a wife before reaching the age of twenty-one. The time had come when he could no
longer deny the longing within. He had to reach out for the promises that ever lingered on the horizon,
beckoning him, filling his imagination. And so it was that one month before his twenty-first birthday he
announced his decision to leave the village of his birth. He promised his mother and sister that he would
return before too long and would keep his vegetarian habits.
I don't care, Ravana. I think he's cute, in body and mind. He means so well, with so little
experience of evil.
His mother wept as she tied an amulet of yellow string from the family altar around his arm to protect him
on his travels. His sister marked his forehead with a stripe of ash and admonished him to watch out for
snakes on the road. Refusing all but a few coins and some meager provisions, he bade his family farewell
and in the pale light of a summer's dawn set out upon a path through the hills to the south.
I will make short work of this one, Mohini! If he's the one you want, you are as great a fool as
he is.
Glad to be on the road, Hari kept a brisk pace, in time with the beating of his heart. He heeded not the
brooding hills, laden with premonitions, or the baleful eye of Surya, the sun, as it rolled upward across the
cloudless sheet of sky. But he laughed at the young mynah birds that chattered and argued among the
leaves of the tamarind, and he mimicked the merry chirpings of crickets in the brush.
Then we are agreed, you grotesque evil spirit. This is the mortal we shall use to decide our issue.
The earth and sky and their offspring were his ever present companions. The shade of the banyan gave
him relief from the late afternoon sun, and the coconut, mango, and jackfruit trees that grew in abundance
provided him ample nourishment. The many streams that snaked along the base of the hills served to
slake his thirst and provide for his ablutions. What more could he ask of life than this? A simple yet
satisfying tour of the countryside, with ample time for contemplation.
We are agreed, you beautiful daughter of pleasure. This is the fool we shall focus on.
The hills became taller and the land greener as he traveled southward, and though his body ached from
climbing, his heart was light with expectation. At day's end he stretched out upon a soft cushion of grass
beneath an overhanging acacia tree and soon drifted into a carefree dreamless slumber.
I shall go elsewhere and divert myself alone, for I can see that it will be days before this sweet
mortal man encounters any seduceable women.
You are merely dawdling because you have the first move, O lovely Mohini, and I can't kill
him until it is my turn.
How unfortunate for you, O hideous one. Perhaps you should divert yourself by chewing on your
warts.
It was on the morning of the sixth day of his journey, from the crest of a high hill, that Hari saw spread
Page 4
 out before him a broad lush valley extending to the distant mountains. It shone like a great emerald set
into the breast of the earth, a coruscating river cutting through its center. Upon the near side of the
riverbank stood a magnificent palace the likes of which he had only heard about in stories. Its golden
domes and turrets glistened in the sun, and its white marble wings extended outward like some great
mythical bird in flight.
Mohini! Come play the game, you winsome creature. A situation arises.
The sight overwhelmed him, and it was many minutes before Hari could quiet his heartbeat. Then, with
all the resolve he could muster, he started down the hill toward the great edifice.
I see no women here, you curmudgeon. How can I work a seduction?
There are women in the palace. Give me leave to touch the master of this residence, and we
shall soon have the fool mortal man inside.
I have no wish to let you touch a mortal out of turn. You will stir in him a killing fury against all
isolated travelers, and win the game before it starts.
No I won't. We agreed: no baseless killing furies. I merely wish to start the game.
Then touch him. But I will be watching. If you cheat, you brute, you forfeit.
Then watch, luscious. At the key moment I will make the tiniest nudge, so delicate that no one
suspects.
As Hari approached the massive wooden gate of the palace, he saw that it was intricately carved with
figures of the gods in acts of worship, combat, and lovemaking. He was especially intrigued with the
depictions of the goddesses and lingered a moment to study their voluptuous beauty. But his musing was
interrupted by a loud creaking and cracking, and the great gate began to slowly swing open. He hastily
stepped aside.
You, delicate? You strain my credulity, you creature of mayhem.
Your credulity is a tender flower, like yourself. Observe, and despair of any hope of victory.
Through the now open portal marched a cordon of soldiers, four abreast, uniformed in bright red and
carrying shoulder spears. Once outside the gate, the soldiers split ranks and quickstepped to one side to
make passage for a following retinue on horseback. The equestrian formation passed majestically through
the gate, then halted and parted to make way for a magnificent black stallion that trotted to the fore.
Astride the stallion sat the leader of the cavalcade, as his bejeweled saddle, richly embroidered uniform,
and dignity of bearing testified.
The leader, espying the young stranger standing alone before the palace gate, reined in his steed.
"Whom have we here?" he said in a commanding but not unfriendly voice. "A young swami, perhaps?
Hmm. I see that you are highborn by the sacred thread you wear, and that you have traveled some
distance. Tell me, who are you and what brings you to the palace of the zamindar?"
This man is dangerous when affronted. Remember, if you try to take advantage—
Page 5
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