Salman Rushdie: Luka and the Fire of Life

So there it was. He had defied Time’s power, just as his mother (and, later, his father) had said he could, and all he had at the end of it was his recently acquired ability to snap his fingers loudly. It wasn’t much of a weapon, really. But it was interesting, wasn’t it, that the Aalim had been stopped in their tracks by his curse, and that they had put their heads together and were muttering and murmuring – it seemed to Luka – helplessly ? Was that possible? Might it be that they were powerless against Luka Khalifa’s famous Cursing Power? Could it be that they knew that he was one of the Particular Children who would not be the victims of Time? If this was Rashid Khalifa’s Magic World, then were the Aalim his creation, too, and therefore subject to his laws? Very deliberately, like a sorcerer casting a spell, Luka lifted his left hand high above his head and snapped his fingers with all his might.

Right on cue, the encircling Cloud Fortress of Baadal-Garh began to shake like cheap theatre scenery, and, as the prisoners on the flying carpet watched in astonishment, large sections of the crenellated walls of that aerial jail began to crack and fall. ‘It’s under attack from the outside!’ Luka yelled, and everyone on the flying carpet began to cheer as the Aalim disappeared from view to face the unexpected assault. ‘Who is it?’ Soraya asked, gathering her strength and looking extremely embarrassed about her moment of weakness. ‘Is it the Otter Air Force? If so, they’re on a suicide mission, I’m afraid.’ The naked Titan shook his head, and a slow grin spread over his huge face. ‘It’s not the Otters,’ he said. ‘The gods are revolting.’

‘Well, on the whole we agree about what the gods are like,’ said the Elephant Birds, ‘but there’s no need to be rude.’

‘I mean,’ said the Old Boy with a sigh, ‘that the gods have risen in revolt.’

And so they had. Looking back on these events later in his life, Luka was never sure if the Revolt of the Gods had been provoked by his speech under the Tree of Torment, when he had tried to persuade the forgotten deities that their survival depended on his father’s; or if it had been conjured up by his Curse, whose purpose had been to break the stranglehold of the Aalim over the affairs of both Worlds, the Real and the Magical; or if the retired immortals had decided that enough was enough, and Luka and his friends had just been around at the right time to witness the consequences. Whatever the reason, the hornet-swarm of the ex-gods of the Heart of Magic flew through the rip in the sky and descended in wrath upon the Cloud Fortress of Baadal-Garh. Bast the Cat Goddess of Egypt, Hadadu the Akkadian Thunder God, Gong Gong the Flood God of China whose head was so strong that it could crack the Pillar of Heaven, Nyx the Greek Night Goddess, the savage Nordic Fenris Wolf, Quetzalcoatl the Plumed Serpent of Mexico, and assorted Demons, Valkyries, Rakshasas and Goblins could be seen alongside the big fellows – Ra, Zeus, Tlaloc, Odin, Anzu, Vulcan and the rest – burning the Cloud Fortress, hurling tsunamis against its wall, blasting it with lightning, headbutting it, and, in the case of Aphrodite and the other Beauty goddesses, complaining loudly about the Ravages of Time on their complexions, their figures and their hair.

If there had been a force field protecting the Cloud Fortress, the Assault of Magic [1]had been too much for it. And as the collected might of all the former deities demolished the Aalim’s stronghold, and a loud, strange, screechy, miaowing sound was heard, Luka shouted at Soraya, ‘This is our chance!’ and at once the flying carpet rose high into the sky and bore its passengers away at speed.

The getaway wasn’t easy. The Aalim were making their last stand; their day was ending, but they still had some loyal servants to call on. Soraya had only just set a course for the Bund, the embankment on the River Silsila where Luka would have to leap back into the Real World, when a squadron of bizarre one-legged birds, the fabled Shang Yang, or Rainbirds of China, assaulted the flying carpet from above. The Shang Yang carried whole rivers in their beaks and poured them over the Resham in an attempt to extinguish the Fire burning in the Ott Pot around Luka’s neck. The carpet lurched sideways and plunged downwards under the weight of the falling avalanches of water; but then, showing remarkable powers of recovery, it straightened itself out and flew onwards. The assault of the Rainbirds continued; five, six, seven times the floods fell from the sky, and the carpet’s passengers fell over, collided with one another, and rolled dangerously near the edges of the carpet. Still the defensive bubble held firm. At last the Shang Yang’s water supply ran dry and they flapped bad-temperedly away. ‘Yes, it’s good to have resisted this attack, but it’s not the end of the trouble,’ Soraya warned the cheering Luka. ‘The Aalim have made one more desperate effort to prevent the Fire of Life from crossing over into the Real World. You heard that dreadful, piteous miaowing sound that filled the air as we left the Cloud Fortress? That was the Aalim playing their final card. I’m sorry to tell you that that noise was the Summons that unleashes the deadly Rain Cats.’

The Rain Cats – for it is time, at last, to speak of catty matters! – started falling from the sky soon enough. They were large Cats, raintigers and rainlions, rainjaguars and raincheetahs, Water Felines of every spot and stripe. They were made of the rain itself, rain enchanted by the Aalim and turned into sabre-toothed Wildcats. They fell as cats fall, nimbly, fearlessly, and when they hit the flying carpet’s invisible security bubble they dug their claws in and held on. Soon there were Rain Cats all over the bubble, hundreds of them, then thousands, and their claws were long and powerful, and they slashed at the bubble to great and damaging effect. ‘I’m afraid they will break through the shield,’ cried Soraya, ‘and there are too many of them for us to fight.’

‘No, there aren’t! Come down here, Fraidy Cats! We’ll soon show you what’s what!’ Bear the dog barked bravely at the clawing, slashing Rain Cats above him, and the Old Boy prepared to grow to his full height again, but Luka knew all of that was just empty bravado. Thousands of feral enchanted felines would surely overpower even the great Titan, and while Bear and Dog (and maybe even Coyote) would fight for all they were worth, and no doubt Soraya had plenty of tricks up her sleeve, there could, in the end, be no victory against such unequal odds. ‘Every time I think we’ve cracked it,’ Luka thought, ‘there’s another impossible obstacle in my way.’ He took Soraya’s hand and squeezed it. ‘I only have one hundred and sixty-five lives left, and I don’t think they will be enough to get me through this last test,’ he said. ‘So if we lose here, I just want to say thank you, because I would never have come half this far without your help.’ The Insultana of Ott squeezed his hand back, looked over his shoulder, and burst into a wide smile. ‘No need to get sentimental on me just yet, stupid boy,’ she said, ‘because you’re not only making too many enemies, although you do seem to have no shortage of those. Look behind you. You’re also acquiring some pretty powerful friends.’

Enormous banks of cloud had piled up behind the Flying Carpet of King Solomon the Wise; but, Soraya pointed out with glee, those were not mere clouds. They were the assembled Wind Gods of the Magic World. ‘And their presence here,’ she said reassuringly, ‘means that the gods are definitely determined to get you home to do what you have to do.’

Now Luka saw the faces of the Wind Gods inside the cloud banks, cloud faces puffing up their cheeks and blowing with all their might. ‘ Three Chinese Wind Gods are here,’ Soraya said very excitedly, ‘Chi Po, Feng-Po-Po and Pan-Gu! And you see that bunch of flying Wind Lions, the Fong-shih-ye from the Kinmen archipelago of Taiwan? The Chinese usually refuse to speak to them, or even to accept that they exist – but here they are, working together! It’s really amazing how everyone has united behind you! Fujin from Japan has come, and he never goes anywhere . Look there, all the American gods, the Iroquois deity Ga-Oh, and Taté of the Sioux, and, see, the ferocious Cherokee Wind Spirit, Oonawieh Unggi, over there! I mean, the Sioux and the Cherokee were never allies, and to join up with the Iroquois Confederacy – oh, my! And even Chup the Wind God of the Chumash tribe from California has stopped sunbathing and shown up; he’s usually too laid-back to rustle up much more than a light breeze. And the Africans are here as well – that’s Yansan the Yoruba Wind Goddess! And from Central and South America, Ecalchot of the Niquiran Indians, and the Mayan Pauahtuns, and Unáhsinte of the Zuni Indians, and Guabancex from the Caribbean… they’re so old, that lot, that frankly I thought they had blown themselves out, but it looks like they have plenty of puff left! And fat Fa’atiu the Samoan is over there, and bulgy Buluga of the Andaman Islands is over there , and Ara Tiotio the Tornado God of Polynesia, and Paka’a from Hawaii. And Ays the Armenian Wind Demon, and the Vila, the Slav Goddesses, and the Norse winged giant Hraesvelg who makes the winds just by flapping his wings, and the Korean Goddess Yondung Halmoni – she’d be blowing better if she wasn’t stuffing her mouth with rice cakes, the greedy creature! – and Mbon from Burma, and Enlil -’