"This is evil on top of evil," Tamar said. "No man of honor can allow it."
"Nor will I," Ashwara said. "My brothers and I rallied what troops we could. Also, we journeyed seeking help from other kings. When Nahusha learned of this, he proclaimed me a traitor." Ashwara smiled bitterly. "Having stolen my throne and tried to burn me to death, he accused me of plotting against him."
"Akshatriya's sacred honor?" Mirri said under her breath. "It seems more a matter of convenience."
"Nahusha sent searchers to find and kill us," Ashwara went on. "We have eluded them. Until now. Kana has seen me. He will carry word to Nahusha. Meantime, I have my own task." Ashwara stood and softly whistled. A black stallion trotted from the woods and came to nuzzle his master's shoulder.
"I ride to Muktara, a few days north," Ashwara said. "I must treat with King Bala and persuade him to join forces with me. I have already spent too long following roundabout ways to keep Nahusha's warriors off my trail. I can delay no more."
"You hindered yourself by helping us," Tamar said. "No debt may go unpaid. Ask of me what you will."
"Your intention is honorable," Ashwara said, "but how shall a lone huntsman aid my cause?"
"No huntsman!" exclaimed Hashkat. "He's the king of Sundari!" Ashwara narrowed his eyes at Tamar. "Truth? How can this be?"
Ashwara listened closely while Tamar explained his circumstances. "A strange tale and not a happy one. What to make of it?"
"I'll give you my own opinion," said a muffled voice.
The ant hill's high earthen rampart stirred and cracked. From the breach, a pair of sharp, gray eyes peered out; then, a broad face, wide-browed, stubble-bearded, clotted with dirt and sand. The man broke a larger opening, thrust out his head, shook his burly shoulders, and stepped clear of the hill.
11. The Choosing
"One moment." The heavyset man scooped up earth and gravel to patch the broken side of the hill. "There. It's hardly good manners for a guest to leave someone's home in ruins. As I was saying."
"Guest?" Tamar, like the others, had been staring in astonishment. "You-inside? How? Doing what?"
"A guest of the ants." The big man dusted off his threadbare vest and wiped his hands on the grimy cloth wrapped around his middle. "Doing? Living with them, naturally."
"I wouldn't call it natural," put in Hashkat, as Ashwara, having drawn his sword, slid it back into its sheath. "Trees are for monkeys, hills for ants. You're neither. What I want to know is why you were there in the first place."
"My name is Adi-Kavi," the man replied. "I came to be there by happy accident. I had sat down, one morning, to meditate-so deeply that time went by faster than I realized. When I opened my eyes, the ants had built their castle around me. They invited me to stay, which I did. Excellent folk, as I've learned to know them. Busy, hardworking. Very earnest. A little too single-minded, if you ask me. But, that's their way, and it suits them.
"The commotion outside disturbed my observations," Adi-Kavi went on. "I've been listening-eavesdropping, if you like, which is something I do at every opportunity. Finally, I had to come out and see for myself You have to understand: I'm cursed."
"What, something like Hashkat?" said Tamar.
"No," said Adi-Kavi. "Cursed with curiosity. I was born that way. And so, I was irresistibly curious to have a look at all of you. Here, of course, is Mirri," continued Adi-Kavi, putting his palms together. "Just as I imagined her. Lovely face, shining eyes: and, plain to see, a gopi of great spirit.
"And this must be the young king of Sundari." Adi-Kavi nodded to Tamar. "A strange journey you've set out on, the strangest I've ever heard of You've started my curiosity itching ferociously. The only way I can scratch it is to find out what happens to you in Mahapura. Allow me to join you."
"I'm turning aside from my journey for a few days," Tamar said. He faced Ashwara. "I may be able to pay a little of my debt to you. I ask to be with you when you meet King Bala.
"Let Bala know that the king of Sundari supports your cause," Tamar urged. "My commander Darshan rules in my stead; but, if I wish him to do so, he will put Sundari's army at your disposal."
"Nobly offered, gladly accepted," Ashwara answered. "Beyond doubt, it would add weight to my words; enough, perhaps, to sway Bala in my favor. If so, the tables turn, and it is I who will be in debt to you."
"My curiosity itches me again," said Adi-Kavi. "Present company excepted, but kings bargaining are like thieves trying to rob each other, and much less straightforward. Still, I can't resist knowing the outcome.
"Young Tamar here puts himself at your service," Adi-Kavi said to Ashwara. "So do I. From time to time, I've been a suta a royal crier." "A crier?" Mirri asked Tamar. "What kind of work is that?"
"A palace attendant," Tamar said. "He's paid to declaim a king's merits, his courage, wisdom, generosity."
"Whether he has those virtues or not," put in Adi-Kavi. "In any case, it's beneath royal dignity for a king to praise himself So, with a suta to put matters in their best light, a lovely gopi to lend an air of charm, and a brahmana an air of piety, King Ashwara will at least have some sort of retinue. That's always impressive. A solitary beggar may have a grudging coin flung at him. A king with retainers looks strong and prosperous and is showered with favors. Appearance counts. The less you seem to need, the more you get."
"You speak some truth, observer of ants." Ashwara smiled wryly. "I shall decide that later. Meantime, if you wish to ride with the king of Sundari and me, I shall not refuse."
"I lived in Muktara before I was turned into a monkey," said Hashkat. "I know the lay of the land and all the shorter paths. I'll guide you there and keep an eye out for little Akka on the way." Ashwara agreed that all would go with him, and offered Adi-Kavi the horse of the slain warrior. Hashkat, about to climb up behind Ashwara, saw Garuda already perched on Tamar's saddle.
"What are you doing there?" Hashkat called to him. "You're a bird, aren't you? Why don't you fly?"
"You're a monkey, aren't you?" Garuda retorted. "Why don't you swing from tree to tree? My wings are tired. Shmaa! You expect me to walk?"
Rajaswami, before mounting, plucked Tamar's sleeve. "I must know more about this Adi-Kavi," he whispered. "If, indeed, the ants built their hill around him while he sat meditating-my goodness, do you realize how long that must have taken? And living inside? Without food or air? This is most unusual, the sort of thing you'd only expect from a rishi, and a powerful one. But he looks like no rishi I've seen."
"Whatever he is," Tamar said, "if he can do Ashwara a service, so much the better."
"Yes, yes, of course," said Rajaswami. "Still, it would be more proper, before we meet King Bala, if he might see fit to launder his clothes."
With Hashkat directing him along one forest track after another, Ashwara pressed on with rarely a halt, despite the groans from Rajaswami. If Mirri suffered fatigue, she gave no sign; but even Tamar, long trained to the saddle, felt his joints and muscles protest the strain. Nevertheless, to lag behind would have disgraced his caste. Ashwara sat easily, head high. The shafts of sunlight through the archway of tangled branches turned his face as golden as his eyes. With his noble bearing and air of kingly command, Ashwara could as well have been leading a proud army of warriors instead of this mismatched handful. Despite Adi-Kavi's assurance, Tamar had to wonder if such a retinue would make any great impression on the king of Muktara. Even so, urging Gayatri to hold pace, he kept that question to himself Hashkat, not Ashwara, was the one to cry a halt. The light was rapidly fading, and the monkey declared he could no longer be certain of the pathways. They dismounted in a little grove and tethered the horses near a stream. No longer fearing pursuit, Ashwara himself gathered twigs and lit a small cook fire and shared out provisions from his saddle pack. Garuda swooped down, snapped up the morsels as if they might be snatched from him at any moment, and flapped to roost on a high branch. Ashwara touched nothing until sure the others had their fill; even then, he ate and drank sparingly.
"Nothing else? In all that time?" Rajaswami, settling closer to Adi-Kavi, eyed him with growing wonder.
"Only to sample a few bits and pieces of what the ants carried in," said Adi-Kavi. "Out of politeness. Not much to my taste, I admit."
"Do you do that often?" Mirri asked.
"Live with ants? No, little gopi. Once is enough. One anthill is much like another. But I've swum with any number of fish. Some of my fond friends are crocodiles. I've helped a few birds build their nests, and brooded a clutch of eggs until they hatched. What a mess those broken shells are."
"I thought you were a royal crier," Tamar said.
"Used to be," said Adi-Kavi. "You see, my mother was of high brahmana family; my father, a kshatriya. I claim neither caste. The kshatriyas disapproved, the brahmanas likewise, and the other castes wanted no part of me. Astonishing how you can vex so many people all at once by simply being what you are.
"I had a glib tongue. Too glib for my own good, some said. So, what better than hire out as a suta? An unwise choice, given the disposition of kings. Ashwara he's something else again. I know his reputation. I've heard it told he's the best of them, a truly noble kshatriya," Adi-Kavi went on, lowering his voice and glancing in the direction of Ashwara, sitting apart, silent and deep in his own thoughts. "That must make life difficult for him.
"The others-an unpleasant lot, those I've seen. As for you," he added, "you're too young at the trade to be despicable." Tamar laughed. "You don't mince words."
"No. I respect them-when they tell the truth. Any wonder I did badly as a suta? What king pays good money for plain truth? Oh, I've tried my hand at all sorts of work. But when you come down to it, I'm a journeyer. I calculate, if I journey long enough and far enough, I might find out what makes the world go 'round."
"Allow me to inquire," said Rajaswami, "how you came by your highly unusual abilities. You must have been instructed by some great rishi."
"I had a better teacher," said Adi-Kavi. "Curiosity. Amazing what you can learn if you're curious enough."
"If you're neither brahmana nor kshatriya," Rajaswami pressed, "what is your dharma?" Adi-Kavi chuckled. "I suppose my dharma's to see the world as it is."
The suta was interrupted by long moans, wails, and gargling noises from Garuda on the branch. Hashkat, who had been listening to Adi-Kavi with interest, shook a fist:
"Can't you be still, you dreadful bird?"
"Shmaa! Shmaa!" retorted Garuda. "I'm singing myself to sleep. It consoles me. Do you mind?" Hashkat put his hands over his ears. Adi-Kavi fell silent.
Though Rajaswami was eager to pursue further questions, the suta fixed his eyes on the fire, his thoughts elsewhere. Tamar was about to speak aside with Mirri when Ashwara beckoned to him.
"I shall stand watch the first half of the night; you, the second," Ashwara ordered, then added, "I am glad for the suta's good opinion." He smiled at Tamar's surprise. "A king overhears much, most of which is usually less than agreeable."
"He wishes you well," Tamar said. "All of us do. You have justice in your cause; and honor, as well."
Ashwara did not immediately reply. When he did, he spoke in a pained voice. Shadows, darker than the night around him, drifted across his face. "This is true, I know it beyond question. For all that, none can tell how matters will turn. Whichever way, one thing is certain: At the end, bloodshed. Death for friend and foe alike. I grieve for all of them, even now."
"I, too," Tamar said. "I have never sought a man's death, and never wished it. My kingdom has always been at peace, no battle ever forced upon me. But you, how can you do otherwise? You are a king and a kshatriya, doubly bound by your honor and your dharma. You have no different course."
Ashwara nodded slowly. "I see none. And yet-a throne, a kingdom, what are these worth in blood? Is it honor that demands such a price? Or arrogance? Is it truly dharma that compels me? Or wrath? Can a warrior's virtue lead to evil ends? Have I misunderstood what I thought I knew?"
"Are you saying," Tamar answered, hardly believing Ashwara's words, "that a king such as you has doubts?"
"Have you none? I think you do," Ashwara replied, "but you are young and bear your doubts more lightly. In time, they grow heavier." He stopped abruptly and waved a dismissing hand. "What happens, happens as it must. Go, now. See to the horses, then sleep."
Leaving the king of Ranapura standing silent, Tamar went back to the dying fire. Only Mirri was still awake. She held out her hand and walked with him to the horse lines, where Gayatri whinnied a fond greeting.
"My question still waits for an answer," Tamar said. "Why did you leave the Choosing?"
"Need you ask?" Mirri turned her face toward his. "I listened to my heart. And yours. Why should I have stayed? There was no reason to, since I'd already chosen."
From the pile of gear and harness, she opened her pack and took out a garland of white blossoms. "Do you remember little Vati's song when you and I first met? A wreath of flowers is the token of a pledge that's never broken. I give you mine." As Mirri was about to put the garland around his neck, Tamar raised a hand. He could barely speak above a whisper:
"No. Go back to your village. This is a pledge that can't be kept. My journey lies between us. Would you have me give it up? Bring you to Sundari? A king shamed by breaking his dharma? Or stay with your people, knowing I'd lost all honor?
"If I could be sure my dream was nothing more than that, I'd do it gladly. I still question it. Even Ashwara questions what he must do, but will do it nevertheless. So will I ". Mirri drew away. "And so, king of Sundari, you tell me to leave you?"
"Yes. Live out your life happily, not with one who has no life to give you. Follow your own dharma."
"My dharma tells me it's better to look for a way to live instead of a way to die. It also tells me to stay with the one I love."
She threw aside the garland, turned on her heel, and strode back to the others. Tamar stood a long time by the horse lines. When at last he went to her, she was asleep, her head resting in the crook of her arm. He touched his lips to her hair, with its fragrance of clove and cinnamon. Mirri stirred but did not wake. In the forest, the only sound was Garuda's moaning.
12. Bala's Durbar
Next morning, Mirri announced her decision. Once they had done what they could to help Ashwara, she would ride with Tamar to Mahapura. "And that," she declared, "settles that." With only a token show of reluctance, Tamar agreed. He was, in fact, overjoyed. Rajaswami was not.
"I'm sorry, I can't approve." The acharya shook his head. "Expose this young lady to who-knows-what perils? No, no, no, it's simply not the correct way of things."
"Acharya," replied Tamar, "do you mean to forbid."
"I didn't say that," Rajaswami corrected. "I said I can't approve. You and your gopi must do as you see fit. Though I firmly disagree-dear boy, I haven't the heart to separate you two. Did you think I would?"
"I didn't." Mirri smiled at him. "You needn't worry about me."
"But I will, even so," said Rajaswami.
The acharya, in any case, had other difficulties to occupy him: particularly, his bald spot. In the course of the following days, as Hashkat led the retinue closer to Muktara, the forest thinned; dusty, open stretches gave little shade. Rajaswami's scalp turned bright pink, then deep red, and finally blistered. Though he draped his scarf over his smarting pate, he found no relief.
"I wouldn't want your brain to roast," said Adi-Kavi, giving him a good-natured slap on the back. "I'll take care of this."
The suta disappeared into the scrub, returning with handfuls of what seemed to be prickly blades of grass. With strong fingers, he squeezed out the juice and dripped it on Rajaswami's head.
Mirri came closer to watch the procedure. "I've never seen a plant like that."
"There are plants and herbs even you country folk don't know a
bout," said Adi-Kavi. "They can do astonishing things you couldn't begin to imagine. If you're curious, I'll tell you about them. Too bad the brahmana didn't think cooling thoughts, to begin with. He'd have spared himself blistering."
"Thoughts can cool?" Mirri said.
"In a certain way," Adi-Kavi said. "Do it right, you can turn yourself cold or hot, forget you're hungry or tired and a lot more besides. There's a special way, a sort of knack. My guess is," he added, with an appraising look, "you might already have the knack without knowing it. We'll find out, when things are more settled."
"This is quite remarkable," said Rajaswami, fingering his bald spot. "The sting's gone. I'm entirely comfortable."
Garuda did not fare as well. In addition to his usual daily lamentations and nightly singing, he endlessly complained of being jolted, knocked about, given indigestible food and not enough of it in the first place.
"I have a nervous stomach," he whined, as they camped for the night. "I'm not used to being flung gobs of who knows-what. It brings on colic and makes my pinfeathers twitch."
"By the time we reach Mahapura," Tamar assured him, "you'll be better than ever."
"I should wait so long? Shmaa! They’ll be nothing left of me."
"There's too much of him already," said Hashkat, as Garuda flapped to a branch. "He's putting it on; he's a malingering sack of feathers."
"I'm not so sure." Mirri glanced up. In the fading light, Garuda had tucked his head under a hunched wing. "He isn't singing himself to sleep."
"A small mercy," said Hashkat.
Next morning, Garuda was lying on the ground, head drooping, eyes half closed. When Mirri went to him, the bird gave only a feeble squawk.
"If he were a cow," Mirri said, as Tamar and the others joined her, "I'd know what to do."
"Not as bad as it looks." Adi-Kavi carefully probed the bird's midsection and blew gently into Garuda's open beak. "He'll come around. Mash his food with a little water and make a paste of it. A pinch of gravel wouldn't hurt, either."
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