The Iron Ring

by Lloyd Alexander

  "Oh, no," Garuda croaked, as Tamar began following the suta's advice. "How do I know you aren't trying to poison me? That would suit all of you. No more Garuda. Keep the ruby for yourselves."

  "Let me deal with him," said Hashkat. "I'll make sure he gets what he needs. Count on it."

  "No," snapped Garuda. "I want the gopi to feed me."

  "You scalded chicken," Hashkat retorted, "you're lucky anybody feeds you at all." Garuda clamped his beak shut and would let no one but Mirri spoon the mixture down his gullet. By the time the girl finished, the bird was making happy rattling and purring noises, and casting adoring glances at her.

  Though Ashwara was impatient to set off, Garuda flatly declared that he could neither fly nor cling to Tamar's saddle. "Stuff him in one of the bags," Hashkat suggested. "Then we won't have to listen to his yammering."

  Mirri found a better answer. Borrowing Rajaswami's scarf, she knotted it and hung it over her neck, with Garuda slung inside. As they set off, the bird poked out his head, looking around with smug satisfaction. After another day, when he had recovered, he flapped to the girl's shoulder and had little to do with anyone else.

  Late that afternoon, when they came in sight of the city, Ashwara ordered a halt, deciding it best to seek an audience with King Bala next morning.

  "I've been thinking about that," said Hashkat. "If I'm to go with you, I can't go as I am. A naked monkey doesn't set the right tone. For that matter, we could all spruce up."

  "You have a point," said Adi-Kavi. "Appearance, that's what counts. Ashwara and young Tamar here have weapons enough to look like they mean business, not to be trifled with. The rest of us? Nothing to be done, I'm afraid."

  "I'll see about that." Hashkat pursed his lips and made hooting and barking noises.

  For some while, Tamar had been aware of small shapes scuttling along amid the foliage. Now, at Hashkat's signal, half a dozen monkeys clambered from the trees to crouch a little distance away.

  "Some of your subjects, Your Monkey ship?" said Mirri. "Invite them over. I'd like to meet them."

  "They don't much care to associate with humans," said Hashkat. "All things considered, that's understandable. I'll go have a few words with them. They can help. I have something in mind. Stay right here till I get back."

  The monkey king went to join his subjects. Moments later, they all faded silently into the undergrowth. Garuda raised his head as they disappeared.

  "It's good-bye, monkey. That's the last we'll see of him," Garuda croaked. "Once he's off cavorting with his cronies, do you imagine he'll give a thought to any troubles of mine?"

  Recalling that Hashkat had run off once before, Tamar waited with a touch of uneasiness; and, as the night wore on, standing watch to relieve Ashwara, he wondered if Garuda could be right. By the first streaks of dawn, however, Hashkat reappeared. The smaller monkeys stayed in the shadows as he triumphantly threw down the bundle on his shoulder.

  "Here, suta, a nice mantle for you. Once you're washed and scrubbed, you'll look quite impressive." Hashkat held up a length of embroidered drapery and tossed it to Adi-Kavi. "A new sari, all fine silk, for the gopi. A few little things for me." He produced a warrior's studded vest and leather kilt, a somewhat rusty sword, and a crested iron helmet. "And for the brahmana." Hashkat proudly unfurled a large white umbrella.

  "A most useful assortment," said Rajaswami, as Mirri went to change her cowherd's garb for the sari. "Especially the umbrella. My rank entitles me to carry it, and it will certainly keep my head from blistering again." He hesitated, and his happy expression turned to one of concern. "But how did you come by them? Not, I trust, by dishonest means."

  "That depends on how you look at it," said Hashkat. "The way I look at it, since they weren't nailed down."

  "You purloined them?" Rajaswami dropped the umbrella he had been admiring as if it were about to bite him. "Good heavens, you should know I can't accept stolen property. It goes against all standards of correct behavior."

  "Not so fast, to talk about purloining," said Hashkat. "For one thing, the sword and armor belong to me. I buried them in my garden the day I quit the warrior business. I sneaked back there; the monkeys helped me dig them up.

  "As for the clothes and umbrella," Hashkat added, "they were provided by a rich goldsmith and his wife living in my old house. I gather the two of them moved in and took it for themselves, with never a coin in payment. I consider it a matter of collecting a little overdue rent. Since they were both asleep, it was a painless transaction."

  "Ah, yes, in that case there may be a measure of justice in what you did," said Rajaswami. "I'm sure if they'd been awake they'd have been happy to settle accounts. And I assume these items weren't actually nailed down. In those circumstances, yes, it might be permissible."

  "Brahmana," said Hashkat, "are you starting to think like a monkey?"

  "Goodness me, I certainly hope not," said Rajaswami. "It is quite a handsome umbrella. I wouldn't want to offend you by refusing it."

  By daybreak, they were ready to enter Muktara. Garuda railed bitterly at being left behind to wait. Only Mirri's promise to come back without delay pacified the bird. "You'll stay on your branch," Mirri said, scratching his neck.

  "You'll be a good bird, behave yourself, and act like a brave eagle." Garuda muttered a few "Waas;" and "Shmaas," but finally nodded his head.

  They soon came to a well-paved road along the riverbank. Suddenly, Rajaswami urged Jagati to a gallop.

  "Quickly, my boy! Let us get past this dreadful place," Rajaswami called out, as Tamar rode abreast of him and asked what had alarmed him.

  "It's a shmashana." Rajaswami shuddered and pointed toward a stretch of barren ground by the river. Here and there rose wisps of smoke. Tamar glimpsed a few half-naked figures carrying what seemed bundles of rags.

  "Don't look," Rajaswami whispered. "It's the public burning ground. They're cremating paupers' bodies." Tamar shivered in spite of himself, but could not turn his eyes away. "I've never seen the one in Sundari."

  "Of course you haven't. Nor should you see one now. Did you suppose I'd ever take you to visit such a hellish spot? Good heavens, have you forgotten what I taught you? Those men doing the burning-they're chandalas. It's work forbidden to higher castes. Who'd want to do it in the first place? The chandalas are already the lowest of the low, so it makes no difference to them.

  "As I warned you long ago, I remind you now," Rajaswami added. "Don't go near them. If a chandala's shadow falls on your food-dear boy, you must throw it away, it's polluted instantly. Should a chandala touch you, even accidentally lay so much as a finger on you, your caste is broken. Worse yet, you become a chandala yourself, and better off dead."

  Still trembling, Rajaswami turned his umbrella to screen the sight of the burning ground and galloped ahead, never slowing until the shmashana lay far behind and they were inside Muktara.

  The little procession wended its way through the bustling streets. Adi-Kavi, dismounted, strode ahead, shouting for the passersby to make room. Hashkat marched beside him, clad in his old fighting gear. The monkey had coiled his tail under the leather kilt and set his helmet, with its jutting visor, low on his head, shadowing most of his face. Tamar and Ashwara rode side by side. After them, wrapped in her silken sari, Mirri held her head as proudly as a maharani. Rajaswami, mostly recovered from the shock of seeing the burning ground, brought up the rear, carrying his white umbrella with befitting dignity.

  Though Tamar had hoped this escort would make an impressive showing, it was Ashwara's regal bearing that opened the gates. For all Adi-Kavi's declaiming and Hashkat's bold posture, Ashwara's air of authority, despite his rough garments, was enough to make the palace guards step back and bow him into the courtyard. Servants hurried to care for the horses; officers were summoned to lead him and his retinue to the audience hall.

  At the far end of the cool, high-ceilinged room, King Bala was already holding his morning durbar. Courtiers and attendants drew aside as Ashwara a
nd Tamar approached the powerfully built figure clad richly in robes of state. Gold bracelets circled his muscular arms; at his side, a jeweled sword. The warriors who stood close by the throne were grim-faced kshatriyas, glittering in polished helmets and gem studded breastplates. Bala leaned forward to observe his visitors; his pale eyes seemed to weigh and calculate. The king of Muktara, Tamar understood, was a man to be reckoned with-a man much aware that he was to be reckoned with.

  Adi-Kavi had only begun his praises of Ashwara and Tamar when Bala waved him to silence, and motioned for the suta to stand away.

  "Namaste, Lion-Eyed Ashwara." Bala stood and pressed his palms together. "I am not surprised to see you, only surprised that you did not come sooner."

  "So I would have done, Majesty," replied Ashwara, "but certain small inconveniences hindered me. Time presses now, and I must speak straight out, to make clear to you."

  "There is no need." Bala settled back on his throne. "I know why you are here. I have followed all the happenings in Ranapura with concern. It grieves me deeply to learn what befell you and your brothers."

  "Then we understand each other," said Ashwara. "Good. I count on your troops to help me defeat Nahusha. Your forces are strong, well equipped. When they join those of other kings who have pledged support."

  "Do you say 'when'?" Bala interrupted. "I say 'if' Our kingdoms have always been linked in friendship. For you yourself, I have the highest personal regard and affection. I must, however, put aside my private feelings. You ask much of me. As king of Muktara, it is my duty to ask no less of you. What do you offer me in exchange?"

  "Majesty," Tamar broke in, "you know Nahusha has done great evil. It is your duty to side against him. You have the opportunity to serve justice, for the sake of your honor as a king and a kshatriya. What more could you ask?"

  "I hear the voice of noble innocence." Bala smiled sadly. "Yes, King of Sundari, there is merit in allegiance to a worthy cause. There is also a hard question-as you may understand when you have ruled as long as I. Justice? Honor? Admirable virtues, of course. What are they worth in blood? A wise king does not spend lives for nothing.

  "Why, then, should I?" Bala faced Ashwara. "I have no quarrel with you, nor with your kinsman. What difference to me who sits on the throne at Ranapura? A kingdom is a kingdom, whoever rules it."

  With that, Bala signaled an attendant to open the door of an alcove behind the throne. A man royally garbed strode out and halted in front of Ashwara.

  "You come later than I foresaw," said Nahusha.

  13. Nahusha

  "You look well, cousin." Nahusha stood as tall as Ashwara; his smooth-shaven face was pale, the skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones, his lips thin and bloodless. "The life of an outlaw skulking in the forest appears to suit you."

  Ashwara's chin went up, but he did not deign to answer. Tamar, not only shocked to find Nahusha at the durbar, was taken aback, as well, to realize that this noble kshatriya, so splendidly robed and elegantly groomed, had sought to murder his own kinsmen and tortured to death countless others.

  "It is always a pleasure to greet you," Nahusha went on. "I would not have deprived myself of this satisfaction. I was already on my way to Muktara when Kana found me. I gather you killed two of my people," he continued, as if commenting on the weather; then said, with a cold smile, "I shall have blood in exchange for that."

  "Your warriors attacked us for no reason!" Tamar burst out. "They dishonored me and my companions. Ashwara was within his rights to defend us."

  "Is this the king of Sundari? A realm so great, its name has never reached my ears?" replied Nahusha. "Nothing here concerns you, boy. Hold your tongue or I shall have Kana bloody your nose again."

  "Do you need a servant's hand? Why not try your own?" Tamar reached for his sword, but Mirri pulled back his arm.

  Nahusha waved his long white fingers as if brushing away a gnat, and turned his eyes again on Ashwara. "And now you come like a beggar to Muktara," he said. "Where is your little wooden bowl? King Bala, in his generosity, may fling you a handful of rice and send you on your way."

  "That is for him to decide," answered Ashwara. "Do you speak of begging? Why else are you here?"

  "I do not beg, I negotiate," said Nahusha. "There lies the difference. His Majesty and I speak as king to king. You speak as nothing.

  "These are your followers?" Nahusha let an amused glance drift over Tamar and the others. "One warrior-the ugliest, most ill-favored kshatriya I have ever seen. A hired crier in a red curtain. A stripling with the arrogance to call himself a king. A spindle-shanked brahmana with an umbrella-indeed, a terrifying weapon. Oh, cousin, it grieves me to see you fallen so low."

  "I really must protest in the most vigorous terms," declared Rajaswami: Respect is a brahmana's due. His wisdom merits reverence, too.

  "It would be wisdom to take yourself off to a quiet ashrama, and far safer than consorting with my enemies. Grow vegetables, old fool," said Nahusha, "and share your sermonizing with them."

  "This fellow's very good." Adi-Kavi chuckled under his breath. "He manages to exasperate people with no effort at all. A real aristocrat."

  "In one thing, Kana misled me," Nahusha continued, "and I shall take him to task for it." He inclined his head toward Mirri. "He spoke of a beautiful gopi. He told less than the truth."

  "Lord Kana offered me room in his kennel," Mirri said. "He was too generous. Those accommodations would be more worthy of his king."

  "And for you, gracious gopi, only the palace of a maharani would be worthy. Kana was correct when he said you had a quick tongue. And, no doubt, a temper to match. I should hope so. It pleases me to tame wild creatures. Breaking them to my will presents an exhilarating challenge; in the case of a gopi, a delightful one."

  Mirri said nothing, but her tightening grip on Tamar's arm made him wince. Ready to fling fighting words at Nahusha, this time he forced himself to swallow them.

  "This is unseemly of you, Lord Nahusha." King Bala held up a reproving hand. "Your opinions of a gopi are no subject for expression in my durbar. We have a grave question to settle.

  "I welcomed Ashwara as I welcomed you, for I hope to find some way of reconciling you. Whatever has happened in the past, there are ties of blood between you."

  "Strong ties," said Nahusha, "of bad blood."

  "Still no reason to spill it needlessly," said Bala. "I ask each of you: What are you willing to do to end this quarrel?"

  "I have no desire to shed blood or spend lives," Ashwara began. "That is a cruel choice; I would turn from it if I could."

  "Say, rather," put in Nahusha, "that you have no stomach for it."

  "True, I have neither stomach nor taste for it," replied Ashwara. "I take no pleasure in killing. It is an evil karma and puts both our souls in peril. I have thought deeply, and here is my offer.

  "At first, I sought revenge," Ashwara went on, "but this was blind rage; the wrath of a man, not a king. It is against dharma. A king protects and cherishes his people. He does not lead them to destruction.

  "I give up my desire for revenge. I purge my heart of it. As for you: You sit on the throne by treachery and murder, not by rightful claim. What I say to you is this: I give up my desire for revenge, but I still seek justice. So shall you, in justice, give up a throne that was never yours."

  "Possession is its own justice," Nahusha said. "That you lost your throne is excellent proof you were not worthy to keep it."

  "I mean to have it back," said Ashwara. "Ranapura must be free of you. But this I pledge: Leave peacefully, and I will do no harm to you or any of your followers. Depart from Ranapura. Go where you please in safety, under my protection. I will not raise a hand against you.

  "Such is my offer. Refuse it and I make another pledge: I will fight you to the death. Now the choice is no longer mine, but yours."

  "Your generosity overwhelms me, cousin," replied Nahusha. "A beggar promises to spare my life? A truly noble gesture. I can offer nothing to match it. N
evertheless, I make one suggestion."

  Nahusha turned to Bala. "I came seeking your alliance on terms, I must add, highly advantageous and profitable to you. Those benefits remain the same. They will be yours if you agree to my small proposal. First, I ask no support from your troops." Bala frowned. "I do not understand. You wish nothing from me?"

  "I do not wish danger for my warriors or yours," Nahusha said. "A battle, even against a beggar, has its confusions, its mishaps. Why risk lives? I request only one: Ashwara. His brothers do not trouble me; they are nothing without him.

  "Ashwara is here at your mercy," Nahusha continued. "So, simple. Kill him. Oh-kill the others, too. They displease me. Except the gopi. I shall take her to Ranapura and allow her to enjoy my favors."

  "How dare you!" Bala stiffened on his throne. "How dare you ask me to break the law of hospitality? Under my roof, under my protection? No. I will not commit such an abomination."

  "Ashwara's life is mine, one way or another," said Nahusha. "I intended only to save a little time and inconvenience. Well, so be it. I shall deal with him myself.

  "You, cousin," added Nahusha, "are more a laughingstock than a threat. Do you care to see my opinion of you?"

  Nahusha clapped his hands. From the alcove, a servant came to give Nahusha a long chain. At the end of it, attached by a leather collar, was a monkey. The small creature had been decked out in mockery of a king's regalia: a silk robe, belted around the waist; at his side, a wooden sword; and, on his head, a gilt paper crown.

  Hashkat clenched his fists. "Nahusha's got him," he muttered between his teeth. "It's little Akka."

  "I have named him 'King Ashwara," Nahusha said, as the courtiers burst into laughter. "See how he struts and capers, and rattles his little sword. All in vain. I do with him as I please. Here, you jabbering beast." Nahusha gave a sharp tug at the chain. "Down. Lick my boots."

  Little Akka shrieked and tried to pull away. Glimpsing Hashkat, he flung himself around and clawed at his collar. Nahusha stepped closer to the frantic animal.