"Goodness me!" cried Rajaswami. "Why ever would you do a thing like that?"
Before Tamar could explain, the bear pricked up his ears. There was the sound of hoof beats. By instinct, Tamar reached for his sword. It was not at his side; he had borne no weapon since he had been at the hermitage.
"Still more travelers? How curious to have so many all at once." Jamba-Van lumbered out to the veranda. Tamar, uneasy, stepped after him. Hashkat and Akka came running from behind the stable.
Two men had dismounted in the dooryard. Their horses had been hard-ridden, legs and flanks streaked with mud. The riders were dressed much alike in stained cloaks, long skirted tunics, and leather leggings. They carried swords at their sides and curved knives in their belts. One seemed Tamar's age; the other, a few years older. Both were fair haired, fine-featured, with gray-blue eyes. Their faces were as weather beaten as huntsmen's; but, by their bearing, they were clearly kshatriyas despite their coarse garments.
The elder, with a short, reddish-yellow beard, moved in confident strides to Tamar. "Namaste, King of Sundari. I am Kirin. This is my brother, Skanda. Your trail led us to this ashrama."
"Lucky to find you still here," added Skanda. "We expected you'd have left by now. This shortens our search."
"Why seek me?" Tamar demanded. "Who are you? Speak quickly. I make ready to leave without delay."
"Allow us to delay your journey a little longer," replied Kirin. "You are a friend to our eldest brother, and so we are friends to you. You know his name: Ashwara."
Tamar brightened, surprised that he had not seen the family resemblance immediately. "Is he well? Safe?"
"He is well." Kirin gave a hard smile. "Safe? Ashwara is never safe. He sends all of you his greetings; and, to you, a message."
"Rest yourselves and your horses. I'm sure that Jamba-Van." Tamar nodded to the bear "will gladly offer you hospitality while I gladly hear Ashwara's words."
Kirin shook his head. "Time presses on us, as it presses on you. Ashwara says only this: 'Come to me in Chandra-gar."
22. Kirin and Skanda
"A shwara spoke to us of your journey," Skanda said. "You'll not be much off your path. Chandragar is by the Sabla River, the course you should follow in any case."
"Did he say no more?" Tamar asked. "Why does he wish me to go there?"
"He told us little," replied Kirin. "His thoughts are his own, and it is best that he himself explain them."
"Ashwara is my friend," Tamar said. "For the sake of friendship, I will do as he bids me."
Mirri glanced uneasily at Tamar, but said nothing against his decision and set about packing her saddlebags. For Hashkat and Adi-Kavi, there was no question. They would ride to Chandragar, and Akka insisted on doing likewise. Rajaswami accepted the plan with resignation. Garuda took no pains to hide his own opinion:
"I thought we'd seen the last of that lion-headed, big toothed forest-lurker. Now he's pounced on us again! Just when I was getting a little of my strength back. Shmaa! Some people have no consideration."
Tamar again urged the brothers to come inside, whispering that Jamba-Van was more learned than most brahmanas but not one to be lightly crossed. So, in spite of the delay, Skanda and Kirin accepted the refreshments the bear set out for them.
When they could stay no longer, Jamba-Van ransacked his larder for provisions enough to fill all their saddle packs. He embraced his parting visitors and waved a paw at Garuda.
"Your ashrama suits me better than my palace," Tamar said. "I'll remember it dearly-and its hermit."
"Remember, as well," said Jamba-Van, "to look for truth behind truth."
"I hope I know it if I see it," Tamar said.
"Honored colleague," said Rajaswami, as the bear hugged him enough to make the acharya's bones crack, "I am confident that karma, one day, will lead our paths to cross. We still have an infinity of theories to discuss."
"Whatever shape infinity may be," replied the bear, "it offers not enough time for your edifying discourses."
"Nor for your own." Rajaswami dabbed an eye with his scarf Regaining his usual cheeriness, he added, "We must, however, look on the bright side: Friends who part in deepest sadness Meet again in greatest gladness."
Tamar rode out from the ashrama as if leaving home for the second time. They adored their brother. Tamar understood that from the moment they set off for Chandragar. As they made their way toward the Sabla, Kirin and Skanda talked of little else. Skanda's boyish features lit up whenever he spoke of Ashwara. Of the two, he was the more eager: bright-faced and high-spirited, laughing easily, shrugging off the dangers and hardships they had suffered as hunted fugitives; Kirin, the more intense, with lightning flashes in his eyes when he recalled Nahusha's treachery and the blazing trap set for them. Skanda told happily of his boyhood, of Ashwara teaching him swordplay and archery; Kirin, of Ashwara's nobility and wisdom as king of Ranapura. Yet, for all their differences in temperament, they worshiped him equally.
"He saved our lives twice," Skanda said, when Tamar asked to know more of their escape from the pleasure cottage where Nahusha was sure they would burn to death. "First, when Kana set the torch to the oil-soaked timbers. We had been warned by a loyal retainer, but almost too late, for the doors had been bolted from the outside. Ashwara, even with flames bursting all around us, made us wait calmly until one of the walls had nearly burned away. Then, by sheer strength, he broke a passage through it. Kirin and I were choking and blinded by the smoke. Ashwara dragged both of us to open air and hid us amid the foliage."
"The second time," Kirin added, "was when we sought a way of eluding Nahusha's warriors. Knowing we still lived, Nahusha set his men on watch, to slay us before we could escape into the forest."
"Had they caught us, they'd have killed us out of hand," put in Skanda. "But Ashwara struck on a bold plan. He disguised the three of us as holy beggars. Not difficult. We were already half naked. We streaked our faces with ashes and covered our heads in rags, and trudged barefoot from Ranapura. None hindered us; such saintly wanderers were a common sight. They deserved reverence and their persons were inviolate."
"And so we made our way quietly, almost to the edge of the forest," Kirin said. "But there, in our path, stood a handful of warriors on the alert, casting hard eyes on all who passed.
"We could not turn aside, for they had already seen us. To flee-that surely would have betrayed us. To fight-we were weaponless and outnumbered. And so Ashwara whispered to us to keep on our way and be silent. Indeed, as we came up to the warriors, they looked at us not with suspicion but with scorn. To their discredit, they showed neither respect nor reverence, and had only mocking laughter and coarse words for our tattered garments and humble bearing."
"Ashwara made no reply to their taunting," Skanda said, "but I can tell you my blood was boiling. Ashwara had warned us not to speak, but I could scarcely hold my tongue. It was all I could do to keep from cursing them and throwing myself at their throats. Because, you see, we knew these men and had trusted them. Now they were among the ones Nahusha had corrupted to turn against us. Standing there was a warrior named Rasha, who had been one of Ashwara's own troop captains.
"Instead of trying to pass by, Ashwara went up to them. Head bowed, eyes to the ground, he held out his hands and silently begged for alms.
"What must it have cost his warrior's pride?" Skanda shook his head. "Abasing himself to those traitors? I couldn't have forced myself to do it."
"He had to," Kirin explained. "Otherwise-a beggar who doesn't beg? It would surely have roused their suspicions. This was our most dangerous moment. No man has ever judged me coward, but I confess my heart was in my mouth. It raced through my mind that, if recognized, we could only sell our lives dearly.
"Rasha barely gave us a glance, but reproached his comrades for mocking us. Then he reached into his purse and took out a coin.
"One of his fellows burst out laughing. 'The smallest coin of the realm! Are you sure you can spare it?
"Rasha only shrugge
d, and threw it to the ground. Ashwara, ever silent, bent and picked it up from the dust, and bowed his gratitude. The warriors motioned for us to be gone. And we passed by.
"As we did, Ashwara said under his breath:
"O Rasha, you betrayed me. Even so, for the sake of the coin you flung me, when I come again into my kingdom I vow to spare your life."
23. At the Gates of Ranapura
A few days later, they reached the woodlands at the outskirts skirts of Chandragar. Gayatri suddenly reared. As if out of thin air, two warriors sprang across their path, bows drawn. Recognizing the brothers, who spoke briefly to them, the sentries saluted Tamar and waved him on, with Mirri and the others trotting after. Only little by little, as he glanced around, did Tamar notice chariots hidden by foliage, stacks of weapons and gear set amid the brush so as to be nearly invisible. Warriors sat in the shadows along the forest track, sharpening swords and knives, waxing bowstrings, trimming the feathers of arrows.
When Tamar spoke admiringly of how cleverly the camp had been disposed, and how Darshan himself would have been impressed, Adi-Kavi nodded agreement, then sniffed the air and grimaced.
"Better than any I've seen," remarked the suta. "It's the smell I don't like: trouble. Something bloody's in the wind."
A little farther on, Ashwara awaited them. No tent had been pitched, only a sort of lean-to covered with branches. Ashwara went to embrace them as they dismounted. His lion eyes brightened with pleasure. "I see you have gained another companion." He nodded his tawny head at Akka. "I wish to hear how you rescued him. First, I thank you for turning from your journey. You will not be long delayed. To speak straight out:
"My brothers and I have done well, but not quite as well as I hoped," Ashwara said, beckoning all to sit around him in the shelter. "The king of Chandragar supports my cause with troops and equipment. Skanda and Kirin have convinced other smaller kings to join us. Since Bala chose to take neither side, as you remember, my forces nearly equal Nahusha's. Some you see here." He gestured toward the warriors scattered throughout the woods. "Still more are gathering closer to Ranapura."
"Then you have enough strength to challenge Nahusha and defeat him," Tamar said. "I could not wish better news."
"I said my forces were nearly equal," Ashwara replied, "which means they are not sufficient. Until they are, it would be rash to challenge him. My strength here is at its limit. I must seek more elsewhere. With added troops, my plan will be set, the last gap filled. Without them, if I am forced to give battle, I risk losing all. In either case, this is my only chance. This is my karma. Opportunity will not be given again.
"I do not speak to you now as friend to friend," Ashwara continued, "but as king to king. I ask you one question: Will Sundari join me and give the troops I need?"
"And I, no king, speak to you as friend to friend," Tamar answered. "Before Bala's durbar, I told you my commander, Darshan, would put Sundari's army at your orders if I wished him to do so. That was my pledge then, and my pledge now."
"My question is answered," said Ashwara. As Tamar listened closely, Ashwara detailed his need for light cavalry, foot soldiers, archers, spearmen, and warriors skilled in fighting from chariots. They would, he explained, be his strong reserves, joining his own people only out of necessity. "If all goes as I intend, they will not be ordered into the fray; but I must have them armed and ready. In the heat of battle, even the best-laid plans go adrift. Sundari's warriors will be my firm anchor. Without them, the tide may turn either way.
"Let them come in all haste," Ashwara went on. "They should follow the Rana River. The valley lands are gentle. Your troops can move swiftly through them, and join Skanda in the plains east of Ranapura. He will see to their deployment, and report their arrival to me."
"I will write that order in my own hand to Darshan. He will recognize that it comes from me," Tamar replied. "Choose your fastest galloper to carry it."
"The time it takes a horseman to reach Sundari is empty time," put in Mirri. "Days spent in his travel added to days for the army to reach you."
"You calculate as shrewdly as a moneylender or a general," Ashwara said fondly, "but, clever gopi, you tell me nothing I do not know. I am a miser of time; I hoard it and begrudge every wasted moment; yet, I spend it as I must."
"If you're a miser," Mirri replied, "you'd rather save it, wouldn't you? You can send your message a dozen days faster."
Ashwara laughed. "What do you propose? Have you some magical chariot, as the old tales tell?"
"No," Mirri said. "We have an eagle."
All eyes turned on Garuda, who had come to roost in of the lean-to. The bird gaped in horrified disbelief, then burst out: "Waa! Don't look at me. I have my own troubles. Me? Go sailing across the country? I'm surely not such a fool."
"You're an eagle nonetheless," Mirri said. "You're stronger now than when you were nesting in that thorn bush. Your tail feathers are growing back beautifully."
"You really think so?" Garuda said, with a melting glance at Mirri, then hurriedly added, "No, no. Stranger's got nothing to do with it. My nerves are unraveled; my head's addled as a year-old egg. Shmaa! You're all quick at finding ways to unsettle me."
"You did bravely at Nahusha's camp," Mirri reminded him. "A mistake," Garuda snapped. "I've regretted it ever since."
"No, you didn't," Mirri said. "You were proud of yourself. I was proud of you, too."
"That was different. From here to Sundari and back? Alone? The empty sky? The cold? The wind? The silence? Not a word of cheer? You've no idea how that can tie knots in a bird's mind." Garuda rolled his eyes. "No. Oh, no. Wheedle, wheedle, wheedle. I'm not up to it."
"You won't be by yourself," Akka suddenly broke in. "I'll go with you."
"Eh?" Garuda blinked. "You would?"
"You'll carry me on your back," Akka pressed, "the way we flew around the ashrama. We had grand times, didn't we?"
"We might have." Garuda hunched his wings. "So, all right, there was the odd moment of enjoyment." He clacked his beak thoughtfully. "That could put a different light on the matter."
"You'll let me, won't you?" Akka turned an eager face to Hashkat. "You know it's important. Fun, besides."
"We didn't save you so you could go careening through the air on a flying dust mop," Hashkat said. "On the other hand, what I let or don't let hasn't much weight with the Bandar-loka. I won't call it a good idea, but it's not a completely bad idea. Very well. Go with the old buzzard. Have a care. You'll be looking out for him as well as yourself."
While Akka capered gleefully, Garuda flew to Mirri's lap and bent his head to be scratched. Tamar said to Ashwara: "I'll write the order to Darshan; and, to be doubly sure, another for a horseman to carry. Garuda can leave as soon as I've done."
"It's nearly sundown," squawked Garuda. "I'm an eagle. Shmaa! You think I'm an owl?"
Mirri urged him to make the most of what light remained. Garuda finally muttered agreement. Tamar, finishing his message, rolled up the page and tied it securely to Garuda's leg. Rajaswami came to beam his blessings while Mirri, for a last time, stroked the bird's wings.
"If I were smaller and lighter," said Adi-Kavi, clapping a hand on Akka's shoulder, "I'd be curious to take an air voyage. That's one of the few things I haven't done."
"Something I want to tell you," Garuda said to Tamar, as the monkey climbed astride the bird's back. "You keep this in mind."
"I know." Tamar grinned at him. "I owe you." All watched as Garuda and his passenger took flight, soaring above the treetops into the crimson streaks of sunset. That night, there was no sound of Garuda singing himself to sleep.
Ashwara, next morning, ordered his warriors to break camp and take up positions closer to Ranapura, and thus be battle ready as soon as Tamar's troops arrived. Tamar ventured to ask the reason for Ashwara's decision.
"You're well hidden here," he said. "Will you risk letting Nahusha's scouts see your people on the march? And yourself as well?"
"Nahusha knows exac
tly where I am," said Ashwara. "I am safer now than I have been. He will wait until he and I come face to face. Kill me? He will prefer to take me alive.
"And you," Ashwara went on, "I thank you and wish you well. Your eagle will find you easily before you have gone far."
"Gone far? How so?" Tamar said. "I stay and await my troops. Did you think otherwise? If I order my warriors into harm's way, how can I not be with them?"
"There is no need," said Ashwara.
"There is every need," replied Tamar. "I abandoned my people once. I will not do so again when they are in danger. I start for Mahapura when your cause is won, not before."
Ashwara glanced around at Mirri and the others. "Leave us. The king of Sundari and I have hard truths to speak."
"There are no truths that cannot be spoken in front of us all." Tamar took Mirri's hand. "Say what you wish."
"Then understand this," Ashwara began. "It is agreed: I do not commit your troops to battle unless I have no other choice; but, if I must, I will not hesitate, cost what it may."
"As you have said. In any event, I lead my own men. This is as it should be."
"Is it?" returned Ashwara. "Tell me one thing: How often have you commanded warriors in battle?"
"Never." Tamar flushed. "Why ask? Do you question my courage to do so?"
"I question your knowledge. I will not have officers around me who are untried and unseasoned. The stakes are too high, the danger too great. For me. And for you."
"I question your opinion of me, but not my duty to my people. I lead them. My right. My obligation as a kshatriya. You will not deny me."
The two men had been standing face to face. Tamar's blood ran hot and cold. He could not believe he had dared to gainsay Ashwara as a military commander, or to show anger to him as a friend. For an instant, he half expected the lion-eyed warrior to draw sword and challenge him. His hands trembled. His gaze did not waver. Ashwara's golden features hardened. He said nothing for many moments. When he answered, his voice was icy:
"Lead your troops, King of Sundari. As you demand. Only hear me well. You will command them, but you will obey my orders. Precisely. To the letter. No question. No complaint. You have spoken. I have spoken. So be it."
The Iron Ring Page 13