Toads and Diamonds

by Heather Tomlinson

  "Oh." Tana followed her to the edge of the pavilion.

  The sun fought the clouds. One by one, its arrows of blazing light were quenched. As if dusk had fallen early, the sky darkened. The wind, victorious, blew in earnest, scattering twigs and leaves across the surface of the tank. It tugged at Tana's and Diribani's dress wraps. They leaned against the pillar, unwilling to go into the entry pavilion and miss the cosmic drama playing overhead.

  At the distant rumbling sound, they drew closer together. Side by side, they let the wind play with their hair, whipping it around their heads. Or ears, in Tana's case. Diribani grinned at her sister. Hot, heavy air shimmered with expectation. Not yet, almost...

  CRACK!

  Lightning split the clouds. Grandfather Chelok's diamond

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  lances had bested the sun again. Diribani held her breath and Tana's hand. Her hair fanned away from her face. One, two...five. Thunder boomed, shaking the well's stone pillars. With a noise like an infinity of tiny frogs hitting the water all at once, the rains came.

  Water cascaded over them. It hissed against the well's baked stone and cooled the air instantly. Curtains of rain swept across the tank, hiding the far side. Within moments, Diribani was drenched. Her hair and dress wrap stuck to her, as sodden as if she had jumped into the well's depths again. Reveling in the sensation, she let the blinding rain wash away everything but gratitude. And hope. Having escaped from Alwar, found Tana, and greeted the rains, all in the same day, she felt anything was possible.

  "Tonight, beloved, I light the lamp," she sang softly. "Come home to me, my moonbird. Come."

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  ***

  CHAPTER THIRTY Tana

  YOU saw Naghali-ji?" children would ask Tana in later years. "What does she look like?"

  "Sometimes she comes as a beautiful queen, dripping with jewels, and tests your pride. Sometimes a sick old woman tests your compassion. And sometimes she looks like a laborer, and drives a wagon full of corpses."

  "Eeew." Her listeners would shiver in fascinated horror. "And tests what?"

  "Your sense of humor," Tana had concluded.

  It had taken her a while to understand. After a night and another day of torrential rains at the well, the skies above the tank had cleared late in the afternoon. Dark clouds faded to pale gray and then fleecy white, as if they'd been washed and hung out to dry. The sun's late rays swept the sky, showing that there were no hard feelings. Bestowing a parting gift on the clouds, the sun dyed them colors that Diribani sighed over: hyacinth and lotus, tawny

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  rose, lily yellow. Washed of their dust coating, the trees shone dark green, every leaf renewed. Puddles steamed on the wet ground. Awakening from their seasonal slumbers, insects buzzed and shrilled as the temperature climbed again. Into this gorgeous scene, misty with possibility and promise, a broad-shouldered woman in a laborer's short wrap drove a canvas-covered wagon.

  Tana and Diribani heard the oxen complaining and came out to see who it was. The driver pulled up and grinned at them. "Two pretty young ladies in reprehensible outfits. That's a picture you don't see every day."

  Tana was trying not to gag from the stench. The woman's load had the unmistakably pungent, horrible smell of decay. Her oxen, it appeared, wanted nothing more to do with their load, or the insects that followed.

  The driver didn't seem to notice. "I'm bound for the cremation field," she said in a confiding tone. "If you hadn't guessed."

  "Excuse me." Carnations fluttered from Diribani's lips. She ran to the other side of the pavilion.

  The woman raised her eyebrows at the flowers. She turned to Tana. "Got any ripe ones for me?"

  Tana breathed through her mouth. Below the disgust, another sensation tugged at her awareness. As they had just before the clouds opened, the little hairs along her skin were standing up in alarm. She would have looked up for Grandfather Chelok's diamond-lightning lances, but the danger wasn't above her; it was before her. The woman sat on the cart bench, elbows resting on her knees, dark skin and hair radiant with health. Those white teeth, when she smiled--had they been filed to points?

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  "Peace, Ma-ji." Tana folded her hands. A frog and a toad went separate ways. "We do, yes. Over here, please."

  "The toad girl and the flower girl, eh?" The woman jumped off the cart and tied her oxen to a tree a good distance from the restive camels.

  All of Tana's sense screamed at her. Fall down and beg forgiveness. Be still. Run away! She bit her lip and walked to the pavilion where she and Diribani had left Alwar's body.

  Her head lifted with a cobra's regal assurance, the corpse collector strode beside her. "Eh, he's a big one." She picked up a corner of the robe they had wrapped him in. "Give us a hand, toad girl?"

  Glad she didn't have to see the dead face again, Tana picked up the other side. The corpse's weight pulled at her arms, but together the two women managed to carry Alwar's body out to the cart. The stranger flipped up a corner of the canvas. "In we go," she said, ignoring the flies that whirled out in blinding numbers.

  Tana held her breath, shut her eyes, and pushed the body over the cart sides. It landed with a thump. The smell got worse, if that was possible. While the woman fastened the canvas, Tana went to lean against the front of the cart. She panted, sure she would never get the horrible smell out of her nose. The spectacular colors had fled the sky. Twilight descended softly.

  Diribani held a bucket under an ox's muzzle. She waited while it slurped and slobbered. The other beast had finished drinking and wiped its face on Diribani, leaving dribbles to run down the front of her dress wrap.

  When Diribani saw Tana looking at her, she shrugged. Our

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  clothes are ruined already, she seemed to be saying. "I brought another bucket," she did say aloud, and pointed with her chin.

  The ox snorted at the branch of jasmine and small stone that dropped into its water. When the creature lipped Diribani's fingers, she freed one hand to rub its forehead.

  Tana hoisted the full bucket. "May I pour for you?" she asked as the corpse collector came around the back of the cart to join them. A whip snake streaked past her, making for the shelter of the mango trees.

  "Very kind," the death woman said. She rinsed her fingers under the stream of clear water, then held out her wet hands for the bucket. "Your turn."

  Tana stretched out her palms. She had refused to be served the last time. She knew better now. Awareness, and awe, made her shiver.

  "And you, Mina." The woman crooked her finger at Diribani.

  "Thank you, Ma-ji." Tana's sister approached to hold out her own empty hands. Her face was quiet with the same reverence Tana felt, and the same fear.

  They had borne the goddess's gifts for months. How would she judge their service?

  The woman put down the bucket and rested her hands on her broad hips. The last remaining light gathered in her features. Surrounding darkness concealed all but that strong nose and chin, the high forehead and unfathomable eyes. She stretched out her arms to lay one hand on the side of Tana's head and the other against Diribani's ear. Lightly, she knocked their heads together, a she-bear cuffing her cubs. "Be good to each other." Her voice was as sweet and strong as incense. "Everyone rides with me, in the end."

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  Tana and Diribani folded their hands.

  Naghali-ji loosened the reins from the tree and vaulted into the driver's seat. "Almost forgot. This is for you." She tossed a large bag off the bench.

  Tana was so afraid of what might be inside that reaching for it required an effort of will. But Diribani had already stretched out her arms. Tana knew that, whatever the bag held, she couldn't let her sister take its weight alone. Together, they would endure it.

  The bag yielded with the soft heft of fabric. It smelled of sandalwood and rose petals.

  The goddess twitched the reins. "A couple of good-looking young men are wandering the road," she called over her shoulder. The protesting
oxen pulled their burden away from the well. "Separated from their parties by bad luck or bad weather. You might want to be dressed a little better when they arrive."

  Tana could no longer see her face, but the unforgettable voice was rich with amusement and tenderness. And power. Bad luck or bad weather? Maybe.

  "Thank you," Tana said softly. Inside, her heart was singing. Truly, the goddess had read what Tana desired. She had no doubt that one of those lost young men rode a white horse. Kalyan. She would have to ask Diribani if Zahid still rode the bay.

  "Tana!" Her sister tugged her to the doorway, where the lamps burned day and night in their niche. "What did you say?"

  "Thank you," Tana repeated. "She gave us new dress wraps, don't you think? In the bag?" And then she heard what Diribani had heard. Silence.

  She set down the bag. No snakes had slithered away from her. Frogs sang in the tank, but no toads hopped on the wet earth at

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  her feet. She touched her fingers to her lips. They felt the same as always, but the miracle had gone. A tinge of regret touched her. Swelling relief replaced it.

  "She took it away!" Diribani swept her empty hands wide. "We're ourselves again!"

  "But different," Tana suggested.

  "Better, I hope," Diribani said. "Stronger." She giggled. "Except for your hair. What will Ma Hiral say?"

  " 'Why can't you be more like your sister?'" Tana suggested. A smile pulled at her mouth. "Some things will never change. I hope." She seized Diribani's hands and whirled her in a circle.

  Ragged, barefoot, joyful, with the music of frogs and the beat of their own hearts for accompaniment, they danced.

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  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  I would like to acknowledge a great debt to Charles Perrault's story " Les Fées" ("The Fairies") and Morna Livingston's wonderful book Steps to Water: The Ancient Stepwells of India, which together supplied the premise and setting for this novel.

  Astute readers will notice a resemblance between my fictional Hundred Kingdoms and the factual Mughal Empire. During that period, between 1526 and 1858, the Indian subcontinent witnessed a great flourishing of the arts. The ruling Muslim class especially loved fine textiles, paintings, jewelry, and architecture. Thanks to skilled local Hindu and foreign-born artisans who implemented the Mughal emperors' grand projects, the Taj Mahal, Shalimar Gardens, and other sites continue to delight us today. Tana and Diribani's hometown of Gurath was modeled on Surat, a lively seventeenth-century port. Fanjandibad is what the historical fortress of Golconda might have looked like, if Agra's exquisite palaces had been magically transplanted within its walls. Trader-talk was an actual phenomenon (if not exactly as described here); diamond merchants bargained with hand signals

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  under a cloth so that rival traders couldn't overhear the prices being offered and accepted for the choicest gems.

  While these and other details were inspired by the period, I took significant liberties with the region's geography and culture to spin my tale. The two religions, in particular, are invented. Neither the vegetarian followers of the twelve gods and goddesses nor the monotheistic, white-coated Believers represent a particular faith. However, the guiding principles of nonviolence, the equality of all souls, quiet contemplation, and selfless service to others may be found across the wide spectrum of India's religious traditions, including Jainism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Sikhism, and Islam.

  For readers curious about the true-life adventures of some remarkable young women of the era, here are a few names to pursue:

  Jahanara (Mughal princess and architectural patron);

  Mirabai (Hindu mystic and poet);

  Rani Durgavati (Rajput warrior queen);

  Zeb-un-Nissa (Mughal princess and poet).

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