Mala raised an eyebrow. A thousand apologies. She curled her lip. I did not hear you address me.
Caracal was acting like a typical feline, but Mala was acting like a child. Was she really qualified to teach Dhara? Nalaka pushed away the flicker of doubt. It meant nothing. How many times had he and Mala shared exasperated laughter over Asita’s temper?
Dhara’s brow wrinkled in furious concentration. “I can’t hear anymore.” She bowed her head, crestfallen, and stared hard at her semi-opaque hands that rested one on top of the other in her lap.
Nalaka studied her. Even in her insubstantial state, he could feel her grandmother Yasodhara’s warrior spirit. The resemblance to her mother Atimaya was plain, too, and there he could sense the potential for the uncanny foresight Gautama women possessed. For she was a Gautama, like Prince Siddhartha. That must not be forgotten.
Atimaya. When they were hardly more than children they were almost lovers. It came rushing back, the taste of those youthful kisses, Atimaya’s warmth as she pulled him close, her mint-scented breath. For a few brief weeks, they’d been madly in love, until her needy desires overwhelmed him. His mother, who disapproved of the match, sent him to their kinsman Valmiki’s ashram in Varanasi. The vow of celibacy was a relief after Atimaya’s heated passion, which he could not return.
Dhara felt his gaze and looked up. “Are you angry with us for coming?”
“No. Just a little surprised, Yasodhara.”
“Please call me Dhara. Everyone does.” She began to chatter nervously. “There was a little blizzard, and I got bored in the cave and we decided to come where it was warm. And to see you. Mala talks about you often,” she finished in a rush.
“A little blizzard? Is there such a thing on Dhavalagiri’s heights?” Nalaka said with a smile.
“You’ve been to the mountain goddess?” She looked at Mala, puzzled.
“I’m familiar with your village.” He must be careful not to reveal too much. It was hard. His heart still grieved over his parents’ deaths. With his yogi’s perception, he’d seen his father’s pyre blaze and learned of his mother’s death in a more horrible fire. The power was a gift and a burden. “But Dhara, a yogi’s pupil should never be bored,” he teased, forcing lightness.
“Well, no, I wasn’t bored, really… ”
“Nonsense.” He smiled. “Mala and I know very well how tedious are the hours counting breaths and learning the nerve channels.”
“Don’t tell her our secrets,” Mala said.
“At least you had each other. Sometimes I wish Mala-ji had another student and wasn’t always criticizing me!” Dhara clamped her mouth shut and glanced at Mala.
Doubt flickered again in Nalaka’s mind. Of course, a student respected, even feared the teacher. But there was something more here. Mala’s fury could be terrifying, even for him, and he matched her in his powers.
“I don’t criticize,” Mala said. “I correct.”
Dhara tried to laugh.
“Well, I’m glad you have come. I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
“I’m glad we came, too, Nalaka-ji. I wanted to meet you, and I needed to practice traveling through the ether,” Dhara said. “You see, I did it by accident one time. Without knowing how, really. Suddenly I was just at my friend Sakhi’s house. It was burning and I got there just in time to warn her so she could escape.” There was a little quaver in her voice.
“How is Sakhi now?”
“Well, better, I think. But Nalaka-ji, do you know Sakhi?”
He sensed the time was not right to reveal he was Sakhi’s brother. “No, but I knew her parents.” That much he could say. “Now tell me about your training.”
“Oh, it’s wonderful! I’m learning all the nadis and asanas.” As she spoke, Dhara’s drifting form was now green, now blue, now opalescent as she described her training, her life in the cave, the tigress Rani’s visits. At first Nalaka was charmed with this youthful, changeable aura, but something was missing.
Pure white. All colors at once. The color of bliss, of union with atman, of the highest wisdom. Of course, she was too young to give off a completely white aura. Nevertheless, if only for brief moments, he should see signs of it around her, just as he saw it around rocks, trees, his own hand, around Caracal. It was the essence of the universe, the intelligence existing in every atom, in every object, in every being, the fundamental Mind from which creation sprang.
He turned to Mala to ask if she observed this aspect of Dhara too and perhaps had some insight to share with him. Shock immobilized him.
The world—the desert, Dhara, the cat—dissolved into blackness. Only Mala had form, and that form was red flame. The heat it gave off seared him.
“Tat tvam asi,” Dhara said.
“What?” Nalaka shook himself. Once again there was azure sky, the dunes and rocks, Caracal lying next to him, head on paws and eyes closed in order to see better, in the manner of cats.
“I said, Tat tvam asi, I am that,” Dhara repeated. “Mala taught me all about it. I’m doing well in metaphysics, she says, though it’s early in my lessons.”
If he looked at Mala, he feared everything would drop away again, that the blackness—no, not blackness but terrifying nothingness that he’d never experienced before—that the nothingness would swallow him.
But when he turned to her, Mala was sitting on the rock nearby, solid and at ease, unaware that she had been in flames, that she was a flame. She was watching her student with a critical but proud eye. Nalaka shook himself again. How odd. His nerves tingled and his stomach fluttered. The nothingness had seemed real.
Nonsense. It was the desert playing tricks on his mind. His lips twisted into an involuntary smile. How ironic, that all the hours, days, months, even years in solitary practice had brought him to such deep awareness of reality, but a few moments with Mala and her pupil and his own imagination ran away with him.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Now tell me more about your village. Are the Kolis still the best hunters in the Sixteen Clans?”
Later, after Mala and Dhara had left in a swirl of sand and atoms, Nalaka and Caracal sat admiring a fierce red sunset.
She’s a dangerous one.
Mala left her violent past behind, Nalaka responded quickly, hoping to hide the uncertainty that niggled at him.
Caracal was even quicker. No one leaves their past behind. Least of all one who committed such unspeakable acts. An evening breeze sprang up and ruffled the feathery tufts of hair on Caracal’s ears. But I wonder if she is the right guru for the girl. Who knows what evil she could plant in that young head?
Nalaka hadn’t wanted to admit he’d thought the same thing. Dhara was headstrong. What did she want from her training? Did she realize how powerful she could be? Mala had said her father indulged her, that she could be vain. She was impulsive. Do you think she could become evil? he said suddenly. His own question surprised him.
A strange question, coming from you. Don’t all you rishis believe evil is inherent in the cycle of creation and destruction?
That is a complex question…
Pah. It’s simple. You humans have only to look into your own hearts to see evil and good. But in answer to your question, no, I think her heart is good. Whether Dhara chooses to follow it, whether she even knows what her heart wants, depends.
On what?
Caracal stood, a dark outline against the sun. The red orb dropped like a stone behind the horizon, splashing purple and orange on the high wisps of clouds in the western sky. Desert night fell swiftly around them.
Ah, well, fortunately, that is not my concern. Caracal sniffed the breeze. I scent a hare. Without another word he bounded off down the rocky hill and vanished into the shadows.
The night wind rose. The ragged awning snapped one of its ties and flapped from the branch like a flag, leaving Nalaka exposed und
er the vast starry sky. There was nothing like night in the desert. Not even in the mountains could you see so many stars. He watched them until dawn tinged the east with silver.
The green-eyed suitor
Sakhi raced from the kitchen to the hall door. In the month or so since the fire, she had recovered her strength.
“Uncle Dandapani!” She stopped, breathless. Dhara’s parents were the only family she had now. Dandapani was attentive and indulgent. She had forgiven him for his neglect. “Cook said you were going up to the cave.”
“I’m taking a sack of barley.”
“Will you take a message to Dhara?” Sakhi said.
Atimaya sidled up. She pursed her lips. “A storm is coming.”
Sakhi glanced sideways at the chief’s wife. The weather was a worry, but did Atimaya want Dhara to starve up there?
Dandapani scanned the cloudless blue sky over Dhavalagiri’s peak. “Not tonight, wife. Sakhi, you know better than that.” Dandapani knelt to check his laces, tightening them over the oiled cloth that covered his leather slippers and wound up his calves. “I wouldn’t dare disturb their meditations.”
Sakhi’s shoulders slumped. Even if he would talk to them, he couldn’t ask what she was desperate to know. Had it really been Dhara there in the burning house? The only way to know was to talk to Dhara.
“Not dare?” Atimaya said, glaring at him from the doorway of the chief’s hall. “Dhara is our daughter. We haven’t seen her for over two months.”
“It’s dharma, wife.” He stood and picked up the wood frame that held the barley sack.
“Jagai is to come tonight, and Karna, to discuss purchasing the weapons Bhallika wants to sell. We’ve already ordered the goat slaughtered. What’s possessed you?” Atimaya said, exasperated. “You’ll never get back before nightfall. The snow is too deep to make good time.”
“The sun has melted much of it. There’s a clear path up the mountain’s face.”
“But Prem can go tomorrow.”
“The weather is good today. His baby still has the whooping cough.”
Atimaya pulled her shawl tighter. “You’ll freeze to death.”
“I am touched by your concern, wife,” he said as he headed up the hunter’s path. “I’ll not freeze.”
Dandapani disappeared into the trees. It had been a while since hunters had left food at the cave, but it was odd that Dandapani seemed so eager to go.
“Sakhi, dear,” Atimaya said, “we will have that feast. See to it, will you?”
“Yes. Auntie.” She tripped a little over the word. It was not as easy to forgive Atimaya as Dandapani. Nevertheless, she had learned a great deal about managing the chief’s household from Dhara’s mother, who found her an apt pupil and soon trusted her with many tasks.
One task was planning the meals with the cook. Because Atimaya and the cook fought all the time, the chief’s table had been indifferent at best, but Sakhi and the cook worked well together, and meals improved at once. She loved the work for its own sake, but even more tonight, because Bhallika would be there.
“Ah, delicious,” Bhallika said, putting down the bone he’d been gnawing on. “What a feast, Mistress Sakhi. The cook has improved much under your guidance.”
He winked at Sakhi across the low table. She flushed to the roots of her hair and forgot to acknowledge Jagai’s and Karna’s mumbled compliments.
Bhallika eased her sorrow more than anything. As she sat before her loom, he would tell her stories about the rich Sakyan kingdom and its glorious capital, Kapilavastu, or find her in the kitchen, or suggest a walk through the village, careful to avoid the burnt-out shell of her home as well as the eagle altar, which had not held a sacred fire since her father’s death. Magically, Bhallika always turned up just as she was sinking into sadness, and her spirits lifted at once.
“Sakhi.” Atimaya looked at her with a smile on her lips but cold eyes. “My dear, off with you now. It’s late. You need your rest.”
Sakhi lowered her head. To be treated like a child was humiliating, but there was still enough of the obedient Brahmin girl in her that she stood, bowed, and left.
“Tell the kitchen girl to clear this away,” Atimaya called, “and to bring more barley beer.”
Back in her room, Sakhi buried herself under the blankets and indulged in some angry tears until she drifted off.
She found herself racing down to the village altar on a moonless night. Her lungs burned as she pounded down the frozen path. Stones pierced the soles of her feet. She must stop the man from riding away. But who was he? She wasn’t certain.
The gold-trimmed hood of a dark blue cloak hid his face. The cloak’s magical cloth shimmered with stars like the night sky. He mounted a huge, blue-black horse. It reared and pawed at a snowy peak, then galloped off. She ran and ran after it, shouting with all her might. “Don’t go!”
“Wake up, Sakhi! You’re having a nightmare.”
Sakhi nearly jumped out of her skin. “Who’s there?” She sat up, and her head swiveled in the dark room. She could only see a dim yellow light down the passageway.
“Shhh. Guess.”
Sakhi gasped. “Dhara?”
Dhara swayed before Sakhi as she had the night of the fire, not quite solid, with an aura surrounding her. Sakhi rubbed her eyes.
Dhara giggled. “No, you’re not dreaming. I’m here,” she said.
Sakhi was thunderstruck. “I’m so glad!” She reached out to hug her heart’s sister, but though Dhara looked present, Sakhi’s arms encircled nothing but air. “How?”
“You wouldn’t believe the things I’m learning. I can move through the ether, like I did the night of the fire, like I’m doing now. It’s like whirling through a tunnel, with bright lights flashing on either side.”
“How come I can’t hold you?”
“I’m not good enough yet to take full form. Mala says I will be soon.”
“Oh, Dhara, I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you!”
They stared at each other. Sakhi’s cheeks were wet. There were tears like little stars on Dhara’s face. Sakhi reached out to touch them and felt only air. They both laughed and cried at the same time.
“I was so frightened for you,” Dhara said. “But Mala told me you were safe.”
“How did she know?”
“She sees things.”
“Then she could see Father was dead? She could have told you that.” Sakhi couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.
“I didn’t know until after the fire! Mala knew but didn’t want to upset me. She thought I might run back to the village.”
“Would you have?”
“I—I don’t know. To tell the truth, I hardly miss the village—except you. I don’t miss Mother at all! Sometimes I want to see Father. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you!”
“You’ll miss Dandapani. He’s on his way up—”
“Don’t be angry, please. Tell me about the man who rescued you. I saw him come up the ladder before a wind whisked me out of the fire and back up the mountain.”
“Bhallika.” Sakhi’s voice cracked. She blushed in the dark.
“Ah-ha,” Dhara said. “Is he handsome?”
Sakhi melted with relief. Dhara understood everything, without explanations. They smiled. “But how do you do this?” Sakhi asked in wonder. “You’re here, but you’re not! Father said people like Asita could do it, but only because they’ve worked for years and years.”
“I did it almost right away.” Dhara grinned. “It amazes Mala! She doesn’t say so, but I can tell. The night of the fire, I didn’t even mean to go. I didn’t know what I was doing at all. Now I know how. It has to do with the warp and weft of time, which is the loom of the universe,” she said with a serious, knowing air.
“What are you talking about?” Sakh
i said, irritated.
“It’s quite difficult to understand.”
“Try me.”
“It would take too long to explain,” Dhara said hurriedly. “Listen, I’ve gone with Mala to see another yogi in the Gandharan desert!” She shimmered in the dark. “Just like that! He has a wild cat as a friend. He tried to teach me to talk to him. His name was Nalaka.”
Sakhi sucked in a breath. That name. Could it be… ?
“Sakhi!” Dhara cocked her head. “What’s wrong?”
“The brother I never knew, the one who went away to Varanasi and never was heard of again, his name was Nalaka.”
Dhara’s eyes were wide. “You never talked about him! No one in the village ever said a word either.”
“I think it was too painful for my parents.”
“He asked me lots of questions about the village.”
“There must be lots of Nalakas.”
“That know about Dhavalagiri?”
It was too strange. It couldn’t be. Sakhi shrugged off the thought. “But how do you do it? You look sort of like a ghost. You aren’t a ghost, are you?”
Dhara laughed. “No. I’m just part of Dhara. The rest sleeps up at the cave. When I get very good at this, I’ll be solid as you. It’s something about all atoms being the same in every world in the universe.”
Sakhi shook her head. “It’s hard to believe. But I’d like it better if I could hug you and curl up under the covers. I have so much to tell you.”
“I have a better idea.” She smiled mysteriously.
“What?”
“Let’s go find your Bhallika. I’d like to see my friend’s rescuer. Where is he staying?”
The last time Sakhi and Dhara crept out of this room at night, their lives changed forever. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea. Let’s stay here, and you can tell me everything about Mala and living in her cave. Do you ever see that tigress?”
“All the time,” Dhara replied with a careless shrug. “Rani is the most amazing creature! I was afraid of her, but now mostly not.”
The Mountain Goddess Page 12