“I see. That would explain why I did not hitch a good horse to your gilded chariot and drive you out in style. I hope he is just as blind where I’m concerned.” Chandaka didn’t know whether he was angrier at Siddhartha or himself.
Kanthaka stopped. Siddhartha turned around in his wooden saddle. “If you’re sorry you came, you can get off now and go back on the secret path. There is nothing yet to implicate you in this.”
Chandaka said nothing, Kanthaka resumed walking. Siddhartha had just bested Chandaka at his own game; Chandaka’s pranks paled in comparison to this. “I don’t want to be at the palace when they discover you’re gone.”
“Father will have to keep his temper. My message makes it clear what will happen if he doesn’t. It will be a good lesson for him.”
“I hope his majesty appreciates that.”
Siddhartha gave a mirthless snort. Lately, the modest, obedient prince, the perfect son, had begun to challenge the king. It had culminated a few weeks before in a terrific shouting match over Queen Prajapati’s refusal to allow the prince to marry Kirsa.
The prince had refused the latest suitable bride sent by another clan, some Avanti or Chedi beauty, and insisted he would marry no one but Kirsa. The queen was furious and brought the matter to the king. At first, Suddhodana took Kirsa’s part, suggesting to Prajapati that the girl would be just one wife, and not a very important one, once they found a suitable princess more to Siddhartha’s liking.
As Siddhartha told Chandaka later, he had replied that he would be faithful to one wife or he would have no wife at all, and they would have to go to his half-brother Nanda for heirs. His father was speechless with fury.
In a way, this journey to Varanasi was more about revenge than the fulfillment of any prophecy, which made Chandaka feel a little better.
The young men had to work together to slide open the huge, thick gate at Kapilavastu’s looming walls. Like at the palace, Siddhartha had cast some enchantment, and the guards might as well have been carved from stone. Good thing the Kosalan armies were not on the move against the Sakya clan; they would have marched right into the city.
Chandaka and Siddhartha removed the padding from Kanthaka’s hooves, then cantered past the dwellings of the casteless ones on the southern side of the trade road. Chandaka’s heart was in his mouth as they rode past the wretched huts. The prince knew little about the kingdom’s poor. When he gave alms to them on feast days, he was taken to places inside the city walls where the queen’s generosity had improved conditions.
Things stank in this slum, but from the distant snowy peaks that glimmered in the north like a dream, a cool breeze blew the stench away.
Siddhartha stared at the huts, then urged Kanthaka to a gallop, more eager to get away than to explore the sight. Chandaka clung to his waist.
Soon Kapilavastu was far behind them.
The Sakyan messenger
“Preposterous. No enemy is near,” Dandapani was saying to the young Sakyan messenger. “It’s the dark of the moon. It’s a treacherous road even in daylight.”
Sakhi shivered as she entered the hall with the heavy tray. When the late spring sun set, a cold night wind blew down from Dhavalagiri’s heights where the heavy winter snows still lay deep. The cheerful fire flickering in its basin sending smoke swirling up to cedar beams blackened by years of fire.
The exhausted Sakyan was covered with mud. “The dark of the moon won’t stop them. They’ll be here by the dawn, my lord Dandapani.”
Jagai glowered. “A single rider is one thing. A whole troop is quite another.”
“What brought you here, Abhaya, that you came across these hostile Kosalas?” Atimaya asked with a cold smile.
With aching arms, Sakhi set the tray down before the messenger. “Some flatbread and barley beer,” she stammered. About a year ago She didn’t care about the Kosalan troops. What she really cared about was if Abhaya knew Bhallika.
“Thank you, Mistress Sakhi,” Abhaya said. The Sakyan grabbed a piece of bread and stuffed it in his mouth as she filled his cup with shaking hands. He gulped down the bread, drained the cup and asked for another. Dandapani waited, impassive, for an answer.
“I come from King Suddhodana himself,” Abhaya said, finishing his second cup. “He’s on his way with a full troop. He sent me ahead to ask—”
“The Sakyas are invading!” Jagai was outraged. “It’s not Kosalas we need worry about.”
Abhaya flushed.
“Let him finish,” Dandapani said. The weapons master clamped his mouth shut with a murderous look. “Suddhodana sent you ahead. Why?”
Abhaya glared back. “His majesty sent me ahead to tell you he seeks his son Siddhartha, my lord. But on my way I saw the Kosalas—”
“Prince Siddhartha?” Dandapani interrupted. Everyone looked perplexed. All three waited impatiently as the messenger took another swallow. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and continued.
“Prince Siddhartha, uh, left Kapilavastu last night.”
“Ha! The prisoner of Vishramvan Palace escaped,” Jagai said with a harsh laugh.
“Jagai.” Dandapani exhaled. “Why would he come here?”
“The king has sent men to Taxila and to Varanasi, but he feels that Siddhartha might have actually come to Lumbini Grove as a sort of pilgrimage.”
“Has he chosen the homeless path, then?” Atimaya asked. “If he has, it bodes ill for you Sakyas.”
Sakhi felt sorry for Abhaya, he looked so despairing. “Indeed, my lady,” he replied. “But you say you haven’t seen him.”
“It makes no sense that the boy would come here,” Dandapani said. “We have only one hermitage and one hermit. There are no famous sages here.”
“I tend to agree.” Abhaya looked Dandapani in the eye. “I saw no sign of the prince, but I spied a troop of Kosalas. I came to warn you.”
Dandapani studied the messenger. Something shifted in the chief. “Might the Kosalas have captured your prince?” he asked sharply.
“They would have been boasting about it if they had.”
“How many are they?”
“Perhaps fifty. Some mounted. Their horses—like mine—were having trouble in your rough terrain, so they will move slowly. How many warriors do you have?”
The chief and Jagai looked at each other. “Maybe a hundred who can fight,” Dandapani said.
“All warriors?”
“All brave,” Dandapani said, “with knowledge of this terrain; our best ally. The mountain goddess protects us.”
“She is impressive, but how is she with a bow?”
Dandapani gave a humorless laugh. “Point taken.”
“I learned something about their intrusion, Chief Dandapani.”
Dandapani leaned forward. “Tell me.”
“They seek Angulimala.”
Sakhi suppressed a gasp. Angulimala?
“I knew it,” Jagai said. “She is no yogi.”
“So the rumors are true,” Abhaya said. “The outlaw queen is at Dhavalagiri’s sacred cave.”
“You see what your yogi has brought us.” Atimaya hissed like a cat.
The chief rose. “The Kosalas won’t find it easy to reach the cave, but I don’t want to take the risk. My daughter is her student.”
Abhaya looked stunned. “That evil woman?”
“She is an accomplished yogi.”
Abhaya shook his head. “Whatever Angulimala is, you must move fast. They had planned to move tonight so as to reach the village unseen by morning.”
“Get the men together,” Dandapani said to Jagai, rising and reaching for his newly sharpened sword. “We’ll give them a surprise when they get here. You have rendered the Kolis a great service tonight, Abhaya.”
Abhaya bowed. “My lord. I offer my sword and bow.”
“Thank you,” Dandapani sai
d. “Please, eat while I gather my men.”
Dandapani whirled and strode from the hall. Atimaya jumped up and followed him, leaving Sakhi alone with the young Sakyan.
“Mistress Sakhi, I’m glad we have a moment alone.” He eyed her over the rim of the bowl and took a swallow. “I have something to tell you.”
Her heart started to race.
“It’s about my friend Bhallika. He’s spoken of you.”
Sakhi hoped the firelight would hide her flush. “He has?”
“I saw him not a week ago at the courtesan Addhakashi’s mansion,” Abhaya said. “Just as he was heading to Varanasi on some business. Afterward, he said, he was going to Koli territory to take a bride.” He paused to drain his cup.
“Why are you telling me this?” She poured him more barley beer.
Abhaya drank deep. When he finished, he put the cup on the tray and stood up. “I would not have said anything, except for what I saw on my way here. I hope Bhallika will find you alive after tomorrow, Mistress Sakhi.”
“Our warriors are brave.”
“I have no doubt, but the Kosalas have better weapons and are seasoned fighters.”
“But Dandapani and his men have fought many battles.”
“Not with such opponents. The Kosalas are known to use sorcery.”
“No Arya clan would do that.”
Abhaya shook his head. “Is Dandapani as naïve as you? Or is he prepared for such a thing?”
Her father’s words came to her from long ago: “Our shaman wouldn’t know what to do with a demon if he conjured one.” There were other, more powerful sorcerers who would. A stone settled in her stomach.
“I don’t think he is,” she said.
Abhaya handed her his cup. “I hope you will live, but I must warn you,” he smiled, “you will face a foe that in some ways may be more vicious and dangerous than the Kosalas.” His lips wore a strange smile.
“What?”
Abhaya tilted her chin up. “Some of the loveliest and noblest women in Kapilavastu want him for a husband. He’s the richest merchant in the kingdom. They’ll claw your eyes out.”
She clenched her fists. Let them try. “I can defend myself!”
He laughed. “If we both live through this, I promise I will be at your service.”
“Abhaya,” Dandapani called. “Let’s be off.”
Outside, the armed warriors and villagers waited, the breath of men and horses rising in faint white clouds.
“Karna and Rajesh will take the third watch at the gates,” Dandapani was saying to Jagai. “Prem and his father, too. They have the eyes of hawks and can hear a rabbit twitch its ears. Now, Atimaya, here is our plan,” he said. Dandapani trusted her judgment in these matters. She was vain and selfish but had learned tactics and strategy at the knee of her father, the old chief. “Abhaya and I will take the hunter’s paths up the slopes as far and as fast as we can. When the horses can go no farther, he will stay with them, and I’ll continue on foot to retrieve Dhara.”
Atimaya’s eyes locked on his. “And that woman?”
“She knows how to fight. Jagai will take these men and hide in the forests outside the gates. Karna’s arrows will stop them at the walls.”
“But must Jagai take so many warriors? If the Kosalas make it to the gates we might need them inside.”
“They won’t.” The chief paused. The usual angry scorn was absent from the look he gave her. “I will bring her back, wife.”
Atimaya’s lips trembled. She straightened her back. “We will defend the village, husband.”
Without another word, Dandapani and Abhaya strode up the hunter’s path and disappeared into the darkness.
Sakhi’s blood was singing in her ears. She had never seen all the Koli warriors preparing to fight at once. No other clans had ever sent such a large troop into their wild, difficult territory.
She went into the empty hall, closed the oak door, and slid the bolt. Her legs crumpled under her and she slid down the wall to the floor, dizzy and weak. Bhallika was coming for her. Would she live to see him?
Rani’s tale
It was the dark of the moon. By the light of thousands of stars, Dhara kept watch alone. She sat behind two long boulders that leaned on each other and the mountain, just a little above the cave entrance. The boulders hid her from anyone who might approach.
Earlier, Rani had said she scented Kosalas, but Dhara said they would never come so far into Koli territory. Besides, crossing the swamps before the spring melt subsided was almost impossible.
Mala was inclined to agree. “But you will stand watch, Dhara.” If she saw anyone, she was to give a sharp whistle to wake Mala and Rani.
The boulders couldn’t shelter her completely from the bitter night wind; an occasional frigid gust beat about her ears. Stars twinkled like ice in the black, limitless depths of the sky. An hour ago, she was bursting with pride that Mala trusted her enough to give her the third watch of the night, but now the cold made her wish she was back in the cave. She centered herself, trying to generate tapas to get warm. The cold was a terrible distraction, but at least it kept her awake.
Think of the stillness and silence as you waited for the pheasant to break. Then your tapas will rise.
Dhara spun around. The tigress sidled up next to her. Dhara nestled against Rani’s warm flank.
Think of the way you saw through my eyes. It will sharpen your vision, too, Dhara. This wind may hide an enemy’s sound and smell, so we must keep careful watch.
Dhara did feel she could see into the shadows. They watched without communicating for a time. Do you see anything? She had grown more proficient in sending her thoughts.
No.
Perhaps you didn’t scent any Kosalas.
Perhaps.
Conversing with Rani was a good way to stop thinking about the cold. It still amazes me that we speak like this. I can do it, but I’m not sure how.
I know the weave of your thought patterns in the cloth of the great Mind, so to speak. I can seek it out to converse with you. Mala speaks this way with her guru Asita and with Nalaka.
But how? And why doesn’t Mala speak with me silently, like this?
I can do it because I studied you in the cave, as you listened to Mala-ji teach, and when you did your practices and meditations. When I took you on our hunt a few days ago, I was able to pull your mind in by a thread.
Dhara was puzzled. I don’t know what yours looks like.
There are a few things Mala-ji must yet teach you. She doesn’t speak to you this way for your sake. If you don’t know how to protect yourself, it can be very dangerous to join a human mind.
But not an animal mind?
We do not want power over you. Rani sniffed the air.
Dhara scanned the trees for any unusual movement. Do you smell something?
No. It is safe for now. We can let Mala-ji sleep a little longer.
Why do you call her Mala-ji, Rani? You’re much more powerful than I, much more her equal.
I think you should address her as Mala-ji. She’s in too much of a hurry with you! Perhaps she has her reasons. If you like, I will tell you my story. It might help you understand why I address her as Mala-ji. And it will certainly distract you from the cold…
I don’t know how many times the wheel of birth, death, and rebirth has turned for me, Rani began.
Only humans have the ability to attain those dizzying spiritual heights where a seeker can see each of her countless existences.
One thing I do know: I love a tigress’s solitary life. Many tigress lifetimes ago, I served the dazzling young warrior goddess Durga. She rode me into war and on the hunt, and together we became famous for our skill and bravery—so much so that it became difficult to find man or beast that stood a chance against us. Whole armies threw down their weapons before the b
attle began, and even the largest and most powerful animals did not run but prostrated themselves before us, offering their necks for my fangs.
A thrilling existence. Not all are.
One day Durga and I heard Indra’s conch echo over the Land of the Roseapple Tree. We followed the sound to Himalaya’s kingdom, where Indra made ready to address the celestials. Mounted on my back, Durga took her place at the rear with the younger divinities.
The king of the gods spoke. “The buffalo demon Mahisa has tricked Brahma the Creator into giving him magic powers that make him invincible. His rages threaten all the worlds. My Maruts and I have faced him in battle to no avail.”
The gods murmured and looked around at Indra’s companions. His divine warriors all bore bloody wounds and were bereft of their usual arrogance, shifting from one foot to another with averted eyes.
The assembly was silent. I sensed Durga’s impatience. She wanted to offer her services, but I suspected she was waiting for the right moment, not wishing to appear brash.
Finally Agni spoke. “What’s to be done?” His fire crackled and snapped with fear.
“It’s obvious,” Sarasvati said. “We need the Destroyer.” The assembled gods murmured their agreement.
“I’ll seek Shiva on Mount Kailash and ask for his help,” Indra said.
What a frightened little mob the celestials looked, shuffling up the stone stairs behind Indra to the Lord of Yoga’s cave. I bounded ahead with Durga on my back. We found the matted-hair ascetic seated just outside his cave, deep in his austerities, his three eyes closed in profound meditation. We stopped a respectful distance away.
Moments later, Indra arrived with the gaggle of gods puffing behind him. They hung back as he approached Shiva. “Auspicious One!” Indra said, bowing over his joined palms. “We need your help.”
The Lord of Yoga opened one of his three eyes and let out a stream of curses that rocked the very mountain on which we stood. “You dare disturb me?” Shiva said. “I’ll turn you to ashes with my third eye.”
All stepped back, even proud Indra. Not for nothing was Shiva called the Destroyer. A few ages back, he had reduced Kama to ashes when the love god hit him with an arrow. Durga and I, however, stepped closer to where Shiva sat on his black antelope skin.
The Mountain Goddess Page 15