Dhara’s mind wandered. For ordinary eyes, it wasn’t much of a view from Jayasena’s temple. Just treetops. Maybe a glimpse of the queen’s enormous lotus pond and the rambling palace through breaks in the green to her left, of Kapilavastu’s mansions to the right. The wide king’s road disappearing into the city. But Dhara’s eyes were not ordinary. It must be that some of the eagle’s keen eyesight had stayed with her. If she looked hard enough toward Himalaya’s kingdom, Dhavalagiri’s peak was visible through the haze.
Perhaps. It could be some other mountain.
“Three days a week, you’ll go to the practice field,” Nalaka continued. “The martial preceptors will take turns with bow, sword, and… Dhara, are you listening?”
“What? I’m sorry. It’s so hard to concentrate. Everything is so new.”
“Three days a week, you’ll come here for my teachings. Afternoons, you’ll attend the royal ashram for instruction in strategy, statecraft, or one of the other disciplines. The prince has had excellent instruction in these sciences already… ”
Nalaka’s voice faded. It was hard to concentrate because Siddhartha was not there. He had to attend a royal council. She’d come alone, with a guard. Dhara knew the way to Jayasena’s temple; she and her prince had come to listen to Nalaka’s teachings every day since their arrival a week ago. There was no danger whatsoever, but the queen still insisted she needed an escort. Dhara despised her silly maids and wouldn’t have them, which resulted in a spat between her and Her Majesty Prajapati. In the end, there was a stalemate and a warrior was assigned to her. Not a young, handsome one from among Siddhartha’s companions, like that Satya with those cloudy grey eyes who was already in love with her. She’d seen that look on the faces of the boys at home. The creaky old warrior who guided her, whose name she had already forgotten, was asleep under a tree nearby and no protection at all. Dhara wondered if she should say something to the queen.
“… so you will have some catching up to do, but I feel your natural ability… ”
Dhara yearned for Siddhartha to arrive.
“Dhara.” Nalaka let out an exasperated sigh. “I can’t believe this is how you attended to your lessons with Mala.”
“I heard everything you said!” Dhara bit her lip. “Most, anyway. With Mala, I listened. Truly. Except at first. There was so much to explore up on Dhavalagiri, it was hard. Like it is here. Oh, Nalaka,” she said, trying not to cry, “what do you think happened to Mala?”
Nalaka unfolded his legs and shifted to a more comfortable position, smoothing the folds of his robe. He looked as comfortable in the simple, fine clothing the queen provided him with as he had looked in his desert rags. “I wish I knew. But since I don’t, I will make good use of my time until she sends a sign.”
Dhara blinked back the tears. “I can’t wait until Sakhi gets here.”
“A good yogi takes the seat of patience and faces anything with equanimity. Ah. There is your prince.”
Every other thought disappeared. Dhara jumped up and ran to him. The now familiar joyful smile lit up his face. “I couldn’t wait to see you,” he said as they embraced.
She looked into his eyes and laughed. “You just saw me an hour ago.”
“Was it only an hour? I thought it was a whole day of Brahma, and a day of Brahma is like a thousand years of any ordinary god’s life, and a day of a god’s life is like a thousand years of our mortal life.”
“Stop! I don’t have a head for numbers.” She leaned against his chest. “But Sakhi does. She’s wonderful.”
“I can’t wait to meet her.”
“I can’t wait to see her.”
“I, too, am eager to meet my sister,” Nalaka called, “but we have work to do.”
Their daily routine started. In their separate rooms, they woke at the same moment, and each knew the other was awake. On alternate days, it was on to the practice field. To Siddhartha’s delight, from the very first, Dhara bested most of his companions with bow and sword and knife. Those who hadn’t fallen in love with her when she first arrived resented her proficiency. They came around after she fell off the horse—Swift—that Siddhartha gave her. It was a terrific tumble that sent her sprawling. Her detractors laughed. Siddhartha rushed toward her, but she waved him away, gathered her bow and scattered arrows, mounted Swift again right away, and hit the spinning cock’s eye at a full gallop. They all cheered, and from then on she was everyone’s darling.
When it was a day for a lesson from Nalaka, they rose in the cool dawn and took the path to the temple. Dhara liked listening to Nalaka. He had studied the Vedas with his father and while a student at Valmiki’s ashram had learned much about the six schools of philosophy and heard sages speak about the Forest Teachings. His knowledge was much broader than Mala’s, and she found it interesting, though she wished there were more stories and fewer lectures. When she asked questions, Siddhartha looked at her with admiration—then her head started to spin and she forgot to listen to Nalaka’s answers.
One evening, when she arrived at the king’s chambers for the family’s dinner, Siddhartha wasn’t there. The king and queen were reclining at either end of a low mahogany table that was polished to a high gloss. Prajapati’s children Sundari and Nanda sat on one side, and Dhara and Siddhartha always sat facing them. The way Sundari looked at Dhara made her hesitant to touch her food. Next to the princess, she always felt like a rough Koli girl. She didn’t know if she could make it through the meal without her prince’s reassuring presence next to her.
“Your majesties,” Dhara said, bowing.
“Sit,” the king said, and continued to listen to a messenger who was whispering something in his ear.
Dhara sat down, cross-legged, and almost reached for a platter, then hesitated, looking around the table. No one else had food in their bowls. “Act like a princess,” her mother had always told her, but eating at a king’s table was not something her mother had taught her how to do. Dining in the king’s chambers was nothing like eating in her father’s hall, where she could stick her hunting knife into the steaming kettle of stew or grab a rib and gnaw on it like a puppy. Here there were little bowls filled with scented water; a myriad of dishes and more bowls with pure white rice, and yet more bowls with sauces that went with particular foods. As usual, Dhara had no idea which went with which, and Sundari was watching, waiting for her to make a mistake. Since the first disastrous dinner when she’d done everything wrong, she’d found the best strategy was to watch the queen and imitate her. Prajapati, as usual, was working on official business, reading a scroll. Dhara put her hands palm up in her lap.
When the messenger finished, the king waved him away. “I’ll discuss it with General Sukesa when he returns. Damned Kosalas,” he muttered after the messenger had gone. “This is the sort of thing Angulimala could have handled. By the gods, where is the woman?”
Prajapati looked up when the outlaw queen’s name was mentioned. Her jaw tensed, but otherwise she was impassive. “Nalaka has no knowledge of her whereabouts,” she said in a neutral voice. She put aside the scroll and nodded to everyone. “Eat, children.”
Dhara reached for some rice and caught the eye of Sundari, who was watching her with a knowing smile. “Dhara, what do you know of your former guru?”
“My guru Mala helped rescue Siddhartha,” Dhara said, raising her chin. “Alas, I don’t know her whereabouts either.”
“Speaking of Siddhartha,” Sundari said, smirking.
“Sister,” Nanda said. “Leave it.”
Prajapati raised her head. “Yes, speaking of Siddhartha, where is he?” She frowned at Sundari. “You know something, daughter.”
Sundari’s eyes opened wide, round and innocent. “Oh, Mother. I wasn’t supposed to tell, but he’s gone to the grove. I believe Kirsa sent for him.”
Nanda nudged her. “Why do you always want to cause trouble?”
Th
e queen’s nostrils flared. Dhara’s heart fell. Kirsa. He was with Kirsa.
“Send for him,” the king said, breaking the silence, and a servant glided out.
Humiliated, Dhara rose and left the room, feeling everyone’s eyes on her back.
When she got back to her room, the maids were asleep in the antechamber. Dhara tiptoed past, threw herself onto the low bed, and stifled her sobs in her pillows. Everything had been so promising, then this. He had told her they’d never been lovers. She wondered if he’d lied, if he really loved Kirsa, if she had been blind.
No. He loved Dhara. She sat up. She knew he loved her. She loved him. She had to do something to show him.
She dried her eyes. She would go to him. Give herself to him. Show him her love.
The idea made her tremble with excitement. She smiled. If Sakhi were here, she would try to discourage her. She could almost hear Sakhi speak the words: “You’re a virgin, Dhara! Don’t even think about making love before you’re married!”
She slipped out of bed, padded silently past the sleeping maids, and peered into the corridor. The gods were with her, or perhaps it was a goddess or some nymph. The torches in the corridor had gone out. The page who should have kept them burning was curled up fast asleep next to her door. She made her way through the shadows to the corridor’s end and out into the queen’s gardens. Under a half moon, not a single watchman patrolled the path around the lotus pool. Moonlight made the gravel sparkle. It looked like someone had scattered stars on it.
Siddhartha’s private garden was just a few steps away. There was always one of his bodyguards in his garden. She would figure out a way to get past him when she got there. With great care, she stepped into the hedge, trying not to rustle leaves or break twigs, until she could see.
The bodyguard was standing at attention at the open doorway into the prince’s chambers. He didn’t move. It was Rani’s vision or the eagle’s that told her his eyes were shut. He slept.
No. He was under an enchantment. Just like the page, who should have kept the torches burning. Dhara’s skin prickled. She tried to sense if something evil was afoot. The maids were full of stories about the court factions and their schemes. Perhaps someone had come to kidnap or poison the prince. At this thought, Dhara broke through the hedge, and the moment she did so, Siddhartha appeared at the door. He looked right at her and beckoned.
Dhara stepped quickly through the garden and past the bodyguard.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” he whispered, sweeping her into his arms and drawing her into the dark room.
Dhara pushed away before he could kiss her. “What do you mean?”
“I tried to draw you here. I couldn’t touch your mind at all.”
“I couldn’t touch you, either.” Shadows hid his eyes. “You were with her, weren’t you?” Her voice caught.
“Shhh.” He tightened his arms around her. “It’s not what you think. When I got to dinner, you were gone. I went off to find you. Nanda came after me. He told me Sundari was trying to cause trouble. You know she’s like that.”
“Nanda tried to stop her.”
“He’s not a bad sort. I think he’s a little in love with you.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s just the rivalry between you. He’s angry that he thought I was his and I’m not.”
“I know him better than you. I see the signs. But what about you? Should I be jealous of Nanda?” He leaned down to kiss her.
Dhara pushed away again, but he still held her. “Should I be jealous of Kirsa?”
“Let me explain.” He drew her to his low bed.
She didn’t resist. This was what she wanted. But first she had to know. “Go on.”
“Since we were children, I thought we were meant for each other. She was my wife in many former lives.”
“Former lives,” she whispered hoarsely.
He’d spoken of previous existences, but she’d never seen her own, and she couldn’t really conceive of what he was talking about. It all seemed false to her, but at the same time she knew Siddhartha could not lie. She jumped up to go, but he grabbed her arm. She resisted.
“You were my wife in a very important life,” he said. “I knew it when we met. You were my queen when I was king of a great kingdom—”
“Stop this nonsense and tell me: do you love Kirsa or me?”
“Hush, hush. I love you. I will never be unfaithful. I will have one woman, and only one.” Dhara sank down next to him on the bed. “Kirsa and I haven’t spoken since I returned with you. That was wrong. I had to face her and tell her.”
Dhara waited.
“We have a deep bond, one that I thought was love. And it is love, but not the kind that I felt the minute I saw you. I love her for her gentleness, her healing powers, and for our childhood. When I met you, my whole world shifted under my feet.”
“For me, too.”
“We will never be apart.”
“Siddhartha.” Dhara put a hand to his cheek.
“Yes?”
“I want you.”
“Oh,” he breathed as his mouth met hers. They fell back on the bed, their arms around each other. She was awkward and shaking and eager, he was gentle and slow and pulled her antariya away, and their legs got tangled in it. They laughed softly and breathlessly and rolled across the bed, trying to untangle and laughing even more. She pulled away his clothes, and then they exchanged kiss for kiss and touch for touch until he rolled on top of her and in her and she felt a flash of pain and bliss and they were no longer two separate beings but one.
Dhara lay with her head in the crook of his arm. She was so happy she thought she would burst, yet there was something. “But you didn’t just go to Kirsa, did you? She summoned you?”
“No. I’m a bit of a coward. She sent for me, and I gathered up my courage and went to the treehouse where we played as children. There she told me she wanted to give back the necklace I gave her when we were twelve. It’s a beautiful thing, all rubies and diamonds and gold. It’s been in my family for generations. It was the necklace that signified she would be my bride.”
“It will be mine now?” Dhara asked, breathless. She imagined flashing red and white around her neck.
“No.”
Dhara stiffened. “You still want her.”
“I want you and you alone. The necklace has been bad luck in my family, and especially for her father. To make it right, I told her, she should keep it and use it for good. Sell it, jewel by jewel, to help the poor, or to find herself a husband, or anything she wanted.”
In the dark, his golden eyes glimmered faintly. As long as Kirsa had this precious jewel, there was a part of Siddhartha that was beyond Dhara’s reach, but it was a part that was over and done. “What did she say when you told her to keep it?”
“She said, ‘Happy is the woman who has such a husband as you.’”
Dhara nodded. “I am happy.”
Kapilavastu
King Suddhodana departed with the bulk of his men, leaving seventy under Captain Sukesa’s command to help with rebuilding. The king instructed Sukesa to bring Sakhi to Kapilavastu as soon as possible. Twenty of the remaining Sakyan troops were to accompany them on the journey.
A week passed while they prepared to leave. It was torture. Sakhi knew she couldn’t stay in the village where all who were dearest to her were dead, but Kapilavastu was a great unknown. Still, she yearned to go.
Dhara would be there, and she would meet Nalaka at last. Bhallika would be there, too. The merchant wanted to marry her. Poor dead Abhaya had told her as much.
On the morning of their departure, the villagers stared as Sakhi clung to Mitu, sobbing, paralyzed with grief and fearing the unknown.
At last, Captain Sukesa took her arm. “Why not bring Mitu with you?”
Sakhi’s sobs quieted. Mitu was the one person from the
village she would miss. “W-would you come? Please, please come.”
“Anything you ask, mistress. With Deepa. And my boys. If that’s all right.”
Captain Sukesa nodded. “Vishramvan Palace has so many servants. A few more won’t cause any trouble.”
The captain gave orders to assemble. There were sixteen men on horseback and two mountain ponies that carried the meager belongings of Sakhi and Mitu’s family.
Sakhi rushed through her goodbyes. If she lingered with the survivors, she would lose courage for this great adventure. She climbed into the curtained litter and burst out crying. She looked back once, but her tears blurred everything, even the mountain goddess.
It grew hotter as they left the cool mountain spring. In the heat, it seemed like they were crawling through the foothills. When she dozed, hideous dreams came: Dandapani’s bodiless head floating on the Rohini’s blood-red waters; Tilo wrapped in flames and holding her dead baby. Sakhi woke and cried out for Mitu.
The captain signaled for the caravan to stop for the night.
As the warriors pitched tents, Sakhi asked him, “How long will it be before we reach the trade road?”
Sukesa was staring into the fire and didn’t hear her.
“Captain?”
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said. “I was remembering another journey on this road, when I brought Prince Siddhartha’s mother and her sister to be the king’s brides. Poor Queen Maya. When she died, the king went mad with grief.”
Sakhi would have liked to ask more, but Sukesa sighed and stood up. Brushing himself off, he said, “Best go to bed now, my lady. Tomorrow we reach the Terai and the Uttarapatha.”
The Uttarapatha. She and Dhara had imagined the exotic kingdoms along its route, the handsome princes who dwelt there, the riches that traveled from Parsee in the west to the Middle Kingdom in the east. The trade road on which her Bhallika traveled. She wondered if he would be waiting for her in Kapilavastu.
The following day, they reached the swampy Terai, which marked the end of Koli territory and the beginning of the Sakyan kingdom. They picked their way along a muddy road pestered by swarming insects. Their bites covered her but couldn’t dim her wonder. Her disturbing memories were pushed away by the lush and beautiful greenery. She gaped at kingfishers with brilliant turquoise plumage and white breasts, green parakeets with red caps that Captain Sukesa called “blossom-heads,” spoonbills that took off from the marsh waters with a great white flapping, and huge painted storks whose enormous black-striped wings were tipped with rose feathers. They saw herds of grey swamp deer and a bull with a blue hide. At the Terai’s other side, they came to a well-made road.
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