The thought of Ratna’s rounded thighs roused Chandaka. “No thanks. Previous engagement, old friend.”
“Y’know, you’ve changed.” Dhaumya took a long pull from the jug.
He had changed. The feeling that he should leave Kapilavastu had grown stronger. Tonight’s loud, vulgar banquet was a prime example of how it had begun to grate on him. In his childhood at this palace, King Suddhodana had arranged elaborate banquets with famous sages arguing philosophy or learned advisors discussing statecraft. Not that Chandaka had ever cared about religion or politics, but he’d loved the elegance, the wit, the laughter. On his return, he’d found those scintillating feasts had become drunken revels.
His renewed friendship with Siddhartha had changed, too. It had reached its limit. Oh, games on the practice field had brought back their youth for a while, but soon enough Siddhartha went back to spending more time at his dharma practice.
And with his wife. Chandaka had tried to give his friend some distance in the hopes that he would see that Dhara was vain, power hungry, and superficial, but Siddhartha couldn’t or wouldn’t see it.
Chandaka kicked a pebble and turned to go.
“Wait,” Dhaumya said, holding on to his arm. “C’mon ole frien’. Have some.”
Chandaka let out a disgusted sigh. He tried to free his arm, but Dhaumya’s grip was solid. The drunken warrior tipped the jug back with his free hand. Old friend, indeed.
It wasn’t old friends who held him in Kapilavastu, not even his best friend Siddhartha.
It was Kirsa.
She paid him no special attention. Busy with her duties in the grove or at the houses of healing, she gave him only brief moments. Better than no time, but not enough to confess his real feelings. As the weeks and months passed, he wondered if he ever would.
“If you are meant to speak, the time will come when you can tell her,” Ratna would say when he came to see her, “and her karma will lead her there, too.” Then Ratna would make Chandaka forget for a little while. Afterward, as she slept, he would leave five heavy gold Maghadan coins on her low dressing table next to the statue of Shiva and Parvati in a wild embrace, and head back to the palace, thinking of Kirsa.
The warrior had been swaying on his feet and now pitched heavily forward. Chandaka caught him. “Thanks. Here, takeadrink.” Dhaumya threw an arm around Chandaka’s neck. His breath was loaded with kadamba liquor, garlic and onion from the feast, and a trace of vomit. He was clammy in the way drunks get, and smelled of sour sweat and sex.
In their youth, they were all carefree troublemakers. His friends of those days, like Dhaumya, were now in responsible positions at court. This was how they behaved.
“Uh, look, I’m off on some private business.”
“Shhhh.” Dhaumya put a finger to his lips. “I know ’bout private businesh. Some right over there.” He pointed to a nearby hedge, tall and thick. It encircled an old shrine to some nymph who inhabited this part of the park.
“Right, well, I’ll let you get back to it.” Chandaka began to extricate himself from Dhaumya’s drunken hold.
“No, no, my frien’.” He hiccupped, “You wone be sorry if”—another hiccup—“if you come with me.” He grinned and jerked his head toward the bushes.
Chandaka glanced again towards the hidden path. The little track wound past the tree house through thickets and glades to the crumbling walls that surrounded the royal grounds. He hadn’t been there since he’d come back to Kapilavastu. The place was probably completely overgrown.
“Thanks, but no.” Chandaka slipped out from under the warrior’s arm. Just at that moment, the breeze gave a final riffle and sigh, and a hush descended.
Male voices floated over the nearby hedge. “Get on with it,” a hoarse voice called.
“You’re hurting her,” someone said.
Chandaka thought he heard weeping.
A woman tittered. “Silly boy. Can’t you see she likes it?”
“If you don’t want her, get out of the way,” the hoarse voice said.
The woman gave a low laugh that raised hackles on Chandaka’s neck. “Is it as big as Suddhodana’s, my dear?”
“No. Please. No.”
Chandaka definitely heard weeping.
“Please.”
“You see? Please, she says. She wants it.”
Chandaka looked from the hidden shrine to the drunk warrior, who grinned sheepishly and shrugged. Disgust at this whole damned court gagged Chandaka.
There was another frightened whimper. Do something, a voice in his head said.
Another voice whispered, Fool, you’re outnumbered. There were at least two or three men, and a woman, too. Outlaws? They sounded like Angulimala’s ruthless soldiers.
Chandaka shoved Dhaumya aside. The warrior fell to his knees, catching himself but dropping the clay vessel, which shattered on the white stones.
“What was that?” someone said just as Chandaka reached the break in the hedge. He stopped cold.
A young woman, hardly more than a girl, lay bare and pale in the moonlight. A young warrior knelt, naked and leering, at her head, holding her arms. He was no bandit, but a well-groomed, smooth-cheeked Kshatriya, one that sometimes trained with the older men on the practice field. Another youthful noble, hardly more than a boy, stood near the opening in the hedge, looking half ready to bolt and wholly miserable and shaken.
A balding man, thickly muscled under loose fat, lay on top of the girl, rutting and grunting. Her face was twisted with revulsion, her eyes closed. She was sniveling and trembling. “No, stop… ”
It was Tissa, that dull, calf-eyed little thing from Kalamas. Chandaka’s disgust turned to rage. She was nothing to Suddhodana, but she was still the king’s property. She hadn’t harmed anyone. “What is going on here?”
“Aah, Chandaka.” It was the woman who had laughed and egged them on. “Come to take your turn? You have such a way with all the palace women.” Uttara. That bitch. A face that might have been beautiful, if it were not hard and its eyes hollow. She was draped in something flimsy, almost transparent, cinched with a thick belt studded with gems that rested on her narrow hips. A tall Brahmin youth with the student’s topknot stood behind her, holding her tight to him, rubbing against her and moaning softly as he kissed her neck and his hands wandered over her body. Another Brahmin, very slight and pale, leaned on a golden cane near her side, staring at Chandaka with bored, kohl-lined eyes. Uttara’s brother Udayin, her partner in depravity.
Chandaka wanted to smash his effete face. He spat. “The king will hear of this.” Uttara rolled her eyes but Udayin’s smile froze.
Chandaka strode to Tissa, who was mewling like an injured kitten under her assailant. He seized the balding man by his scraggly warrior’s braid and yanked him off the girl. She rolled away and lay face down, shaking with sobs.
“Aaaah!” the man cried, reaching up to try and free his hair. Chandaka let go and with both hands seized him around his thick neck and began to press his thumbs into his victim’s windpipe, the way the wrestling preceptor had taught him and Siddhartha. At that moment he recognized the man. It was that very wrestling master.
“You—you—”
Before Chandaka could summon any words, someone struck him from behind.
When he regained consciousness, he was lying on the damp ground near the shrine under a sky silver with dawn. A cool hand landed on his brow, a woman leaned over him.
“Kirsa,” he whispered.
“Hush, Chandaka. Everything will be all right.” She put a hand behind his neck and lifted his head slightly. “Hold still. Let’s see if the swelling’s stopped.”
He let her explore the back of his aching neck. She smelled of some cheap oil that she rubbed into her braid. In gratitude for her healing skills, her rich patients gave her expensive perfumes, oils to dress her thick brown hair, and fin
e Varanasi cloth in which to wrap her lovely, delicate curves, but she sold all those things and used the proceeds to buy medicines.
“You should keep them,” he murmured.
“Keep what?”
“The gifts… you deserve them… you’re so pretty,” he began, opening his eyes. He almost reached out to touch her cheek, but she gave a low laugh.
She smiled down at him, friendly, solicitous, the competent healer. “You’re mistaking me for Ratna. That knock on your head was worse than I thought.”
“I… ” He closed his eyes. It seemed this was not the moment for their karmas to join and bear sweet fruit. He raised himself off the dewy grass onto an elbow. “What happened? Where’s poor Tissa?” Pain stabbed behind his eyes. “What are you doing here? It’s dangerous to be alone in the park at night.” He looked around, grimacing.
“I wasn’t alone.”
“Where were you?” With great care, Chandaka raised himself into a sitting position. Damn, his head was wobbly.
“I can explain, but not now. We have to help these two.” She nodded toward the warrior youth who had earlier looked so miserable, now crouching near the nymph’s statue with an anxious glint in his eyes.
“He… he tried to help… ” It was Tissa. She sat just behind Kirsa covered in a pale cotton antariya. When Chandaka’s gaze rested on the concubine, she dropped her eyes and one tear rolled down her cheek, which was wet with many others. Her lip trembled.
Kirsa handed Tissa a wooden cup. “Drink the rest.”
Tissa shot a quick glance at Chandaka. “Th-thank you, my lord. For coming to my rescue.” Then with shaking hands she took the cup and drank.
Kirsa pointed. Dhaumya was face down in the grass. “Then he came to your rescue.”
“By the gods. Is he dead?”
The warrior gave a slight snore.
“Obviously not.”
“What happened?” Chandaka asked.
“From what that young fellow tells us, Uttara clobbered you with Udayin’s walking stick.”
That was rich. Crippled Udayin’s gold-embossed cane. Brahmins were supposed to be the gods on earth, but the divine craftsman Tvastr seemed to have tossed the royal priest’s son aside unfinished. He was only tolerated among the prince’s perfect retinue because of his lineage.
“They all fled, except Ani,” Tissa said, looking at him with grateful eyes. “He called for help when he heard voices.”
“I was returning to Saibya’s hut,” Kirsa said. “We heard a cry for help.”
The young man stood up. “My lord.” He looked familiar. Medium height, a little barrel-chested. Not too muscular, clean-shaven, angular face, and smooth dark hair swept back from his face.
“You are Ani, I take it,” Chandaka said.
“Yes. Aniruddha, that is, my lord.” He shut his eyes tight, then opened them and bowed his head. “General Sukesa is my uncle on my mother’s side.”
“Ah,” Chandaka said, wincing. His head ached. “I thought you looked familiar.”
“Please, take me to the king so I may clear Tissa’s name.”
“The king.” Chandaka touched the back of his neck. A lump, but no blood. “The king will have the heads of those who were part of this outrage.”
“Not Ani!” Tissa’s cried.
A guard poked his head through the hedge. “Kirsa-ji, is there trouble?”
“Ah, Sena,” Kirsa said. “All is well. Did you summon a litter?”
“Yes, Kirsa-ji,” Sena said, touching joined palms to his forehead. “One with curtains, to shield the lady.”
“Excellent.” Kirsa inclined her head with grave courtesy. Sena bowed and disappeared.
Chandaka didn’t like the way the guard looked at Kirsa. He didn’t like that this Sena and Kirsa were out wandering in the gardens together late at night, either.
“My lord Chandaka,” Tissa said. Her whole body was trembling and her voice shook badly. “You mustn’t let Aniruddha go alone to the king. I—I will tell what happened.”
“What did happen?”
“I was lured here by a message. Supposedly from Ani. But really Udayin sent it. Ani didn’t know about it. The message, I mean. The other warriors tricked him into coming here.” She covered her face and began to sob. “I belong to the king. But I love Ani!” Aniruddha rushed to her side and embraced her, stroking her hair and murmuring.
Sena called out. “The litter is here, Kirsa-ji.”
“It’s time to go back, Tissa,” Kirsa said.
“If—if Chandaka goes with Ani, perhaps the king will have mercy,” Tissa said.
“He treats you almost as a son,” Ani said simply.
“I do have some influence, but look, I can’t do anything tonight with that feast going on. I’ll try to think of something tomorrow.”
Kirsa stood. “Here, Tissa.” She pulled a medicine pouch out of her sash. “Two fingers of these herbs in hot water will help you sleep.”
Tissa took the bag with a dismayed look. “But aren’t you coming with me?”
“Sena and Ani will accompany you. I can’t neglect my morning duties in the grove. Call for Embalika when you reach your chamber. She’s very discreet.”
“My lord Chandaka, do you really think you can help?” Ani’s brow was furrowed.
“It will be a delicate matter,” Kirsa said.
It would indeed, Chandaka thought. Powerful people were involved. They would try to twist the story, throw the fault on Tissa and Ani.
“Chandaka, walk me to the grove,” Kirsa said. “Together we can think how to approach King Suddhodana. We’ll take the old path.”
The old path’s leafy canopy was impenetrable and dark, despite dawn’s light. Chandaka was light-headed, as much from being alone with Kirsa as from the crack on his head, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Sena smiled at Kirsa. He walked with his shoulders hunched, devoured by jealousy, until they reached the old decaying palace in the trees. A nightjar gave a last, long churr. High above, a parakeet answered with a screech.
“Those birds. Their shrieking scared me so, the nights when we used to sneak out to explore the park,” Kirsa said.
Chandaka halted. He must know. Did she have a lover? As he searched for words, Kirsa took his hand, lacing her fingers with his, the way they once did as children in Varanasi, long before Siddhartha came into their lives. His heart fluttered against his ribs like a boy’s.
“To me they sounded like Queen Prajapati, ordering her servants about.” Kirsa laughed softly. “When we heard the first one, we knew we’d stayed out too long. You and I would be terrified that we wouldn’t get back before Bhela called the palace to morning puja.”
Chandaka’s throat felt peculiar, tight. “There were some close scrapes, getting back in time.”
“But Siddhartha always got us to our beds before the palace awoke. It was like magic, how the guards didn’t see us. He had the power even then—though I hear he doesn’t believe in using those powers nowadays.” She looked at Chandaka.
He shrugged. “Says it’s cheating.”
“Remember when we saw the white tigress?”
He would never forget the white shadow bounding through the trees, chasing them all the way to the tree house. Riding the white tigress was the outlaw queen, who was Kirsa’s own mother. All these years, Siddhartha and he had kept that secret from her.
“I missed the first chance to see my mother since the beggar king stole me from her.”
Chandaka was stunned. “What? But we kept it secret. That she was your mother. How did you know?”
“I’d be a complete fool if I hadn’t figured it out by now. I knew it as soon as I heard about Angulimala, the outlaw queen who cut off her victims’ fingers. That’s what the beggar king did to me. She was taking revenge. That night we all saw her, I heard Ma’s voice for the
first time in six years. I wanted to throw myself in her arms. But do you know, I was angry. I can still feel that anger, that hurt.” Kirsa sighed. “She abandoned me. Not only that, she turned into someone else. The kinds of things she did, I couldn’t bear to think it was Ma. I didn’t know what to do, so I held my breath, pretended to be unconscious. I was sure she would say, ‘Wake up.’ But she didn’t. None of you did.”
Her face was half turned away. He tightened his fingers around hers.
“Then Siddhartha spoke to her, so gentle and kind.” Kirsa sounded far away. “He told her it wasn’t too late to cleanse her karma, that she could purify herself on Dhavalagiri. He sounded like one of the sages in the grove. ‘You’ll see your daughter one day,’ he told her. Then he said he would make me happy.” She sighed.
But Siddhartha didn’t make you happy. I can, if you would only let me. That’s what he wanted to say.
“Do you know where I was this evening? I went to see Angulimala.”
Chandaka was stunned. “Why?”
“Saibya said I must go. For my mother’s sake and my own. I should let her know that it had been right to leave me that night. Saibya thinks it’s because of her attachment to me that in spite of all she achieved on yoga’s path, she couldn’t really find that peace. Her suffering made her turn back to violence.”
“A poor excuse for causing so much suffering for others.”
“We can’t judge. It was hard to seek her out. I decided to pretend I had come because one of her outlaws was ill. As if she wouldn’t have seen through that ruse! I grabbed my medicines, and a good thing I did, given what happened to Tissa.”
“You went alone to those criminals?”
The Mountain Goddess Page 40