“After he turned eighteen, my eldest brother Gyan became a devotee of Varuna in his aspect as keeper of the cosmic order Rita, and began to study the Law, the dharma by which gods and men strive to live. Gyan chose to work in King Bimbisara’s Hall of Justice, where all are equal under the kingdom’s laws, whether outcaste or Brahmin.
“Gyan became well known as a fierce advocate,” Bhadda said, “especially for the poor. I adored Gyan, and followed him into the law and into his work defending the downtrodden and wrongly accused. I devoted all my passion to their defense, earning a reputation equal to my brother’s. I put off marriage. I was no beauty, and my father and brother, suspecting most suitors were after my wealth, did not force the issue. Thus I was able to master the law without a household and children to distract me.”
Bhadda paused to sip some water from a small silver cup chased with gold and inlaid with deep blue lapis. A breeze riffled over the listeners, bringing the odor of sweaty bodies mixed with the heavy scent of sandalwood oil. A parakeet sang somewhere in the high branches. Dhara wanted to captivate a crowd like this woman. She had once felt the same desire when Mala first came to Dhavalagiri and told the tale of Kapila.
“As a result of my skill,” Bhadda said, “one day the king’s trade minister asked me to defend his son Satthuka, a handsome rake well known in Rajagriha as a womanizer. He had fallen in with bad company and stood accused of the rape and murder of a wealthy maiden whose jewels he had stolen. He admitted to the theft; the jewels were found in his possession. However, he swore the girl invited him into her bed, and after enjoying a night with her he stole away with her jewels, leaving her sleeping peacefully. He claimed to be innocent of the murder.
“There was, however, evidence against him. A collector of night soil had seen him stealing away from the maiden’s home at dawn wearing bloodstained clothes.
“Even in liberal Maghada, justice does not always prevail. An outcaste’s word wouldn’t carry much weight against a powerful man’s son despite the latter’s bad reputation. I cynically assumed that Satthuka would likely be cleared of murder charges, so any lawyer would do. I refused the case, but my father, who was beholden to the trade minister for certain favors relating to business, begged me reconsider. This angered my brother, but out of respect for Father I felt I must visit Satthuka in prison. Nothing would come of it, I assured Gyan.
“How wrong I was. In my work I had seen humanity at its worst, but in matters of the heart I was sheltered and ill prepared to meet this infamous seducer. The instant I laid eyes on the rogue I fell in love.”
This confession went right to Dhara’s heart. She wouldn’t have imagined that this strong, intelligent woman could have fallen in love like that. If only she’d had Bhadda to talk to when she first fell in love with Chandaka, she wouldn’t have kept it all inside, where it grew all out of proportion and weighed on her heart.
“I agreed to defend him, ignoring my better judgment,” the rishiki said. “During the trial he was humble and modest, anything but seductive, and constantly expressed his deep gratitude for my efforts. Sometimes I caught him looking at me, but like a shy lover he quickly looked away. It kindled a passion in me for which I was totally unprepared. When I won the case, he confessed his love and asked me to marry him. My joy knew no bounds.”
The rishiki paused and held out her silver cup to a slender youth with a shaved head and a topknot. While the acolyte filled it, she continued, her face somber. “But my brother was appalled. At the minister’s request the king’s own Brahmin cast our horoscopes to find a suitable date, but he found the stars aligned against us. My father begged me to break the engagement, but I refused.
“Satthuka suggested that he perform a penance to secure the gods’ favor for our marriage. He would make an offering to the god of wealth at a well-known shrine to Kubera, which sits on a high cliff below Vulture Peak, just outside Rajagriha. My brother was suspicious, but the offer pleased my father. I begged to accompany Satthuka, offering to bring dana from my own jewels to adorn the god’s image. He quickly accepted.
“I arrayed myself in my finest clothes and jewels. We went on foot, as supplicants should. And this was, in a way, the first step on my sadhana, for this was the first time I had traveled such a distance and not been carried in a litter nor ridden in a sumptuous horse-drawn vehicle. Though it was hot and my silks were soon soiled and sweaty, as I walked my heartbeat within joined with the pulse of life all around me. For the first time I truly heard the cries of the birds and the hum of insects, and saw each individual leaf on the trees, covered with the dry season’s dust and waiting for the cleansing monsoon.
“To my surprise, the temple was unattended when we arrived. Through my father I knew the old priest quite well, but I’d hardly had time to note his absence when Satthuka seized me by the hair and threw me on the ground. He straddled me, pinning me down, and began to strip the gold bangles from my wrists and the jeweled ornaments from my hair. He yanked my garnet necklace from my throat, and tore off my earrings, ripping the flesh. I shrieked in pain and cried out for the priest.
“‘Go ahead, scream. No one will help you,’ Satthuka said.
“I understood in a flash. The priest was dead. The blinders fell from my eyes.”
She turned to the acolyte, who held out the silver cup. The crowd waited, hushed, all eyes on her. The tension was palpable, but Bhadda drank slowly. When the cup was empty, she gave it back to the acolyte and continued.
“Satthuka stood and tucked the jewels in his sash, then pulled me to my feet and began to drag me to the cliff, intending, I realized with horror, to cast me to my death. Despite my fear and shame, I gathered my wits. Our work often took my brother and me to dangerous places, and he had insisted we learn the rudiments of self-defense. I was not helpless, but Satthuka was very strong. We reached the cliff’s edge. I had to think fast.
“‘Satthuka, heart of my heart, if you don’t love me, then I prefer death to life. But let me embrace you at least once before I die.’
“With a contemptuous smile he released my arm. ‘And I would prefer death to the embrace of such a bony spinster.’
“It shames me still to admit his words stung. Yet they served their purpose. I gathered all my anger and strength and in that one second of freedom pushed him. He was so astonished he lost his balance and tumbled off the cliff. His short scream ended with a terrible thud.
“I was alone save for the vultures circling above. One soared and dove below the edge of the cliff. The great birds all circled and descended after their fellow to feast on Satthuka’s body. I nearly threw myself after him. Not out of passion, which too late I recognized as a naïve young woman’s foolish lust, but out of despair.
“I could not bear to face my brother or father, though at first I put the blame for this at Father’s feet. If he had not been so eager to please the minister, I would never have defended the minister’s wicked son.
“Yet I knew I alone was responsible for letting my heart rule my head. I couldn’t go back. I made my way into the priest’s simple hut, where I found his body. Satthuka had unsavory friends; it was they who must have killed him. I couldn’t know if Satthuka had arranged to meet his friends elsewhere, or if they would return. I had to move quickly.
“From a wooden peg hung one of the priest’s white robes. Averting my eyes from the corpse and mumbling the prayer for the dead, I ripped a piece from the robe and made a little sack in which I put the wooden bowl the priest used for begging. I tied the sack to a sturdy walking staff I found in a corner. Then I removed my fine silks and dressed myself in the white mendicant’s garb. The moment I donned it, the same feeling I had as I walked to Kubera’s shrine returned with stunning force. Now, however, it was not the beauty of birds and trees that seemed so real to me, but the death and suffering that suffused all creation.
“In terror of bandits or demons or worse, I left Maghada. The cloak of darkness kept me sa
fe that night, as it has for countless nights in my search for what is truly real.
“Thus began my life as a seeker. I pondered the workings of karma, wondering what evil done in a past life bore such terrible fruit in this one. I studied with any sage or hermit I came upon, until I found myself in Taxila. There I met Jina Mahavira, leader of the Jains, who preached that there is no supreme Creator, no Preserver, no Destroyer. Every soul is the architect of its own karma and can attain divine consciousness through its own efforts on the path of Right Faith, Right Knowledge, and Right Conduct. I clung to his teachings at first, thinking that at last I had found a path beyond my misery. Their philosophy held that the less one acted, the less chance one would inadvertently create bad karma. This ceased to satisfy me. The select few might perfect their own lives on this path, but what about the rest of humanity?
“So once more I took up my search for the sage, woman or man, who has found a path that all humanity can follow, that offers the possibility of freedom from suffering to everyone. I seek that one still.”
Bharata
“Stop,” Sakhi whispered, putting her hands on Jivaka’s chest and making a halfhearted attempt to push him away. “I told you, stay away.”
He leaned in for a kiss, but she avoided his lips. Instead she put her cheek on his chest and watched the dust motes dance in the beams of sunlight falling through the shuttered windows. The robe draped over his shoulder smelled lemony and fresh. Sakhi inhaled deeply.
“You know I can’t stay away,” he said, “as if the past four years never happened.” His arms tightened around her, and she couldn’t refrain from returning the pressure of his hips against hers. “Besides, you called for me.”
“To examine Bharata,” she began to whisper.
“I’ve examined him.” He nibbled her neck. “A little fever, nothing to be alarmed about.”
“I didn’t send for you to make love in my husband’s storeroom.” She let him kiss her. “We should get back to Bharata.”
“He’ll be up in no time. In the meantime, let him charm the servants. Now, if the storeroom won’t do, there’s always your counting room.” He glanced at the rickety stairs that led up to the little loft where Sakhi often worked on accounts, the site of more than one of their trysts. He gave a low laugh and kissed her again. “But I’d prefer your chamber.”
“How wicked! Never there, you know that.”
“Ah, but the danger makes it more exciting.” He bent to her mouth.
“Mistress?” It was the little kitchen maid Choti, calling from the courtyard. Sakhi pushed him away. “Mistress Sakhi?” Her voice was getting closer.
Jivaka edged Sakhi farther into the gloom of the storeroom. It was nearly empty after Bhallika’s recent departure on caravan to Taxila, but there were some bales of Varanasi cotton in precarious stacks. He maneuvered her behind one, as if that would hide them.
Sakhi caught her breath. “Careful!” she hissed. “If they fall, the maid will hear and—”
“We’ll be discovered,” Jivaka said in a normal voice. “And that will end this miserable life of deception.” He held her tight with one arm and with a strange smile pushed the bales over. They fell with muted thuds. Sakhi’s heart stopped as the latch rattled. Jivaka tightened his embrace.
“Mistress? Mistress? Are you hurt?”
“What are you doing, Choti?” Mitu’s voice rang out.
“Something fell in the storeroom—”
“Ah, no, rats again,” Mitu said. “I’ll have Dheepa set some traps.”
“Oh, dear.” Retreating feet slapped on the hard stone of the courtyard.
Sakhi exhaled. Her reluctant co-conspirator had rescued her once again. She had promised Mitu it was over, but she had to call for Jivaka. She had to.
That morning, Bharata had a slight fever. Sakhi wouldn’t have worried, but he complained of feeling ill, unusual for him, so she sent for Kirsa. An acolyte of the grove’s sages came with a response, holding Kirsa’s son’s hand. “Kirsa says it doesn’t sound serious,” he told her. “She wonders if Nachiketa can play with your boys during Bhadda’s teaching, and says she’ll look in on Bharata afterwards.”
Sakhi called for Mitu and told her they had no choice but to get the physician, as Kirsa would be delayed. Mitu nodded without saying a word. When Jivaka arrived, he made a cheerful joke about slug-a-bed boys. “An infusion of tulsi leaf, I think,” he had said. “None so good as that gathered by a mother’s hand.”
Sakhi understood immediately. “I’ll get some.” She hurried to the herb garden and gathered a scarf full of fragrant, young leaves that she brought to the kitchen. She ordered Choti to make a hot drink for Bharata, then hurried to the empty storeroom where Jivaka waited.
And so. Now. Here. He pushed her down on top of the fallen bales, uneven but soft. They rolled and tumbled, stifling laughter. For a little while, they drowned in their love then rested satisfied in each other’s arms, until sharp rapping ended their contentment.
“Something is very wrong with Bharata,” Mitu said from the other side of the door, loud and urgent. “You must come now.”
The windows were wide open, but underneath the fresh air, there was a faint smell of urine. Jivaka knelt by one side of the low bed, Sakhi on the other. As she glanced from Bharata to the door, anxious for Choti and fresh linens, the physician bowed over the patient, holding one finger in front of Bharata’s eyes. “Can you focus on it now?”
“No. My head is spinning.” Though Bharata’s brow was warm with fever, his face was pale. Sakhi dipped a cloth in cool water fragrant with cedar oil, the scent of Himalaya’s kingdom, of her childhood home. Her mother had placed cedar-scented cloths on her forehead when she was ill. Mother. She had a sudden sense that Agastya was looking down from Indra’s heavenly city and saw Sakhi’s illicit affair with Jivaka. She could hear Agastya’s stern voice: “Do not stain your karma, daughter.”
A little shudder went through her. Nonsense. She and Jivaka laughed at the gods, who had not meant much to Sakhi after the Kosalas attacked her village. The image of that carnage had never left her. In Jivaka, she found someone who had seen enough suffering to share her conclusions. To both of them, the great Self, the atman the wise spoke of, was just an idea, not the true reality as some rishis claimed. Reality was their bodies, joined in love.
She wrung out the cloth and placed it on Bharata’s forehead. He looked up at her with frightened eyes. Every minute or so they would give a little wobble in their sockets, out of Bharata’s control. Sakhi could tell Jivaka found it disturbing.
“I want the spinning to stop, Ma.” Brave Bharata’s voice trembled a bit.
“It will stop soon, my heart, I promise.”
Jivaka glanced at Sakhi. Something in his pinched look made her throat catch. “Have him drink another cup of the ginger and lemon water in an hour. It will help with the nausea. It’s all we can do until the coriander seeds have soaked overnight. Coriander water never fails to halt dizziness.”
“And the fever?” She didn’t dare ask about the eyes.
“It’s not that high. I’m not as worried about it. Let’s let the patient cure himself, shall we?” He patted Bharata’s hand. “Send for more tulsi brew for him to drink.”
“But Jivaka, I don’t know how to cure myself,” Bharata said.
Jivaka busied himself with his physician’s chest. “Your body has its own wisdom. You will understand all about it when I take you to Taxila to study, eh? As soon as we get your mother’s permission?” He looked up to give Bharata an exaggerated wink. Bharata gave the physician a tremulous smile.
Bhallika was away so often, and Jivaka was here so much. The boys loved him. Sometimes Sakhi dreamt of doing what Jivaka often asked, gathering up her children and running away with him. To Taxila or beyond, to mysterious places, the stone cities of Graeco, the Island of the Bull in the middle of a great sea,
Aegypt with its great river. Anywhere.
But how could she? In spite of the many nights Bhallika spent on his travels or with the courtesan Ratna, he was a loving father. At his last leave-taking, tears had streamed down his cheeks as he promised Arjuna and Bhima that the next caravan to Kusinara or Vaisali or somewhere close and in friendly territory, they could come with him. How could she tear the boys from their father?
“You’ll go to Taxila,” Sakhi managed to say. “When the time is right.” After all, it was just a fever, just some dizziness.
“Do not fear, Sakhi,” Jivaka said, coming to her side and resting a hand on her shoulder. “I must go consult a scroll in my library to refresh myself on a technique they use in Aegypt that involves trepanning.” He caught himself. Bharata was staring at him.
Trepanning? Whatever it was, it would surely be dangerous, like the way he cut the twins from her. Sakhi had barely survived that.
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves.” Jivaka smiled at her son and turned to her. “All will be well in the end, but if anything worsens in the meantime, send word at once. I will return as soon as possible.”
When he left, Choti arrived with the fresh linens and knelt by the bed, giving Sakhi a look under her eyelashes. She must have guessed what went on in the storeroom. In silence, Sakhi slipped an arm under Bharata’s shoulders and lifted him so Choti could change his bed.
“Thank you, Choti,” Bharata said when she finished.
“Little master.” She dimpled. He was a particular favorite with the servants. She backed out of the room.
Sakhi brushed a damp lock from Bharata’s forehead. There was that strange little wobble. It gave her a sick feeling. She mustn’t let him see.
The laughter and shrieks of the boys in the courtyard drifted through the window.
“May I watch them, Ma-ji?”
“Will the light hurt your eyes?”
“I don’t think so. The neem tree shades my window at this hour. I wish I could be out playing with them.”
The Mountain Goddess Page 46