“Sahadeva and Nakula were so miserable when their brothers left,” Sakhi said. “If Siddhartha hadn’t come so often, I don’t know what I would have done with them.”
“He loves his visits. I would have come, but it’s been hard for me.”
“But not too hard for you to attend several state banquets, I hear,” Sakhi said in a soft voice. Dhara flushed. The queen had required her presence. “But I suppose you must take up some court duties,” Sakhi continued. “After all, one day you will be queen.”
Dhara stared at the water playing in the fountain. What folly to think she could peel back the years and talk to Sakhi the way they had as girls. If only she could tell Sakhi how torn she was about the coming birth, about how her girlish dreams of glory had been so naive and the responsibilities of ruling frightened her. If only she could confess her growing desperation, the sense that there was no way out of the trap she and Siddhartha had set for themselves, that she felt his restlessness growing.
An awkward silence fell. “I won’t be happy until my husband and children return,” Sakhi said at last. Then she said something about the weather. Dhara remarked on the delicious sweets. They cast false smiles at each other and chatted nonsense, Sakhi now and then touching Bharata’s arm or putting a hand on his cheek.
Siddhartha returned from the mock battle with the twins, claiming he couldn’t fight such fierce warriors.
“Perhaps it’s time to go, beloved,” Dhara said. His brow furrowed, but he helped her to her feet. Sakhi rose, too, and led them to the gate in a little rush. They gave each other profuse kisses farewell but there was no talk of the next visit.
Dhara and Siddhartha walked home in complete silence. As soon as they reached the Summer Palace, Dhara professed exhaustion and lay down.
She woke later in the night thinking of how the conversation might have gone if she’d only thought to ask Sakhi to tell her everything about the tragedy that had befallen her and offered her sympathy to her old friend instead of wishing Sakhi would offer hers to Dhara.
She had mastered the mind training that endowed a yogi with the power to transform into an animal, to travel through the ether, to understand the languages of all creatures. If only there was mind training that would teach her how to think of others first.
Rajagriha
Sunbeams filtered through the carved wooden shutters. Chandaka winced. Colored lights spun on the backs of his eyelids.
The night before, he had gone carousing with the indolent son of a very rich Maghadan merchant. He didn’t remember how he’d found his way back to his own apartments from the cheap and dangerous gambling den the Yashas favored. The beer there tasted like elephant piss, the food was inedible, and the place stank. A lark to seventeen-year-old Yashas, but not so much to Chandaka, older by ten years and at the moment feeling older by much more.
The last time. It was the last time he was going out with that rake. First of all, he couldn’t keep up with the fellow. Second, he always woke already in the pensive mood his dissipated life no longer kept away.
The familiar, bittersweet ache led to thoughts of Kirsa and Nachiketa, of how he had failed them and failed Siddhartha, and how he had wronged Dhara. He missed Nalaka, who had become a friend more than a guru, missed others in the grove like saintly Sveta and the lecherous old Mahesh, with his tales of the nymphs who had tried to seduce him.
He even missed Saibya’s disapproving looks. She thought he’d broken Kirsa’s heart. It was the other way around.
Almost nine months since he’d left Kapilavastu. It seemed longer.
Chandaka decided to cross the Nairanjana’s waters with an offering for the sages sheltering in the Bamboo Grove and seek a blessing to get rid of this pounding headache. His excellent and sympathetic cook fixed the never-fail remedy against overindulgence for which he was famous among Chandaka’s friends. Its ingredients were a secret, and no one had as yet offered a high enough price to pry it out of him. Trouble was, it was no longer as effective for Chandaka. A walk in the Bamboo Grove sometimes did the trick.
The cook filled a basket of his finest delicacies for dana. As soon as Chandaka arrived, the urge to leave made him tense. He didn’t know the local holy hermits, as he had in the precincts of Kapilavastu’s more imposing Nigrodha Grove. At the entrance, three paths diverged and meandered into the thickets of tall bamboo. His head ached so much he couldn’t choose between them.
Fitting, not knowing which path to take. He didn’t know who he was anymore, what he was doing in the Maghadan kingdom, or where he really belonged.
The Nairanjana murmured over its sandy bed. He would follow the path that meandered along its narrow banks, hand the dana to the first hermit he saw, then go.
Thick stands of tall bamboo lent some coolness in the dry season’s heat. It made him homesick for Kapilavastu and the fresh winds that would sweep down from the distant Himalayan heights on hot summer days. He plodded on, sweating in the humid green shade, his head down and feeling sorry for himself.
A white-robed figure stepped from behind a clump of bamboo and seized him with a bony hand.
The clouds of self-pity scattered. Chandaka jumped away, jerking his hand free. He dropped the basket and whipped out his short knife, ready for a fight.
“Chandaka! Would you harm an old woman?”
“Bhadda-ji!” He lowered his knife. “I can’t be too careful. There are those who want me dead.” He slipped the knife back in his sash, his heart thumping. “What are you doing here?”
“Life is always dangerous for a king’s bastard.” She looked tired and her robe was dirty. “But surely you’re safe here in this sacred place.”
“I wouldn’t put it past my half-brother to hire an assassin disguised as a holy hermit.” He sounded petulant and cowardly to himself.
“Tsk,” Bhadda clucked. “Then why stay?”
“There are worse lives.” He managed a more philosophical tone. “But what are you doing here?”
“It is my homeland.”
“Yes, but Ratna told me you were ensconced in the Nigrodha Grove.”
“Exquisite Ratna. Why don’t you marry her? Such a woman’s love is a rare thing. But then, I’m not sure you deserve her.” She paused. “Yet.”
“Yet?” He stared, nonplussed. The rishiki was up to something.
“Chandaka. I’ve spent near nine months in Kapilavastu, watching, waiting, hoping.”
“Hoping for what?” he asked, but he thought he knew.
“For the prophecy to come true.” She paused. “He needs you.” Chandaka’s neck prickled. She fixed him with her penetrating eyes. “You must go today. Dhara’s time is near. Siddhartha must leave now or he may never go.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“The future is not completely clear to me, but there is a moment. He goes to Dhara and his newborn son. Wife and baby awaken. If that happens, he will stay. He will follow his royal dharma. He will sit on the Sakyan throne with Dhara, their growing son between them. You will drive his chariot as he leads vast and terrible armies. His son will grow to be a brutal general. They will leave mountains of dead for the vultures.”
Chandaka had imagined a future where he fought at Siddhartha’s side and their adventures became legend. Once, that was what he wanted, but he was no visionary. He did not think about how that future would play out.
“Bhadda-ji,” he said, “I can’t see the future of the Gautama dynasty. But I can imagine that Siddhartha wouldn’t want me near at the moment of his son’s birth.”
“He has never believed the rumors.”
Chandaka let out a bitter laugh. “Even so, what will he think when I return to help him desert his wife, the woman I tried to seduce? That I’m back to try again?”
“He will thank you.”
“But the pain for the Sakyan kingdom, the pain for Dhara and their so
n if he goes. Especially their son,” he said, with an unfamiliar sense of righteous indignation. “He will hate himself for hurting them. I know that sorrow.”
“For the son, yes. He will find solace. For Dhara… ”
“For Dhara?”
Bhadda smiled. “It may serve her better if he takes the homeless path. But you must leave now, Chandaka, or there won’t be time. Dhaumya and Rohit wait for you by the city gate. They will take you by a secret, quick way to Kapilavastu. You must go!”
The rishiki vanished.
Chandaka clutched his pounding head. Had he really seen her? His mind went blank until the Nairanjana’s soft murmur woke him from a trance.
The last thing he wanted to do was return to Kapilavastu.
He must tell Ratna. “I’ll give you a free evening now and then, my dear,” she had said when she arrived in Rajagriha. Thank the gods it was his evening with her and he could forget about all this.
Rohit and Dhaumya could wait forever by Rajagriha’s gate.
Chandaka stared at the carved teak beams of Ratna’s sleeping chamber, his mind racing. The night was a disaster. He hadn’t said anything to Ratna about seeing Bhadda, didn’t want to think about it, but couldn’t help himself. To cap off an evening ruined by his distraction, he was embarrassingly unable to make love to his dusky goddess. And despite great quantities of Parsee wine, he was painfully wide awake and clear-eyed as a sage. The only good thing was that his headache was gone.
The doors to the terrace were flung wide but the air was suffocating. The little boy with the fan had fallen asleep at his post and its peacock feathers drooped, motionless.
Next to him, the sleeping Ratna was covered in nothing save a faint sheen of sweat that in the moonlight streaming through the open doors gave a magical silver tinge to her dark skin.
He eased off the couch, wrapped his thin antariya around his waist and brushed past the sheer, silvery curtains. Bhallika had certainly spared no expense on Ratna’s mansion, but after that his financial support stopped. “His son fell ill. They say he’s gone back to his wife, or she’s gone back to him, or some such,” was all Ratna said about the matter. Fortunately, her arrival in Rajagriha had created a sensation and she had no lack of patrons to support her.
On the terrace, Chandaka stepped over to the low table where the two of them dined earlier. The mother of the dozing lad—Soon-Li or some strange foreign name—had cleared everything but some fruit, a few pieces of cold naan, and the flacon of wine.
He poured himself a bowl and carrying the bottle in his other hand eased into one of the two reclining couches at the terrace’s edge. The view was breathtaking. This quarter was filled with rich foreign merchants like the father of Yashas, up-and-coming Maghadans of indeterminate or shadowed lineage, and a few scions of the older Brahmin and Kshatriya houses. Ratna’s mansion was built into the side of the highest of Rajagriha’s seven hills. On its lowest level were stables, then kitchens, and at the top was a hall graced with intricately carved rosewood pillars and a surrounding garden where Ratna held large parties. Inviting paths meandered from this spacious area to the exquisite little rooms where Ratna’s apprentices were housed.
“How does it compare with Addha’s?” Ratna asked on his first visit to her new abode. “Remember how you and I used to go up to the roof and sleep under the stars on hot nights?”
Once again they were sleeping on the roof, but not on thin blankets under the stars. Ratna’s enormous suite was on the highest level, with a private bathing tank set in lush foliage, a dressing area to hold her sumptuous wardrobe, and the high-ceilinged room where she lay dreaming on her low, wide couch. There was even a library with floor-to-ceiling shelves holding scrolls, stacks of palm leaves, and clay tablets. In all likelihood, Ratna’s former lover hadn’t gone back to his wife but had bankrupted himself in their acquisition. Bhallika understood how Ratna loved knowledge; the pleasures of scholarship eluded Chandaka.
He settled lower in the chair and sipped at the wine. It made his mouth pucker. The merchant who had given her the amphora claimed it was a fine vintage, whatever that meant. Chandaka would have preferred to smoke some bhang or drink barley beer than to swill this stuff, but he didn’t want to wake the boy. He hadn’t forgotten when he was that age; he’d often had his sleep disturbed to serve the patrons of Addha’s house.
Nothing to do but get drunk on the sour red wine. He drained the bowl and poured another. The still heat muted the city’s sounds. Across the Nairanjana the Maghadan kingdom’s sacred grove was dark. Here and there a small cook fire winked, but most sages rose with the dawn and went to their beds at dusk. Bhadda was there somewhere in one of the hermitages hidden in the thick bamboo.
He tossed back his third cup, grimaced, and looked into the flacon. Nearly empty. Not even close to drunk enough to forget Bhadda and her message.
“Something serious has happened, hasn’t it, my dear?” Ratna had approached without him noticing. She wore one of those peculiar but fashionable long garments made of pieces of embroidered silk stitched together that was imported from the Middle Kingdom somewhere to the northeast; Chandaka wasn’t quite sure where. Maghadans of both sexes wore them with a sash around the waist to keep the garment closed, but in this private moment Ratna let hers fall open.
“Wellll,” he began, but he’d lost some control of his mouth.
“Are you ready to ravish me now?”
He snorted, poured the last swallow of wine, and tossed the flacon over the edge of the terrace. It shattered on the rocks below.
“My company was free, but that vessel will cost you. Did you notice the glaze? Very rare. From an island in the western sea.”
“Sorry.” He downed the dregs then flung the matching bowl, which smashed against the same rocks.
“You’re acting like a child.” She made a move as if to go back inside.
Chandaka seized her arm. “I’ll teach you to mock me,” he said, pulling her closer.
“Please do.”
“Take off that thin’… ” He was very drunk.
She slipped out of the silk and straddled him on the low couch, naked. “Now teach me.”
After, she nestled in the crook of his arm. He had sobered considerably.
“Tell me what’s troubling you,” Ratna said.
“Today in the Bamboo Grove, Bhadda appeared out of nowhere. Scared me out of my skin. Thought she was an assassin.”
“Bhadda? How extraordinary. I wonder if her brother knows she’s here.”
“What brother?” Chandaka said.
“Ah, I’d forgotten. If you’d been there to hear her that day in the Nigrodha Grove—”
“Don’t say it.” If he had only gone with Ratna that day, would he still be in Kapilavastu? He hadn’t been happy there at the time. Only when he was gone did it seem like where he belonged. But maybe that would be true for anyplace he found himself. “She told me Siddhartha needs me.”
“Ah. The time has come.” Ratna showed no surprise. “I’ve dreaded this moment.”
“I know,” he said. She did understand him, and in ways Kirsa never could. Then the words tumbled out of their own accord. “If I succeed in helping Siddhartha escape, and if Suddhodana doesn’t have my head for it, will you marry me?”
Dhara needs you
For a few days following Dhara’s visit, Sakhi was cross with the servants, even Mitu, and at times unable to do anything but sit and stare out the window. She felt vaguely at fault for the awkwardness between her and Dhara. She should have asked more about how Dhara was feeling, but then Dhara hadn’t asked about her life, either.
Sakhi had spent the whole morning with Bhallika’s accounts. The caravan could arrive by tomorrow if the roads remained clear of bandits or enemy troops. She pushed aside the palm leaves scribbled over with figures and the unease about Dhara and rose, smoothing the new dark blue antari
ya and adjusting the end thrown over her shoulder. The dense pattern of silver flowers looked as if they had been embroidered with strands of her pure white hair, which this morning Mitu combed till it shone and drew back with a length of blue silk.
“Do you think it will be today?” she had asked Mitu.
“He will be glad to see you whenever he returns,” she had replied.
Sakhi climbed down the steps through the empty storeroom. In better times Bhallika kept the choicest goods here. It served now as a playroom for the twins. With Dimi’s help they had built a little fortress out of a few bales of cloth and some empty chests, guarding the Sakyan frontier from the evil Kosalas.
It would soon be full of new goods. Their financial situation should improve with Bhallika’s return. He had not found a new courtesan since Ratna left, and though he still went dicing at Addha’s he gambled only small amounts. At least he was not sending any more money to Rajagriha.
As she walked through the courtyard, the twins rushed up to her. They had been to the market with Choti and were full of all they had seen.
“Ma!” Sahadeva said. “The bull for the new prince is big as an elephant!”
“Is not,” Nakula said.
“Is so. They’ll sacrifice it as soon as the prince is born.” Sahadeva’s eyes widened suddenly. “Will he come to play with us?”
“I hope so, my darling.” Whether Dhara would come along was another matter. “Now, off you go to get something to eat. I must tend to Bharata.”
Sakhi threw back the curtains to dispel the stale sickroom smell that returned no matter what they did. She settled on the low chair next to his cushioned charpoy. “Did you have a good nap, my son?” He blinked once.
Choti arrived with a small basin of water. It gave off clouds of cedar-scented steam that drifted through the sunbeams pouring into the room.
The Mountain Goddess Page 50