“I’ll bathe him myself,” Sakhi told her. “Would you like Choti to bake you a honey cake?”
“Yaaaow,” Bharata said, then blinked once. Choti gave him a wide smile and left.
Sakhi had several times asked the rishis visiting “the little saint,” as they called him, if they could communicate with him on more practical questions than the nature of atman or the subtle meaning of some teaching, as they claimed they did. It would have been useful if instead of the tedious yes-no questions and blinks for answers, they could have asked him where it hurt or what he would like for dinner. Sakhi doubted that they really could learn his wisdom by touching his mind. She challenged Siddhartha about it. “Not all do,” was all he would say.
“Would you like a story about the gods? How Indra slew the dragon who drank all the water on the earth?”
“Nnnn,” he said then blinked twice and moved his head slightly to one side. It was a small thing, but it was progress.
“No? Then I could tell you how the monkey king helped Prince Ram defeat the demon who stole his faithful wife Sita.” No again. Sakhi suggested more tales, but he refused them all.
“You want me to tell you how your father and I met.” He indicated yes. “But you’ve heard that story a hundred times!”
How to make the old story new? Bharata never seemed to tire of hearing about how Bhallika rescued her out of the burning house. How frightened Sakhi had been.
Sakhi wrung out a fresh cloth. Perhaps she could begin at the real beginning. “I’ve never told you, but it all really started when Dhara and I ran away to the Devi’s shrine. Shall I tell you about that?” His eyes widened and he did a careful single blink. As she worked down his body, she told him how they had stolen away to the shrine, terrified of the wrath of Atimaya. His eyes fixed on Sakhi’s face as she described the arrival of the yogi Mala with her white tiger, and how she took Dhara away on the tiger’s back. She took the few details Dhara had shared about her education as a yogi and embroidered them, working up to the night of the fire, when Dhara mastered the power to transport herself through the ether and came to wake Sakhi. It brought tears to her eyes, and she had to stop.
“Sakhi.” Kirsa walked in. “How is my favorite patient?”
“Kirsa! Namaste.” Sakhi brushed at her eyes. “Look who’s here, my heart.”
Kirsa knelt and sat back on her heels by his side. “I can’t stay long.”
Bharata’s eyes showed his disappointment.
“What calls you away?”
“Dhara’s labor has begun.” She paused, waiting for Sakhi’s reaction.
Sakhi burned with questions, but pride sealed her lips. How was Dhara faring so far? What was the court saying? She wondered, too, how Kirsa felt about the baby that everyone thought her former lover had fathered. She couldn’t have refused the palace’s request. The best healers since Jivaka left were Kirsa and her teacher Saibya.
“I will pray to the Protectress of Children for an easy birth,” she said.
Kirsa turned to Bharata. “I have a surprise for you.”
His left eye still tended to droop a bit, but he opened both as wide as he could and gave a slow, deliberate blink.
Kirsa took a pouch out of her sash and drew out a tiny pot. “Rosemary,” she said, taking out the linen stopper. She held it under Bharata’s nose. He sniffed and gave another lopsided smile as she handed it to Sakhi, who savored the intense, fresh scent. “This is the first oil we’ve extracted,” she said, looking very pleased. “I wanted to bring some to you in thanks for sharing the plant with me. It’s flourishing in my garden.”
“I knew it would,” Sakhi said. Bhallika’s merchant friend Trapusha had brought the herb from Graeco. A physician there had told him that it was common practice to rub its oil on paralyzed limbs. “It’s no miracle cure for that,” Trapusha had said with his usual bluntness when he presented the seeds. “But its leaves work miracles on a roast goat.”
Kirsa began rubbing Bharata’s upper arm, as deft with her three-fingered hand as with her whole one. Sakhi rubbed his legs. Laughter rang out in the courtyard. “You brought Nachiketa.”
Kirsa nodded. “You don’t mind if he stays while I’m at the palace?”
“Of course not,” Sakhi said.
“Will the older boys be home soon?”
“Maybe today. Bhallika wrote from the Vajji capital that Arjuna spent the whole trip glowering into the forest to scare bandits away. Bhima’s antics were distracting the guards who should be watching for evildoers.” Sakhi tried to sound cheerful but was worried that her sons might see actual fighting.
They smoothed the fragrant oil over Bharata’s limbs. Underneath his soft skin and scant flesh, his bones seemed fragile enough to break under their bare hands. They worked in comfortable silence for a time. Sakhi was grateful for the time Kirsa took to be with him, not just as a healer but as a friend to Bharata.
“Sakhi,” Kirsa said, carefully laying Bharata’s arm down. “Dhara could use a friend at her side during the birth. You know how it is in the palace. There’s still gossip.”
“Siddhartha doesn’t believe it. That’s all that matters. All will be clear as soon as the baby opens his eyes.”
“She is so isolated in the palace. She needs her oldest friend.”
Sakhi flushed. “I thought relations with the queen had improved.”
“Yes, but they are so different and so alike, Prajapati and Dhara. She has come to respect Dhara, but she is not naturally warm and loving. Dhara needs that. At first I thought Siddhartha would stay, but the priests opposed it.” Kirsa warmed more oil in her palms. “He usually stands against all their rules of purity, but he didn’t this time. Instead, he said he would go to the tree house to meditate and pray that his wife’s suffering will be brief.” She shook her head.
“Most men don’t want to see where they come from,” Sakhi said.
“Bhallika stayed with you,” Kirsa said.
“He’s a rare one. ‘A man should know what his wife goes through to give him a son,’ Bhallika said.” Sakhi smiled, remembering. “The priests said he was polluted. There were those who shunned us afterwards, but soon enough Bhallika dined out on the story.”
“Other men do it now. Even Chandaka was close by when Nachiketa was born.”
“Dhara and Siddhartha are royalty. They are not free to do what they want.”
“True. Still, I can’t help but feel there’s more than the priestly prohibitions keeping Siddhartha away.”
“Poor Dhara.”
They finished Bharata’s massage. Kirsa stood. “She needs you.”
“But she hasn’t sent for me.”
“Don’t let your pride keep you away.”
“I will come if she asks.”
Kirsa gathered her things and left. As soon as the healer was gone, Bharata’s eyes sought Sakhi’s. She could not look away.
Go with her, Ma. Dhara needs you. He smiled.
Had he spoken to her? She crumpled over him, resting her head by his thin little chest, crying a little.
It’s all right. Go.
Sakhi took a deep breath as she stood up. “Mitu! Choti! Tell Kirsa to wait!”
Please come
“What do you think, Vaddhesi? She shouldn’t be on her feet, should she?” Siddhartha drew Dhara’s hand into the crook of his arm.
“No, my lord, she should walk. Keep moving, Princess. This is not your backward Koli village, where women—”
“Don’t tell me about my own homeland!” Dhara glowered. Bad enough that they had moved back to the palace, but disgusting old Vaddhesi was driving her mad, dosing her with herbs, fussing with the incense, which he insisted must be a particular scent from a faraway desert land, and ordering Dhara about.
“Who called for you, Vaddhesi?” Prajapati entered with a swish of gaudy pink silks. She looke
d sternly at the nurse.
“Namaste, Aunt.” Siddhartha and Dhara bowed their heads in unison.
“I did,” Siddhartha said.
When Dhara felt the first twinges, Siddhartha called for his old nurse Vaddhesi. Vaddhesi had delivered three generations of Gautamas, but when Siddhartha was still a child, she was banished from the palace. “Nothing but beauty must surround my son,” was what Suddhodana had decreed. “That will bind him to his royal life. Vaddhesi’s too old to be of use.” No one had dared to argue.
“If the king hears of it, there’ll be trouble,” Prajapati said.
“I’m not afraid of that old goat,” Vaddhesi said, narrowing her bloodshot eyes.
“You should be,” the queen said. The way Vaddhesi shut her mouth with a snap gave Dhara some satisfaction. “But I’ll not tell him. And how are you, Yasodhara?”
“It’s not bad. Just a twinge now and then.” The words had no sooner left her mouth when a contraction twisted her pelvis. She took a quick breath. She was Yasodhara’s granddaughter. She would face this bravely. Another contraction took her. Dhara winced. “I… I want to walk in the garden… ”
Prajapati gave her an appraising look. She turned to Vaddhesi. “With that belly she could lose her balance. No, you should be lying down, my dear.”
“Beloved, Aunt is right,” Siddhartha began.
“Nonsense,” the midwife replied, but the arrival of the new court physician who had replaced Jivaka and the royal astrologer interrupted her.
The physician offered a deep bow to Prajapati. “Ahem. Namaste, your highness.” He gave another bow to Siddhartha. “Ah, Prince, you must, ah, leave now. It is bad luck for you to be here when, ah, Princess Dhara begins her labor in earnest,” he said, finishing with another “ahem.” Not once did he look at Dhara. She fumed. Who was giving birth?
Vaddhesi glared at the physician. He was an old man whose curative powers relied on ancient and incomprehensible incantations from the Black Veda muttered over noxious potions, rather than the sort of medicine Jivaka had learned in Taxila, which was based on observations from hundreds of healers from all corners of the world. The old physician inspired no confidence in Dhara.
“I don’t want to go yet.” Siddhartha took Dhara’s hand.
“This is no place for you,” the astrologer said.
“Don’t worry, my prince,” Vaddhesi said. “All will go well under Kirsa’s guidance.”
The physician looked at the queen for support. “Leave the princess to rest,” she said to him. “I must go. The arrangements for tonight’s feast are not complete. Call me when it is time.”
“Preparing feasts before the child is born.” Vaddhesi shook her head. “I don’t like it, majesty. Forest sprites in the palace park will see the torches and hear the musicians. They’ll come to make mischief during the Princess’s labor.”
“All will be well,” Prajapati said, as if it were something she could order. Despite their worry, Siddhartha and Dhara exchanged an amused look. The queen turned to the astrologer. “What time did you predict the birth?”
“At the beginning of the third watch, your highness,” the man said, rubbing his hands nervously.
“The guests will be completely intoxicated by then. Come.” She indicated that the physician and astrologer should follow her out and raised an eyebrow in Siddhartha’s direction.
“In a moment, Aunt.”
“Your father expects you at the feast,” Prajapati said.
“I’m going to the Summer Palace to meditate,” he said.
“Your father will not like it,” Prajapati said, but didn’t argue. She left, trailing the two courtiers.
“Vaddhesi, may we have a little time alone?” Siddhartha asked. Vaddhesi bowed and drew the curtain closed. He tried to lead Dhara toward her couch, but she resisted.
“Let’s walk a moment in the garden.”
“Aunt said—”
“I want to walk in the garden.”
He put his arm around her shoulder and led her to the waterfall. They leaned against the boulder. “Bhallika once told me that a woman giving birth is braver than any man in battle. Are you more frightened than you were at Kalamas?”
“No.” Then she considered. “Yes.” The enormity of it hit her full force.
“Dhara, beloved, I’m sorry to have brought this on you.” His voice was full of emotion.
“I think I had something to do with it,” she said, trying to lighten the serious tone.
“I have something to tell you. I’m sorry I won’t be here—”
An agonizing jolt made her knees buckle.
“Dhara!” He slipped his arm around her waist and helped her back into the room. “Vaddhesi! Come quickly,” he called as he eased her onto the couch.
Vaddhesi rushed in. “Princess?”
“I’m fine.” She leaned back and took a deep breath. Sweat broke out on her forehead and a few drops trickled under her armpit.
“Best that you go now, Prince,” the nurse said.
“I’m sorry I won’t be here.” Siddhartha’s face was twisted in agony. “I must—I must—just remember that I love you.” He put Dhara’s palm against his lips and kissed it. He embraced her and turned to go.
“Beloved,” she called after him. Despite all Kirsa’s skills, she might die in childbirth. She wanted to say something, tell him she would always love him, for lifetimes to come. “I love you, too.”
Then he was gone.
So began the long afternoon. Twinges became increasingly frequent sharp contractions. “You will need all your strength,” Vaddhesi said after a particularly strong one.
The old nurse called for Embalika to get more clean linens, and thereafter the maids hurried in and out with arms full of supplies Vaddhesi requested. A few servants and curious courtiers who had no business in Dhara’s chamber poked their heads in only to be shooed away. She longed to be at the Summer Palace with Siddhartha, high in the arms of the great banyan. Not here, keeping a brave face for unwanted visitors.
The pains worsened, each one terrifying Dhara more than the last. She didn’t want to admit this, so she closed her eyes. The old woman shuffled about the room seeking an auspicious spot for the final moments of labor, mumbling prayers to Sitala, the Protectress of Children. When Vaddhesi let a brick drop with a grunt and a thud, Dhara’s eyes flew open.
“Ah, Princess. Not sleepy, eh?” She picked up the other brick. Those skinny brown arms were stronger than they looked. With another grunt and thud the midwife placed it near its twin. When the time came, Dhara would stand on these two bricks, supported under each arm as Kirsa waited below for the baby to emerge.
“I wish Sakhi would come,” she blurted.
“A good woman, that one.” Vaddhesi was rattling the lid of the incense holder. “She’s a friend of yours, eh? I expect she’ll come with Kirsa.”
A wisp of scented smoke wafted through the open doors to the afternoon’s deepening blue sky. Om, let Sakhi come be with me, she prayed.
“The queen herself will support you on your right side, Mistress Sakhi on your left.” The old nurse seemed so sure. Dhara wanted to believe it, too. “Would you like some water, Princess?” Vaddhesi’s hands shook as she poured water from a heavy jug; much missed the little silver cup and more sloshed out as she shuffled across the room. As Dhara took a swallow, Vaddhesi said, “I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier.”
“About what?” Dhara asked.
“About how things were done in your village. I knew the midwife.”
“Ghosha?” Dhara was interested despite the pains. “She died a couple years ago, you know.” It somehow helped that Vaddhesi knew the shaman’s wife. It brought a bit of Dhara’s childhood back. She would have to tell Sakhi when she came. Oh, please come, Sakhi.
“We get old, we die.”
“
She scared Sakhi.” Nostalgia made Dhara snuffle a little.
Vaddhesi pulled a strip of soft cotton from her sash and handed it to Dhara. “Your Ghosha was a miracle worker. You and your mother might never have survived your birth without her. Usually the child is head first. You were ready to come out feet first. It’s an art to flip the baby around, but she did it… ”
Dhara stiffened. She could almost feel it, the struggle to leave the womb. “So you were there.”
“Not with your mother Atimaya. I was with Maya. I wasn’t going to let just anyone deliver Queen Maya’s child, even if she insisted on that foolish trip to the Lumbini Grove. That poor thing.” She wiped her eye with a corner of her worn yellow robe. “There was never such a beauty on this earth, and she rivals the heavenly nymphs now. We thought Suddhodana would kill himself when he learned of her death.”
“You were there! Is it true that Siddhartha popped out from under her rib without any trouble? And landed standing up, eyes open?”
Vaddhesi cackled. “You don’t believe that, do you, child?”
“No. But I wish it were true. Then my son might be born that way.” All of a sudden she burst into tears. “I’ve always been so afraid to give birth! Now I know why. It will kill me, like it almost killed my mother.”
Vaddhesi sat on the edge of the low bed. “No wonder you’re frightened. The birth memory sticks with every baby, whether they recognize it or not.” She massaged Dhara’s belly. The baby kicked in response. “You see that little foot? Right under your heart where it should be. His head is down. I predict an easy birth, for all your skinny hips.”
Dhara threw her arms around Vaddhesi and wept harder.
“There, there.” Vaddhesi’s embrace was like being hugged by a skeleton. “Only a foolish woman wouldn’t be frightened. But a wise one trusts in midwives like Kirsa. Not that idiot physician.”
Both laughed. Dhara wiped her eyes. “Tell me more about the day we were both born.”
“A magical day, full of wonders. Flower petals rained from the sky. The gods themselves watched.”
“Truly? It rained flowers?”
The Mountain Goddess Page 51