"What if Kalyan doesn't approve of your meddling? What if he tells the authorities?"
"Mother." Tana spread a cloth over the rice to keep off the flies. "Kalyan wouldn't cause trouble for our family or his."
"Men." Ma Hiral threw the free end of her gray dress wrap over her face and rocked back and forth. "Who knows what they'll do? Even dear Javerikh, twelve gods bless him, abandoned his family to this world of illusion. How will we live?"
"I'm doing my best, and so is Diribani," Tana muttered, but she said it after she had left the kitchen.
Fortunately, her mother hadn't yet thought of the one problem that had made Tana hesitate to approach Trader Nikhat. She and her mother had no claim on this house, except while Diribani remained unmarried. Whenever Ba Javerikh's cousin, the next inheritor, visited the house, his shrewish wife poked her nose into every room, as if measuring the bare stone floors for the carpets she'd lay down once she became its mistress. Which she would, the day Diribani crossed her bridegroom's threshold. If her stepsister's relatives discovered Tana's secret dealings, they might evict her and Ma Hiral from the family property. Then they'd ship Diribani off to the first man the marriage broker suggested and have the place to themselves.
Diribani had reassured Tana, saying that her father's cousin
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wouldn't find out. Besides, Diribani insisted, she wasn't in a hurry-to wed. She wouldn't consider any proposal that left Tana and Ma Hiral without a home.
Still, Tana worried. As pretty as Diribani was, some man would snap her right up. No, as she'd told her mother, they didn't have a choice. They'd already sold Ma Hiral's dowry bangles. They needed money, and of the three of them, Tana was most qualified to earn it.
Tana blew out a long breath as she walked to the courtyard and closed the cane shutters. She could hear children playing in the street outside and women talking over a garden gate. Tana didn't expect callers, but the neighbors' mud-brick walls stretched two stories above their modest compound. The last thing she needed was some bored auntie spying through a window.
In the main room, narrow bars of sunlight pierced the shutters and striped the floor. Tana had swept the stone pavers earlier that morning. If only Diribani were as diligent with her chores; she had yet to return from the sacred well with water to boil the rice. Tana pulled the door cloth across the opening, stood in the brightest part of the room, and frowned. With the shutters closed, it was too dim. She found a clay lamp and shook it, listening to the faint sloshing of oil within the bowl. Should she burn the last of their fuel, or open a shutter and risk being seen? Tana bit her lip. Better to be safe, she decided. Lighting a twig from the banked kitchen coals, she touched it to the lamp wick.
The flame burned, small but steady. Carrying the bowl in both hands, Tana set the lamp on a stand. She spread a piece of black cotton fabric on the floor under the lamplight. With another glance at the closed shutters, Tana fetched the jeweler's scale from its shelf. An iron poker served to pry up one of the floor's square paving
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stones. Underneath was a small iron box. She removed the box from its hiding place and brushed off a few crumbs of dirt. Oiled hinges opened to reveal layers of cotton wadding, and a thin roll of yellow cloth tied with silk ribbons.
Tana put down the box and knelt beside it. She smoothed her red dress wrap across her lap, as much to dry her sweaty palms as to straighten out wrinkles. As she picked apart the first knot, her fingers trembled. Perhaps her mother was right, and Tana's foolish pride would destroy her family. Who was she, to claim her judgment exceeded that of men who'd apprenticed with the Jewelers Guild? If the authorities found out, or if Tana had mistaken her abilities...
Let the stones speak to you.
Her head jerked in fright, but the room was empty. Tana's racing pulse slowed when she realized she had heard the voice of memory. Her stepfather had once given her that advice. She remembered the encouragement in Ba Javerikh's voice, felt the weight of his attention whenever he watched her work, ready to correct or praise. He had believed in her. She wouldn't fail him, or the widow and daughter he'd left destitute.
She unrolled the lumpy cloth packet. Like frozen raindrops, sapphires trickled onto the black fabric.
Then a flicker of movement caught Tana's eye. She hunched over the gemstones. Had she forgotten to cover a window? Left the gate open? Or perhaps little Indu had climbed over the wall again. The pest! If the inquisitive neighbor boy saw Tana with a double handful of sapphires, the whole town would know before sunset, and Ma Hiral's worst fears might come true.
From the shadows under the household shrine, a long, narrow
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shape rippled across the stone floor toward her. Alternating patches of tan and gold glimmered in the light. Tana eased back on her heels. It was only the house naga, looking for a warm spot to bask in after Tana had closed the room's shutters. She pressed her palms together. "Peace to you, naga-ji."
The snake's head swayed near her ankle. Tana felt the brush of cool, dry scales against her bare feet. Ratters usually ignored the people whose homes they cleared of vermin. Its favor was an encouraging sign. Perhaps the snake's patron, the goddess Naghali, didn't mind Tana's working in secret.
"Be careful, friend," she said softly. "When the rains ended, Governor Alwar doubled the reward for snake skins."
Unconcerned, the snake coiled back on itself and then moved on, sliding under the door cloth and into the courtyard.
Tana removed the last sapphires from the wadding. The quilted lines of stitching had come loose, allowing the stones to slide from one section to another. Ba Javerikh had taught her better; she would repair the roll before returning it. Anticipation stirred within her as she spread the gems across the black cloth. Small jewels, she noted, of medium to poor quality. She sorted them into rows by weight, shape, and color, engrossed in the familiar task. The stones did speak to her, in a fashion she couldn't explain to her mother or Diribani.
Gems didn't have souls like living creatures, to be reborn from one body to another, but Ba Javerikh had taught her how they, too, passed through various stages of existence. In infancy, they were shaped by the same forces that raised mountains and sundered oceans. Leaving the womb of earth, they were brought to light by wind, water, and men's persistent digging. A jewel achieved its full
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virtue after being cut and polished to reveal the fire within. When Tana held a rough gem, she could sense how best to express its character.
These had been poorly cut. Tana pursed her lips as she turned each one in her palm, listening with her fingers. Diamonds, the brightest, most powerful stones, had the loudest voices. Sapphires spoke in more muted tones, but these were clearly unhappy. Tana found herself insulted on their behalf. Even small, flawed stones deserved to sparkle. She would recommend a better cutter to Trader Nikhat. Her stepfather's old rival wouldn't be sorry he had entrusted Tana with the inventory. And if she gave a helpful report on this assortment, perhaps he'd send more valuable items in the future.
At the bottom of the iron box, Tana found a blank clothbound ledger, bamboo pen, and small clay pot of ink. One silent tear, then another, dropped to the black fabric at this thoughtfulness. Trader Nikhat or his wife, Ma Bansari, must have seen Tana and Diribani before the market stalls were packed away, hawking whatever they could spare in order to tide them through the rains.
Immediately after the tragedy, when Ma Hiral had been in no condition to help them, the girls had rented a stand and sold the goods themselves: blank ledgers like this one, Ba Javerikh's books and carpets, the best dishes and silver serving pieces, all their formal dress wraps, pretty blouses, and embroidered shawls. Diribani's beauty had ensured a constant stream of customers; Tana's bargaining had brought excellent prices.
Out of compassion, the townsfolk hadn't haggled too fiercely. In Gurath's merchant community, everyone knew that one failed expedition could end a family's comfortable existence overnight. Diribani had given up h
er paints and drawing paper, Tana her
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dreams of expanding the family's gemstone business. Trader Nikhat must have guessed she would need the most basic supplies to compose her report.
Now she uncapped the ink and sniffed, angry with herself for dwelling on what couldn't be changed. They'd saved their dowry bangles, hadn't they? In the worst case, the gold bracelets would enable Tana to hold her head high when she visited the marriage broker's garlanded tent. Diribani should have them all, of course. Beauty and good breeding were important, but everyone knew that a girl's dowry mattered. Even if Tana had no prospects, Diribani deserved a good husband, young and handsome and kind. Perhaps he wouldn't mind if her stepmother and unwed sister joined his household as well. Tana would work so hard, her new family wouldn't see them as a burden.
Meanwhile, if this job earned even a tiny commission from Trader Nikhat, Tana wouldn't have to sell her mother's one remaining treasure, an engraved silver pitcher, so they could eat. Assuming Diribani brought back the water for cooking before the day faded into night. What was keeping her?
Tana's stomach cramped. She ignored it. She'd gone hungry before, and would again, no doubt. The sooner she returned these sapphires to Trader Nikhat with an accurate report of weight, classification, and value, the sooner they might buy some garlic or onions to season their plain rice.
After dipping the pen into the ink jar, Tana drew a grid on the first page of the ledger. She labeled each square with the symbol embroidered on the carrying case's corresponding panel. The first sapphire could be cut to eliminate a flaw on one facet. She turned it over. Yes, a fraction off this side would improve the jewel's
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symmetry without dropping the weight below a half-rati. With quick strokes of the pen, Tana wrote down her recommendation. "Will that suit, my lovely?" she said under her breath.
The stone twinkled in response. Tana set it down and picked up the next. Absorbed in her work, she didn't notice her mother watching from the doorway, worry etched on her features.
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***
CHAPTER THREE Diribani
P-PEACE to you, naga-ji," Diribani stammered.
The viper's triangular jaws opened. The forked tongue flicked in and out, as if the goddess's messenger could taste a girl's character from the air around her. Trapped in the clammy folds of her dress wrap, Diribani lowered her eyes to stare at the mud.
How would the naga judge her? If fifteen years was the allotted span for Diribani to enjoy a human girl's body, had she spent the time wisely? Unlike Believers, who feared a hell and prayed for a paradise that their one jealous god reserved for humans only, the followers of the twelve understood that the earth encompassed both. For all creatures, each lifetime's actions determined their condition in the next.
What had Diribani learned--or failed to learn--that might doom her to return as a lower being? She knew that laughing at Gulrang hadn't been very compassionate, but was it enough to make the gods send her back as a rat, say, or a scorpion?
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Her arms ached, and a muscle burned in her thigh. Diribani didn't dare shift position. Her nose itched. Mud dried in scales on her skin. Quiet as a temple statue, she waited. The green snake considered her, the tip of its tail vibrating.
Diribani worked so hard to keep still that she almost missed the moment when the snake uncoiled. Moving with abrupt decision, it swept past her, across the road to the field beyond.
So. Death was not her fate today. If the goddess was kind, perhaps wisdom or good fortune would mark Diribani's future. Now that she had one.
Diribani shuddered and pulled herself out of the mud. Her legs trembled. She put down the clay jar and stretched her arms to the sky until the gold bangles danced on her wrist. Relief bubbled up inside her, hot and sweet as strong tea. What a story she had to tell! She was almost tempted to run straight home. Duty dragged the pot back onto her head and started her feet toward the well. The naga might regret sparing Diribani if she acted like the lazy girl the piltreet had called her.
Within a grove of mango and pinkfruit trees, the well's entrance pavilion beckoned. On either side of the biggest stone archway, two oil lamps burned in their niches, adding their small flames to the day's brightness. Diribani ducked between the carved pillars. Dim light soothed her eyes; cool air refreshed her skin. Diribani washed her feet and legs in a large clay basin. She poured the dirty water into the waste channel and refilled the basin with clear water for the next visitor. After straightening her blouse and twitching her skirts into order, she paid her respects to the goddess's shrine with extra gratitude. Then she carried the jar along the covered walkway to the stepwell proper.
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Mostly open to the sky, the sides of the large tank were faced with stone blocks and divided by many flights of steps. The stairs descended deep into the ground, separating the wide expanse of the well into areas for bathing and washing. Strung along the edge of the stepwell like pearls on a necklace, pavilions offered shelter from both rain and sun. During the dry season, the water level inside the tank might drop eight or nine or twenty levels, but it was always accessible from the flights of steps.
The recent rains had filled the well to the brim. Water lapped the top stairs and spilled into canals that irrigated the fruit trees surrounding the tank. Unusually, the only other visitor was a goatherd, driving his animals up the livestock ramp at the far end of the stepwell. That didn't make it quiet; monkeys quarreled, and birds whistled in the trees.
Diribani stopped in the shade of a pavilion and set her clay jar next to a pillar. She splashed a handful of cool water on her neck, dabbling her fingers at two fish in the pool. One darted away, a sliver of gold and green. The other didn't.
Curious, she reached down to touch it again. The unmoving fish had been chiseled from one of the submerged stone steps. Diribani smiled at the mason's whimsy. She had enjoyed discovering such carvings around the well before, fish and shrimp, lucky frogs and Sister Naghali's snakes.
As the water stilled, the reflections of the pillars shimmered around her hand, inviting her into a shadowy world. Looking into the water, Diribani felt like a cloud spirit surveying the earth below, or perhaps a sea nymph waving from the waves at her celestial sister. Light played across the surface of the pool, blurring the boundary between the submerged depths and the limitless sky. Diribani
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flicked the water again. Diamond-bright drops splashed, their ripples dissolving into the stepwell's vast peace. A distant parrot squawked, then quieted.
In the drowsy calm, hope surfaced like the little darting fish. Tana's transaction with Trader Nikhat should succeed. A diamond in the rough, Diribani's father had called Tana. Hiral, my fiery ruby; Diribani, my unmatched pearl. She blinked away tears at the memory. How happy she had been when her father's remarriage had blessed her with a mother and sister both. Without them, how could she have endured his loss? Together, they would survive it. And if Tana could work on a regular if secret basis, perhaps their fortunes were less dismal than Ma Hiral predicted.
Diribani dipped her jar into the pool. Full, its weight stretched her tired arms. Girls like Chihra and Gulrang, who'd been fetching water since childhood, could squat, hoist a pot onto their heads, and stand without spilling a drop. This task was new to Diribani. When her father was alive, servants had fetched their water. She had gotten stronger with practice, although she still needed to hold a full jar with both hands. Grunting with the effort required to lift it above her shoulders, she settled the water jar onto the cloth ring that kept it steady on her head.
Tana would be the first to remind her that poor girls earned their every meal or they didn't eat. Diribani's lips twisted in a wry smile. Perhaps she wasn't as skilled as her stepsister, but she could strive to work as hard.
Leaving the pavilion's shade, Diribani almost tripped over a pile of rags. She stopped with a squeak of surprise when the strips of cloth parted, revealing two wrinkled hands and a d
isease-ravaged face. Inside the torn garments, a woman hunched on the stone
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walkway. Praying? Asleep? A traveler weakened by her struggle through the road's thick mud? Diribani didn't recognize her.
"Give me a drink, Mina?" The words were slurred, the voice cracked with age.
"Certainly, Ma-ji." Diribani lowered her jar and stepped forward to pour water over the outstretched claws.
The stranger slurped the water, dribbling it over Diribani's feet. Diribani pretended not to notice. The poor thing couldn't help her infirmity. Bony, sore-pocked legs stuck out from her ragged garment. She must be as weak as a baby bird if she couldn't manage the few paces to the pavilion's shelter.
"More water, Ma-ji?" Diribani asked.
"No, no." A deep cough shook the thin body.
Diribani hugged the jar to her chest and winced in sympathy. "May I help you to the pavilion?"
"Thank you, Mina." Spittle flecked the cracked lips.
Before Diribani could put down the jar to assist, claw hands closed over Diribani's elbows, and the old woman pulled herself upright. Either the coughing or the abrupt upward movement must have cleared an obstruction from her throat. Strangely, the crone's voice emerged as sweet as a flute's. "Such kindness merits a gift. What is your soul's desire, my daughter?"
"Pardon, Ma-ji?" Diribani said, confused by the woman's transformation from beggar to benefactor. She would have stepped back, but the woman held her arms in a firm grip. As they stood face to face, with only the width of the water jar between them, Diribani met the stranger's eyes.
Toads and Diamonds Page 2
