This girl – who stood before her now with her head bent – wore her hair like Shiva did, rolled into two bundles, one mounted on top of the other. Two fresh lilies stuck out from the back. She was shorter than Ganga, about as tall as the average Meru woman, but her breasts and hips had acquired the curves one would not expect to see in a maiden of her age. Her hands had the shape of virgin lotus leaves. Thin, sinewy orange patterns were painted on her palms and fingers.
She had Shiva’s nose, thin enough to be covered by one finger’s breadth. And her complexion was a flowing, frothy white.
‘Whose daughter are you?’ asked Ganga.
‘They call me Saraswati,’ said the maiden, her voice low. ‘I am being fostered at the hermitage of Sage Brihaspati. He trains me in the Mysteries.’
‘You do not know whose daughter you are?’
‘No, my lady. Some people have said that I resemble one of the Wise Ones, but I have not seen any of them, so I know not if it is true.’
‘And your mother?’
‘She is said to have given up her life when giving birth to me. Sage Brihaspati has said she was once a consort to Indra, and in later years she had come to keep the Earth Mysteries.’
‘Do they train you in the Earth Mysteries, then?’
The girl nodded. ‘Among other things, my lady, yes.’
‘Well, do you know the nature of the task the Wise Ones have given you?’
‘I do, my lady. Sage Brihaspati has told me all that I need to know.’
‘You will stay here for a moon. I shall teach you all that I know of the ways of Earth. Remember, though, that I cannot teach you everything.’
‘Naturally.’
‘Life on Earth is not as structured as on Meru. You will have to think on your feet, learn as you go.’
‘I will, my lady.’
‘It is fortunate that you have the Earth Mysteries to call on. They work better on Earth than they do here on the mountain.’
‘I have been told that, yes.’
‘I shall teach you some of the Water Mysteries too, ones I think you shall have need of.’
‘I am blessed, Lady Ganga.’
Ganga tried to force some feelings of tenderness toward the girl. But all she could feel was a cold, hard spot in the corner of her heart. Her mother would have frowned if she could see her now. She would say that the Lady of the River must rise above feelings of envy and greed, that she must serve the Goddess with her whole mind, stripped of desire and emotion. If a maiden was sent to you for training, you treated her like she was your own daughter. You fostered her with love. That was the way of the mountain.
And yet …
She murmured a prayer of apology to the Goddess, deep within her mind. She promised her she would take a dip in the chilled water of the river at daybreak the next morning. She would forsake her two mouthfuls of the Crystal Water to atone.
Out loud, she said, ‘It will be dark soon. Bring some firewood from the barn and light up the stove. We shall begin your training tomorrow.’
‘My lady.’
They stood at the base of the White Rock, in ankle-deep water. A colourless ball floated in the air, inches above Ganga’s outstretched left palm. ‘The trick here is to think of the water as part of you. Your mind tells you that water cannot be held, so you must fight that and let your fingers feel its shape. Pretend that you are holding a fish.’
Saraswati nodded, then bent down to pick up two handfuls of water. Her lips moved with the prayer she had learned that morning. Carefully, she separated her hands. The water took on a strange, ghoulish shape, swirling this way and that. ‘Oh,’ said Saraswati, grabbing with her fingers. ‘Oh!’ The more she clawed at it, the more it slipped from her grip, and then it broke into a thousand droplets and fell into the river.
Ganga nodded. ‘That was not bad. Now let us try again. This time, do not let your mind wander.’
They sat at the fountain in the shadow of Mohini’s statue. Ganga was tying two bunches of jasmine together for Saraswati’s hair.
‘Is it true what they say of you, my lady? You married an Earthman and bore him eight children.’
‘I did not just marry him. I loved him too.’
‘Did he love you as well?’
Ganga paused. ‘I think he did.’
‘They say you brought back your son here, to rear him as a Celestial. Sage Brihaspati still speaks fondly of him, says he was the first Earthman to add to the Book of Mysteries.’
‘That is so.’
‘And today he is the foremost warrior in North Country. They say he can outrun a horse and can shoot a hundred arrows in the blink of an eye.’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah, I wish I could have sons like him.’
Ganga wanted to tell her she should wish for daughters, not sons, but she did not wish to colour a mind so young. She picked up one of the garlands and motioned for Saraswati to turn.
‘You will get all the children you deserve,’ she said, as she tied the flowers to the girl’s hair. ‘You have not yet gone to the fertility rite by the oak, have you?’
Saraswati shook her head.
‘How old are you, child?’
‘I will enter my fifteenth year this spring. One more year, and I can partake in the rite.’
‘Indeed.’
‘I cannot wait, I just cannot wait.’
Ganga smiled sadly at the jasmines.
On the porch, in the silver light of the gibbous moon.
‘What is Kamsa like, my lady?’
‘You shall find that men on Earth are more ruthless,’ said Ganga. ‘But Kamsa is ruthless even for an Earthman. His lust for his throne is so deep that he has imprisoned his own father. His fear of a successor is so strong that he has imprisoned his sister and her husband. He has killed their firstborn.’
Saraswati listened to this without grimacing. ‘Does he not have children of his own?’
‘He does not wish to have children, for he thinks his sons will treat him the same way he treated his father. So you cannot hope to seduce him the way I did with Shantanu. You must find a different way to win his favour.’
‘He wishes for power, does he not? And for fame, and for valour?’
‘Yes. But then that is what all men wish for. And all women too, in their own way.’
On the open grasslands by Brihaspati’s hut.
‘This is where I implored Devavrata to stay.’
‘Why did he leave us, my lady? Certainly life on Earth cannot be as comfortable or enriching as life here?’
‘It is not as comfortable, yes. But enriching – who can say?’
‘You speak in riddles, Lady Ganga.’
‘That is because life itself is a riddle, child. You are still fourteen, and it must feel as though you have all the answers. I was like you when my mother sent me down to Earth. I thought I knew everything.’
‘They say that about you now. The Lady of the River has the gift of the sight, they say. She sees everybody, she hears every word they speak.’
Ganga laughed. ‘If that were true, life would be stale indeed.’
On the bank of the Great River.
Looking up at the full moon on the zenith, her head resting on Ganga’s lap, Saraswati said, ‘Tell me a story.’
‘There was once a fisher girl who lived on the banks of the Yamuna, on the southern edge of Hastinapur.’
‘What was her name?’
‘Satyavati.’
‘It sounds like mine.’
Ganga smoothed the girl’s hair. ‘She was not as beautiful as you are. But her body carried the scent of musk, and you could smell her from leagues away, so she was called Yojanagandhi.’
‘I wish I smelled of musk.’
‘It was a trick she learned from a sage she rowed across a ferry once, on a mist-filled summer morning.’
‘Are summers on Earth as hot as they are here, Lady Ganga?’
‘They are hotter, my dear. Much hotter.’
‘Oh
my.’
‘So, as I was saying, Satyavati lived with her father in a fishing settlement on the Yamuna …’
In the shade of the White Rock, on a warm afternoon.
Saraswati had a blob of water suspended between her two hands and turned it around without touching it. Her tongue was wedged in between her teeth. Her blue eyes had turned almost black as she gazed at the colourless ball swirling in response to her fingers’ movements. Out of the corner of her eye she looked up at Ganga and grinned.
‘Yes,’ said Ganga. ‘Still your mind. Do you feel that you can speak?’
Saraswati shook her head.
‘Then do not do so. Hold it between your hands for as long as you can.’
Ganga felt a pang in her heart. She had been well past her twentieth year by the time she was able to bend water like this. Saraswati had learned in less than a month what she had taken a whole year to master. Would she have felt the same way if Saraswati had been her own daughter? Had Mother ever felt jealous of her?
She looked up at the sky, as if expecting to hear her mother’s whispery voice. But all she heard was the rustle of the leaves and the gurgle of water as it flowed down the smooth surface of the rock.
That night, Saraswati did not ask her for a story. As soon as they had their dinner, she laid out her mat on the porch and went to sleep. Ganga sat leaning back against the pillar, watching the young girl curl up on her side. The sound of a man’s step came to her ears from the bushes, and out came Nishanta, staff in hand.
‘You summoned me, my lady,’ he said.
‘Yes, Nishanta. I have an assignment for you.’
‘Anything you command.’
‘You have come home for the summer, have you not?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘You do not go back to Earth until autumn, I hear.’
‘That is so. I go back to Hastinapur for a few months, then on to Panchala.’
‘I am afraid you may have to go to Earth before that, Nishanta. On the morrow, in fact.’
‘Tomorrow, my lady?’
‘Yes, this maiden starts at dawn to Mathura, and the journey is a long and tortuous one. Not something a girl of her age should endure alone.’
Nishanta bowed. ‘I agree, my lady.’
‘It is my wish that you accompany her on her mission, and help her in whatever way you can.’
‘How long is she expected to be away, my lady?’
Ganga smiled at the messenger. ‘Nobody can tell. She is to enter the court of Mathura and win the favour of Kamsa.’
‘For what reason?’
‘She will tell you all during your long boat ride down the river. I only ask you for one thing. Protect her with all that you have, and help her with your knowledge of Earth.’
‘Is this the maiden’s first visit to Earth?’
‘It is, yes.’
‘Then I shall go with her, as you wish.’
‘I hope your wife will understand.’
‘Wives never understand, my lady,’ said Nishanta, chuckling in the dark. ‘But if a job has to be done, it has to be done.’
‘Thank you, Nishanta. I shall expect to see you here at dawn, then, with your travelling sack.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
After he had disappeared into the bushes, after the sound of his steed had receded, for a long time Ganga sat gazing at Saraswati. Now, with one arm folded under her cheek and the other stretched along her side, she bore the appearance of a priestess. She would make a fine Lady of the River, thought Ganga, but even as the words escaped her mind, she reminded herself that Saraswati would be taking her place, and the cold spot in her chest returned. Giving up one’s station for one’s child was one thing, but to give it away to an outsider – well, there was still time to think of that.
If Saraswati succeeded in this task, the Wise Ones would be in a hurry to reward her, and what better reward was there than the position of the foremost lady on the mountain? Already Meru was abuzz with murmurs about Ganga’s barrenness; she knew the people would like nothing better than to have a young, fertile maiden to keep the Water Mysteries.
She brought out her own mat and stretched herself out on it. She lay on her back so that she could see a portion of the sky and a few blinking stars. She thought of the Goddess and immediately felt a warm touch on her cheek. What do you want from me, Mother, she asked. What do you have in store for me?
They walked hand in hand down the long flight of mossy steps to the river. At the base of the White Rock stood a narrow barge, gleaming wet and black in the morning light. The oarsman who stood with his legs spread apart on the edge of the hull appeared to be straddling the boat, pinning it down against the water.
‘You shall not be nervous,’ said Ganga, squeezing the girl’s palm. ‘Remember that Earthmen are as human as you and I.’
‘But they think of us as gods, do they not?’ said Saraswati brightly. Ganga reminded herself that she must not put fear into the hearts of the young. How nervous had her mother been that day when she had bade her goodbye? And how happy and light her own mind had been. Much of Saraswati’s happiness sprang from ignorance, true, but children must be allowed their ignorance.
‘They do,’ she said. ‘And they do not believe us when we tell them we are as human as they.’
‘So must I or must I not tell them?’
‘Do what your heart tells you is right. This is your task. Neither I nor Vishnu can foresee what awaits you on Earth. The choices you make will be yours alone, and they will be neither right nor wrong.’
Vishnu was waiting for them at the base of the steps. Ganga saw the dark figure of Nishanta hovering near the barge. He stood like a soldier, his hand clutching the hilt of his sword, his bare shoulders and upper arms already dotted with glistening beads of sweat. He stared into the distance where the river bent away, his head cocked, eyes unwavering.
‘I have asked Kubera to accompany you, my dear,’ said Vishnu, looking at them both. ‘He should be arriving here any moment.’
‘I have two escorts, then, my lord,’ said Saraswati. Ganga thought she detected a note of sarcasm in her voice, as though she resented being treated like a child.
‘Kubera has lived for a significant number of months on Earth, in Gandhar, the city of gold,’ said Vishnu. ‘I trust Lady Ganga here has told you that tale.’
‘She has, sir, yes.’
‘He will be of much use to you, not only because he knows the ways of Earth, but also because he will give you all the gold you need for your task.’
Kubera appeared at the head of the main mountain path, and as he walked down to the river, he bowed in Ganga’s direction. He had cut his hair short since the last time she had seen him, and the gold bands he had then worn around his arms were now missing. In truth, save for the solitary ring on his left hand, he wore no jewellery. Quite unbecoming, she thought, for the treasury keeper of Meru.
The oarsman heaved all three sacks on board and untied the ropes anchoring the boat to the bank. Nishanta sprang on first and sat by the hull. Kubera also took his place, near the back.
Saraswati turned one last time to Ganga. ‘My lady, I shall do my very best.’
‘I know you will, child. The Goddess will guide your barge away from troubled waters.’
‘I … I was thinking of something last night. I had half a mind to ask you this morning.’
‘Yes?’
‘I was wondering if I could use the name of Jahnavi for myself when I am on Earth.’
Ganga smiled at her. ‘Of course, my dear.’
Apple trees.
For hours they rowed along the narrow stream that led away from the White Rock, and on both sides of her, sturdy and green with flaming red fruit, Jahnavi saw nothing but apple trees. Preceptor Brihaspati had told her that apples were one of Meru’s staple trade items, but she had had no idea just how many trees had been planted on the mountain to harvest this one fruit. They did not occur in clumps as they would in a jungle, she noticed. T
hey stood in rows, each one just far enough from those next to it to have enough space to grow freely.
The barge proceeded with caution. With each thrust of the oar the boatman let out a groan of effort. Jahnavi had imagined that travelling downstream in the Great River would feel like being swept away by a rapid gust of wind, but this felt more like a restful passage through a still lake. The overhanging branches protected them from the sun, and sometimes the apples hung so close that Jahnavi had to summon all her powers of restraint to keep from reaching out and plucking a few.
‘We will reach the Cave of Ice in a few moments,’ said Nishanta. Since the rest of them had made this journey before, she assumed he was addressing her. She did not know what the Cave of Ice was, and she did not want to ask.
‘I see,’ she said, gathering some verve in her voice.
‘The current will pick up a little after we leave the cave,’ said Nishanta. ‘Our journey will quicken a little after that.’
She was sitting at the back of the boat, next to Kubera. All she could see was Nishanta’s bare back as he sat at the hull, right by the oarsman’s feet. She said to Kubera, ‘Lady Ganga has told me of what you did in Gandhar, my lord.’
Kubera turned to her, as if in surprise, then bowed. ‘Thank you, my lady.’
‘How do you think we should enter the court of Mathura? I have heard that Kamsa is an impatient man, and that he does not have time for strange visitors to his lands.’
‘Yes, my lady. The last strange visitor to enter Mathura was Surya, and he fled with the black stones. So Kamsa’s wariness for outsiders is understandable.’
The boat made a sharp turn, and all three of them leaned to one side.
‘Just so,’ said Jahnavi. ‘Then do we enter bearing gifts, proclaim ourselves emissaries from Hastinapur or some other land?’
They eased into a wider section of the river now, shaped like the eye of a sewing needle. The green and red of the apple trees gave way to a brilliant, blinding white on all sides. Only when she looked up did she see the blue of the sky. Everything else – the tops of the conifer trees, the trunks of the banyans and the peepals, even the whiskers of scampering squirrels – seemed to be dusted with snow. Water dripped into the river off half-melted icicles that hung off branches.
The Queens of Hastinapur Page 3
