The Temple Dancer

by John Speed

  In the midst of the mountainside Maya saw a deep cleft, like a stone curtain ripped in two. They stood at the narrow juncture between two cliff faces, above the stream that had over the years cut them in two. Far below ran the chattering stream, now brown and turbulent from last night's rain.

  Their road led into this fissure, a narrow pathway that seemed scarcely wide enough for a man to walk. The road clung to one side of the sheer rock walls, and disappeared behind an overhanging crag.

  "You can't mean we're to go up there," Lucinda said, her eyes wide.

  "I'm sure the captain knows what he's doing," Slipper put in. But his eyes too had grown as big as marbles.

  Geraldo laughed. "You are all too nervous. You'll be fine. I'm sure this beast has walked this road a hundred times. Elephants are more surefooted than horses, you know."

  "Do you say that to relieve us?" Lucinda asked. "When all the horsemen fall to their deaths, will we not be next?"

  "And just look, just look!" Slipper pointed to a :pair of mountains to the rear. "Those are forts. Bijapuri forts! You can see the green flags."

  "I can't see flags," Lucinda said.

  Slipper sniffed. "They're there. We have reached Bijapur." The eunuch leaned toward Maya as if teasing her, but his eyes were cold. "And now you must obey me." Maya did not reply.

  Geraldo laughed. "We're not to Bijapur just yet, Master Eunuch. Bijapur is miles away."

  Slipper lifted his nose. "General Shahji would disagree. All these lands belong to Bijapur."

  Captain Pathan rode up to the elephant and spoke to the mahout. Then he looked into the howdah. "Senhor Silveira," he called, his expression guarded. "Please come down and join us. From now on the howdah is off limits."

  Geraldo bristled but kept calm. "I asked Da Gama's permission."

  "You did not ask mine." With that Pathan whispered a few words to the mahout and then wheeled his horse back to the head of the line.

  Geraldo shrugged. "A self-made man, I understand," he said to Lucinda.

  "I think he's very rude," Slipper told him.

  Geraldo crawled to the edge of the howdah, and stood carefully on the elephant's back. "Can't you help me?" he asked the mahout, but the elephant handler had suddenly gone deaf, and steadfastly stared straight ahead. "That's what Pathan was talking to him about," Geraldo whispered in Portuguese to Lucinda. "No ladder. I'm being punished." He kissed his fingertips to his cousin, gave a carefree nod to Maya, and then slid down the elephant's flanks.

  "What a handsome man," Slipper said as they watched him stride off. "Pity he's such an awful cardplayer."

  ,,who told you that?" Lucinda asked.

  Slipper smiled. "Oh, I learned it for myself. He lost ninety-three tangas to me last night. He said he'd pay me when we get to Bijapur."

  "Well, now you have two things to look forward to," Maya said.

  As they waited at the foot of the ghats, Slipper passed the time by telling tales of bandits. He seemed to have an endless supply. The bandits of his stories had some similarities: they were all young, all handsome and virile. Many were princes living in exile. Their hearts-stolen in an instant by the sight of a beautiful woman-drove them to reckless action: kidnapping sometimes, or secret meetings within the harem walls. Maya managed to focus on her reading, while Lucinda listened in rapt attention.

  "What's the delay?" Slipper said, looking around irritably. "It's almost time for prayers." He crawled to the edge of the howdah and looked out. "Why aren't we moving?"

  "It's not like Bijapur is going anywhere," Maya said softly.

  "Well, neither are we," Slipper sniffed. "It's those scouts. What has become of them?" The eunuch glared at Maya. "I'm sure they're Hindis."

  "I thought they were Captain Pathan's men?" Lucinda said.

  Slipper snorted. "For a price, a Hindi will do anything, even pretend to pray. They have no principles." He called for the mahout to bring the silver ladder.

  First they'd waited while Da Gama and Pathan arranged and then rearranged the order of ascent along the trail. Then more waiting while they debated whether they should proceed without word from the scouts.

  Da Gama wanted to go up the pass at once. He pointed to the sky, which had changed from hazy blue to bright gray, and to a heavy black cloud that had curled around the opposite peak, which seemed to grow larger and darker even as they watched. "If we don't start soon, we'll get caught in the weather," he said to Pathan, his voice growing loud enough for all to hear. "And we can't stay here. There's no shelter."

  Pathan answered softly, but his demeanor suggested that he had his own worries. He knew the scouts, and their failure to report troubled him. So they waited. Flies began to buzz around the elephant's flanks as the sun heated the air. After the noon prayers, Da Gama tried once more. "How long have you known those scouts, Pathan?"

  "I think long enough. There must be some trouble or they would have returned by now."

  Now Da Gama's frustration showed. "You send out scouts before sunrise, and of course they'll nap before they come back ... probably asleep right now," he said, smiling to show that he meant this in a friendly way. "Hell, I could use a nap myself."

  "Maybe that is the way of farang scouts," Pathan replied.

  Da Gama changed his argument. "Forget the sky. What if the scouts were lost or hurt? Shouldn't we go to their aid?"

  At last Pathan agreed.

  "No lunch!" Slipper announced when he crawled back into the howdah. As they got closer to Bijapur, Lucinda noticed, Slipper seemed to act less like a servant, and more like a guest, and a demanding one at that.

  "Odd that we've seen no traffic come the other way," Lucinda said, almost to herself.

  "Not odd, not odd at all," Slipper answered, looking very pleased with himself. "The Sultana has banned trade with Goa. Didn't you know? Haven't you wondered why you've been sent away from home?"

  Lucinda stared at the eunuch.

  "Often you speak when you should be silent," Maya said to him.

  Slipper pretended he did not hear. Amid the shouts of guards, the elephant began to move. Slipper jostled the women as he yanked the howdah curtains shut. "It is better if you do not see the dangers of the road."

  "We'll be fine," Lucinda answered coldly, with a confidence she did not feel. She'd seen the drop before the curtains closed, and the unsettling fragile trail carved along the mountainside.

  The howdah rocked slowly, as if the elephant now measured every step. If she hadn't known the danger, the slow rocking might have lulled her to sleep, but as it was, she felt in her stomach each step the elephant took-from the moment he lifted his heavy toes, until the howdah's bump as the beast's foot next touched solid ground. And with the next step it all began again. After a few minutes, Lucinda's back was damp with sweat.

  Just then the howdah lurched to an unexpected halt. Slipper crawled, and with eyes squeezed tight, opened the side curtains. He steeled himself, looked out, and drew back, clutching his heart dramatically, his face pale. Unable to speak, he merely nodded, wide-eyed, toward the scene beyond.

  Here the road was so narrow that its edge could not be seen for the elephant's flanks. They seemed poised for a violent drop to the bottom of the chasm hundreds of feet below. They could see through misty shadows the churning stream they'd seen at the entrance to the pass. Scrawny trees poked sideways from the rock wall, clinging precariously, their gnarled branches swaying in the constant breeze, looking so tiny from the howdah's height that Lucinda's head began to spin. "Lord help us," she said in Portuguese.

  Maya put down her book to see for herself. Perhaps the shock of the others prepared her, for she gazed calmly into the chasm. She even leaned out of the howdah, and looked up and down the trail.

  The road was no longer wide enough for two horses to walk abreast safely. At the head of the caravan, Da Gama was waving to the men to press into single file against the cliff face, making enough space for Captain Pathan to walk back to the elephant, stepping carefully along the te
rrible outer edge of the trail.

  Pathan spoke brusquely to the mahout. Last night's rain had done more damage than expected, he told him, and the road ahead was wet and ragged. "My friend will manage," the mahout answered, rubbing his hand over the tiny hairs that bristled from the elephant's head and scratching its great ears as if it were a puppy.

  Pathan looked worried. "Maybe we should go back," he said.

  "And how should we do that, sir?" the mahout answered.

  He was right, Maya realized. There was scarcely room for the elephant to stand; certainly none for it to turn around. She knew that elephants could walk backward, of course, but behind them were the oxcarts that could never manage such a feat.

  "In any case, go slow," Pathan said. The captain inched back to the front of the line, where he mounted and shouted the order to proceed.

  Slipper leaned to close the curtain, but Lucinda glared at him and he sat back. When the howdah lurched as the elephant began to move, Slipper yelped. "This is very dangerous. Someone should do something."

  "What do you want done?" Maya asked. "Accept your fate."

  Slipper glared at her, but his face grew white.

  They fell silent, and in the silence they became anxious, attentive to each jolt and jar, glancing to each other for reassurance.

  The mahout tapped the elephant to a halt. On the road ahead, a young girl in rags approached, a jug balanced on her head, leading a string of goats. Just before she reached them, however, she vanished down the side of the chasm. "Has she fallen, sir?" Slipper gasped.

  In answer, the mahout pointed to the road's edge. A narrow pathway leading off from the road wound to the bottom of the chasm, only wide enough, it seemed, for a child to walk. "There are many such pathways, here," the mahout said. "They lead from this road to the water below. Look, you can see her village." In the depths of the chasm, in an elbow of the river, they saw a half-dozen huts of grass. Lucinda realized that she had seen others earlier, but thought that they must be bushes.

  The mahout gave a hut-hut, and the elephant began once more his slow march up the canyon road. The breeze through the chasm became a wind, and the wind grew damp. The curtains of the howdah slapped and sighed as it gusted. Dark clouds swelled.

  Then the front right corner of the howdah platform caught on something. With a snap like tinder breaking, the whole front of the howdah lifted, and the elephant let out a groan. They all tumbled. Slipper slammed against the howdah's low brass railing. Grabbing anything-cushions, curtains-they waited, breath caught, hearts pounding.

  The mahout shouted his commands now-he who rarely spoke, but directed his beast with taps of his heel and the point of his ankus now shouted. With another whining groan, the elephant took a hesitant step backward. Released from where it had caught on the rock, the howdah thudded back into place.

  The curtains had swung shut in the muddle. Ignoring Slipper's protests, Maya opened the ones nearest her, and Lucinda the front curtains.

  The road had narrowed even more, if possible. The howdah's right side had a long, bright gash where it had scraped against a high outcrop of rock. The cliff face was a foot away or less. The elephant's right flank pressed against the wet black stone. "The road has crumbled here," the mahout said, as if it were his own fault. "It was not this way when we came from Bijapur."

  The line had halted, and the riders twisted in their saddles to see what had become of the howdah. Pathan dismounted and hurried toward the elephant. "Is everyone all right?" he called.

  "We're well, Captain," Lucinda answered. Pathan then began a tense discussion with the mahout, pointing to the road ahead, even walking to certain places to point out where the edge had collapsed in the rain.

  In the meantime, Slipper poked his head out the rear curtain. Behind him came Geraldo riding a pony, who gave him an encouraging wave. "How is the ride up there, senhor eunuch?" he called. "Remember, I promised to pay you in Bijapur ... but first you must get there, eh?"

  "If ever I get home I shall give half my winnings to the poor!"

  "Fine, fine!" Geraldo laughed. "You can start with me!" Then he looked seriously at the eunuch. "Look, don't worry. Everything is fine. There's plenty of room. How's my cousin, eh?"

  "She's taking things well, sir. The best of any of us, sir," Slipper answered. His eyes widened as he saw how the chasm fell off just inches from Geraldo's side. "I must go back inside, sir."

  "Go with God," Geraldo said in Portuguese as the eunuch disappeared.

  The mahout let the horses get a few lengths ahead before he urged the elephant forward. As they neared the outcropped rock again, he stood on the elephant's head. Leaning his back against the howdah, straining with the effort, he twisted it enough so that this time the howdah just squeezed past. Still its edge scraped against the stones, sending a rasping screech into the air. Slipper covered his ears. "There, that's the worst of it," the mahout said, but his face lacked any confidence.

  Like a drunk tiptoeing in the dark, the elephant chose each step with worried care. But the mahout was right, they'd passed the worst ... for a while at least. The wind had grown cold now, but dry, and at that moment it blew away the mountain mists. Lucinda wished she had a warmer shawl. Then a hole broke through the dark clouds, and the sun bloomed above them, and they saw it all: the churning sky framed by great steep walls of glistening black stone, the brilliant green of the brave trees that clung to the sides of the chasm, and far below the white foam of the rain-glutted stream.

  "What's that?" Maya asked, pointing with the fingers of her hand politely together.

  Below the road a few yards ahead, a narrow shelf of brownish rock bowed out from the chasm wall, forming a shelf about twenty feet long. This shelf looked almost like a second, lower road, although there seemed to be no way to access it other than by jumping.

  "That can't really be another road," Slipper whispered.

  "No, it's just an outcropping," Maya said. "But look."

  She nodded: behind a scraggly bush lay what appeared to be a white sack. Something soft and brown was spilling from it.

  "It's a body," Lucinda whispered as the image resolved in her mind.

  "One of the scouts," Maya said.

  As if he'd heard, the mahout halted the elephant again. Captain Pathan once more hurried toward them.

  Maya changed places so she could better see the very front of the line, and soon Lucinda was by her side. "What's that ahead?" Maya asked her softly.

  The answer was what Pathan had come to tell them. "There's a barrier on the road," he said quietly.

  "What kind of barrier?" the mahout asked.

  "It might be man-made." Pathan licked his lips as he glanced at the women's faces, clearly uneasy to speak in front of them. "There's blood on the road. The scouts are dead." Pathan's eyes, dark as steel, found Lucinda's in the howdah. "Close the curtains," he said.

  At that moment they heard Da Gama giving orders to ready weapons. The mahout's face turned ashen. "We must get out of here."

  "You know yourself there's no way back," Pathan replied.

  "The bandits in these hills are killers, Captain."

  "Arrangements have been made. Bribes paid. It may only be a terrible mistake. Besides, we have nothing worth stealing." But in answer, the mahout simply turned and lifted his chin toward the howdah.

  "They'd be insane to try," Pathan muttered.

  "There seems to be no shortage of insanity today, Captain. Should we unload the passengers?"

  Pathan thought about this and shook his head. "There's no way to get them down safely, is there? Besides, they're in no more danger in the howdah than out of it." He looked up again. "I said to close the curtains of the howdah!" He spun on his heel and hurried to the from.

  "Do you pray in your religion?" Maya asked Lucinda as they pulled the curtains closed.

  "Yes."

  "Then pray now."

  Somehow, as the mahout urged the elephant forward, Maya found her fingers wrapped around Lucinda's hand. S
he was almost surprised to see Slipper-in the excitement she'd nearly forgotten him-huddled against an upright of the howdah, the fat of his jowls pale and quivering.

  The elephant turned its head, his old gray eyes looking balefully at the mahout. But then the mahout spoke to him, and he began to move, slowly and reluctantly.

  Lucinda pulled the curtain open just enough to peer out. The road ahead of them was empty, for the horsemen had crossed the roadblock and now huddled on the other side, eyes peeled, bows poised. Below she saw the crumpled bodies of the scouts on the stone shelf, and beyond that the endless chasm.

  Then the howdah's roof collapsed.

  A boulder fell on them.

  It splintered the lacquered roof and smashed through the floor. The roof pitched backward like an opening clamshell, and suddenly the women were in the open air. They heard Slipper scream, but his face was hidden by the broken roof.

  "Bandits!" screamed the mahout, pointing upward. "Get down!" He pushed Maya's head to the shattered floor. Pathan's men lifted bows, and Da Gama shot with his pistols. Pops and roars echoed between the stone chasm walls. "They have guns!" the mahout yelled.

  Maya looked up in time to see a hail of stones pouring from a ledge above. She pushed Lucinda beneath what was left of the ruined roof and shoved her to the floor, then threw herself across her. The stones rained down, snapping against the howdah floor, thudding when they struck the back of the unprotected elephant.

  A stone the size of a loaf of bread hammered Maya's left shoulder. She lifted her head as in a dream. Her arm, she noticed calmly, was useless-she could not move her hand.

  Around her the action seemed to happen far away. The shouts of the soldiers and the roar of their guns might have been a mile off. She looked up and saw bandits above her: there were two of them. They were dancing.