“Do you mean the father or the son?”
“Both,” Priya said. “I suppose they came to see things your way, eventually. Does that make you feel better?”
“Not really, no. They seem happy though. I guess that’s better than whatever they were before.” Asha looked up. “And at least I know that it was what Hasika really wanted. If you count up the months, she must have kept eating the fruits another half a year after we left. So she didn’t stop because I turned over the bowl. She stopped when she was ready. Good for her.”
They walked on a little farther before Priya smiled a little and said, “So, Asha, how would you describe that house now? Is it half empty or half full?”
“Neither. Or both. Whatever.” Asha poked a sliver of ginger into the corner of her mouth and began to chew. Far behind them at the top of the path, they heard a young woman’s laughter and a baby’s squeal of delight. “Well, if I had to say something, I guess I’d say that house is noisier than it used to be.”
Chapter 5
It was raining again.
But it was a light rain, a misty rain. And while it left any traveler soaked within minutes, it somehow did not feel oppressive or threatening. Not a storm, certainly. In fact the sky often looked bright and clear between the pale gray clouds. No thunder, no lightning, no raging winds. Merely water falling from the sky. So Asha and Priya finished their meager midday meal of seeds and dried fruit and continued on their way.
The road was wide and no doubt dusty when dry, but now it was a soft carpet of mud dotted with shining puddles. Asha kept to the side where the slick grass offered a firmer path. Priya followed a few paces behind, tapping here and there with her bamboo rod, unconcerned by the treacherous footing. And in her thick black hair among the lotus leaves and blossoms, a mongoose curled warm and dry around her neck, asleep.
“It wasn’t always called Rajasthan,” Priya said.
“What?” Asha didn’t pause or look back.
“It used to be called Gurjaratra, but the Rajputs renamed it when they conquered it, centuries ago.” Priya sniffed, then sneezed. “Maps and signs.”
“What about maps and signs?”
“They’re important. Very important. If you change all the maps and signs, then people are forced to use the new names, otherwise they can’t read the signs and can’t find where to go. Of course, this only works where people can read. So it is strangely unfortunate that the Gurjars were so literate during the invasion, which is why they call themselves Rajputs now. Had they been illiterate, they might still have some part of their heritage intact.”
“If you say so.” Asha kept her eyes on the road ahead, peering through the silvery veils of rain, squinting against the bright glare of the sky reflected in the swampy highway.
They were passing through farmland again, flat and featureless fields stretching away in every direction as far as they could see, over the hills and vanishing into the valleys. Fields of wheat, sugarcane, oilseeds, and poppies, always the same, day after long day on the road. The spectacular vistas of the mountain roads had been ruined by the woods, but there had been a certain intimacy with the trees leaning over them, as though they walked through the endless corridors of a forest god’s house. Not like here. Here they walked on the naked face of the earth, shuffling between clouds and mud.
Somewhere behind them was a village called Mandana where they had found few people in need of an herbalist’s healing arts and no one interested in a nun’s teachings. Somewhere ahead of them was a village called Kasar where they expected more of the same.
There were other people on the road, other rain-soaked travelers clutching hats and scarves over their dripping heads. Some darted and dashed around the muddy puddles of the road but most plodded straight through them.
Asha spotted a young man in the distance striding toward her. He too was walking along the edge of the road in the thick grass, but the shoulder of the road was narrow, sloping away sharply into a low field of oilseed stalks. She frowned for the rest of the quarter hour that it took for them to come together. She dreaded the inevitable awkward moment when they would try to pass around each other without having to step down into the ankle-deep mud. She prayed to Shiva that the man would not try to speak to her, and then she prayed to Buddha on Priya’s behalf just to be certain.
The moment arrived. The young man was only a few paces away. Asha sighed and stepped to the right edge of the grassy shoulder, but to her surprise the young man stepped off the shoulder entirely, splashing down lightly into the muddy road. He smiled and performed a small bow, gesturing for them to continue on their way.
“Thank you,” Asha muttered.
“You’re most welcome on this beautiful day.”
Asha grimaced.
“It is a beautiful day, indeed,” Priya answered. The nun paused. “I may not have seen the faces of the other people on the road, but I could feel their misery as they passed us by. But you, you are light and free.”
“I am indeed.”
Asha stopped walking several dozen paces away, just at the edge of being able to hear the conversation over the soft, unceasing sound of the rain.
“Have you always been so appreciative of the world, or have you been more recently enlightened?” Priya asked.
“Oh, recently, very recently,” the young man said, nodding and smiling. “Just this morning, as a matter of fact.”
“Really! Tell me all about it.”
Asha rolled her eyes and sighed.
“Well, I was only passing through Kasar on my way to visit my father when I heard about the boy, so I went to see if the story was true, and there he was.”
“What boy?” Priya asked.
“You haven’t heard? The living Buddha! Lord Buddha reborn, they say. Oh sister, you have to go and see him for yourself. It will change your life.”
“How so? What did this boy say to you?”
“Oh nothing, nothing at all. He never speaks and never moves. They say he’s never even eaten a single bite of food!”
Asha groaned and rolled her eyes again.
“He just sits there under the tree, meditating,” the young man continued. “And everyone says that one day soon he will open his eyes and reveal the secrets of the universe to us all. I spent an hour sitting near him with the others, just watching him sit there as still as a stone. No pain, no fear, no worry, nothing but serenity! I wish I could have stayed longer, but I really have to see my father. But I will be back as soon as I can, I promise you that.”
“Amazing.” Priya smiled and bowed her head. “Thank you for sharing your experience with me. I shall go and see this young sage for myself.” She touched the cloth that she wore over her sightless eyes. “So to speak.”
“Take care, sister!” The young man climbed back up onto the grassy shoulder of the road behind them and continued on his way.
Asha waited for Priya to catch up and then resumed her own brisk march along the shoulder. “So we’ll be stopping in Kasar, then?”
“We were going to stop in Kasar anyway.”
“Not on purpose. Only because it’s there.”
“Ah. Well, now we have a purpose.”
Asha grimaced. She pulled a sliver of ginger root from her shoulder bag and poked the little green-white spear into the corner of her mouth. She chewed. “Let’s try to keep the purpose short, if we can. There’s still a long road ahead.”
* * *
The village of Kasar sprawled across the intersection of the main highway and a smaller country road running off east and west into the fields. The village was little more than a collection of empty market stalls, neglected shrines, and a single ox-turned mill that smelled of rotting grain. There were a few houses scattered around the intersection, but nothing else. No shops, no indication of any craftsmen of any sort. No smithy or forge or tinker, no tailor or weaver, no potter or glassblower, or stone carver, or anything.
Evening was coming on quickly. As the sun retreated into the west, th
e sky faded to dusky violet and slate blue. The rain lessened, which did nothing for how soaked the travelers were or how dangerous the muddy highway was underfoot, but the noise of the falling water dropped considerably. Asha welcomed the quiet. Even here in this pitiful village, there was life to see and hear. Rows of crops, huddled flowers, and even trampled weeds.
She pulled her long, sodden hair back to uncover her right ear. The dragon’s venom seemed to burn a little more these days, and the hard scales on her skin itched and chafed, but Asha ignored the irritations. Instead, she focused on the sounds of living things, the hums and titters and songs of souls. Some were human souls, ringing out loud and clear with emotion and life and intention, while others were animal souls, muddled and vague with primitive desires and impulses, and lastly were the plant souls, dimmest and strangest of all, singing their mysterious notes that told her almost nothing except, “Here I am. I live, I grow. And I carry a seed, or a fruit, or a root that you might want.”
Asha paused at the edge of the intersection of the highway and the farmers’ lane. To the north and south she saw and heard little of interest. There were only a few more travelers on their way to wherever travelers go. Other souls rang out inside the houses and stalls, the souls of tired people with little on their minds but supper. She heard the animals and plants among them, rodents and vermin and weeds, sounds she knew all too well. Nothing new. Nothing she needed. The one thing that sang a bit louder and a bit finer than all the others was a lone almond tree near the pilgrims, but even that lovely tree couldn’t tempt her to stand about in the wet, dark road.
Satisfied that there were no other healing gems hidden in the rough of Kasar, she turned her attention to the crowd at the west end of the village. She needed no cursed ear to hear the gathering there. At least a hundred men, women, and children stood and sat in the muddy grass beside the road, all clustered around a gnarled little tree, its branches drooping with shining wet leaves.
“I hear them,” Priya said. The nun smiled and petted the mongoose on her shoulder. “Such soft voices, so full of reverence and expectation. So much joy and eagerness. Like a single great breath being held, awaiting a beautiful sunrise.”
Asha only saw a hundred homeless people with slouching shoulders, dripping hair, and wet clothing plastered to their thin frames. They looked tired. They looked hungry. “I suppose you want to visit this living Buddha right now?”
“No time like the present.”
Asha frowned up at the darkening, overcast sky. It was exactly the same as last evening, and the one before. Recently the days had been a blur of sameness, of routine. “If you say so.”
They turned off the highway and approached the crowd spreading out from the little tree in concentric semi-circles. As the two women moved among the faithful watchers, many hungry eyes shifted to the newcomers, and many empty hands were extended toward them. If Priya sensed the gestures, she made no sign of it. Asha simply ignored them. The fields and forests were full of food for anyone willing to make the effort, and she carried no money at all.
They stood before the little tree among the closest pilgrims and Asha studied the boy seated among the roots, and she described him to her companion. “He looks to be about ten or twelve. Thin. Middling skin. Shaved head. No eyebrows. Seated in the lotus position, completely naked. Clean fingernails. Eyes closed, mouth closed. I can’t see his chest rising as he breathes at all. Not even the slightest tremor or twitch in his hands or feet. No footprints or other marks on the ground around him. The falling rain has spattered a little bit of mud on his lower body. He’s been here a while, that’s for sure. He must be cold and hungry, whether he knows it or not. He won’t last long like this.”
“That is one possibility.”
“It’s the only possibility,” Asha said. “The human body has limits. I’ve seen this sort of thing before. I saw it growing up in Kathmandu. Sages, monks, priests, and other stunt artists. He won’t last, or he has someone secretly feeding him somehow. At best, he’s a fool. At worst, a fraud.”
“Always thinking in dualities,” Priya said. “There are always more than two possibilities.”
Asha sighed. “Yes, well he could be a god or a ghost or a donkey, I suppose. Listen, the sun has just set and I’d like to sleep someplace dry. Or dry-ish. Can we please go find an empty house or stall or something for the night?”
“Of course,” the nun said mildly. “No need to suffer unnecessarily.”
Asha led the way back toward the intersection, but stepped off the road when she found a small market stall with a solid roof. The ground smelled faintly of mangos. It’s always mangos, Asha mused. She spread her wool blanket on the damp earth and shared a handful of nuts and berries with Priya, and then they slept.
Asha dreamed of warm food.
She had no idea what the nun dreamed about.
* * *
The next morning Priya returned to the congregation at the foot of the little tree. The rain had faded away in the night somewhere over the eastern ridge and the sun rose bright and clear in a pale blue sky. Everything high dripped and everything low gurgled as the water slowly drained across the land toward the nearest river, which roared quietly off to the west beyond a low hill.
Asha was still picking her teeth when Priya set out unaided for the crowd of pilgrims and their young sage. The herbalist finished her teeth in her own good time, draped her hair over her right ear, and trudged carefully after her friend. The mud puddles lay thick and deep about her, and she could hear the worms wriggling in the murky water. She wasn’t afraid of them. She wasn’t afraid of any living creature. But the thought of stepping on a pile of wet worms was…unpleasant.
When she reached the crowd, the first thing Asha looked at was the tree. Not the little tree behind the boy but the other one across the road. The almond tree towered in its prime with leaves both long and broad, and tiny white flowers that would soon bear tiny red fruits, each with a single precious nut inside. Its shade fell across most of the road, though no one sat beneath it, and as she glanced around the hovels of Kasar she could easily pronounce the almond tree to be the most beautiful thing in sight. She had noted it before, but now she could appreciate it fully. Her right ear coursed with the sounds of flowers and unborn fruits, of the rich seeds and the dusky grey-gold wood locked away within the bark. It was a wonderful creature, that tree. Asha could think of a dozen ways to use its leaves and flowers to heal and sooth all manners of ailments, and she reminded herself to gather a few specimens before they left.
Then with a sigh she turned her attention back to the crowd, and the boy, and the miserable little sapling at his back. It was a twisted and gnarled little tree with feeble limbs and precious few leaves and Asha could barely hear the life of it in her scaled ear. She guessed it was a diseased old teak, and that its pathetic appearance in some way made the boy’s meditations all the more holy. Asha shook her head as she tucked a sliver of ginger into the corner of her mouth and waded through the crowd of muddy pilgrims still asleep in the middle of the road.
Priya sat on the grass beside the boy, and her saffron robes and bound eyes seemed to add a new layer of majesty and mystery to the setting because Asha noticed dozens of the filthy vagrants sitting up to take notice and make joyful wails and gasps. Asha only spared the boy a glance before turning her attention to the boggy field behind the tree to wonder what useful insects or grasses she might find down there.
“Asha?”
She looked at Priya, who was frowning. Jagdish jumped down off the nun’s shoulder and began sniffing the tree’s roots. “What?”
“Could you please take a look at the boy? I’m afraid I cannot hear his breathing, even with my keen ears. I think your expertise is warranted. But please do not disturb him.”
Asha returned to the tree, aware of the countless eyes fixed on her every movement, and she knelt down beside the boy. He appeared unchanged from the night before. Still sitting in the lotus position, eyes and mouth closed, h
ead perfectly hairless, and not the slightest tremor in his fingers or toes. Asha plucked a blade of grass and ran it lightly along the boy’s feet and palms. There was no reaction. She peered at his eyelids, but could see no darting impressions of his eyes to betray his thoughts or dreams. After watching his chest for several minutes, she could not say she had seen him draw a single breath and she pulled a small mirror from her bag to hold before his nose and mouth, but after several more minutes not even the smallest cloud of fog appeared on the glass.
Asha glanced nervously at Priya and then at the other pilgrims. “I’m going to touch his arm now. Just for a moment.” No one spoke, which she took to be silent permission, so she placed her fingertips on the boy’s inner wrist.
No pulse. His skin was smooth though fairly firm, and he was only slightly warmer than the earth he was sitting on.
“Some sort of comatose state, maybe,” she muttered.
“Like the family we found in the mountains?” Priya asked.
Asha winced and glanced up at the withered tree to check for strange fruits. There were none. “Similar, maybe. But not the same.” She reached up and placed her fingertips against the side of the boy’s throat and waited. Minutes passed, and minutes more. Finally her arm grew too tired to hold up any longer and she relented, leaning back to sit and rest and think. Still no pulse. Not even a very slow pulse. And yet he was slightly warm.
“Is something wrong?” asked an elderly woman behind them.
Asha didn’t turn to look at the woman. “Probably. He’s not breathing and he has no heart beat. How long has he been here like this? When was the last time anyone saw him eat? Or even just move?”
No one answered. The nearest pilgrims just shrugged and shook their heads.
“No one?” Asha grimaced. “How long have you been here?”
They answered one by one:
“Two days.”
“Four days.”
“Seven days.”
Aetherium (Omnibus Edition) Page 161
