The blast from a nearby conch shattered the glade’s quiet in the glade. His hand went to his sword. Half his troops had mounted and managed to hang onto the reins and saddlehorns as their horses shied and bucked in surprise. The other half were knocked under the hooves of the panicking Gandharan horses. The warriors shouted and cursed as they gained control of their animals.
An even closer blast sounded, and a rider wearing Sakyan blue and gold burst from the woods, galloping through the shallow stream to plunge into the milling desert horses. His mount reared and pawed the air, and the warrior, who could hardly have been older than a boy, tumbled off and twisted, landing face down in the water.
Before anyone had a chance to pull the Sakyan up, the conch sounded again. Half a dozen riders in Kosalan black and red galloped out of the trees.
“It’s our fight now, sir,” Gada cried as he drew his sword.
Shalini gave a whoop and charged the Kosalas, who were too close together to rein up and turn back downstream. They were quickly surrounded and captured. Meanwhile, most of Chandaka’s warriors had managed to control their own well-trained horses after the initial shock, but he watched with a sinking heart as the fifty Gandharan steeds took off in all directions.
“Gada!” he shouted.
The boy wheeled toward him. “I’ll round them up, sir,” he cried.
“Take Ravi and Urvas.” Gada motioned to the two young warriors and they disappeared into the trees after the escaping horses. “Everyone, in the saddle! More Kosalas are bound to follow!”
The chaos had subsided. Several of his warriors who had fallen underfoot in the initial moments were moving slowly to their feet. A groan rose from right below him. It was Prahlad, who was trying to rise. Next to Prahlad, still face down in the stream, was the little Sakyan, one arm akimbo.
There was something familiar about the still figure. Chandaka slid off his horse and knelt in the cool water. Gingerly, he turned the young warrior over.
A woman. She coughed and spluttered.
“My arm… ” she groaned, and opened her eyes.
Dhara. That arrogant girl from Varanasi. Siddhartha’s wife.
The battle was over; the Sakyas victorious.
Thanks in part to the help of him and his troop, Chandaka thought as he led his warriors through the bloody, dusty Sakyan soldiers. The Sakyas gave off an aura that was simultaneously weary and full of fierce, victorious joy.
“Chandaka!” someone called.
He glanced from side to side, but before he could identify the voice, someone was pounding him on the shoulder.
“Chandaka, old man!”
For a moment, Chandaka didn’t recognize the bearded face caked with sweat and dirt. “Dhaumya?”
“Who else?” Dhaumya laughed. They embraced. “You don’t recognize the one who always beat you at wrestling? Maybe you don’t remember my face because I always had your head in a hammerlock.”
Chandaka felt light-headed. “The last time I saw you, you were beardless.”
A little crowd had gathered around them now, grinning like idiots and pushing each other to give Chandaka bear hugs or pound him on the back. They emanated the stink of the battlefield, of enemy blood, of shit and horse sweat. Some wore hastily tied bandages red with blood. These men had once all been boys surrounding their beloved, the golden Prince Siddhartha. Chandaka let himself be jostled and pushed by these familiar strangers, too full of emotion to speak.
“The king,” Dhaumya said, rescuing him from the friendly mob. He pointed at the white elephant and gave Chandaka a gentle shove in its direction.
“Chandaka.” From atop Marut’s enormous white bulk, Suddhodana fixed him with an amber-eyed stare. The raucous shouts of victorious soldiers and the distant groans and shrieks of dying men and animals faded until the only person in the world was the Sakyan king. “You’ve performed a great service for us today,” the king said. “Your troop is small, but your warriors fought like a legion. You saved my son’s wife.”
Chandaka’s heart beat fast and his hands shook. He hoped Suddhodana couldn’t see. “My—my—” His voice caught in his throat. He took a deep breath. Was he going to cry? Humiliating. “Namaste, my lord.” His voice quavered.
The elephant raised his white trunk as if greeting an old friend—which he was. Stealing down to the royal stables and mounting the great creature was one of Chandaka’s first boyhood misadventures with Siddhartha. It turned out that getting down from Marut was trickier than getting on, and Chandaka had nearly broken his leg dismounting.
He watched in trembling admiration as Suddhodana climbed out of his gilded turret and slid down Marut’s side in one graceful motion, ignoring the rope ladder the mahout held out for him. Without hesitation the king embraced Chandaka. “My boy.” To his acute embarrassment, Chandaka couldn’t suppress a sob. “What’s this?” Suddhodana said with a laugh, holding him at arm’s length for a moment, then embracing him again. “Are those tears of joy? Or are you afraid I’ll have your head for the Varanasi adventure?”
Chandaka returned the king’s embrace with a flustered and tearful laugh. “I’m in your power now, my lord. You may do what you wish with my head.”
“I’m going to drag it to Kapilavastu and show it to Siddhartha, of course. Keeping it firmly attached to the rest of you. Ah, my dear boy, it’s good to see you.”
“And you, my lord.” There was an awkward moment when Suddhodana seemed to be waiting for Chandaka to continue, but he was choked with tears.
His troop watched this exchange with complete amazement, and some among the assembled Sakyan officers smiled. Someone among his old friends started whooping. “Jai, Vivasvat! Jai, Chandaka!”
Suddhodana raised his hand to silence the shouts. Chandaka stood in flustered silence for a moment. Then a murmur moved over the army like a wave over the shore of the Eastern Sea as the outlaw queen rode up.
Chandaka had seen her several times since the night in Varanasi when she saved all of them. She was on more than cordial terms with Chandaka’s half-brother Ajata, though their father Bimbisara did not have the formal alliance with her that Suddhodana did. Her mere presence always seemed to cast a shadow, even on a day like today with the sun blazing in a cloudless sky. It was as though she drew its light to her and transformed it within herself into a dark aura as powerful as Suddhodana’s bright one. Hers was of the earth, the deep forest, the Great Mother, while his was of the sky gods.
The look that passed between the outlaw queen and the Sakyan king charged the air. He’d never seen such raw lust on Suddhodana’s face, not even with Addha.
“You will stay for the feast tonight,” Suddhodana said, a command, not a request. Everyone’s eyes turned to the outlaw.
“No.” A few in the crowd shifted uncomfortably. “The war isn’t over.” She let out a brutal laugh, and everyone stepped back. Suddhodana frowned. She gave another laugh, amused and contemptuous. “My army prefers not to bivouac with yours. Virudha is hurrying back to his father with his tail between his legs, and it will be easy to pick off some of the laggards.” She wheeled her horse and galloped away.
Suddhodana stared after her in fury. No one moved. A faint breeze brought the groans of fallen Kosalas on the battlefield and the calls of the outcastes sent by the Kalamas clan to dispatch their wounded and send their souls for Yama’s judgment.
There was another rustle as the crowd parted to admit Bhela, the king’s priest. “I shall make arrangements for the sacrifice, my lord, to offer our thanks to Indra.”
Suddhodana looked across the river. “There’s your sacrifice. Say your prayers over them.” He strode away. In the awkward silence the king left, the old Brahmin stood watching with his lips pressed tight together. The officers and men averted their eyes and began to move away.
“Where will we camp, Lieutenant Maurya?” Shalini asked.
Chand
aka was at a momentary loss for what to do, and then he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Captain Sukesa!” he exclaimed upon seeing the warrior who taught him military strategy and palace politics. For the second time, tears threatened to embarrass Chandaka.
“I’ll thank you to call me General now, you upstart,” Sukesa said as he embraced him. They looked at each other and embraced again. Sukesa’s round belly sagged a bit more now, and his warrior’s braid was thinner. Wisps of hair stuck to his sweaty face, but it didn’t matter. Happiness got the better of Chandaka, and he had to brush a tear from his cheek. Sukesa laughed. “Ah, how we’ve missed you.”
“I wouldn’t have known,” Chandaka blurted. “In six years, not a word from Siddhartha.” He meant it to come out as light banter, but his bitterness was clear.
“Lieutenant Maurya?” Shalini interrupted.
“Camp over there,” Sukesa said to her. “Near the king’s own tent. You, boy,” he called to a page. “Show Chandaka’s warriors where to pitch their tents. You’ll come with me, young man.” He put his arm around Chandaka’s shoulder and led him aside. “Lieutenant Peacock?” He raised an eyebrow.
Chandaka laughed self-consciously. “I’m known for my elegant attire.”
“As you always were,” Sukesa laughed. “Ratna will be glad to hear her influence has stood the test of time.”
“How is she? Oh, how is Siddhartha?” He couldn’t hide his desperation for news of his old friend. “Tell me everything.”
Sukesa lowered his voice. “His majesty worries about Siddhartha. The old prophecy, you know. The prince is restless. You should come to Kapilavastu. It would do him good to see you.”
“After Varanasi, I can’t believe the king thinks my presence will help.”
Sukesa shook his head. “Let the past lie. Siddhartha’s missed you all these years. You don’t have to stay forever. But we can talk more of this later.” He glanced at Shalini and gave Chandaka a sly smile. “Time to pitch your tent.”
Dharmaraja’s questions
Sakhi sat leaning against a cushion Mitu had propped against the trunk of the ashoka tree.
“You-dif-ra,” Arjuna said. He sat by Siddhartha, looking up at him with wide hazel eyes just like Bhallika’s, his red lips parted.
“Yudhisthira,” Siddhartha said with a smile, running a hand through the boy’s brown curls.
Arjuna’s fat brown cheeks lifted in a grin and his eyes crinkled. He tried to cross his legs in the same manner as Nalaka, Siddhartha, and the physician Jivaka, taking one foot and trying to rest it on his pudgy thigh. He couldn’t keep his balance and rolled backward. “Yoo-dif-ra,” he said again, pushing himself to a kneeling position.
Siddhartha, Nalaka, and Jivaka laughed.
Arjuna’s smile disappeared into a stricken frown. His lower lip began to tremble. “I don’t care. It’s too hard to thay. Tho I call him Bhawata.”
Sakhi joined in the laughter to hide her tears of gratitude. She was alive. She wanted to hold her sons to her forever.
“Ma,” Arjuna wailed as he rushed to her. He buried his face in the bright yellow folds of soft wool that covered her lap, knocking against the wound. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. The wet nurse finished swaddling little Nakula and placed him in the large straw basket next to his twin Sahadeva, who had already eaten at Sakhi’s breast, then gently pulled Arjuna off his mother’s lap and settled him at her side.
When Jivaka saw Sakhi wince, he started to rise from where he sat next to Siddhartha. “I’m all right,” she said, hardly daring to glance at him. “Truly.” She gestured for him to sit back down. She didn’t want him to touch her, to know how her heart raced to have him near. She couldn’t hide it. She should send him away, but the idea made her miserable.
Sakhi took careful, shallow breaths. The ugly gash down her belly was healing but still very painful. Whenever Kirsa or Saibya changed the dressing, she had to avert her eyes. She wondered if Bhallika would want her ever again. She wasn’t sure if she would want him. Jivaka had seen everything during her ordeal. Could anyone blame her for falling in love with the man who saved her life, and the lives of her babies?
“Don’t cry, Arjuna.” Bharata left Siddhartha’s side to comfort his brother. He was as slender as Arjuna was plump. It worried her somewhat, but Mitu said he’d just lost his baby fat and hadn’t started to gain muscle. He wasn’t much for running and playing, but preferred to sit quietly and listen to the stories Nalaka and Siddhartha told. Siddhartha had promised him a story today. “Even for me it’s hard to say, and it’s my very own name and I’m six—old enough to say it properly,” he said. “‘You-dis-ra.’ See? I can’t. That’s why when he was king, he told people to call him Bharata.”
It wasn’t true, of course; he could pronounce his own name perfectly well, but he pretended not to, just to make his younger brother feel better. So young, and already he showed the compassion of the hero whose name he bore. Sakhi brushed away more tears, impatient with her sentimental foolishness.
Mitu and her son Dimi arrived laden with refreshments. Dimi’s older brothers went with Bhallika on his journeys, but he wanted to stay with his mother. He’d turned out to be a good cook, and the little ones adored him.
Bhima waddled behind them, clutching a wooden soldier. He’d grown very attached to Mitu during Sakhi’s pregnancy, when she didn’t have the energy to fuss over him whenever he hurt himself. Arjuna had Bharata to go to with his hurts, and Bharata rarely needed any fussing. “May you be the mother of a hundred sons,” they always say to the bride, but only a goddess—whether she was called the Devi or the Great Mother—could give a multitude of children all they needed.
“Put it there,” Mitu directed. Dimi placed a platter with bowls of yogurt mixed with honey, round flatbread from channa flour, and thick slices of guava, the season’s last, on a low table set up under the ashoka tree. Then he bowed and retreated.
“Every day you look stronger,” Mitu said, brushing a strand of hair off Sakhi’s brow. “You worked a miracle, Jivaka-ji. Kirsa says so.”
Jivaka smiled. “Saibya isn’t so sure. She says I had nothing to do with it, but that in a previous life, Sakhi was a midwife who saved the lives of two children and their mother, and it was her karma to live. Who am I to argue with her? I know nothing of past lives or karma. Still, I can’t help believing what my father said is true.”
“What did your father say, Jivaka?” Sakhi asked, breathy and shy. When his eyes met hers, he flushed. Her heart fluttered. She had thought she was imagining things, but now she felt almost certain he felt something for her, too.
“The gods help those who help themselves,” Jivaka replied a little coldly.
In an instant, she was crushed. Of course he didn’t feel that way. He was flushed from the heat. She was a fool.
“The heavenly Ashvin twins were watching over Sakhi that night,” Mitu said. “But without you, I don’t know what would have happened to my good mistress.”
“Your mistress was very courageous.” This time there was no mistaking what was in his eyes. They gazed at each other, intoxicated and heedless of anyone else, until Sakhi became aware that it was very quiet. Mitu was watching, wide eyed. She sat back on her heels and looked at Jivaka, then at Sakhi, then at Siddhartha and Nalaka. Siddhartha’s forehead wrinkled. Nalaka pretended to be absorbed in watching the fountain, which seemed to be splashing very loudly all of a sudden.
Dimi broke the spell by entering the courtyard with more food and a message that Nalaka was expected in the Nigrodha Grove for his regular debate with the sage Mahesh. The two of them had a good-natured running argument regarding the nature of celibacy. Mahesh took the position that indulging in every pleasure was a valid path to the Self, while Nalaka advocated for discipline and restraint. Nalaka always said that if you want to tell people the truth, you have to make them laugh; audiences loved watching th
em make jokes at each other’s expense, and always left with something to think about.
After Nalaka left, conversation between Siddhartha, Jivaka, and Sakhi became somewhat stilted. Then Jivaka and Sakhi spoke at the same time.
“The king will return any day, I hear,” Sakhi said.
“What have you heard about Dhara’s wound?” Jivaka said.
“They say it was a clean break,” Siddhartha said. “Thank the gods she’s all right. We’ve communicated. She feels she hardly fought at all, but I think she’s too hard on herself. Father sent word that she was very gallant and led her unit as well as any man.”
Bharata was kneeling next to Arjuna, holding a dead leaf by the stem and studying it as if it held the secrets of the universe, unaware of the grown-ups’ awkwardness. Suddenly his face lit up. “Aren’t both things possible?”
“What do you mean, Bharata?” Siddhartha asked.
“We-ell,” he said, twisting the leaf between his fingers. “That it is karma, and it is the effort people made, too, that saved my mother.” He looked at Siddhartha for permission to continue. Kirsa had remarked on the special relationship between Bharata and the prince, saying it was because Siddhartha saw his younger self in the serious boy.
“Tell us why you think so.” Siddhartha gave Bharata his full attention.
“Well, perhaps Ma did help a mother and her children in a different life, so in this life, when she was giving birth, she needed someone and karma brought Jivaka to us.” Bharata paused and reached up to scratch at his topknot, which was coming undone as usual. “It was his karma to come here, to Kapilavastu. But people must act in this life. They can’t just count on the goodness they did in past lives. Ma had good karma, but she still needed to be brave. Jivaka’s karma gave him a fortunate birth. His father could afford to pay for his studies. Still, Jivaka had to work hard to be a good physician.”
The Mountain Goddess Page 36
