“You were a naughty child.” She moved underneath him. He began to rouse again, but she pushed him away. “Too late,” she said. “I must get dressed. I’m going to hear the rishiki Bhadda teach in the grove.”
“So is everyone,” Chandaka said, watching her sway across the room. “My dear, those dimples above your bottom are impossibly endearing.”
She laughed. “Perhaps it’s not too late,” she called over her shoulder. He followed her into the bathing tank in her garden, where they made love once again, standing in the sun-warmed water covered in rose petals.
A discreet cough from inside the chamber. “My lady,” her young apprentice said, “the bearers are waiting.”
“Come, child, bring a towel for me and my lord Chandaka.”
Chandaka dressed and took a seat on the couch. The apprentice helped Ratna wind her antariya around her lush hips. The brilliant yellow cloth shot through with red and gold threads contrasted with her dusky skin. “Will you ride with me to the grove?” she asked, her lips in a slight curve. “You could say hello to your son Nachiketa and his mother.”
“Enough.” There was sufficient pain in the way things were with Kirsa without Ratna rubbing salt in the wound.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I don’t know what got into me.”
He let it drop. “Won’t one of your lovers escort you?”
“Trapusha is in Taxila. Bhallika is in the Maghadan capital right now, buying my mansion.”
“Your mansion? In Maghada?” She couldn’t be serious. And with the merchant? No. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes, my jolly, rich Bhallika may finally leave his wife. You won’t believe it: she’s having an affair.” The girl held up a mirror while Ratna put on dangling gold earrings set with rubies that brought out the red highlights of her antariya.
This took his breath away. “The virtuous Sakhi?” It couldn’t be true. There was never a whiff of scandal about that woman. Siddhartha thought the world of her and adored her five boys. It was easy to see why. Chandaka had taken his own son there now and again to play with her twins, who were almost five, a year older than his Nachiketa, who would soon be four. The house was full of warmth and laughter. Nachiketa loved it. Chandaka hated it. It showed him what a home could be, and what Nachiketa’s, a spare hut in the grove with Kirsa and Saibya, was not.
“That shocks you? You’ve seduced one or two proper Brahmin wives with stainless reputations.” Ratna slipped bangle after bangle onto her wrist. The yellow and gold she wore glowed like an aura around his dark goddess. The city wouldn’t be the same without her. She turned to him. “It’s been said that Princess Yasodhara has shared your bed.”
“You know there’s no truth to that.”
“She would like to.” Her grey eyes pierced him.
“That’s ridiculous.” He flushed. Four years ago, Dhara had shocked the court by falling under Angulimala’s spell and running off to join the outlaw army. Apparently, she found things there were not entirely to her liking, and according to her own story, made a dangerous escape. Chandaka didn’t believe much of what she said, but he, like the whole court, saw a profound change in her after that. She avoided Uttara’s dissipated crowd, threw herself into her royal duties, and devoted time to the good works Siddhartha valued so highly.
Chandaka had mocked her transformation. He resented the time she spent with Siddhartha. But when he examined his heart, the real source of his anger and resentment surprised him. He had not confessed it even to Ratna.
He was half in love with Dhara, and, if he were honest with himself, probably had been since he first met the wild Koli warrior girl in Varanasi.
“I’ve never taken you for a silly courtier,” he said, more harshly than he intended. “They love to speculate about her lovers, but I don’t believe she’d ever betray Siddhartha. You insult me to think that I would.”
Ratna’s bracelets clinked as she reached for his arm. “Ah, once again I ask your forgiveness.” She pulled him down next to her. “Perhaps I’m jealous,” she said, kissing him. “But really, my dear, you and Siddhartha aren’t as close anymore. I thought perhaps you had developed feelings for her.”
He kept silent.
She held his hands. “I understand.” He felt the color rising in his face. “Chandaka, listen. I will be leaving Kapilavastu. So should you. This business with Bhallika doesn’t mean we have to end, you know. You could go back to your father’s court. You’re wasting time here, mooning after Dhara or Kirsa, whichever one you love.”
“No, I—”
“Don’t you know? I don’t care who you’re in love with. I simply want you near. You’re my best friend.”
“And you are mine,” he said softly.
“This place is all wrong for you. This kingdom has something rotten at its core. Despite all Suddhodana has done to ensure Siddhartha will rule the world, anyone can see the prince chafes at his royal dharma. It’s more likely that Siddhartha will take up a staff and a begging bowl and disappear into the forests than become a world emperor. What will you do then?”
It was true, though Chandaka hated to admit it, that there was really no reason to stay for Siddhartha, nor was there any reason to stay for Kirsa, who never wavered in her refusal to marry him. She never said so, but he knew she’d given herself to him only because she wanted a child. “I do love you,” Kirsa had told him. “You’re the father of my son. But you are not the marrying kind.” She was wise not to trust him. He would never settle down, be a good husband and a better father to Nachiketa.
Nachiketa. He should stay for his son.
Ratna brushed the hair from his forehead. “Come with me to the grove.”
“I’ve already heard Bhadda speak. In Varanasi.” The karma that came from that adventure… no point in wondering how things would have turned out if he and Siddhartha had stayed home that night.
“That was years ago. She might have something new to say.”
“Tell me about it afterward, and I’ll let you know if the old rishiki has learned anything.” He hadn’t meant to sound bitter.
Ratna raised an eyebrow. “Very well.” She stood and put her hands on his shoulders, looking into his eyes. “But think about what I’ve said. You know that skirmish the Sakyas lost to a rag-tag Kosalan troop recently? Prince Virudha has learned to make much better use of sorcery to win his battles. Soon Suddhodana will have no choice but to use sorcery as well, or try to convince his son and Princess Dhara to use their yogic powers to defeat him. Not only that, but decadence is taking its toll among our famed Sakyan warriors. Angulimala has broken her alliance with the Sakyas. In fact, she’s gone mad, and the roads are not so safe for anyone. Only Bimbisara fights the Kosalas and Angulimala’s outlaws with any success. The Maghadas will rule all Sixteen Clans one day. You’re the Maghadan king’s son.”
“His bastard son. Besides, won’t Virudha’s sorcerer soon defeat even my father?”
“Bimbisara follows the dharma. The struggle with evil is difficult, but those who are just, merciful, honorable, and true always defeat it in the end.”
“I’ve never seen you as an idealist.”
“Idealist? Perhaps. If you are not, then go to Rajagriha because your father loves you. My dear, illegitimacy does have its advantages. You have status and wealth without power’s responsibilities. You could enjoy a good life there.”
Yes, but life in his father’s court had dangers, too. Even if he could convince his half-brother he had no interest in the throne, Ajata would feel threatened. Here among the Sakyas, Chandaka could regard palace intrigue as an amusing game. In Maghada, it had deadly implications.
They walked to the courtyard, where Ratna climbed into her litter. She gave him a wave as the bearers headed for the grove. Chandaka made his way along the broad avenue, passed the merchants’ quarter, and cut down a series of smaller and smaller lanes. There it
was, the dense thicket hiding the secret path that he and Siddhartha had so often used. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching.
He broke through the thick shrubbery, cursing the branches that caught at his emerald silks and wondering what had possessed him to take this route. It was even more overgrown than when he, Kirsa, and Siddhartha were children. He picked his way through, lost in thought. Ratna was right. He should go back to Maghada. Sakyan prophecies about Siddhartha be damned, Chandaka’s father Bimbisara was the Arya monarch most suited to be a world emperor.
When it came down to it, Chandaka wasn’t even sure why he’d come back to Kapilavastu after the battle at Kalamas. Things just hadn’t turned out as he had hoped. He had imagined… what? Siddhartha riding into battles, freed from the palace in which he was a virtual prisoner, leading united Arya armies to victory over the peoples of the wider world. Chandaka would drive his chariot, and poets would sing of their exploits in unforgettable verse.
Instead, idle court life was interrupted now and then by a skirmish with the Kosalas, in which Siddhartha had no desire to fight even if his father hadn’t forbidden it. Chandaka took part alone, if he took part at all. The prince was happy to be left to his philosophical questions.
Chandaka was so lost in his musings that it startled him when he emerged near the enormous lotus pond, not far from the shrine to the nymph Mohini. The spot filled him with mixed emotions. People still talked about the night he stopped the brutal attack on Tissa; they called him a hero. Not that he minded, but it was Dhaumya who had been the hero. Drunk though he was, he was the one who scared everyone away.
The sun was still high, and it was a beautiful day. The sort of day to find a pretty woman, take her to someplace like this, and make love to her under leafy shade. An absurd urge to make a flower garland the way he and Kirsa had done as children struck him. He would bring it to her, and—and nothing. She’d think he was ridiculous, but the urge wouldn’t let him go.
Wild flax was flowering at the wood’s edge. He gathered an armful of stalks covered with tiny blue blossoms.
He froze. Someone was watching.
He shook his head in amusement. No one was interested in watching him. He’d just take this little bouquet, and put it at the nymph’s feet. He walked through the hedge sheltering the shrine and stopped short.
Dhara was standing in the dappled sunlight, clad only in a dhoti. She balanced on one leg with her profile to him, her arms reaching overhead and her hands holding the foot of her raised leg to her head, her body forming an almost perfect circle on the pedestal of her slender limb. Her long hair fell loose over her back and shoulders.
As he stood, mouth agape, she slowly released her pose.
“Oh!” she said with a start, and covered her chest with her arms.
He couldn’t stop staring. This was how she was dressed when he and Siddhartha first met her ten years ago. She looked the same: slender, long muscles visible under her golden skin. Cheeks flushed, she stooped to pick up an antariya that lay on the grass at her feet. Her straight hair fell in a silky wave over her face. She clutched the cloth and faced him.
“Chandaka.” At first, she didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Princess.” He looked her up and down, flustered as she. Court gossip had castigated her for giving up formal court dress entirely. She’d sold her royal jewels and given the proceeds to the houses of healing, and for a while rumors circulated that she was about to take up a seeker’s staff and bowl. Some said good riddance, while others feared Siddhartha would follow her and finally renounce his royal dharma.
“Where are your attendants?” Chandaka asked at last. “Where is Siddhartha? Aren’t—aren’t you going to the grove, to see Bhadda?”
She looked him full in the face. “Siddhartha went ahead with the king and queen to dispense dana to the crowd. The people don’t like me, and I don’t like all those grasping hands reaching for coins. I will join them shortly.”
“Of course the people like you, Princess,” Chandaka said, barely listening. The light filtering through the trees shone on her dark, glossy hair. With her plain dhoti, her hair down like that, and her only adornments a pair of slender, chased-silver hoops at her ears and a simple silver cuff on her upper arm, she was as alluring as Ratna in all her finery. The quiet coolness of the shrine only enhanced her loveliness.
“Ah. Yes.” He should leave her. Leave right now. “I’m sorry to disturb you.” He let the flax blossoms drop, turned to go.
“Chandaka!”
He whipped around. “Princess?”
“Don’t go. I mean.” She twisted her hands. “I mean, I have wanted for a long time to thank you for saving Tissa that night.”
Ah. A grateful woman was an easy conquest. No sooner did the thought occur to him than he thrust it away. Not with her. Not with Siddhartha’s wife. But she was so bewitching. They were alone in this secluded place.
“That very night, I left Kapilavastu,” Dhara continued softly.
“I always wondered why.”
“I’ve always wanted to explain. Angulimala cast a spell over me, but I was responsible. I’ve always wanted to explain it. To you.”
“To me?” He moved toward her. She didn’t step away. It was wrong, wrong, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to brush away the strand of hair that clung to her flushed cheek, to put his arms around her, to pull away that plain cotton and lay her down on it and take her. He reached out and slipping a hand behind her neck pulled her to him.
“Chandaka—”
He covered her mouth with his. She tried to push him away and in so doing dropped the antariya. The feeling of her bare breasts against his chest aroused him and he circled his arms around her. She didn’t struggle. His heart thundered against his ribs.
She’d wanted him from the day they met. He knew it. Just as he’d wanted her. They had run from each other all these years, but this force was irresistible. It was karma that brought them together at this moment. Her heart was pounding, too, and she was breathless, like him, and she returned his kiss.
She tore her mouth from his. “I can’t.” Then she sought his lips.
They plunged into another deep kiss. He dropped to his knees and pulled her down with him, laid her on top of the fallen, rumpled cloth, let his hand run up along her soft inner thigh, and began to unravel the dhoti.
Someone gave a low laugh. “What a charming surprise.”
Dhara gasped and shoved Chandaka away. She struggled to her feet, shaking. “Uttara.”
Chandaka got up slowly. Of all people to find them. The most vicious gossip at court. She would tear Dhara to pieces. He could see the look on Siddhartha’s face when he heard that Chandaka, his faithful charioteer, had tried to seduce his wife.
The full horror of what he had done made his stomach churn. If he could undo one thing in his life, this moment with Dhara would be it.
Traitor, an evil sprite whispered in his ear. Coward.
Yes, he was a coward. He turned and fled.
Caught
Dhara stood stock still as Chandaka sped away. An instant later, Udayin appeared.
“Oh! Princess Yasodhara,” Uttara’s brother said, playing with a lock of his long, oiled curls. “You haven’t seen Chandaka, have you?” He and Uttara exchanged knowing, unpleasant smiles.
“What are you doing here?” Dhara picked up her antariya with shaking hands and covered her body.
Not a bird trilled, not an insect buzzed. Mohini’s cracked statue stood mute in the dappled shade, garlanded with the marigolds Dhara had brought, indifferent to the human dramas.
“Well, well, your highness, I must say, I hadn’t believed my sister.” Udayin adjusted his silver neck band and smoothed the intricate folds of his black and silver antariya. “She told me about your dalliance. I suggested we follow you. To prove Uttara wrong, of course.”
Dhara suddenly felt like the girl she was when she came. Ill-bred and rough, the court had called her. A poor example of a princess. She struggled to think of a rejoinder.
“I told you so.” Uttara laughed. “You know, you even fooled me for a while. I always thought Chandaka rather disliked you.”
Her warrior’s instincts saw an opening. “No,” Dhara flung back, “it’s you Chandaka wants nothing to do with.”
Udayin snorted, but Uttara’s eyes narrowed. Dhara had hit the mark. Everyone knew Chandaka loathed the Brahmin’s daughter, who had more than once tried to seduce him.
“There is no dalliance,” Dhara went on. “My husband will know that. He trusts me.”
Udayin raised an eyebrow. “Well, well. How touching.”
Dhara glanced at Mohini’s statue and uttered a silent plea for help. A breeze rustled, and light played on the worn wooden face, and it seemed to smile. A blessing. Dhara began to focus. The court considered Uttara a lying, deceitful bitch and Udayin a dissolute wastrel. It might consider Dhara willful and rebellious, but most people also perceived that she was truthful. A few even admired her for her devotion, first to the warrior’s arts so prized among the Arya clans, then to the yogic practices that all Sakyas had honored since the time of Kapila. There had been rumors of her love affairs before, but not one of her rumored lovers had ever attracted her, except as admirers. With no foundation in fact, the gossip always died. It would be the same this time.
Except that she had wanted Chandaka.
“Come, Udayin,” Uttara said. “We should have been at the grove by now.” With that, she stepped out of sight.
Udayin studied Dhara, tilting his head. “I believe you are right, Princess. Your husband will know the truth. Honesty will be your best weapon against my dear sister.”
“What would you know about honesty?”
Udayin’s eyes flickered a moment. “I’m not what you think.”
“Udayin!” Uttara shouted. “Come. Now.” He turned to go, his lips pursed in irritation.
The Mountain Goddess Page 44
