EDITOR / CONVERTER NOTES
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- EyesOnly
1. A Friendly Game of Aksha
Elephants were in Sundari Palace courtyard, half a dozen or more, torchlight flickering on tusks ornamented with gold bands and ropes of pearls; horses with jeweled saddles; chariots flying flags and banners; and a dark figure striding through the gates. Servants ran to wake the young king, Tamar, already up and watching from his balcony. Curious, naturally. Not altogether pleased. No more than anyone would be, jolted out of a sound sleep by unexpected elephants.
Lamps were being lit throughout the palace when Rajaswami bustled in, beard sleep-tangled, robe kilted askew. Usually, Tamar's old tutor serenely smiled on all around him like a benevolent baby. At the moment, he twittered.
"Dress quickly, my boy. I'm told someone calling himself King Jaya has arrived. Most remarkable! I've never seen the like-clearly, a great monarch. A veritable maharajah. A little too much display and ostentation," Rajaswami added, "but overdoing things is in the nature of maharajahs."
"Revered teacher," Tamar said, "remarkable it may be but does anyone know who he is? What he wants? And whatever he wants, why does he want it from me?"
"I haven't the slightest idea. We may assume he comes in peace. Neither he nor his retainers bear arms, not a weapon to be seen. He seeks hospitality. By custom, you must grant it.
"Which I do. Have refreshment and lodging ordered for him and his people," Tamar told a servant, "and see his animals well tended."
"One thing more," said Rajaswami. "He demands an audience."
"I'd have liked it better if he'd said 'requests. Even so, I must receive him. Honor requires it."
"There's yet another thing," said Rajaswami. "He insists on seeing you immediately."
"Demands? Insists? Immediately? Maharajah or not, he could still show common courtesy. Well, to the devil with him. He can wait. Morning will do. He'll have time to mend his manners."
"Tut, tut, my boy. You're entitled to be prickly on occasion. That's quite as it should be. You're a king, after all. But never answer discourtesy with discourtesy. Surely, I've taught you better than that."
Rajaswami had indeed been his instructor from earliest childhood. Tamar's army commander, Darshan, had trained him in the skills of a noble warrior, a kshatriya. But it was Rajaswami who had taught him reading and writing; schooled him in proper behavior; and, above all, taught him the principles of dharma-the code of honor, conscience, the obligation to do what was right and royally virtuous. Tamar, sitting at Rajaswami's feet, had always listened eagerly and lovingly to the kindly old sage's teachings and would have rather given up his life than lose his honor or break his dharma.
"Always look on the bright side," Rajaswami added. Being gracious to the ungracious is all the more to your credit. Besides, nobility does have its obligations:
A king must ever be polite, Even in the middle of the night.
"I may run short of patience, but you'll never run short of verses," Tamar said. He laughed fondly. "This king obviously hasn't enjoyed the benefit of a Rajaswami. So be it. I'll receive him now and have done with it."
So, he beckoned for the servants to replace his night linen with formal robes and bind up his hair. When one offered him the royal sword, Tamar shook his head.
"Since this maharajah carries no weapons, neither will I. Come, let's be polite hosts to an impolite guest."
By the time they reached the durbar hall, the great audience chamber, all the courtiers had gathered at the canopied throne. Darshan, shrewd old warrior, suspicious of unknown newcomers, stood alert and none too happy; nor were the ministers of state overjoyed to be summoned from their beds.
Tamar turned to the unexpected guest waiting alone in the middle of the hall: a big, dark-bearded man, head and shoulders taller than Tamar; a hard-muscled frame under soft, silken robes. Around his neck, jewels hung from gold chains; bracelets gleamed on his wrists and forearms. His heavy-lidded eyes seemed to have looked at the world and found it insufficiently amusing.
"Be welcome." Tamar pressed his palms together. "I hope your patience has not been too sorely tried. We are not used to such grand-and urgent-visitations."
"I should think not. Forgive this intrusion," Jaya replied, as if it made no difference to him whether he was forgiven or not. "I am on a long journey. My people and animals are weary. Night fell upon us; I required food and shelter for then.
"I gather your kingdom is small," Jaya went on. "Not unpleasant, from what little I have seen. Sundari? I am not familiar with it."
"Nor I with yours."
"Mahapura. It lies to the north, in the valley between Mount Kumeru and Mount Sumeru, where the Sabla River takes its source. Tucked away in your charming, quiet little realm, it would surprise me had you heard of mine."
"I hope my charming, quiet little realm, as you call it, offers hospitality fitting your needs." Tamar gestured toward a side table set with as many dishes as the palace cooks could prepare at short notice. Inviting Darshan and Rajaswami to join them, Tamar himself served portions to his guest, who only picked at the food. When Darshan tried to draw him out, asking details about Mahapura, the nature of its fortifications and warriors, Jaya shrugged.
"My mountains are defenses better than any I could devise. I need no army and thus am happily spared dealing with inquisitive officers." While Darshan bristled, Jaya glanced at Tamar.
"And you, Majesty, tell me: Is your kingdom a happy one?"
"I hope it is. I wish it could be more so." Jaya gave a dry laugh. "A little misery is not such of a bad thing."
"A curious idea." Tamar frowned. "You'll permit me to disagree."
"What I mean is this," Jaya said. "There are many kings more powerful than you. Like wild dogs on the hunt, they scent ways of adding to their dominions. A thriving, prosperous-and small-realm makes a tempting morsel to gulp down."
"We have not been troubled by these wild dogs," Tamar said, "nor do we expect to be."
"Nevertheless," Jaya replied, "it is always wiser not to draw too much attention upon yourself Is there not the old tale of a hawk and a sparrow?"
"There is, indeed," put in Rajaswami. "I shall most willingly recite it." Jaya sighed and looked up at the ceiling as Rajaswami began:
A lordly hawk once told a sparrow, "Dear bird, your nest is far too narrow, With barely room to hatch your eggs, To spread your wings or stretch your legs. You need a home that's far more ample. Larger chambers, for example."
"How true," the smaller bird replied. And so, with diligence and pride, She added terraces and bowers, Balconies all decked with flowers.
The hawk observed with envious eye: "Fit for a king to occupy, This better suits a bird like me." He drove her out and said, "You see, Instead of tearing you apart, I spared you. I've a tender heart."
"Instructive little verses," said Rajaswami. "If you would care to hear others."
"King of Mahapura," Tamar broke in, "do you suggest that I am a sparrow?"
"Put it that I do not see you as a hawk," Jaya answered. "Enough of these matters. Small talk between kings grows rapidly tiresome: military affairs and money, money and military affairs. Such conversation is limited and soon exhausted. May you and I sit privately at our ease?"
"If you wish." As Tamar rose from the table, Darshan plucked at his sleeve. "Majesty, let me stand at your side," he murmured. "
This king troubles me."
"He troubles me as well," Tamar said in passing, "though not for long. Why should he linger and delay his journey? Under my own roof, what danger can there be?"
He led King Jaya to a chamber adjoining the hall. After his guest had settled himself on a couch, Tamar spoke plainly:
"King of Mahapura, what business have you with me, so urgent it could not have waited a few hours?"
"My urgent business at this moment," Jaya said, leaning back amid the cushions, "is to rest in comfort, perhaps with some small distraction to lighten a tedious day."
"Do you wish music? Let me summon my performers to play for us."
"In Mahapura, I keep my own musicians. None rival them in sweetness of sound. They have, regrettably, spoiled my taste for anything less."
"Naturally, they would. Singers, then? Dancers? Not comparable to yours, no doubt, but they may offer modest entertainment." Jaya stifled a yawn. Tamar, his patience rubbing a little ragged, went on: "Acrobats? Jugglers? My household, as you have observed, is limited in its diversions." Jaya glanced around the room. His eyes fell on a dice table with its ebony cup and ivory cubes. "Do you play aksha?"
"Only to pass an idle moment. It is more a child's pastime; the game turns neither on strength nor skill, only luck."
"Exactly. That is why it pleases me. A king's commands are obeyed to the letter, his orders carried out to the last jot and tittle. It is amusing and refreshing, from time to time, for a king-whose word is law-to subject himself to the vagaries of the dice and bow to a law greater than any of his own: the law of chance. Will you play a while? A friendly little game?"
"If you like." Tamar brought the table and set it between them. Jaya nodded, with the first flicker of interest that Tamar had seen from him.
"As your guest," Jaya said, "it is I who set the stakes and first roll the dice. Agreed?"
"Of course. That is the rule."
"The wager. What shall it be?" Jaya toyed with his beard. "Something of no consequence, a mere token for the sake of the game."
From his neck, Jaya took one of the chains, which he dropped offhandedly on the table. "For you, King of Sundari, to match."
Tamar stiffened. The links were heavy, of solid gold, worth more than enough to keep all his household fed and clothed for many months. What made him catch his breath was not the chain alone. Twice the size of a dove's egg, the diamond flashing at the end was a fortune in itself.
"Does this inconvenience you?" Jaya glimpsed the look on Tamar's face. "We are kings, not children playing for sweetmeats. Once laid down, the wager cannot be changed. But, in our harmless amusement, the rules may bend a little. I gladly withdraw it for something less, better fitting your circumstances."
"No. It stands." Tamar's chin went up. "We play by the rules, as they are. I have no single jewel like this, but I will have all my finest gems brought. You shall choose as many as needed to equal its value."
"Leave them in your treasury. We shall settle once the game is over. You have pledged them. Your word is sufficient." Jaya dropped the cubes into the ebony cup, rattled them a moment, and rolled them out. He raised an eyebrow. "A number difficult to surpass. The odds favor me, it would seem. But who knows the subtle ways of chance? You, now, King of Sundari."
Tamar, in his turn, shook the cup and cast the dice onto the board.
2. The Iron Ring
"King of Sundari." Jaya half smiled "I spoke of the vagaries of the dice. Here you see proof The odds were in my favor, yet fortune stood at your side. You have won."
"Yes." Tamar breathed again. He stared at the diamond. Jaya scooped up the dice and once more dropped them into the cup.
"A small loss," he said, "but I shall try to regain it."
"No need." Tamar pushed the diamond and chain across the board. His hands shook, as if he had just been pulled back from the edge of a cliff "Enough. I have no desire to play again. A friendly game-friends do not keep each others possessions. Take back your wager. I shall find you some better distraction, if it pleases you."
"It does not please me. You dishonor me by scorning what you rightfully won."
"Call it a gift. Call it whatever you choose. I play no more."
"That is not for you to say," Jaya returned. "By rule, it is I who declare the game over. No. I set the stakes again. Double what they were."
Tamar's face tightened. What Jaya proposed would have put most of Sundari's treasure at risk. Tamar shook his head. "A king serves his people as well as himself, and answers to them for his actions. For me, it would be reckless stewardship."
"Will you be reckless with your honor? You agreed to the rules of aksha, did you not? Obey them."
"Lower the stakes, then, as you first offered to do."
"At first, yes. You did not accept. I no longer offer." Jaya leaned over the table. "The game continues; we will play it out. A childish pastime? Also a question of dharma. We are both bound by dharma, King of Sundari.
"I do not break dharma," Jaya went on. "But you, if you choose to break yours by refusing, so be it. End the game-and shame yourself." Tamar's blood rose. "Take up the dice."
Jaya rattled the cup and casually spilled out its contents. "How interesting. Once more, the odds favor me. Once more, will fortune favor you?"
The dice danced on the board as Tamar threw in turn. Jaya's smile was thin as a thread. "You have won again, King of Sundari. Now, to me. At triple the stakes."
Without awaiting a reply, Jaya cast the dice. When Tamar played in turn, his head spun like the ivory cubes. He dimly grasped that his score was higher than his opponents. "Truly, you are fortune's darling," Jaya said. "We play on. Triple what I have lost."
How long even a maharajah might continue so rashly, Tamar could not guess. Winning the next turn yet again, Tamar gave up trying to calculate what he had gained. King though he was, he had never imagined such wealth within his reach. His thoughts raced over all the plans he had, until now, only dreamed: waterways from the outlying hills to the public squares, parks and gardens throughout the city, wide streets, shining new buildings, houses for even the poorest of his subjects. He seized the dice cup eagerly, threw-and won again. He was giddy, flushed with wild joy and soaked in cold sweat.
The king of Mahapura yawned. "The game grows boring. One final throw for each of us. But, to play for meaningless trinkets-surely there are more exciting wagers. Something to add a touch of spice, a little stimulation."
"Wager what you please," Tamar said impatiently. The game had caught him up and held him in its arms like a lover, whispering in his ear.
"Honor binds you to accept it."
"As I do. Lay down the stakes."
"Life against life."
Tamar's head went back as if he had been struck. He was suddenly cold. "I do not understand."
"Very simple." Jaya folded his arms and looked impassively at Tamar. "Win, my life is yours to do with as you please. Lose, your life is forfeit to me."
"I cannot."
"Can. And must." With a lazy movement, Jaya scattered the dice over the board. He pursed his lips. "Fortune still favors you. My score is small, easily surpassed."
Tamar's fingers had gone numb, scarcely able to hold the cup. The dice seemed to leap out by their own will.
"King of Sundari," Jaya said, "you have lost."
For long moments, Tamar did not speak. Then, in a voice he barely recognized as his own, he murmured, "This is folly. Madness."
"No. It is honor," Jaya said. "And you, so proud of keeping it, learn what it truly is. Have you ever tested it? I think not."
"I lost a wager. I still keep my honor."
"Then obey dharma." Jaya rose, taller than he had first appeared. "Hear me; understand me well. I leave you now; I have other matters to deal with. But, from this moment, you are at my command. You will go to my palace in Mahapura and there make good on your debt. Vow to do so without fail."
Tamar stood and looked squarely at Jaya. "You have my word as king and
kshatriya."
"I accept it." Jaya nodded. He gripped Tamar's wrist in one hand with such strength that Tamar clenched his teeth to keep from crying out; and, with the other, set a ring of black iron on his finger.
"The emblem of your pledge," Jaya said. "Your life is my property." "So, King of Mahapura," Tamar flung back, "what will you do with it?"
"How dare you question me?" Jaya answered in a voice of cold stones grinding against each other. "Do I explain myself to a dog if I choose to kill him?" He dropped Tamar's wrist and turned away.
"I am not your dog!" Tamar lunged after him. Jaya was already through the doorway. Tamar would have followed, but a roar like breaking surf filled his ears. His legs gave way; he stumbled and fell to the floor. The ring felt as if it had been bound tight around his heart.
"I am not your dog!" he shouted again. And again. Until he drowned in the echoes.
3. Questions in the Palace
He woke sprawled on the carpet. The gaming table had been knocked over, dice and cup scattered. The iron ring circled his finger. Shuddering, he turned his face away. Then Rajaswami was there, and Darshan. Counselors and attendants crowded behind them. He could not understand why all were in night-robes.
"Are you ill, my boy?" Rajaswami knelt beside him. "Why aren't you in your bedchamber? Whatever happened? We heard you shouting. You roused the whole palace."
"Jaya. The king of Mahapura." Tamar sat up. "Where has he gone?" Darshan put a hand on Tamar's shoulder. "What king, lad? No one's been here."
"He was. He came with horses, chariots, elephants. I saw them. You yourself warned me against him." Tamar turned to Rajaswami. "And you-you recited verses. The hawk and the sparrow."
"Recited? Dear boy, I haven't left my bed all night. Ah, of course. You've had a dream. Not a pleasant one, I should guess."
"And this?" Tamar thrust out his hand. "Look at it. Touch it. King Jaya put it on my finger." He blurted out all that had happened during the night. "We gambled," he said finally. "At the end, I wagered my life against his. I lost. I gave my word of honor; I swore to surrender myself at Mahapura. And so I must."