"Leave me," he said.. "Both of you."
He knelt beside her. Mirri's long, black hair was unbound and draped around her. She had not been in pain. There were no marks on her features. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful. She was very beautiful. Rajaswami was still babbling.
"I told you. Go away from me," Tamar said. "Do so."
Life had suddenly become quite simple for him. It was so clear and elementary. The first thing he would do was kill the soldiers who were still lounging around. He had no ill feelings toward them, nothing against them personally. He merely wanted their weapons.
Once he got them, he would go and kill Nahusha. No more to it than that. He stood up and began walking briskly to the roadside. As if reading his thoughts, the chandala grappled and held him.
"Dear boy!" Rajaswami was flapping at him. "Dear boy, I beg you. Listen. The bright side, always the bright side."
"Acharya," Tamar said in a tone like a brutal blow, "you are a fool."
Rajaswami bowed his head. "Yes. I have been foolish in many ways. I taught you my own foolishness. Caste, honor, dharma-it all breaks. Only hear me." The chandala had been keeping an eye on the road. "I don't like those fellows there."
"Nahusha ordered them," said Rajaswami, "to witness the burning."
"They won't live to see it. Nor will you," Tamar flung at the chandala, "unless you take your hands off me."
"They must," Rajaswami insisted. "They must report to Nahusha. If not, all goes awry. Start the fire." Tamar, at this, began roaring and struggling with the chandala.
"Stop!" commanded Rajaswami. "Be silent!" The acharya's voice had a snap to it, a teacher to an unruly student, and it set echoes ringing in Tamar's memory; a child at the old man's feet Tamar obeyed. The chandala loosened his grasp.
"It must seem to be done properly." Rajaswami spoke quietly once more. "How, I don't know. A most dangerous business, but all hangs on it. Because-dear boy, the bright side: Mirri is alive."
Tamar stood, mute. Rajaswami was making no sense. The chandala moved quickly to bend over the motionless form. He glanced up at Tamar.
"Yes, she lives. Barely."
"How else could we get away from Nahusha?" Rajaswami pressed on. "A desperate measure." Tamar heard no more. He dropped to his knees beside Mirri. Even as he stared dumbstruck, her breast began slowly to rise and fall. Her eyes opened. She smiled at him; then grinned broadly; then winked. She was Mirri, with him again.
"Keep your wits about you," she said, making no attempt to get up. "You'll need them. Do as Rajaswami says. If I'm to be burned to a cinder, you'd best be careful about it."
The chandala had understood the matter faster than Tamar, still speechless. "Stay there. I see how to deal with this."
"I started planning it out as soon as Nahusha hauled me to the palace," Mirri went on, as the chandala hurried away. "I couldn't have done it sooner. It would have looked suspicious. Too convenient. So I waited a little while.
"Nahusha had me locked up in the women's quarters. Once I was there, I pretended to be sick. Horribly, disgustingly sick. I heard Rajaswami was in the palace too; so I insisted on having him come and treat me. When I told him my scheme, he agreed to make a great show of being alarmed. He swore to Nahusha that my life was in danger."
"My acharya told a lie? Not Rajaswami."
"Yes. He's not quite the same brahmana he used to be. It must have torn the dear old fellow apart, breaking his dharma by lying. But he did it. For your sake and mine.
"The rest-you can thank Adi-Kavi. When we were in the ashrama, you remember, he taught me to breathe so little it didn't seem I was breathing at all. He showed me how to make my heart beat so faintly and slowly no one could tell it hadn't stopped altogether. I never thought the knack would come in handy someday.
"From then on, I made believe I was getting worse and worse. Rajaswami played at being more and more in despair. When I knew the time was right-I died.
"Rajaswami claimed I was dead from camp fever or some such fatal illness. Nahusha was in a rage. I'd slipped out of his clutches, so he thought. He raved and cursed, and ordered me carted to the shmashana as I'd counted on.
"He was vicious beyond that. He made Rajaswami go there with me-which I'd also counted on. He expected Rajaswami to be horrified to have his caste threatened, to beg and plead to be let off.
"Rajaswami was very convincing. He wept and wailed, tore his hair. Pretending, yes. But I knew he was in real torment, too. Even so, he went to the last place in the world he wanted to be.
"Your acharya loves you, dearest Tamar, and he turned out to be a very brave man. Nahusha didn't care if he came back or not. Caste broken, Rajaswami was good as dead himself.
"And you Nahusha gloated about having you chained up here. You'd be a chandala, a living death. You'd see me on the burning ground, a cruelty on top of cruelty." Mirri broke off The chandala was back. Following his instructions, Tamar took the girl in his arms and carried her to a pile of kindling.
"Set her down." The chandala pointed to a spot behind the pyre, out of the soldiers' line of sight. He unwound Mirri's shroud and wrapped it around some of the larger branches of wood.
Between them, making sure their watchers could see, Tamar and the chandala lifted what they hoped looked like a body and set it amid the kindling. The chandala struck a light. The fire blazed.
The soldiers observed the flames awhile. Satisfied, they hurried away. Mirri jumped to her feet. Even after she had thoroughly embraced him, Tamar had some difficulty convincing himself that any of this was happening. It took a few more embraces for him to believe it.
Mirri was urging him to leave the burning ground. He held back. Rajaswami, head lowered, stood apart.
"Acharya." Tamar went to him and put his hands on the old man's shoulders. "I called you a fool. Forgive me. I didn't know what I was saying."
"You spoke out of grief," Rajaswami answered, "but you spoke truth. Indeed, I have been very much a fool. I thought it better to be cut in pieces than lose caste, and I taught you likewise. Now it's gone, I hardly miss it. In fact, I can't tell the difference."
Rajaswami fumbled in his robe. He took hold of the knotted string he wore across his bony chest. "The sacred emblem of my caste. I treasured it. This was my pride-no, my secret arrogance. I give it up. It means nothing now." He hesitated a moment, then, with a little sigh, snapped the string and tossed it into the embers. "But-there's a bright side. I suddenly feel much lighter."
"Come quickly," Mirri said to Tamar. "There's a lot to do. I thought you'd still be chained up, but you're free."
"Am I?" Tamar turned to the chandala. "You knew I'd leave. I must. But I won't put your life in danger. Come with us. I'll make sure you'll be safe."
"I can take care of myself."
"When Nahusha finds out you let me escape, you know what he'll do to you. I can't let that happen."
"It won't," said the chandala. "Go. Now."
"If that's what you wish," Tamar said reluctantly. He pressed his palms together. "You taught me much. I thank you."
"Did I teach? Did you learn?" the chandala said. "That remains to be seen."
"I never asked your name," Tamar went on. "Forgive me. Tell me now so I may remember it and be grateful."
"Does gratitude need a name? Your chain's gone. That's all you need to know."
"More than a chain binds us," Tamar said. "Namaste. I honor you."
"Namaste," the chandala said. "I honor what you might become." Tamar, still unwilling, turned away. Mirri led him across the burning ground, with Rajaswami hobbling after.
"I told you I decided to die when the time was right," Mirri said, as they hurried to the road. "I waited for what I hoped would happen. When it did, I knew the moment had come for me to get away."
"Moment for what?"
"Garuda's back," Mirri said. "He brought your army with him."
29. Garuda's Journey
"Darshan comes in time to see us broken," Tamar said bitterly.
"A little sooner-Now, what use? I trusted Garuda. I never believed he'd fail us."
"He didn't. Not at the end," Mirri said. "You'll see him soon. Akka, too."
The girl was heading toward a wagon that stood a little farther down the road. Tamar would have asked for more news, but something about the horses, befouled and mud coated, caught his eye. He quickened his steps, then broke into a run. The animals whinnied and tossed their heads.
"Gayatri! Jagati! Poor creatures, what have they done to you?" he cried, as Gayatri nuzzled him and Jagati stamped the ground. "This is shameful."
"No, it's cautious. They look like cart horses instead of warhorses." The driver, a heavy man wrapped in a dirty cloak and headcloth, jumped down and grinned at him. It was Adi-Kavi.
"Better that none of us look like who we are," the suta explained, giving Tamar a burly bear hug. Mirri and Rajaswami had reached the wagon. Adi-Kavi motioned for them to climb quickly aboard. "Your message reached me safely," he said to Mirri. "Passed yourself off as dead, eh? I'm glad I taught you that trick."
Adi-Kavi slapped the reins and set off following the river. As much as Tamar rejoiced to see the suta alive, there was one question he feared to ask. He asked it: "What of Hashkat?"
"Mending," said Adi-Kavi. "He managed to crawl off the battlefield. I found him at the edge of the woods. I'd lain quiet among the bodies until dark, you see, and made my way clear of the mess. He'd been badly cut up. I did what I could for him, though I didn't think he'd last the night. He'll be fine. Your horses were wandering loose, no doubt looking for you. Luckily, they came to me."
"Skanda? Kirin?"
"Alive. Heavily wounded, both. They'd fallen back into the Rana valley with what was left of their people. I joined them there."
"King Rudra's dead," Adi-Kavi grimly went on. "His army was pretty well mauled, but Skanda rallied them. The rest of the butcher bill: Nahusha didn't get off free of charge. He lost a lot of troops and half his best officers. Kana: dead. Bala: dead. So, that's how the account stands."
Tamar found no great joy or much satisfaction in Kana's fate or Bala's. His thoughts circled like a hawk around Nahusha, and none other. To no purpose, for he saw no clear way to face him. He had even half forgotten his journey. The iron ring still was on his finger, but it only reminded him vaguely of something that happened long ago or never happened at all. Mirri was talking to him, but his attention kept drifting.
"I learned Nahusha's plan," she was saying. "He told me. He boasted that Ashwara's cause was lost from the start. He'd already decided to attack without warning. The night he stormed the camp-he and Bala agreed on that after we left Muktara. They'd worked it all out ahead of time."
"None of that matters. It's over."
"Is it?" Mirri said. "I might have some ideas of my own. Nahusha had me locked up, but he didn't keep me from knowing what was happening. I had news every day.
"Monkeys," she went on. "Some of the Bandar-loka had been trailing Hashkat. He had a few slip into the city. They found me, and told me how things were going. We sent word back and forth. That's how Adi-Kavi got my message. Then, Akka himself sneaked in. As for Nahusha." Mirri broke off as Adi-Kavi turned the wagon off the road. "Some of Hashkat's folk," she said, pointing to shadows scurrying among the trees. "They're always close by him, keeping watch. Hashkat never thought much of himself as a king, but his Bandar-loka are really devoted to him. They're good scouts and sentinels, too. He'll know we're on the way long before we get there."
The light had begun to fade while Adi-Kavi drove deeper into the cover of the woodlands. By the time he rolled to a halt at the edge of the encampment, Hashkat was waiting for them-grinning, waving his arms, overjoyed to see Tamar and Mirri.
Tamar jumped down from the wagon, ran to embrace him, then gasped in dismay. Hashkat's luxuriant tail was gone.
"Not half as bad as what Nahusha did to you," Hashkat said, when Tamar tried to console him. "I lost my tail but kept my life, and that's a good bargain. I miss it; I won't deny that. Still, I'm getting used to being without it."
Little Akka had scurried up, chattering with delight. At the same time, Garuda fluttered awkwardly from a branch and made straight for Mirri. The bird had lost most of his feathers, one wing dragged on the ground, and he looked more than ever like a half-plucked chicken. Still, he chuckled and croaked happily while Mirri stroked what was left of his plumage. Deciding he had enough pampering for the moment, he turned a beady eye on Tamar.
"Irresponsible dimwit! Careless incompetent! Where's my ruby?"
Tamar had almost forgotten the gem. He paused to collect his thoughts. "I gave it to Adi-Kavi before the battle. For safekeeping."
"That's right," the suta agreed, digging into his garments and bringing out the stone. "I have it. Here, look. I held on to it for you. I told you that before."
"I just wanted to bring it to this imbecile's attention," retorted Garuda. "Giving it to you showed a glimmer of intelligence. You weren't supposed to fight, eh? You did anyway. That was stupid. Shmaa! No consideration for others!"
Garuda turned back to Tamar. "You should have taken better care of my property," he rattled on, as Adi-Kavi now passed the ruby to Tamar. "While I was risking my life, you were playing fast and loose with a precious gem. You're a careless lot, all of you."
Tamar took the bird's reproaches in good spirit, only too glad to see Garuda alive. "The ruby's safe," he said. "But you? What happened? Your feathers."
"You noticed? How kind of you to ask," Garuda snapped. "Well, it's luck Akka and I are here at all. You sent a horseman with your message, too. Oh, that was clever he never got a mile through the valley."
"One of Nahusha's bowmen shot him," Akka put in. "We flew down to see if we could help the poor fellow. Nothing to be done."
"The disgusting ruffian sent an arrow at me, then," Garuda said indignantly. "Out of pure spite and malice. He didn't know me; it was plain, common nastiness. Yes, and he hit me, the villain. I tried to stay aloft as long as I could. Did you ever try to fly with an arrow sticking in you? It's not easy."
"We went crashing to the ground, finally," said Akka. "I didn't remember much for a while after that. Garuda's wing was broken; he'd lost a lot of blood-along with his feathers. My leg was broken, too. We weren't well off, I can tell you."
"My poor friends!" exclaimed Tamar. "Couldn't you find any help? Were none of the Bandar-loka nearby?"
"Monkeys? Shmaa!" Garuda quacked. "There's never a monkey around when you want one. No-nothing, nobody. We holed up for a few days. Akka had gone feverish-and I had my own troubles, too, I'll have you know. I thought if I could rest I'd get my strength back. I still couldn't fly, and we were a long way from Sundari."
"But then," Tamar asked, "what did you do?"
"Shmaa! Idiot! What do you think we did?" retorted Garuda. "Walked."
"That's right," said Akka. "With my bad leg and Garuda's bad wing, we managed to lean on each other. We couldn't go very fast, and it got harder and harder. I thought we were goners for sure. Especially when the hunter saw us."
"And a mean-looking, scruffy fellow he was," Garuda continued. "We tried to get away from him. He grabbed us. I fought him off as best I could. No use. Waa! There, I think, there's the end of poor Garuda."
"It wasn't," said Akka. "Can you imagine? He didn't harm us. No, he took care of us. Nursed us night and day. We'd never have lasted if it hadn't been for him. He fixed my leg and Garuda's wing, good as new. When Garuda could fly again, the hunter wandered off into the forest. We never saw him after that-never knew his name."
"And so we got to Sundari," Garuda concluded. "A long time. No fault of mine. Oh, now you really owe me plenty. Don't you forget it."
"I owe you more than I can repay," Tamar said fondly. "You can be sure I won't forget."
"Nor will I," said an old familiar voice. "The bird has a braver heart than any warrior. The monkey, too." Darshan was there. The warrior's eyes brightened and he held out his arms. "Majesty, if only I'd
come sooner," Tamar drew back. "My caste is broken. Touch me and you risk your own."
"Do you think I care a rap?" Darshan snorted. "I never put stock in that sort of nonsense. I'm a soldier; being alive is the only caste that means anything. And you-I should have disobeyed and never let you leave Sundari without me."
"You're here now, and we need you more than ever," Tamar said. "How many troops with you? What weapons? How soon can they take the field?"
"Hold on, hold on." Darshan raised a hand. "I've been talking with your comrades, Kirin and Skanda. Fine commanders, both. They've regrouped, pulled their people together, and that's a wonder in itself What chance they have against Nahusha that's another question."
"I have to talk with them. Where are they?" Darshan motioned for Tamar and the others to follow him into the woods. The encampment, Tamar saw, was smaller than Ashwara's had been. The warriors, scattered among the trees, still showed the ravages of battle. Cooking food or mending gear, they were grim and silent. Darshan pointed to a pavilion and Tamar stepped inside.
He barely recognized them. Ashwara's brothers were sitting on the ground, maps spread in front of them. Skanda had lost all of his boyish air; the lamplight deepened the circles under his eyes. Kirin's features were somber and heavily lined. Seeing Tamar, the two got quickly to their feet. As with Darshan, Tamar warned them away; but neither hesitated to embrace and gladly welcome him.
"Doing as he did, Nahusha shamed himself, not you," Kirin said. "Caste brings no honor to a man; a man's worth is what brings honor to his caste."
"So Ashwara would have said," added Skanda, "and I say the same. He was your friend, as we are still."
"I offered Ashwara my help in a just cause," Tamar said. "I offer it again to set his death aright. Now, counting my army and yours, what strength do we have?"
"Strength alone may not be enough." Kirin pointed to the maps, showing Tamar how their troops had been deployed. Skanda, he explained, now commanded Rudra's warriors; Kirin himself, the rest. After their king's death, Bala's troops had withdrawn to Muktara and no longer threatened.