"Stay back," he warned Mirri and the rest. "Jaya wants my death, none other. But I mistrust him. He already tried to deceive us. All our lives could be in danger."
Before Mirri could protest, he stepped across the threshold. He glanced hastily around, and took another pace into the chamber. Near a pile of embroidered cushions, he saw a table holding dice, cup, and board for a game of aksha.
A figure in white robes and a shawl stood looking out one of the tall casement windows. The man turned and beckoned. Tamar found himself face to face with the chandala.
36. Jaya
"So. You're here, are you?" the chandala said. "You found your way after all."
"And you?" Tamar, hands outstretched, had started toward him. He stopped short. The chandala was smiling, but something in his voice and bearing puzzled him. "I looked for you at the burning ground. I was afraid you'd come to harm. You'd gone. Here? With Jaya? Where is he?"
"You see him. I am Jaya." Tamar stared. "This is more illusion. Trickery!" he burst out. "What mockery is this? Who are you? What are you?"
"As I told you."
"Why do you lie to me?" Tamar flung back. "No. The one who came to me in Sundari was a king, a warrior. An arrogant, pitiless kshatriya. No man of kindness or compassion. Not you, not you."
"Call me a liar if you will; it is truth nonetheless. Do you doubt me? Shall I repeat the verses your acharya recited? The hawk and the sparrow. Not so? Shall I tell you the numbers we threw when we played aksha?"
"Tell me what you please. I saw what I saw."
"So you did. Because you yourself were a kshatriya. You could not have imagined me as anything else. Would you have welcomed a chandala to your palace then? Would you have agreed to my little game? And given your word, as one warrior to another?"
"Rajaswami and Darshan were there. All my courtiers."
"You thought so. They were not with you. I caused them to sleep soundly. I laid maya on you. There were only the two of us.
"A hunter challenged you in the forest, did he not?" Jaya went on. "And you shot an arrow that set in motion all that followed. I was the hunter, the same who tended Garuda and Akka when their need was greatest." Jaya broke off During this, Mirri and the others-paying no heed to Tamar's warning-had come into the chamber and had been listening, as much taken aback as Tamar himself.
"Namaste, Mirri." Jaya put his palms together. "You have endured much for the sake of your love. Your spirit has only grown more beautiful. And you, suta, I am glad to see you safe and well. What a clumsy thief you were. Do you recall a spider whose life you saved? I can tell you now: It was I.
"An insolent youth named Hashkat mocked a wandering rishi who turned him into a monkey," Jaya said. "I was that rishi. And you, brahmana, as for your cherished colleague, I was the sage who offered him knowledge when he intended to eat me.
"I have been all those and many others," Jaya said. "I am as I choose to be."
"I must believe you," Tamar said, after a long moment. "Truth behind truth, as Jamba-Van told me. It wasn't a dream. It happened. We gambled, life against life. I lost.
"Darshan reproached me when I left Sundari. He told me I knew nothing of the world. I know a little more than I did. I've seen kings betray their word, noble kshatriyas break their warrior's code, honor meaningless, dharma forgotten. The way of the world. There are other ways-as a chandala told me, on the burning ground. He was right. I've seen as much goodness as evil.
"In Sundari, I told a maharajah I was not his dog. Nor am I now. But even a dog's life is as precious as a king's. Death-I've seen my fill. I fear and hate it. I look at my own and see it wears the mask of a friend. Even so, I defy you.
"Once, I'd have accepted death as the price of a game. For the sake of honor. Not now. A fool's wager. A man does not stake his life on a throw of the dice."
Tamar looked squarely at Jaya. "Do you claim my life? You won't take it easily. I'll stand against you with all my strength." Tamar held up his hand. "Your emblem. It binds me no longer. I give it back to you."
In one motion, he tore the iron ring from his finger and flung it on the gaming table. The cup overturned, the dice scattered. In a voice half amused, half pitying, Jaya said:
"Who spoke of taking your life? Is that what you understood? No, I said only that your life was mine. Destroy it? Why should I? You've done as I hoped."
"You hoped? For what?"
"Even I do not know all the paths of karma," Jaya said. "I knew only this: Had Nahusha triumphed, his lust for power would have goaded him to conquer kingdom after kingdom. Yours would not have been spared. I warned you of wild dogs on the hunt. Your gopi's village would have fallen to him as well. Your people, Ashwara's people: all, all, would have been no more than Nahusha's slaves. I gambled," Jaya went on, "that you might prevent it. The stakes were higher than any game of aksha."
"Are you telling me you foresaw this?" Tamar rounded on him furiously. "Had you no other way to stop him? Only bloodshed and destruction? You caused it? You let it happen?"
"No." Jaya silenced him with a glance. "You have your dharma as I have mine, and I am bound by it. I set possibilities in motion. They must work themselves out in their own way."
"Why, then, choose me?"
"Choose?" Jaya raised an eyebrow. "Do you suppose you were the only king to play aksha with me?
"There were others I visited before you," Jaya continued. "Some declined the game and I went my way. Of those who lost, some refused to honor their pledge. Others tried to keep their word. They lost their lives in the course of their journey, or gave up before it ended. Your kingdom was the last, the least, at which I stopped.
"Take no offense," Jaya added. "You simply happened to be available."
"No more than that?"
"No more than that-at the beginning. At the end, you became a great deal more."
So many questions began jostling into his mind that Tamar was at a loss which to ask first. Meantime, an eagle had glided through the casement. The bird's feathers shone golden, glistening in the sunlight as it flew straight to Mirri's shoulder.
"I'm sorry I couldn't stay with you lot," the bird said. "Did you ever have a ruby stuck in your throat? It hurts. I needed my master's help right away."
"Garuda?" Mirri cried. "Is that you?"
"Shmaa! Who else?"
"It's him," said Hashkat. "I'd know that Shmaa any where."
"You're beautiful," said Mirri. "You look-not like yourself at all."
"On the contrary, he looks exactly like himself," Jaya said. "As once he was, so he is again. I admit he was a pitiful sight. I took out the stone-no harm done." Garuda bobbed his shining head. "I owe you. All of you."
"I, too," Jaya said. "His task was even more important than your own." He opened his hand. The ruby lay like a flame cupped in his palm. "The Fire Flower, as you call it, has come back to me. Had it not, King of Sundari, the consequences would have been far worse than anything Nahusha could have done.
"Even the Nanda Raja did not guess its power. The rakshasa who stole it from me understood it very well. He had not learned how to make it serve him. In time, he would have done so. Then all would have been lost.
"The Fire Flower is a gem of death-and of life," Jaya went on. "Whoever learns to use it can, within an instant, call down death on anyone he chooses; or, if he so wishes, summon the dead to life. With it, the rakshasa would have held the world and all its creatures in bondage."
"And I carried such a gem," Tamar murmured, "never knowing what it was."
"Just as well you did not," Jaya said. "Even to suspect its nature would have been a temptation to use it. Such power is too great for anyone to hold."
"Now you have it again," Mirri said. "It's in safe hands."
"No, it is not," Jaya said. "When it was in my possession, even I found myself drawn to use it. Its flame whispered and beckoned; my heart hungered for it. I told myself I would make it serve only good: Yet, I knew, in time I might not be able to tell good from evil-
and do evil, telling myself I was doing good.
"I sent Garuda to regain it for me." Jaya fixed his eyes on the Fire Flower. The man's face, Tamar saw, clouded with regret close to grief "It draws me, still. I do as I must."
He set the ruby on the flagstone floor and trampled it under his heel. The gem remained unbroken.
"How can this be?" Jaya murmured. "Have I no strength to shatter it?"
There was fear in the man's voice that Tamar had never heard before. Jaya stared down at the Fire Flower:
"Does a hidden corner of my heart yet wish to keep it? And holds me back, at the end, from destroying it?" Jaya put his palms together and pressed them to his brow. "May I do this in all purity, without misgivings. May this truly be my will, fully and completely."
Jaya drew a long breath and, again, trampled the gem with all his might. Tamar threw up his hands to shield his eyes against the sudden, blinding shaft of crimson flame. It shot upward, whirled in a blazing cloud, then burst and filled the chamber with jagged streaks of scarlet. That same instant, Tamar felt the ground heave and shudder beneath his feet: a long, sickening tremor as if a crack had opened in the earth.
Wind shrieked in his ears. He flung himself toward Mirri and held her as the chamber seemed to tilt askew. Everything blurred, turned fluid and shapeless. His heart pounded: Each beat took forever, as if time itself had ripped apart.
Then, within the moment, the room was clear and sunlit again. Jaya was standing, head bowed. Of the Fire Flower, there remained only a little heap of red powder.
"It is done." Jaya, after some while, looked up. "I am free of it. Leave me. I wish to be alone with my meditations.
"Our dealings with each other have well ended. Return safely, all of you. I promise your journey will be quicker and gentler than the paths that brought you here.
"Take with you my love and gratitude. You, suta, what may I offer you in token? What is your fondest wish?"
Adi-Kavi shrugged. "I've been cursed-and blessed with curiosity. I'd ask only that I never lose it. Apart from that-as a matter of curiosity-I'd wish to know why Mahapura, so empty of people, is filled with their voices, and your palace with illusions."
"Illusions are made to be seen through, as you did," Jaya said, "and the city is not empty. You have yet to see all that lies beyond your vision. As you will, be sure of it. You see the world as it is; someday you will see it as it might be.
"As for you, Hashkat," Jaya said, hiding a twinkle behind a stern glance, "I suspect you are as impudent now as when first we met. Even so, you have been punished long enough. Monkey, I restore you to your human shape."
"Hold on a minute," Hashkat broke in. "I appreciate your kindness, but-no, thank you. I've seen enough of humans and their doings. I'm happy as I am. I'll stay a monkey.
"What I might ask, what I've missed more than anything," Hashkat added, "is-my tail. If you could possibly arrange, Your wish is already granted."
Hashkat twisted his head around and whooped with delight to see his tail, longer and more luxuriant than it had ever been.
"And you, King of Sundari? And you, his beloved gopi, what are your wishes?"
"For myself?" Mirri said, with loving eyes on Tamar. "All I could wish, I have."
"I, too," said Tamar. "For my kingdom, I wish it to be happy, its people loving and merciful toward each other. I wish there to be an end of caste, a time when chandalas will be as honored and cherished as all others."
"I am sorry. I cannot grant that wish," Jaya said. "Only you and your gopi bride, and those who come after you, can make it come true.
"But you will not go empty handed. One thing I give you." Jaya went to a side table and took up a Wreath of flowers, still fragrant and unwithered.
"I wove this," Mirri murmured. "I thought it had been long lost."
"Only waiting for you," Jaya said. "Set it now around your beloved's neck. These blossoms that you picked once will never fade."
As Mirri did so, Jaya turned to Rajaswami. "Brahmana, what is your own heart's wish?"
"Why-I hadn't really given it much thought," Rajaswami answered. "Since everything's come out on the bright side, I'm quite satisfied. All I would hope is to visit my dear colleague, Jamba-Van, again."
"So you shall," Jaya said. "When the time comes, you will know it is the moment for you to go once more into the forest. You will find the bear's ashrama. He will be awaiting you, and there will you stay to your heart's content.
"And so shall you all," Jaya added. "I built the ashrama for travelers like yourselves. Your paths will lead you there, if you so desire.
"You, Tamar, and you, Mirri, will find the island where once you danced. You will dance there as you did, and your hearts will ever be those of young lovers. Forever then, forever once again."
"You know the verses we spoke to each other?" said Mirri. Jaya smiled. "I was the flute player in the shadows." He pressed his palms together. "Go in peace. Namaste."
"Ah-one thing did occur to me," said Rajaswami. "Only a passing thought, a triviality. I wonder-no, no, never mind. It's of no importance."
"On the contrary," said Jaya. "I'd not have let you leave without it."
He went again to the table. "Things that are lost have a way of turning up here. I believe this is yours," he added, putting an object in Rajaswami's hands, as the acharya beamed with delight.
It was a white umbrella.
Lloyd Alexander, The Iron Ring
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