give me much time for preparation, but I shall contrive somehow.
You will need to find ships that come to Suret, Daman, and Chaul in order to reach Asirgarh without passing through lands caught up in fighting, such as is still the case in Gujerat. It will be some while until Cambay is a safe harbor for ships carrying our goods, for although the primary battles are over, thousands of those trying to escape Timur-i have flooded into Gujerat in the hope that they will be beyond Timur-i's reach there. We would be likely to lose all our cargo to thieves and taxes if we attempted to sail into or from that port.
Believe me when I tell you that as much as we have lost, we have not lost as much as we might have. We will be able to reestablish our House in its position of achievement once again, no matter what Timur-i's soldiers do in the world. It is heartening to me to see the opportunities around us, for I had not thought we would be so fortunate for many years to come.
I am already forging agreements for caravans, and although we have had to give up much of our wealth and our goods for trade, we are not without means. The merchants here are eager to find new markets and I can assure them of such. We can outfit a new caravan in a month or two. We still have three caravans traveling; they will reach Sirpur before the rains come, and with what they bring we can continue our trading. You, too, are now able to enter into trading, and that will benefit our House.
We have taken a house in the Foreigners 'Quarter, in the Street of the Weavers. I have paid handsomely for it, and it should suffice for several years. The magistrates have approved our ownership and I have made a gift to the local ruler, who is inclined to be well-disposed on our behalf. I will purchase slaves and engage servants within the next two months, as I make arrangements with the city government for such enlargements.
I have asked for permission to dedicate a cave to our faith and the wisdom of Zarathustra. I have not been given an answer from the magistrates in this city, but I am hopeful of an answer soon. When they decide if we are to be allowed to worship, I will notify you at once, so that you may include prayers for us as we will pray for you.
I trust you will receive this quickly and will have an answer to me
before the rains begin; I would not ask you to try to get us word in such bad weather. If I must wait a year instead of half of one to hear from you, so be it. Our work continues and our House endures.
With utmost respect and dedication,
Zal Iniattir
at Asirgirh, by messenger
1
At the middle of the afternoon of the second day on the road away from Delhi, Timur-i ordered Sanat Ji Mani into a covered wagon. "You are like the white-skinned ones, whose eyes are red; you burn," he announced. "You shall not have to ride in the sun. I need you able to work, foreigner, or my men will kill you and leave your body for the carrion birds to feast upon. Let him be put out of the light." He motioned to his nearest lieutenants. "Give him to the jugglers and tumblers and fools. They will look after him. He will be no danger to them." With that he set his sturdy pony cantering away.
Sanat Ji Mani looked up through pain-clouded eyes at the hard-faced officers who tugged him off his mount and slung him over the rump of one of their small, tough horses, then took his saddlebags of medicaments and rode without speaking to the rear of the line of troops and wagons, dust swirling around them as thick as smoke; it was a long way to the last of the wagons, and the officers kept their horses to a brisk trot. The block of wood attached to his foot bounced heavily with each step the horses took, sending a dull, gnawing pain up Sanat Ji Mani's leg; the small supply of native earth in the sole of his left boot provided little anodyne against his hurts. It was almost sunset and the army would make camp soon; he welcomed the coming dark with an eagerness that was almost passion.
"Djerat!" one of the officers shouted. "Djerat, come!" He drew his horse alongside a large wagon surmounted by a fully rigged tent; the wagon was pulled by six mules and was driven by a woman covered in dark-red, curling hair.
"What do you want?" the driver demanded in a high, sweet voice.
"Timur-i wishes you to carry this foreigner with you. He is reputed to be a healer, so look after him well. He is to come to no harm. And keep his supplies with him." The second officer laughed. "I will catch his horse and bring him to your wagon to be tied to the rear. You may have a use for him."
"Can this foreigner not ride?" the woman asked.
"He can, but the sun has left him blackened and blistered," said the first. "Look for yourself." He reached out and caught his hand in Sanat Ji Mani's hair, lifting his head to show the driver the extent of the burns on his face.
"Is it Timur-i's wish that he ride with us? With us? Why us? You say it is Timur-i who orders us to—" The woman sounded surprised and a bit anxious, and as she pulled her wagon out of the immediate line of horses and vehicles, she added, "Are we to be paid for this?" as she pulled her team to a stop.
"In favor," said the second officer. "Come. Help us get him into your tent." He pulled up his horse and swung out of the saddle.
Djerat sighed. "I am with child," she reminded the two officers. "I will call Tulsi to help you— she is strong and capable." Before they could approve this, Djerat raised her voice. "Tulsi!
Tulsi!
Come here! These men need your help."
Sanat Ji Mani was lowered to the ground, protesting weakly that he could stand on his own. "I will get into the wagon, officers, and I will recover."
The taller of the two men shook his head. "You are burned badly, foreigner. Let the woman aid you."
The shorter officer handed down Sanat Ji Mani's sack of medicaments and tools. "Here. You must keep this with you."
Before Sanat Ji Mani could take it in hand, a muscular young woman of diverse heritage, with short-cut brown hair and grey-green, almond-shaped eyes, appeared in the opening of the tent. She wore leggings and a short caftan, all in red-orange silk. "I will take that," she said, jumping down from the driver's seat and landing with a forward somersault that left her standing almost directly in front of the dismounted officer. "He looks frightful," she said.
"I will heal," Sanat Ji Mani muttered through cracked lips as he reminded himself that the road to Baghdad had been much worse.
"Perhaps," said Tulsi, making a face. "The backs of your hands are black and oozing."
"I will heal," Sanat Ji Mani repeated, raising his voice as much as possible. He could not see Tulsi very clearly, but he found himself
reminded of Tishtry, thirteen hundred years gone in the Roman Arena.
Tulsi regarded Sanat Ji Mani with distaste. "I do not want to touch him," she admitted, batting the air with her hand as a particularly dense wave of dust surged over them. "But I suppose I must."
"I can stand," Sanat Ji Mani said.
"And you can fall over, too, no doubt," said Tulsi. She looked at the two officers. "How long has he worn Timur-i's stirrup?" she asked, indicating the staple.
"Six weeks," said the taller officer. "He has mended well. There was no festering."
"Then maybe he
is
a healer," said Tulsi, sighing before she stepped forward and wedged her shoulder under Sanat Ji Mani's left arm. "We will look after him. He will ride in the tent and his burns will fade. You may report to Timur-i that we have him in hand." She turned carefully, making sure Sanat Ji Mani did not drag his stapled foot. "We are going to the rear of the wagon, stranger. There is a way into the tent there." She steadied him, holding out her free hand. "Give me his things."
The taller officer reached down and picked up Sanat Ji Mani's bag and handed it to her. "There. See he improves." He vaulted back into the saddle, gathered up his reins, then, with his comrade, set their horses cantering toward the head of the line once again.
"Come, stranger," Djerat called out. "We must join the march again."
"I am bringing him, Djerat," said Tulsi, carefully making her way toward the rear of the wagon, balancing Sanat Ji Mani against her side. "The stirrup hurts?"
"The sunburn is worse," Sanat Ji Mani told her, trying to smile without success. As terrible as he felt, in some remote part of himself, he was alert to Avasa Dani, far away, and undergoing a change of her own; this provided him a little distraction from his present affliction, and he concentrated on it for the relief it brought.
"No doubt," she said as they reached the end of the wagon. "I am going to fetch steps for you. Lean on the wheel," she said, and slid out from under his arm.
Sanat Ji Mani staggered two steps to the large rear wheel and sagged against it, glad of the wedge of shadow the tent above him provided; once inside, he promised himself to rest and let his body work its cure. The passing wagons and horses of Timur-i's army sounded like constant thunder in his ears, and he longed for silence.
Tulsi appeared in an opening in the back of the tent, a two-step stool in her hand; she dropped out of the wagon and set this in place. "I will help you climb. Start on the stirrup first. It will lift you a little higher."
"Very well," said Sanat Ji Mani, and stumbled into the sunlight. It took him longer to get up the steps than he had anticipated, and he had been glad of Tulsi's assistance. As he half-stepped, half-fell into the tent, he whispered his thanks as he stretched out on a pile of folded carpets, his bag under his shoulder.
"Plenty of time for that when you are well," said Tulsi as she pulled the steps into the wagon and called out, "Djerat! Go!"
The wagon lurched forward as the mules were put into motion again and the wagon was guided back into the river of vehicles moving along the Sultan's Road toward Lahore.
It was well into the night when Sanat Ji Mani awoke, his body aching and his hunger intense. He sat up, trying to remember where he was. As he tried to move his legs the events of the afternoon came back to him, and he put his hands to his eyes as if to shut out the knowledge; he was in a wagon inside a tent, and all around him Timur-i's army was camped. On the other side of the wagon two figures slept, one on a narrow, footed bed, the other on a pallet of thick-woven pads of yak-hair; Sanat Ji Mani recognized the hair-covered driver on the bed and Tulsi on the pallet. These two women, he realized, were part of the entertainers who traveled with Timur-i's army, and as such, never saw combat. He shifted his posture to be more comfortable and stared down at his hands, the darkness offering only slight impediment to his vision; the skin was still cracked but it was beginning to heal, and the blackened crust would fall off in a day or two if he stayed out of the sun.
"Stranger?" Tulsi's sleepy voice startled Sanat Ji Mani, and he looked up abruptly.
"I am awake," he said softly.
"You slept long," she said, keeping her voice low.
"For which I thank you," he said. He looked up at the night sky through the opening in the tent's rear flap. "We are half-way to morning. Do not let me rob you of your sleep."
She scrubbed her hand through her hair. "That is a nice thing to say, that you thank me."
"Why; you have done me a service and I am grateful," he said.
"Most people do not…" She let her words trail off into a yawn. "Do you want anything out of your sack, to put on your skin?"
"No," he said. "My skin will recover now I am out of the sun." He paused. "Will you permit me to ride inside this tent tomorrow?"
"While your skin is burned and cracked? Most certainly. Timur-i expects that of us, to keep you with us until you recover." She yawned again.
"Timur-i may expect it, but you are the one providing the shelter," Sanat Ji Mani pointed out, and fell silent for a short while. Then, "You have helped me," he said.
"You talk funny," she told him as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Old-fashioned, like my grandmother."
Sanat Ji Mani did his best to soothe her. "I learned your language long ago."
"It sounds like it," she said. "Your teacher must have been old, too." She giggled.
On her narrow bed, Djerat began to snore.
"Old enough," said Sanat Ji Mani, recalling the blind musician in Karakhorum who had taught him, almost two centuries before.
Tulsi stretched, lithe as a cat, and sat up. "Some of the men speak the language of the Turks," she said as if she disapproved.
"Timur-i Lenkh's father is a Turk," Sanat Ji Mani pointed out.
"His mother is Mongol, and he rules from the power of the Jagatai, not the Balas." Her lips pursed in disapproval.
"I would guess that Timur-i rules from his own power," said Sanat Ji Mani, his voice gentle.
Tulsi looked at him. "Perhaps," she allowed after a long moment's thought. She got onto her knees. "Why do you help him?"
"I have no wish to be hacked into pieces," Sanat Ji Mani said as honestly as he could.
