Enough of this. I must go to supervise the packing for my journey. May you travel safely, and may I, as well.
Atta Olivia Clemens
At Sanza Pari, outside Rome, 13th August, 1399 of the Church's measure.
10
Outside the Great Gate of Devapur there was a line of merchants and farmers waiting to be admitted; it was almost dawn and the sky was showing the first rosy glow of dawn. The forest beyond the walls of the city rustled and rang with the emergence of day-dwelling animals while the small farms between the trees and the walls bustled with activity. Rajput Hasin Dahele's Guards were making their way along the waiting line, spears in their hands, supervising the crowd. A babble of Hindi, Gond, and Kola made it plain that this market was an important one, drawing merchants from far away as well as more local growers and craftsmen. Toward the back of the line, Sanat Ji Mani and Tulsi waited to be let into the city with the rest.
"How many coppers do we have left?" Tulsi asked as she watched the Guards approaching in their gaudy uniforms. She had taken her pack off her shoulders and held it leaning against her leg.
"Six," said Sanat Ji Mani. "Enough to pay our gate-fee and to buy you something to eat. Beyond that, we will have to earn more."
"Will you be doing conjuring?" She sounded uneasy. "They may not want you to do such tricks."
"I may, and I may not. Let us see what the Guards tell us." He did his best to reassure her with a quick smile, but he was aware that she was not solaced.
"I will do as many performances as they allow," she told him fervently. "So you and I will not lose everything."
"Let us hope that will not be necessary," he said, and paused to
listen to the people gathered around the Great Gate. Although he recognized a few of the languages and dialects, he knew none of them well enough to converse readily, which he knew could be a problem.
"What do we do if the Guards want a bribe?" she asked.
"Let us wait until they ask for one," he recommended, shifting his weight to ease his right foot.
"All right," she said nervously, and tried to contain her apprehension.
"They have not reached us yet, in any case," he pointed out. "They may not go to the end of the line, for the sun is almost up, and the Gate is opened at sunrise."
"That would be reason enough for them to deny entrance to any they have not questioned." She was about to make another, more caustic, observation when the first brilliant rays sliced along the sky, cutting through the trees and casting shadows as long and sharp as lances. "The Gate will be opened now."
"Move with the others in line and we will attract little attention," he said, turning away from the sun.
"I shall hope we pass unnoticed— and untaxed," Tulsi said.
"Indeed," he said, holding his empty sack before him as if it still contained something more than a few coins.
Ahead of them the line began to move as the Gate swung inward, groaning loudly on its massive brass hinges; an answering shout arose from the crowd and those at the head of the line surged forward. The Guards went back to the city walls, forming a line next to the Gate. A good number of merchants were waved through.
"There— you see?" Tulsi said, pointing. "Men of means are allowed in."
"We are not to the Gate yet," Sanat Ji Mani said.
"No; but when we get there, we will be denied entry, I know it." She looked about nervously. "Look. They have pulled that man with the load of charcoal out of the line. They will do the same to us."
"Perhaps," Sanat Ji Mani said. "If we are refused admission, we can set up out here, so that those coming and going from the city will see us, and we can earn some money that way."
"If the Guards will let us," said Tulsi bleakly.
"We will manage somehow. Chafing at what may not happen serves no one." He laid his hand on her shoulder. "I know you are anxious— I
do not blame you— but you cannot improve our chances by fussing."
"Do you tell me you are not apprehensive?" she asked as they moved closer to the gate with the rest of the line.
"I am disquieted by our circumstances," he told her, wanting to ally her fears.
She rounded on him. "If we have nothing to eat tonight, what then?"
"Then I shall hunt," he said. "I hope it will not be necessary, but if it is—" He made a philosophical gesture.
"It does not bother you, this necessity?" She noticed they were nearing the Gate, and stopped speaking.
"Yes, but not so much that I cannot do it," he said in a low voice, moving forward carefully to conceal his limp as much as possible.
They were almost through now; a customs man sat at a table just inside the Gate collecting fees and issuing writs for the market. There were three men standing behind him, all officials of the city, by the look of them; one was white-haired and had a deeply lined face and wore a heavy gold chain indicating his importance. The others deferred to him, which he obviously expected them to do, listening for his opinions before voicing their own.
"Who are you and what is your purpose here?" the customs officer asked in Hindi, and repeated his question in Gond.
Sanat Ji Mani answered in accented-but-passable Hindi, "We are entertainers. The woman is a tumbler and acrobat. I conjure. We have come a long way."
"By the look of you, you must have," said the customs officer. "A tumbler and a conjurer. How long do you plan to perform here?"
"Today, possibly tomorrow," said Sanat Ji Mani. "If things go well."
"And where have you come from?" the customs officer demanded.
"I come from far away; so does my companion," Sanat Ji Mani said, and felt Tulsi grow nervous with all these questions.
"That is obvious," said the customs officer and turned to the old man with the chain. "What do you think?"
"I think the Rajput Hasin Dahele will want to see them." He nodded twice, his whole demeanor reeking of sagacity.
The customs officer addressed Sanat Ji Mani. "Our Rajput would like to speak with you, if you would be good enough to go with these Guards?"
Although Tulsi could not understand what was being said, she was aware something had happened. "What did they say?" she asked edgily.
"They want us to go with the Guards. Apparently they think the local Rajput wants to see us." Sanat Ji Mani was able to preserve his outward calm as he spoke to the customs officer once more. "Why would your Rajput be interested in the likes of us? Does he enjoy tumbling, or conjuring?"
"Not quite," said the old man, and bowed slightly to Sanat Ji Mani. "Come with us, if you would. You will suffer no harm from anyone, I assure you."
"And just who are you, that you can give such assurances?" Sanat Ji Mani asked, his tone growing sharper.
"I am the Alvar poet, Vayu Ede; I am advisor to the Rajput Hasin Dahele." This time his bow was deeper and more respectful.
Tulsi looked about in dismay. "Why do they want us?"
"I have not been informed; I will translate anything I am told," Sanat Ji Mani said, hoping to lessen her misgiving. "Perhaps if we go along, we may discover what the Rajput wants."
"But I need to perform. We will not earn any money if we must wait upon the Rajput, and that would be—" She stopped as two Guards came to flank her and Sanat Ji Mani. "Are they taking us to prison?"
"Perhaps," said Sanat Ji Mani. "But I doubt it. The Guards have not drawn their weapons."
"Small comfort," said Tulsi, reluctantly walking as Sanat Ji Mani kept pace with the Guards. "Why do you not run?"
"Because I cannot, not with my foot as it is, and the sun in the sky. I would be caught quickly, and that might make our situation far worse than it appears to be right now." He tried to soothe her. "If nothing else, we should get some food out of this."
"Do you think so?" She tossed her head. "Timur-i would be as likely to order us whipped as to feed us."
"We do not know that this Prince is as despotic as Timur-i," said Sanat Ji Mani, and noticed that the Guards were listening; he wondered if they could understand the language he and Tulsi shared, and
decided to be more circumspect. "It might be best to wait until we find out what this Rajput wants of us."
She caught his intention at once. "Yes. You are right," she said, and fell silent.
They made their way through the streets, passing a number of temples and open squares, some of which were readied for markets, some of which apparently served other purposes. The city itself was good-sized— about half as large as Delhi— with an array of buildings that went from squalid to grand, spreading over a cluster of rising hills toward a palace that crowned the highest point of the land, a gorgeous citadel built more to impress than to defend. As they approached the magnificent entrance to this enormous building, the road grew steeper and Sanat Ji Mani limped more with the effort of the climb; he was glad that they had not much farther to go, for between the sunlight and his half-healed foot, he was becoming exhausted.
"Tell me if you need my shoulder," said Tulsi, her voice low.
"I think I can manage, but thank you," he said. "We have only a short way to go."
Tulsi kept silent, her eyes on the palace ahead of them; it shimmered in the morning light, its white-granite walls brilliant, its ornamental stone-work in jasper and malachite, its domes glistening with rosy marble, its watch-towers topped with large brass finials that shone like gold where the sun struck them. A cadre of Guards lined the way from the first door to the interior of the palace, their weapons sheathed, but their presence carrying an explicit message. The servants of the Prince wore dark-green livery, an unusual requirement in this part of the world; it revealed, more than the palace, the wealth of the Prince who reigned, for it meant he could afford to spend a great deal on his household. "So many of them," she whispered to Sanat Ji Mani as they passed the first door into the palace and faced three more, all standing open.
"It is intended to impress us," said Sanat Ji Mani in an undervoice.
"And it
is
impressive," said Tulsi, glancing at the groups of servants gathered to watch them. "I have not seen the like since Samarkand."
"Oh, yes, it is impressive," said Sanat Ji Mani, grateful that they had nearly reached their destination.
A last pair of doors swung open revealing the main reception hall. Windows stood open along the eastern wall, admitting the glowing morning light so that the whole room was luminous; a contingent of Guards lined the approach to the carved-ivory throne that stood at the top of a tall dais, just at this moment empty; as Vayu Ede motioned Sanat Ji Mani and Tulsi forward, a sudden twangling of hidden instruments filled the air, and the Guards bent almost double at the waist. A door at the rear of the dais swung open and a man in gorgeous silks, golden ornaments, and many jewels came to sit on the throne; he was still fairly young— no more than thirty— with handsome features and an impressive moustache beneath a strong nose and deep-set eyes. He was full of energy, and he had the air of a man used to being obeyed.
From a hidden alcove, a strong-voiced herald called out, "This is Hasin Dahele, Rajput of Beragar, Grandson of Raja Hasin Napadas, Lord of many elephants, Protector of the Gods, Master of the city of Devapur, the Most Fortunate, Most Exalted ruler. All bow low before him."
"We are supposed to bow," Sanat Ji Mani told Tulsi, and did it himself, copying the manner of the Guards.
"Do I bow?" Tulsi asked. "Or are women expected to show more deference?"
"Try bowing," Sanat Ji Mani recommended, and sighed with relief when she did.
"Who are these people?" Hasin Dahele asked, addressing Vayu Ede.
"They are strangers, Greatness, come from far away; they have not come here before— no one at the Gate recognized them," the self-proclaimed poet announced. "He says he is a conjurer, she calls herself a tumbler."
"And is this true?" Hasin Dahele addressed the new-comers.
"As far as it goes, Greatness," said Sanat Ji Mani. "It is what we do to earn our living now."
Vayu Ede inclined his head and shot a penetrating look at Hasin Dahele. "They have not always done this."
"The woman always has," said Sanat Ji Mani at once, not wanting to speak anything but the pristine truth. "I have not."
"It is as I said, Greatness, is it not?" Vayu Ede inquired in a manner laden with implication.
Rajput Hasin Dahele folded his hands. "It may be; it may be." He leaned forward on his throne. "What are your names and where do you come from?"
"What is he asking?" Tulsi asked softly.
"He wants to know who we are," said Sanat Ji Mani, and went on in Hindi to Hasin Dahele. "The woman is Tulsi Kil. She has been part of a troupe of entertainers all her life until she became separated from them a few months ago. She has been traveling with me since then." He paused. "I am called Sanat Ji Mani. I come from far away."
