The Temple Dancer (16 page)

"No lunch!" Slipper announced when he crawled back into the howdah.
As they got closer to Bijapur, Lucinda noticed, Slipper seemed to act less
like a servant, and more like a guest, and a demanding one at that.

"Odd that we've seen no traffic come the other way," Lucinda said, almost to herself.

"Not odd, not odd at all," Slipper answered, looking very pleased with
himself. "The Sultana has banned trade with Goa. Didn't you know?
Haven't you wondered why you've been sent away from home?"

Lucinda stared at the eunuch.

"Often you speak when you should be silent," Maya said to him.

Slipper pretended he did not hear. Amid the shouts of guards, the elephant began to move. Slipper jostled the women as he yanked the howdah
curtains shut. "It is better if you do not see the dangers of the road."

"We'll be fine," Lucinda answered coldly, with a confidence she did
not feel. She'd seen the drop before the curtains closed, and the unsettling
fragile trail carved along the mountainside.

The howdah rocked slowly, as if the elephant now measured every
step. If she hadn't known the danger, the slow rocking might have lulled
her to sleep, but as it was, she felt in her stomach each step the elephant
took-from the moment he lifted his heavy toes, until the howdah's
bump as the beast's foot next touched solid ground. And with the next step it all began again. After a few minutes, Lucinda's back was damp
with sweat.

Just then the howdah lurched to an unexpected halt. Slipper crawled,
and with eyes squeezed tight, opened the side curtains. He steeled himself,
looked out, and drew back, clutching his heart dramatically, his face pale.
Unable to speak, he merely nodded, wide-eyed, toward the scene beyond.

Here the road was so narrow that its edge could not be seen for the elephant's flanks. They seemed poised for a violent drop to the bottom of the
chasm hundreds of feet below. They could see through misty shadows the
churning stream they'd seen at the entrance to the pass. Scrawny trees poked
sideways from the rock wall, clinging precariously, their gnarled branches
swaying in the constant breeze, looking so tiny from the howdah's height
that Lucinda's head began to spin. "Lord help us," she said in Portuguese.

Maya put down her book to see for herself. Perhaps the shock of the
others prepared her, for she gazed calmly into the chasm. She even leaned
out of the howdah, and looked up and down the trail.

The road was no longer wide enough for two horses to walk abreast
safely. At the head of the caravan, Da Gama was waving to the men to press
into single file against the cliff face, making enough space for Captain
Pathan to walk back to the elephant, stepping carefully along the terrible
outer edge of the trail.

Pathan spoke brusquely to the mahout. Last night's rain had done
more damage than expected, he told him, and the road ahead was wet and
ragged. "My friend will manage," the mahout answered, rubbing his hand
over the tiny hairs that bristled from the elephant's head and scratching its
great ears as if it were a puppy.

Pathan looked worried. "Maybe we should go back," he said.

"And how should we do that, sir?" the mahout answered.

He was right, Maya realized. There was scarcely room for the elephant
to stand; certainly none for it to turn around. She knew that elephants
could walk backward, of course, but behind them were the oxcarts that
could never manage such a feat.

"In any case, go slow," Pathan said. The captain inched back to the
front of the line, where he mounted and shouted the order to proceed.

Slipper leaned to close the curtain, but Lucinda glared at him and he sat
back. When the howdah lurched as the elephant began to move, Slipper
yelped. "This is very dangerous. Someone should do something."

"What do you want done?" Maya asked. "Accept your fate."

Slipper glared at her, but his face grew white.

They fell silent, and in the silence they became anxious, attentive to
each jolt and jar, glancing to each other for reassurance.

The mahout tapped the elephant to a halt. On the road ahead, a young
girl in rags approached, a jug balanced on her head, leading a string of
goats. Just before she reached them, however, she vanished down the side of
the chasm. "Has she fallen, sir?" Slipper gasped.

In answer, the mahout pointed to the road's edge. A narrow pathway
leading off from the road wound to the bottom of the chasm, only wide
enough, it seemed, for a child to walk. "There are many such pathways,
here," the mahout said. "They lead from this road to the water below.
Look, you can see her village." In the depths of the chasm, in an elbow of the
river, they saw a half-dozen huts of grass. Lucinda realized that she had seen
others earlier, but thought that they must be bushes.

The mahout gave a hut-hut, and the elephant began once more his slow
march up the canyon road. The breeze through the chasm became a wind,
and the wind grew damp. The curtains of the howdah slapped and sighed as
it gusted. Dark clouds swelled.

Then the front right corner of the howdah platform caught on something. With a snap like tinder breaking, the whole front of the howdah
lifted, and the elephant let out a groan. They all tumbled. Slipper slammed
against the howdah's low brass railing. Grabbing anything-cushions,
curtains-they waited, breath caught, hearts pounding.

The mahout shouted his commands now-he who rarely spoke, but directed his beast with taps of his heel and the point of his ankus now shouted.
With another whining groan, the elephant took a hesitant step backward.
Released from where it had caught on the rock, the howdah thudded back
into place.

The curtains had swung shut in the muddle. Ignoring Slipper's protests,
Maya opened the ones nearest her, and Lucinda the front curtains.

The road had narrowed even more, if possible. The howdah's right side
had a long, bright gash where it had scraped against a high outcrop of rock.
The cliff face was a foot away or less. The elephant's right flank pressed
against the wet black stone. "The road has crumbled here," the mahout
said, as if it were his own fault. "It was not this way when we came from
Bijapur."

The line had halted, and the riders twisted in their saddles to see what
had become of the howdah. Pathan dismounted and hurried toward the
elephant. "Is everyone all right?" he called.

"We're well, Captain," Lucinda answered. Pathan then began a tense
discussion with the mahout, pointing to the road ahead, even walking to
certain places to point out where the edge had collapsed in the rain.

In the meantime, Slipper poked his head out the rear curtain. Behind
him came Geraldo riding a pony, who gave him an encouraging wave.
"How is the ride up there, senhor eunuch?" he called. "Remember, I promised to pay you in Bijapur ... but first you must get there, eh?"

"If ever I get home I shall give half my winnings to the poor!"

"Fine, fine!" Geraldo laughed. "You can start with me!" Then he looked
seriously at the eunuch. "Look, don't worry. Everything is fine. There's
plenty of room. How's my cousin, eh?"

"She's taking things well, sir. The best of any of us, sir," Slipper answered. His eyes widened as he saw how the chasm fell off just inches from
Geraldo's side. "I must go back inside, sir."

"Go with God," Geraldo said in Portuguese as the eunuch disappeared.

The mahout let the horses get a few lengths ahead before he urged the elephant forward. As they neared the outcropped rock again, he stood on the
elephant's head. Leaning his back against the howdah, straining with the
effort, he twisted it enough so that this time the howdah just squeezed past.
Still its edge scraped against the stones, sending a rasping screech into the
air. Slipper covered his ears. "There, that's the worst of it," the mahout said,
but his face lacked any confidence.

Like a drunk tiptoeing in the dark, the elephant chose each step with
worried care. But the mahout was right, they'd passed the worst ... for a
while at least. The wind had grown cold now, but dry, and at that moment
it blew away the mountain mists. Lucinda wished she had a warmer shawl.
Then a hole broke through the dark clouds, and the sun bloomed above
them, and they saw it all: the churning sky framed by great steep walls of
glistening black stone, the brilliant green of the brave trees that clung to the
sides of the chasm, and far below the white foam of the rain-glutted stream.

"What's that?" Maya asked, pointing with the fingers of her hand politely together.

Below the road a few yards ahead, a narrow shelf of brownish rock
bowed out from the chasm wall, forming a shelf about twenty feet long.
This shelf looked almost like a second, lower road, although there seemed
to be no way to access it other than by jumping.

"That can't really be another road," Slipper whispered.

"No, it's just an outcropping," Maya said. "But look."

She nodded: behind a scraggly bush lay what appeared to be a white
sack. Something soft and brown was spilling from it.

"It's a body," Lucinda whispered as the image resolved in her mind.

"One of the scouts," Maya said.

As if he'd heard, the mahout halted the elephant again. Captain Pathan
once more hurried toward them.

Maya changed places so she could better see the very front of the line, and
soon Lucinda was by her side. "What's that ahead?" Maya asked her softly.

The answer was what Pathan had come to tell them. "There's a barrier
on the road," he said quietly.

"What kind of barrier?" the mahout asked.

"It might be man-made." Pathan licked his lips as he glanced at the
women's faces, clearly uneasy to speak in front of them. "There's blood on
the road. The scouts are dead." Pathan's eyes, dark as steel, found Lucinda's
in the howdah. "Close the curtains," he said.

At that moment they heard Da Gama giving orders to ready weapons.
The mahout's face turned ashen. "We must get out of here."

"You know yourself there's no way back," Pathan replied.

"The bandits in these hills are killers, Captain."

"Arrangements have been made. Bribes paid. It may only be a terrible
mistake. Besides, we have nothing worth stealing." But in answer, the mahout simply turned and lifted his chin toward the howdah.

"They'd be insane to try," Pathan muttered.

"There seems to be no shortage of insanity today, Captain. Should we
unload the passengers?"

Pathan thought about this and shook his head. "There's no way to get
them down safely, is there? Besides, they're in no more danger in the howdah than out of it." He looked up again. "I said to close the curtains of the
howdah!" He spun on his heel and hurried to the from.

"Do you pray in your religion?" Maya asked Lucinda as they pulled
the curtains closed.

"Yes."

"Then pray now."

Somehow, as the mahout urged the elephant forward, Maya found her fingers wrapped around Lucinda's hand. She was almost surprised to see
Slipper-in the excitement she'd nearly forgotten him-huddled against an
upright of the howdah, the fat of his jowls pale and quivering.

The elephant turned its head, his old gray eyes looking balefully at the
mahout. But then the mahout spoke to him, and he began to move, slowly
and reluctantly.

Lucinda pulled the curtain open just enough to peer out. The road ahead
of them was empty, for the horsemen had crossed the roadblock and now
huddled on the other side, eyes peeled, bows poised. Below she saw the
crumpled bodies of the scouts on the stone shelf, and beyond that the endless
chasm.

Then the howdah's roof collapsed.

A boulder fell on them.

It splintered the lacquered roof and smashed through the floor. The
roof pitched backward like an opening clamshell, and suddenly the women
were in the open air. They heard Slipper scream, but his face was hidden by
the broken roof.

"Bandits!" screamed the mahout, pointing upward. "Get down!" He
pushed Maya's head to the shattered floor. Pathan's men lifted bows, and
Da Gama shot with his pistols. Pops and roars echoed between the stone
chasm walls. "They have guns!" the mahout yelled.