The Temple Dancer (21 page)

The bandit leaned back on his heels, freeing Lucinda's shoulders. Sliding across the wet road, Lucinda crawled away. Tatters of her skirts tugged
under the bandit's heels, but only for a moment, and then she was free.

But the bandit never stirred-he seemed too tired to rise. His lips had
turned blue, and a thread of saliva hung on his chin. "It's getting cold," he
said. His mouth hung limp as he stared at Maya. Blood seeped from his
wrist stump in viscid drops.

Maya waited until Lucinda had crept away. "I know you," the bandit
whispered through chattering teeth.

Then Maya walked calmly until she stood over the shivering bandit. From the folds of her sari where she'd hidden it, Maya lifted a pistola and
raised it level with his eyes. Then she fired.

The bandit's head imploded and his body shuddered.

As the shot's echo faded, Slipper came crashing through the bushes where
he'd hidden. "Murderer! Murderer!" he screamed. He fell to his knees and
sobbed.

Maya dropped the pistola like an empty husk. Taking Lucinda's arm
Maya helped her walk to Da Gama. Lucinda threw herself on his shoulder
and sobbed. Da Gama grimaced.

Once more they heard horses-louder this time, lots of horses. They
looked up. Dreadful silence fell as the sound thundered closer. "We'll never
fight so many," Maya whispered.

Around the bend came a dozen glossy bedouins, and on their backs a
dozen soldiers carrying bright lances with green pennants flying. The
horses' livery sparkled. Behind them came Geraldo on his pony, standing
in his stirrups, grinning and waving, leading one of the pack ponies. Da
Gama waved back, despite the pain.

Their leader of the new horsemen, a solid-looking fellow of about Da
Gama's age, raised his hand, and the horseman drew around him in a crescent, facing the three travelers and the dead horse. The leader took a long,
slow look around the scene before he spoke. "I am Shahji, general commander to the Sultana, queen of Bijapur," he said. His soft voice echoed
through the silence.

Behind one of the soldiers rode a tall man with a bare chest, and long
black hair still wet with rain, for he had wrapped his turban around his hand.

"Pathan," Lucinda whispered. Ignoring her pain, she stumbled to him.

She found herself in a grove of trees, in bright sunlight. Nearby a fountain of milk flowed into a gently lapping pool. But as she looked, the pool of
milk became enormous. Its shores melted away, and it stretched before her
larger even than the ocean. Miles away, she saw an enormous, cone-shaped
mountain rising from the foaming waves of milk.

As she watched, a great blue lotus flower floated toward her across the
surface of the milk, like a living boat. When it reached her, its petals unfolded. Seated in the center of the flower was her own guru, Gungama.

My dear guru! Maya cried. Gungama was tiny as ever, as wrinkled as
ever, but radiant, her skin lustrous, her sari like hammered gold. Maya wept
to see her; her mouth fell open and to her surprise she began to sing. The stars
danced. Gungama lifted her hands, and water poured from her palms. A
tiny blue flame flickered between her eyebrows.

When the song was done, Gungama smiled. She spread out her arm, and
it was as though she had unfurled a sheet of black gauze into the wind. It
fluttered like a great shadow onto the ground at Maya's feet, and in the
shadow, as if from a great height, Maya saw the Belgaum palace. In the
courtyard of the palace was a line of horsemen, and in the line was Da
Gama, dressed in jama robes like a Hindi.

"Give him what is yours," Gungama said, pointing to Da Gama.

And at that moment, Maya woke.

She did not hesitate, no, not even to dress. In her shoulder bag she
found the small, unfinished wooden box and took from it the plain cloth
pouch it held. Pulling a coverlet from the bed over her shoulders, she ran
barefoot from the room. The coverlet spread out behind her like a cape,
and her black hair went flying. She was in the courtyard in an instant. The
padding of her feet echoed softly from the silent walls.

It was just as she had seen in the dream: there in the courtyard were
Shahji's men in a line, preparing to leave. Da Gama was indeed dressed in
jamas, but he still wore his heavy farang boots, which gave him a clownish
air. He was leaning from his saddle to shake Geraldo's outstretched hand.
The sky glowed, a cloudless gray, pink at the horizon. Roosters crowed. She
raced across the white marble tiles.

"Ho, ho, what's this!" Da Gama laughed as she approached. Some of
the riders snickered, until a fierce glance from Shahji stopped them.

Breathless, Maya reached up her pouch. "Take it, take it, uncle, take
it," she gasped.

"But what is it?" Geraldo demanded. He seemed ready to take the
pouch from Da Gama's hand.

Maya snatched it back and clutched it to her chest. She'd forgotten the
young farang. "It is for him alone." She raised her face to Da Gama. "Just
take it, uncle."

Da Gama frowned. He reached for the pouch, and his big, leathery
hand brushed her slender fingers. "What is it?"

"A secret, uncle."

Da Gama glanced at Geraldo, who shrugged and shook his head. Da
Gama hefted the small bag testing its weight. "What secret does a nautch
girl keep?" He began to open the pouch, but Maya placed her small hand
on his to stop him.

"What you hold is as dear to me as life." Da Gama frowned at her. She
leaned up to him and whispered desperately, "Keep it for me. Do me this
favor. I have no money to offer, but I can give you pleasure, uncle. If that's
what you want."

Da Gama's face grew serious, his eyes smoldering. "Don't tempt me,
child. I'll keep it for you. Don't make stupid offers. I might take you up on
them, and then where would we be?"

Maya grabbed Da Gama's stirrup and pressed her forehead to the toe
of his boot. "How then shall I thank you, uncle?"

Da Gama's cheeks grew hot. "Stand up for one thing. Just pray for me.
God knows I need it."

She raised her hands. "Be blessed in your journey."

At that moment, Shahji gave a piercing whistle, and the guards rode
through the green gate of the courtyard, and along the narrow causeway
that led across the lake. Da Gama turned and waved many times.

Geraldo came up to stand just inches from Maya's side, watching them
depart. In the cold morning air she could sense the heat of his body. "What
was in the pouch?"

"It is his now. You must ask him." As she watched Da Gama ride away,
Maya's thoughts raced. From the fire to the pot, from the pot to the firewhat difference does it make? I may never see it again, or him.

At least they won't have it, the filthy hijras. But what will they do to
that poor farang if they find him with it?

I'll pray for us both, uncle, she whispered. When Da Gama passed into
the mists, she walked off and did not look back.

One of the servant women, seated at the edge of the courtyard, nodded to
her and offered Maya some of the simple breakfast she was cooking. Maya
realized she was famished. She ate a paratha and another.

As Maya wiped her fingers, she saw an open palki come on the road
across the lake. As the bearers came closer she saw who they carried.

Slipper.

Was he ashamed at the fuss he had made, he who had never been injured? Why bother to ask?

Maya turned to walk off. Slipper called to her from the palki, again and
again. The servant woman tugged her hand and nodded toward the palki
until Maya sighed and turned to face him.

The bearers set him down, and Slipper lifted a pudgy languid hand so
the palkiwallah could help him up. He came straight for Maya, chattering
with his high-pitched voice.

The doctor, he told Maya, was a true master who had brought Slipper
back from the brink of death, but now he was fine. Then the doctor had
recognized that Slipper was worthy of honor, and had begged the eunuch to
ride to the palace in his palki.

About Pathan, of course, Slipper had nothing to say. Nor did he ask for
news about anyone else. He was a hijra, only a hijra, and he squawked like
an ugly old bird. It took little time before he was squawking at her.

"You are hiding it! I saw it fall from your bag at the pass. Where is it,
where is it?" Soon he was screaming "Tell me, tell me!" Maya did not even
look up.

This set him flapping. "You ... you ... woman!" he howled.

His blow exploded in her head. There were no stars this time, just a
thudding pain. The side of her face felt dense; cold like a block of iron. Her
back teeth ached. Then he struck her again, this time with his left hand, and
she fell over. Like a pig on tiptoe, Slipper danced beside her. "Tell me, tell me
now or get another!" He kicked her side, but the curved toe of his slipper slid
across her waist and so did not hurt too much. He danced some more. "Tell
me!" Now he lifted his foot over her head, ready to bring it down on her ear.

Then with a scream, Slipper fell backward and rolled like an air-filled
bladder over the marble tiles of the courtyard. And near where he had stood, Maya saw Geraldo, his dark eyes flaming. Geraldo had thrown him,
Maya realized.

He held out his hand and helped Maya to her feet. Then he strode to
the wailing Slipper and kicked him so hard his fat belly lifted from the
ground and fell back with a thud. "Get up," he ordered.

Slipper struggled to his hands and knees and crawled backward, his
bottom wiggling and his forehead scraping the tiles. His turban had once
again come undone. "Please, please, sir, oh please, dear uncle, please!" Geraldo placed his foot where the hijra could see it. "No!" the eunuch cried.
"You must not! She's a thief! She has stolen ..."

"What has she stolen?" Geraldo asked quietly.

Slipper's fat cheeks, red and blotchy, quivered. Then his mouth began
to flap but no sound emerged. And then Slipper began to cry. His face
curled up, his eyes creased, and his lips quivered. But then he filled his big
lungs and let out a wail that filled the courtyard like a horn.