The Temple Dancer (59 page)

Behind the muslin purdah screens that shielded the traveling zenana from
unwanted eyes, Maya sat beneath a tree in a field that had recently been
mowed and raked to make a lawn. The short grass felt stiff and slightly moist,
and still gave off the fresh perfume of mowing. The grand tent of the Sultana,
brightly colored, with gold bossed poles, rose in the center of the lawn.
Around it were a dozen lesser tents, where maids and eunuchs napped.

She had taken the Gita from her bag, and struggled to concentrate on
it, but her eyes drifted toward the sound of the river. On the other shore, the Sultana sat in audience, deciding her fate. She knew whatever happened
next would be the working of the Goddess's will, but still she wondered.
She could not help herself.

A few women and eunuchs made their lazy way through the encampment, some with water jugs on their heads, others carrying great heaps of
laundry. Somewhere a flute was playing.

A few yards away, a pretty eunuch boy tossed a silver ball into the air,
and caught it. He looked very bored and unconcerned, but each toss
brought him a few steps closer to Maya. She focused on her book.

When the silver ball rolled a few inches from her feet, Maya looked up.
The boy came toward her, scooped up the ball, and stared. She stared back
for a while, but he said nothing, and at last she turned away. Then, of
course, he spoke. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"Women can't read."

"I can."

The boy flipped the ball into the air a few times, and then sat a few feet
from her. His clothes were very fine, and he wore many rings. A hijra boy
being trained for royal service, Maya guessed. The boy moved closer.
"What's that language?"

"Sanskrit. It is the language of the gods."

"You're a heathen," he said brightly. "I worship the one true god." When
Maya did not answer, he tried again. "I can read. Persian and Arabic."

"Very nice."

"Play ball with me?"

There was something in his eyes that caught her off guard; a look of eagerness and resignation, of hopes dashed. She saw, maybe, her kinship with
him, that of slave to slave. Instead of telling him to go away, she closed her
book, and folded it in its silken cover, and stood. "I'm not very good."

"That's all right." He tossed the silver ball to her. It was expensive, hollow silver, heavy with engravings. "Do you like it? You can have it if you
want."

"Let's just play." She threw the ball, so swift and hard he laughed.

"Who said you weren't good? Girls can't throw that hard."

"I can."

Back and forth they tossed the ball. He kept stepping back, challenging
her, laughing when she reached him all the same. Soon they were both laughing, running to catch it as the ball glittered in the air. Sometimes he
made a diving catch despite his fine clothing.

"What's your name?" he asked after they'd played a while.

"Maya."

"Mine's Adil. You're the new nautch girl. Slipper told me."

Maya's face grew cold at Slipper's name. For a moment, she'd forgotten. "I'm tired," she said, and sat again beneath the shade.

The boy came over to her, and pulled a shiny pomegranate from his
pocket. "Want some?" He pushed his thumbs in the end of the fruit and
split it in two, revealing seeds as bright as rubies, and offered her half.

That's when she saw it: the scarlet mark on his palm-the mark of the
evil eye.

The same mark as she had seen just days before on Lady Chitra's hand.
"How old are you?" She tried to mask the urgency in her voice.

"I'm nine." The boy looked up. "Damn. I can't play anymore. I have to
work." Maya turned, and saw what he had seen: a woman moving toward
them like a walking hill of cloth, followed by a few more eunuch boys, and
a skinny old eunuch, dry as a dead branch. "Maybe I'll see you again." He
raced off to join them.

Having seen the return of the Sultana, Maya could not be calm: she
tried to read, she stood, she sat, she folded up her book again.

After a little while, a maid appeared. "The queen wants to speak with
you. Follow me." Maya picked up her shoulder bag. As they walked toward the Sultana's tent, the maid chatted in a friendly way, telling her
which tent was which, gossiping. "We saw you playing with Adil," she
said. "He doesn't like many people."

"He seems nice enough," Maya answered. "Has he been a servant long?"

The maid stopped short and laughed. "Did you think he was a eunuch?"

"Isn't he?"

Again the maid laughed. "Are you not familiar with our ways? Boys of
royal blood stay in the harem with their mothers until they are married.
The eunuchs teach them. Surely you knew this."

Maya shook her head. "Is he of royal blood, then?"

"Dear girl, of course. He is the only son of the Sultana. He is the Heir."
Maya's eyes grew wide. "He's the sultan of Bijapur, silly. You really didn't
know?"

Her way seemed so bright and offhand, that Maya only realized after she had
left that the maid had told her much useful information in their time together. What to call the Sultana; where to sit. And she'd told Maya to be
watchful of the Khaswajara: "Dry as an old bone, but crafty, with eyes like a
cobra that has lived too long."

The Sultana never acknowledged Maya's bow. She perched on a stool.
The thin old eunuch by her side was Whisper, Maya had no doubt. She saw
that he'd developed a habit of tilting slightly when he stood, first to one
foot, then the other. She wondered if he ever got to sit.

The Khaswajara had some business to discuss, some petition from a
courtier, which he spoke of endlessly in a low, husky voice. Maya could
not tell if the queen even heard a word. Piece by piece, two maids undressed her, like servants unpacking some rare piece of porcelain wrapped
in layers of batting. Walking in endless circles around her, they unwrapped
the Sultana. They removed bolt after bolt of cloth and then started on the
next. Slowly the Sultana dwindled, smaller and smaller as each piece was
put away, until at last her face appeared, and then her tiny body.

She was younger than Lady Chitra, older than Maya-but though her
face was smooth, her hair was mostly gray. One of the eunuch boys
brought her a jade cup, and she drank it off in a gulp. She held out the cup,
and let it drop without a care. The eunuch boy retrieved it in midair.

The queen's eyes flicked toward Maya, and then turned away.

The maids clothed her in a simple dressing gown. Her movements and
the maids' seemed stylized, almost like a dance. The queen would lift her
arm or drop her heel as if certain that her maid would be in place to catch
it. It was more exquisite than dance, Maya thought, more disturbingmovement without thought or feeling-like the clockwork figures she'd
seen for sale in Cochin's bazaar.

The Sultana at last took a seat among some cushions, which a maid had
plumped just moments before. "The heir must have his nap," she said to no
one in particular. "See to it. Then an hour of Persian study. Then his
prayers. Then bed. Now leave us." The servants bowed.

"Not you," she then said, her dark eyes at last finding Maya's.

When the others had gone, the queen indicated with a glance the place beside her. "You're very pretty," the Sultana said after considering her for a
moment.

"You are kind, madam," Maya said, sitting.

"But those clothes of yours are dreadful. Never mind, we'll find some
better." Maya inclined her head in thanks, but the Sultana had looked away.
"We have a little time together to ourselves. Don't pretend shyness. We have
not the patience. Why are you worth seven lakh hun? Can you tell me?"

"No, madam."

The Sultana stared at some place far away. "It can't be congress, can it?
The eunuchs have no use for that."

"I dance," Maya said helpfully.

"All nautch girls dance." She gave Maya a long appraising look, as
though reviewing every detail of her appearance. Maya felt the heat rise to
her cheeks. "As far as Wali Khan, the answer's plain: sex. Sex obviously.
You're young, well muscled. Of course you know the tricks? They all do."

Maya turned away. She whispered her mantra until she'd regained her
calm. When she turned back, she saw the queen's expression, irritated and
amused. "There, we've upset you. But now we can see-it is your beauty
that the vizier covets. Those eyes, we think, that glow when you are angry,
and those fine lips. They would drive a man like Wall Khan to some distraction. He's a connoisseur. He collects fine women, and makes a trade in
them. He sends out scouts to find the best, the young ones not yet worn
out." The Sultana looked away, as if for a moment wistful, jealous. So unguarded, she seemed to Maya very sad. When again she spoke, she whispered. "Have you no one in this world, child? Are you all alone?"

"My guru, perhaps. But she is lost. I thought she was dead, but I see
her in dreams. Deoga has befriended me."

The Sultana rolled her eyes. "Never trust farangs. He's tossed you over,
like an empty cup. You must begin to cultivate your own resources. It appears that we are now your only hope, child. And we don't know what we
are to do with you."

"Tossed me over?" whispered Maya, but the queen was saying something else and did not hear.

"Now the vizier's already bargained you away," the queen went on, as
if repeating facts well known to them both. "Do you know Murad?" Maya
shook her head, not yet taking it all in. "He's the son of Shah Jahan, the Mogul emperor. He's the Mogul viceroy in Surat. Wall Khan has made a
treaty with the Moguls. And you, dear child, you are the seal on the contract. What do you think of that?"

"I am a slave, madam."

"Surely your brain still works? Let us tell you about Murad. He's harmless. He has a hundred wives, and never sleeps with any of them." She made
a sign of drinking and nodded significantly. "Wall Khan is not to be trusted,
but we could make certain that he sent you there. That would be best for
you. Surat's hot, but otherwise no worse than Bijapur. Yes, that would be
best." She sat up, as though a matter was settled. "But why does the Khaswajara want you? Why are you worth seven lakhs? What does he have in
mind?" She nodded to Maya's bag. "What's in there?"

Instead of saying, Maya spilled the contents at the Sultana's feet. The
queen picked up her things, item by item. "A book. Dravanas? Is that all?
Surely you have more in there?"

Reluctantly, Maya took out her broken sword, the rough-sawed coin,
and last of all the headdress. The queen examined each piece carefully.
"There's a story here, isn't there? Come nearer. So many ears about. Nearer
still." She motioned Maya to her ear. "Tell us of these things, but quietly."

Despite the wine, Da Gama could not sleep. He hated tents. In the middle
of the night he gave up and left his tent to walk beneath the stars.

A few fires burned, a few shadows moved in the darkness, but the
camp was quiet. All that could be heard was the endless roaring of the
nearby falls. The full moon burned so bright the grass looked silver, and
Da Gama cast faint shadows as he walked.

Without a conscious thought, he found himself moving toward the
river. As he left the circle of grand tents the crickets chirped noisily, and
once in some bushes he saw the glowing eyes of a panther, but the beast
darted off. Suddenly he wished he had his pistolas. No one in the camp carried weapons except the eunuch guards.

By the time he came to the river's edge his borrowed slippers were
soaked through. The river still ran high, and here and there eddies that had formed along the shore glittered in the moon. Da Gama came to the narrow
wooden bridge that led to the zenana camp. Across the river a eunuch
guard lounged against the railing.

Here the roaring grew loud. He stepped onto the bridge. Even over the
river noise, he heard the wood and lashings squeak with his every step. In
the middle he leaned against the rail, which sagged against his weight.