Prologue

Finally Mohini turned to face him. Ravana! she exclaimed in a petite fury. Why won't you leave me alone, you repulsive horny monster?

Ravana smiled, revealing grotesque ragged tusks. He angled his ugly head to show the horns to better effect. Because you are an Apsara, the most beautiful creature of lndra's heaven, and I

am smitten by your lovely features. You will not easily be rid of me.

But I am not smitten by YOU, you horror from no realm I would care to know. I am a lesser goddess who prefers to associate with personable folk. What can I do to make you go away for a century or two so I can have some peace?

Ravana considered. You might deal with me. Perhaps we should wager on a game with

suitable prizes.

Now Mohini considered, realizing that while she could never escape the evil male spirit through flight or avoidance, she might do so by means of wit. What kind of game?

He shrugged, causing his discolored scales to grind against each other. Why not a game with

mortals as ignorant pawns? They are often entertaining in their confusion, especially when

their gore spills out just before they die.

Mohini winced, but remained lovely regardless, for she was incapable of ugliness. I much prefer romantic games that tweak mortal heartstrings and lead to expressions of tenderness, music, and poetry.

Ugh! But Ravana knew that he could never make her submit to his desire without her cooperation; he had to compromise. Perhaps a game of romance and violence.

Mohini was intrigued. The romance for me, the violence for you, as befits our natures.

Rape and vengeance, he suggested.

Love and loss, she countered.

They were getting somewhere. For what stakes?

A century of peace from you.

A century of erotic frenzy from you.

She paused, reconsidering. The prizes did seem fair. Surely she could beat this monster, if the game was fair. Agreed.

Agreed.

Having settled the fruits of victory and defeat, they focused on the nature of the game itself. In due course they hammered out a situation that offered a number of intriguing ramifications. They would choose a single mortal man, whom neither of them would touch directly, though both could read mortal thoughts. The man would go where he wished and do what he wanted, except when they deflected his course by indirect means, taking turns. Mohini would act only through mortal females, and Ravana only through mortal males, touching each with a single act or emotion, then allowing the consequences to proceed in their natural fashion until the other spirit acted; then the turn would change again. Each act had to appear natural to the mortals, so as to attract no suspicion of supernatural intervention. If any such suspicion arose, the one responsible would forfeit the game.

If Mohini could seduce the mortal man in seven different guises, through different women, without Ravana killing him, she would win. Since she would enjoy the seductions, and he would enjoy the mayhem, the game should be interesting throughout.

Now we must find our innocent mortal man.

And soon thereafter I shall be slavering over your dainty quivering posterior.

Or propelling your own brute buttocks rapidly elsewhere. We shall see, Ravana.

We shall indeed.

1

The Palace of the Zamindar

Many village maidens wept when young Hari announced he would don the white mantle of austerity, take leave of his friends and family, and set out upon the open road in search of truth and wisdom.

Beloved for his beauty, cleverness, and gentle ways, he would not heed the pleas of his mother and sister, uncles and neighbors, to remain among them in his ancestral home. It was not because he was the only son of a widow or for need of his labor that they wished him to remain; rather, it was for the joy he brought to his family and all who knew him.

Ravana!

Who calls me?

Tall, slender, sturdy of limb, blessed with the cherished lightness of skin the color of ripe wheat, sharp of feature, unspoiled, and in the fullness of his youth was Hari. Yet, if the gods had smiled upon him, still he was not content. Restlessness gnawed at his heart and wanderlust tugged at his soul.

I, Mohini, am calling you, dullard. Here is the one! Come and see if it is not so.

Of late his thoughts and fancies drifted to imaginary far-off places, like shadows in a waking dream. He remembered the stories his father had told him as a child, of strange peoples and customs in distant lands and the talking animals that had illuminated the many subtleties and foibles of human character. And had not his venerated teacher, Bava, the village pundit, taught him to love and seek out knowledge, to value and learn from all experience? Surely, he told himself, such experience encompassed the outside world and the senses as well as the mind and spirit.

This idiot mortal? Mohini, his naïveté is grotesque. He thinks that mortal creatures

exist for some purpose other than the entertainment of immortal spirits.

Hari had refused to consider offers of marriage, though it was a village custom that eligible bachelors of high caste take a wife before reaching the age of twenty-one. The time had come when he could no longer deny the longing within. He had to reach out for the promises that ever lingered on the horizon, beckoning him, filling his imagination. And so it was that one month before his twenty-first birthday he announced his decision to leave the village of his birth. He promised his mother and sister that he would return before too long and would keep his vegetarian habits.

I don't care, Ravana. I think he's cute, in body and mind. He means so well, with so little experience of evil.

His mother wept as she tied an amulet of yellow string from the family altar around his arm to protect him on his travels. His sister marked his forehead with a stripe of ash and admonished him to watch out for snakes on the road. Refusing all but a few coins and some meager provisions, he bade his family farewell and in the pale light of a summer's dawn set out upon a path through the hills to the south.

I will make short work of this one, Mohini! If he's the one you want, you are as great a

fool as he is.

Glad to be on the road, Hari kept a brisk pace, in time with the beating of his heart. He heeded not the brooding hills, laden with premonitions, or the baleful eye of Surya, the sun, as it rolled upward across the cloudless sheet of sky. But he laughed at the young mynah birds that chattered and argued among the leaves of the tamarind, and he mimicked the merry chirpings of crickets in the brush.

Then we are agreed, you grotesque evil spirit. This is the mortal we shall use to decide our issue.

The earth and sky and their offspring were his ever present companions. The shade of the banyan gave him relief from the late afternoon sun, and the coconut, mango, and jackfruit trees that grew in abundance provided him ample nourishment. The many streams that snaked along the base of the hills served to slake his thirst and provide for his ablutions. What more could he ask of life than this? A simple yet satisfying tour of the countryside, with ample time for contemplation.

We are agreed, you beautiful daughter of pleasure. This is the fool we shall focus on.

The hills became taller and the land greener as he traveled southward, and though his body ached from climbing, his heart was light with expectation. At day's end he stretched out upon a soft cushion of grass beneath an overhanging acacia tree and soon drifted into a carefree dreamless slumber.

I shall go elsewhere and divert myself alone, for I can see that it will be days before this sweet mortal man encounters any seduceable women.

You are merely dawdling because you have the first move, O lovely Mohini, and I can't

kill him until it is my turn.

How unfortunate for you, O hideous one. Perhaps you should divert yourself by chewing on your warts.

It was on the morning of the sixth day of his journey, from the crest of a high hill, that Hari saw spread out before him a broad lush valley extending to the distant mountains. It shone like a great emerald set into the breast of the earth, a coruscating river cutting through its center. Upon the near side of the riverbank stood a magnificent palace the likes of which he had only heard about in stories.

Its golden domes and turrets glistened in the sun, and its white marble wings extended outward like some great mythical bird in flight.

Mohini! Come play the game, you winsome creature. A situation arises.

The sight overwhelmed him, and it was many minutes before Hari could quiet his heartbeat.

Then, with all the resolve he could muster, he started down the hill toward the great edifice.

I see no women here, you curmudgeon. How can I work a seduction?

There are women in the palace. Give me leave to touch the master of this residence,

and we shall soon have the fool mortal man inside.

I have no wish to let you touch a mortal out of turn. You will stir in him a killing fury against all isolated travelers, and win the game before it starts.

No I won't. We agreed: no baseless killing furies. I merely wish to start the game.

Then touch him. But I will be watching. If you cheat, you brute, you forfeit.

Then watch, luscious. At the key moment I will make the tiniest nudge, so delicate that

no one suspects.

As Hari approached the massive wooden gate of the palace, he saw that it was intricately carved with figures of the gods in acts of worship, combat, and lovemaking. He was especially intrigued with the depictions of the goddesses and lingered a moment to study their voluptuous beauty.

But his musing was interrupted by a loud creaking and cracking, and the great gate began to slowly swing open. He hastily stepped aside.

You, delicate? You strain my credulity, you creature of mayhem.

Your credulity is a tender flower, like yourself. Observe, and despair of any hope of

victory.

Through the now open portal marched a cordon of soldiers, four abreast, uniformed in bright red and carrying shoulder spears. Once outside the gate, the soldiers split ranks and quickstepped to one side to make passage for a following retinue on horseback. The equestrian formation passed majestically through the gate, then halted and parted to make way for a magnificent black stallion that trotted to the fore. Astride the stallion sat the leader of the cavalcade, as his bejeweled saddle, richly embroidered uniform, and dignity of bearing testified.

The leader, espying the young stranger standing alone before the palace gate, reined in his steed.

"Whom have we here?" he said in a commanding but not unfriendly voice. "A young swami, perhaps? Hmm. I see that you are highborn by the sacred thread you wear, and that you have traveled some distance. Tell me, who are you and what brings you to the palace of the zamindar?"

This man is dangerous when affronted. Remember, if you try to take advantage—

Hari swallowed. "O Master," he replied, his tone humble but unwavering, "I am Hari by name, a student on a pilgrimage in search of truth, who six days past set out from my village to the north upon a path chosen by the Goddess of Fortune. Surely, O Master, she has permitted me to travel with her to this blessed land only that she may now visit with the zamindar."

Now! Instead of interpreting this as insolence, he takes it as cleverness and is

graciously inclined.

The horseman laughed and slapped his saddle. "Well spoken!" he said. "Know that I am the zamindar and that your words please me. Goddess Lakshmi is indeed welcome, and I thank you for delivering her to me. I would speak with you further, young traveler, but I must be on my way. The Great Rajah has called his servant to his palace to celebrate the month of our Lord Krishna. The Goddess of Fortune will be welcome company on the journey, at whose end she will find rest in most comfortable and familiar surroundings. But tell me, Hari, what gift should I present in homage to our Lord Krishna?"

There is still danger.

Hari's heart raced as his brain searched for an answer.

"O Zamindar," he replied, "Lord Krishna is a playful god, and it is said that he is best worshiped when his worshipers enjoy the earthly pleasures that it pleases him to bring them."

"Hah! Well said, again, O Hari. You are clever beyond your years. Pray you, then, stay, this holy month in my palace as my guest, if you will. And if you choose to remain until my return, we will converse again at length and leisure. But now I must go. Farewell, O child of the gods."

That mortal man is not as dull as I took him for. He helped himself that time.

Hari watched the zamindar and his retinue ride off through the hills until they disappeared from sight. He was then led into the palace by a guard and turned over to a portly berobed man of middle years who bowed politely and introduced himself as Balu, the zamindar's chief advisor. Without further ado, the advisor escorted Hari through the great halls of the palace to a guest suite in the west wing. After ascertaining that Hari had no further needs, he bowed and took his leave.

Hari was overwhelmed with his quarters, ornate and spacious, yet also private. Such wealth and finery he had never seen before, and he could not resist touching the bejeweled urns and golden censers and running his fingers over the inlaid tables, carven walls, and intricate tapestries.

From the veranda adjoining his apartments, he looked out upon the western hills, so stately and serene, glimmering beneath the golden eye of Surya. Although he was not especially religious, he gave silent thanks to the God of Gods for his good fortune that day.

Now I will start my first seduction, instilling in a comely young woman a passion for the visitor.

Hari's reverie was broken by a knocking at the door. At his spoken consent there entered into the room a maidservant who, upon crossing the threshold, bowed low before him and raised her joined palms to her chin, her eyes cast downward. She remained fixed in that position awaiting the command to rise.

She is so shy she will never make the attempt, despite her mysterious sudden passion

for the guest. You have wasted your move, honey breast.

Hari failed to give the expected sign, but could only stare at the bowed figure before him. Here, he thought, was a female to rob one's very soul, a maiden in the fullness of her youth, fair beyond compare. Blessed she was with skin the smoothness of the lotus petal, full plum lips embracing milk-white teeth, almond eyes gray-flecked and slightly cowled, hinting of mysterious secrets, and fringed with long eyelashes guarded by high brows arched like drawn bows. Her hair was shining sable, fine as gossamer, falling freely about soft slim shoulders, framing a narrow forehead and long slender neck. The loose sari she wore failed to conceal her full round breasts, sylph-like waist, rounded hips, and long graceful limbs.

Give it time, obnoxious one. She may be shy, but she is showing her wares, which are formidable.

Never had Hari looked upon such feminine beauty, wholly sensuous yet possessed of a quiet dignity worthy of reverence.

Only when the maidservant's head inclined upward slightly and he saw her look of demure puzzlement did he realize his unintended discourtesy. He quickly bade her to rise.

"O Swami," said she, "I am your servant, Meena, sent to do your bidding. If it is your wish to sup, I have brought fruits, sweetmeats, and cow's milk for your pleasure."

"Yes, thank you, Meena," he replied in a voice that gave no hint of his inner disquiet. He was trying to lead a simple life, if not an ascetic one, and desires of the flesh were not appropriate for that.

Was the maiden unaware of her beauty? "I will take some fruit. But pray do not call me swami, I who am only a traveling student. My name is Hari."

Meena, placing the platter of food on a low table, replied, "But it is said you are very clever and have amused my lord, the zamindar." She seemed about to say more, though hesitant; she seemed to be suffering some gentle uncertainty or conflict of emotions.

"I am grateful for the zamindar's kindness and generosity," Hari politely interjected, if only to discourage any further recitation of his perceived, or misperceived, virtues. "But come, Meena, will you not sit awhile and partake with me of this fruit?"

"Oh no, Master," she exclaimed. "That I cannot do. It is forbidden for a servant—"

"Do not speak so," Hari interrupted. "Are we not near together in years? And can we not be friends during my brief visit? None need know of our friendship."

See how her passion guides her mind, she not yet understanding its nature.

Meena was silent, considering, and as she looked upon his beauty, his pleading eyes and earnest smile, she felt her reservations slipping. Then she too smiled and sat down beside him, though at a respectful distance.

Women were ever devious, even to themselves. A man would be straightforward.

That is easy for one whose attention has but a single channel.

From their conversation Hari learned that Meena was not of humble birth, which did not altogether surprise him, but was the daughter of a regional prince who three years past had been killed in war by soldiers of the zamindar. As was his right, the zamindar had taken Meena to be a servant in his household. She had been well treated and cared for, and gradually had come to accept, even to find some pleasure in, her new position in life. She had her own room in the palace, her duties were few, and she had ample time to walk in the garden, embroider, and play tunes on the veena. In truth, she had come to respect and even to like the zamindar, who was a fine man when not opposed.

Hari in his turn told Meena of his life in the village and of his desire to learn more of the world.

She seemed to be so rapt with attention that he talked rather more than he had intended, being flattered despite his effort to be objective.

The time passed quickly and soon Meena announced she must depart. Not unmindful of her obligations, she offered to bring Hari fresh hens' eggs in the morning for his breakfast, if it would please him.

"O Meena," he replied, "know that I am a vegetarian. Although eggs are to my liking, I can only eat those which are infertile. Tell me, in the chicken house, are the cocks kept separate from the hens?"

"There is but one cock," she answered, "a great white cock which the zamindar keeps to announce the coming of day. And a proud and magnificent bird he is," she added enthusiastically, as if there were something about the subject of breeding that appealed to her. "Now," she continued almost breathlessly, "although the cock is kept separately in an enclosed pen next to the henyard, he on occasion somehow manages to transgress the intervening fence and move among the hens."

"Does he then tread the hens," asked Hari, "and so fertilize the eggs?"

"He does that," replied Meena, "but not with all the hens. There are among the hens those of many colors—red, white, gray, speckled, a few yellows, and a single black. The white cock has interest only in the black hen, and it is only her eggs that would be fertile. But since I know the nesting place of the black hen, when I fetch the eggs in the morning for your breakfast I will be sure to gather only from the other nests."

Hari pictured the black hen in his mind as Meena spoke, and it was as if the feathers were as sleek and dark as Meena's glossy hair. He could appreciate why the cock had desire only for that one. And, it seemed, that desire was returned.

"But Meena," said he, "although hens are among the gods' blessed creatures, they are not known to be overly intelligent, being somewhat fickle and not always certain of their place. Therefore, is it not possible that one hen might occupy and deposit her eggs in the nest of another? And so might not a fertile egg find its way into a nest other than that of the black hen?"

"Be not concerned," Meena assured him, "for I have long been gathering the hens' eggs and observing their habits. Know that the eggs of the black hen are of a slightly darker hue than the other hens' eggs. As I gather from each nest, I will observe the color of the eggs and choose only the whitest to insure against the possibility of selecting one that is fertile."

Hari, satisfied that all risk had been eliminated, thanked Meena for her solicitousness. They then bade one another good night, each looking forward to their meeting again the following morning. In fact, had Hari not known better, he might have supposed that the intensity of her parting look suggested a desire to remain longer in his chamber.

It was not yet dark and Hari decided he would take a stroll about the palace grounds before turning in. As he walked along the winding pathways he marveled at the beauty and grandeur of the terraced gardens, manicured lawns, and tall hedges, the flowering trellises, carven statuary, and elaborate dovecotes. How plain and insignificant by comparison seemed the gardens of his native village. Yet, he thought, as he gazed upon the climbing purple bougainvillea, were its blossoms really any more beautiful or fragrant than those which grew in his own yard?

Following the walkway around to the rear of the palace, he came upon the area where the livestock and poultry were kept. He walked over to the fence that separated the henyard from the demesne of the white cock whom he could see pacing about in apparent discontent with his confinement. He seemed a fine bird, but it was not evident that the cock was all that worthy of the acclaim and admiration Meena had heaped upon him.

Hari saw too in the adjoining yard some of the hens picking about on the ground, though the black hen was not among them. He guessed that she and others of the hens must have already gone indoors for the night, judging from the clucking he heard coming from the henhouse.

An idea suddenly came to him which brought a smile to his lips and a sparkle to his eyes.

Slowly he made his way along the line of the fence that separated the hens and the white cock, carefully examining the fence and ground as he went. As he neared the far end of the fence, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement. But then at the very bottom of the fence where it was partly hidden by an overhanging bush, he saw what he was looking for.

Darkness was descending: time to return to his quarters. As he walked along he silently named the constellations scattered across the star-filled sky, the smile on his face now mimicked by the rising moon.

He arose early the next morning, and no sooner had he finished bathing and dressing than there came a familiar knocking at the door. Meena entered carrying a tray upon which was a silver platter of fresh fruit and a bowl containing three ivory-white eggs. Hari saw that today she wore a garland in her hair and was adorned in a shining white sari embroidered with tiny red flowers. Her fragrance was of sweet lotus. If his pulsebeat quickened, he did not show it. He was relieved that his memory of her had not deceived him, and indeed the face that now assailed him was beauty and perfection itself.

"Good morning, Meena," he said, giving the traditional hand greeting. "I thank you for the breakfast, and not least for the unseeded eggs which are so white and perfect it seems a pity to eat them."

"Good morning," she replied. "But you must eat to keep your strength." Her tone was gently admonishing, yet also motherly and slightly coquettish. She seemed more familiar and less shy than before, as if her natural reticence was being vanquished by some more intense emotion.

"Very well, Meena, but you must join me," said he.

"My thanks, but I have already eaten. However, I will keep you company." So saying, she sat down beside Hari who proceeded with his meal.

"These eggs are most tasty," he said. "I should have thought to thank the benefactors when I passed the henhouse during my evening stroll."

"Oh?" exclaimed Meena with interest. "Did you see the hens while on your walk?"

"Yes, but only a few, some reds and yellows. I did not see the black hen, who must have been in the henhouse."

"And did you see anything more?" inquired Meena.

"Oh yes, I also saw the white cock in his yard, though he seemed restless and not at all happy at his confinement. I watched him awhile to see if he might attempt to cross the fence and visit with the hens and so reveal the secret of his means of transgression."

"Oh! And did he do so?" asked Meena somewhat anxiously.

"No, he did not," answered Hari calmly. "But curiosity overcame me and I decided to inspect the fence-line that separated the white cock from the hens to see if I could discover anything that might help to solve the mystery."

"And—and did you find anything?" Meena's voice was now nervous and agitated, though she tried to disguise her unease.

Hari stopped eating, turned toward Meena, and looked her full in the eyes as he placed his hand on hers. He could feel her hand trembling and knew it was not because of his touch. He answered gently, almost in a whisper.

"Yes, Meena. I found the white cock's place of entry at the corner of the fence, covered by an overhanging bush. The fence had been pulled up by someone to allow the cock's passage."

There was a long silence as Meena stared into Hari's eyes and he into hers. His thumb caressed her still trembling hand, as much to reassure her and allay her trepidation as to express his feeling for her.

Meena knew she had been found out, that he knew her secret. All that he had said, his manner of speaking, and now his understanding smile and caresses, and, above all, the message in his eyes, told her that he knew.

Hari saw the utter helplessness in her eyes, the naked exposure of her innermost longings, and he knew that he had found the key to open a window into her heart.

Look into her mind, Havana. She is shy, but her passion caused her to linger overlong in his presence, so that he noticed her charms, and now he will take her.

Bah!

There was no longer any reason to pretend, Meena thought. Her hidden passions, so long suppressed, she now saw mirrored in Hari's eyes. Yes, she now admitted to herself, openly, even boldly—yes, she had made the opening for the white cock to enter. Yes, and many were the times, her heart racing triumphantly beneath swollen breasts, she had watched the white cock gloriously tread the black hen.

A softness came into her eyes, a softness which spoke of resignation, surrender, and desire. Hari said nothing, but gently pulled her to him, and she knew from his touch that he cared and understood.

She felt no guilt or shame as her body bent to his, as the flame of passion rose within her breast.

She desired adventure with a man, but only with one of quality, and of course the zamindar is married. It required only the slightest nudge to orient her on Hari.

Hari took her to his bed, and the goddess Lakshmi smiled upon the union, bringing to them bliss and delight, happiness and fulfillment, joy and ecstasy. For was he not the white cock and she the black hen, he the buck and she the doe, he the bull and she the heifer, he the boar and she the sow, he the ram and she the ewe, he the stallion and she the mare?

Even so will I do with you, Mohini, after I kill him. But I will take you without the

mortal man's foolish gentleness. Now it is my move, and I will make it at my convenience.

It was not until the sun was near its zenith that Meena finally arose, explaining that it was time for her to go to the kitchen and inform the cook of Hari's dietary requests for the remainder of the day.

Were there any special dishes he would like?

"O Meena," he replied in as serious a tone as he could muster, "since this is the holy month of our Lord Krishna, who in his wisdom has seen fit to deliver the zamindar to the distant palace of the rajah that our Lord may be worshipped in splendor, it is only appropriate that I too should give Krishna thanks and do him homage through the traditional means of self-sacrifice. Therefore, commencing this very day I will fast by foregoing the middle meal of every day of this holy month.

And at the first and third meal I will restrict my consumption of food which, for the pleasure of Krishna, will also serve to honor the sacrifices that our Lord's creatures of the earth have made by their provision of my daily nourishment. And surely the zamindar's hens are to be counted among our Lord's most worthy creatures. And so, O Meena, beginning this evening, and also in the morning, and on the morrow's eve, and on each and every day of this holy month, let each of Hari's meals consist of but some milk and fruit, and three fresh white hen's eggs gathered by your own hand."

At that, Meena rushed into Hari's arms, hugged him tightly, and they both laughed long and heartily. He realized that he was not yet destined to live a life of privation, and decided to accept what seemed to be destined.

2

The Zamindarini

Now I have seduced him once. It is your turn to try to kill him, Ravana. But remember, it must seem to stem from natural mortal events, or it doesn't count.

Have no concern. I have no need to influence events. They will take care of it

themselves. Consider the host's woman.

You must not influence a woman!

Nor must you, damsel spirit, until it is your turn. But we both can look into any mortal

mind, as we have been doing, without acting. Study her mind, and despair.

I see no point, but I will look.

And peek at the advisor's mind, too; he is integral to this seething mortal brew. There

is excellent potential for bloodshed here.

Now the zamindar had a beautiful young wife, Leela by name, who had decided to forego the discomfort of the long journey to the palace of the rajah and remain home instead. Upon learning of Hari's presence in the palace, she became curious and asked Balu the advisor to deliver a message to Hari saying that she would be pleased to receive him in her rooms the following day at the hour after midday. Balu, knowing the zamindarini's ways, was not at all pleased at this request, and feared the possible outcome of such a meeting. So he attempted to dissuade her from issuing the invitation by hinting that the zamindar might be displeased. When that failed, he suggested alternative activities for the morrow that she might prefer, such as riding in the hills or visiting the house of her father.

But Leela was adamant, so Balu had no choice but to agree to do her bidding; at least that is what he told her. But in fact he did not deliver the message, hoping that by the following day something would occur to divert her attention to other matters, or that she might simply forget about the meeting. She was after all prone to whims and had a short attention span.

Balu sighed as he recalled when three years past, his master, upon returning from a tax collection trip, arrived at the palace with a new young bride, much to the surprise and consternation of all. She was the youngest daughter of a local landowner who was financially in debt to the zamindar, and whose debt was erased from the ledgers upon the arrangement of the marriage. But, after all, Balu had told himself, the zamindar was a lonely widower approaching his middle years, and Leela was a voluptuous beauty less than half his age and no doubt well schooled in the art of pleasing men. Little wonder that the master had succumbed. Balu, however, had been offended that he was not consulted about the marriage, for he well knew that in the life of a zamindar there can be no separation of personal and political matters; one invariably carried implications for the other. It would have been better had the zamindar married a woman of known qualities, such as Meena, who was of royal lineage herself. But Meena, though of rare beauty, was the very last to presume—which was one reason she would have been a better wife.

And, indeed, the zamindar came to regret his hasty decision. It soon became evident that the zamindarini did not possess the maturity or character equal to her station. Worse, she proved to be of an exceptionally passionate, if not lustful, nature, requiring frequent conjugal attention lest she become restless and moody and a constant irritant to the palace staff and servants. At first the zamindar (who lived in separate quarters, as was the custom) paid her frequent nocturnal visits and so pacified her carnal needs. But his visits, of necessity, became less and less frequent. He was no longer young and could not keep pace with his energetic wife, whose demands were draining his strength.

Also, the duties of office required more of his time, and more tax collection trips became necessary because of financial crises brought about by droughts and poor harvests. And, in truth, he visited her less to avoid her continual complaining.

As a consequence of Leela's frustration, Balu suffered most of all. She required his presence with increasing frequency, calling upon him for the most trivial and contrived reasons, whereupon she would regale him mercilessly for hours on end. And to make matters worse, as if to take revenge on all males for her husband's neglect, she teased and tormented him with her abundant physical charms so as to drive him near to distraction.

She knew that Balu was a bachelor and suspected—correctly so—that he was virginal: all in all an ideal victim for her coquetry. So she would summon him and prattle on about such weighty matters as the reallocation of household chores among the servants, all the while squirming about on the floor in a sea of cushions, assuming the most provocative positions and generously revealing the curvaceous perimeters of her thighs and breasts.

After repeated exposure to such torments, Balu found he had trouble sleeping, and when he did sleep he dreamed of making passionate love to Leela. He knew her nature, and had contempt for it, but her blandishments were strong and his resistance weak. The desire grew potent within him, and during one of his visits he was tempted to hint of his willingness to collaborate with her that their mutual needs might be satisfied. But he dared not, not so much because of his position in the palace, but because he feared she would laugh at him and reject him in the crudest way possible. He did not think that she would tell her husband, since his denial would doubtless be believed because of his trusted relationship to the zamindar. It was the ridicule and rejection he could not bear. So he suffered silently, never failing to maintain his outward composure even though the flame of desire burned ever hotter within him.

When Hari did not appear before Leela at the appointed time, she became furious and summoned Balu for an explanation. Balu begged her forgiveness, saying that he had been unable to deliver her message because of an urgent political matter that had unexpectedly arisen. But she cut him short, berated him severely, and demanded that he personally deliver Hari into her presence forthwith.

Obviously she has seduction in mind. But that will merely give me another score for my count.

You underestimate the perversity of mortals.

Balu found Hari reading in the garden, whereupon he dutifully, albeit morosely, delivered the zamindarini's message. Hari was surprised but honored at the invitation and immediately accompanied Balu to the zamindarini's chambers. Balu coolly, but with dignity, presented Hari to the zamindarini, who was now all sweetness and calm, and at her sign the advisor withdrew, leaving the two alone.

Hari greeted the zamindarini with upraised palms and waited for her to speak. But she was silent and only gazed intently at her visitor.

Hari was surprised at the zamindarini's youth and was admiring of her loveliness; nor could he help but admire her earthly attributes, which her silver-flecked gown was cleverly designed not to hide. She, in her turn, fairly consumed her guest's youthful beauty with her stare. When finally she spoke, she asked Hari to please be seated beside her and proceeded to inquire of his background and how he had happened upon the palace of the zamindar. He gracefully answered her queries, whereupon there ensued another long silence. That caused him some uneasiness, for he was beginning to suspect that there was something on her mind.

Indeed there is! He is a fortunate mortal.

But also an idiot. It requires two to dance in this manner, and it is a dangerous dance.

"I see, Hari," she said, "that you carry a book. Pray tell, what are you reading?"

"O Zamindarini," he replied, "this is the ancient book of fables, which I borrowed from the zamindar's library, wherein I have been reading stories about the making of friends and enemies."

"Well then, sit closer to me, here, and read me a tale of friendship. And since we are alone, you may call me Leela."

"Gladly," he replied, moving a little closer, but not as close as she had indicated. She reached out and placed her hand on his. He pretended not to notice, but calmly turned the pages of the book looking for a story to tell her. Thereupon he related the tale of the hound and the wolf queen. Of how, despite their differences in kind and station, the hound and she-wolf became fast friends, like brother and sister, and how they prayed and played together, demonstrating to all their virtues of trust and friendship.

Leela withdrew her hand from Hari's and listened with growing impatience and annoyance. The message was clear enough: Hari would be her friend and nothing more. Her intentions had been detected and as quickly rejected. Even though the manner of negation was gentle and clever, it was a rejection nonetheless—something she could not accept.

You idiot, Hari! Take what offers!

You see what a dolt he is.

"An interesting and amusing story," she said coolly, suppressing her anger. "Now let me tell you a tale, also of the hound and the she-wolf.

"It happened that one day the hound decided to leave the village of his birth in search of knowledge and adventure, and he traveled long and far until, weary and hungry, he came upon a den of wolves. There he stopped and asked the leader of the wolves for food and shelter. The wolf, being favorably inclined toward the well-mannered hound, gave him nourishment and the use of an empty cave near his own. Not long after, the wolf king and his pack went into the forest to hunt. But the wolf king's wife remained behind. Now, she was greatly admiring of the hound, of his long slender body, lithe limbs, and sleek coat, and she greatly desired him. So she invited the hound into her den and offered herself to him. But, even though the wolf queen was comely, the hound, ungrateful cur that he was, spurned her, much to her dismay.

"Later, when the wolf king returned from the hunt, he found that the hound had departed and his wife was in great distress. The she-wolf proceeded to tell her mate how the hound had attempted to force his will upon her, though she had successfully fought him off, and the cur had fled.

"Thereupon the wolf king, in his fury, sent his pack out in search of the traitorous hound. The hound was soon tracked down and held at bay by the pack until the wolf king arrived to deliver his justice. And swift it was: the wolf king grasped the hound by the neck with his sharp teeth and tore out his throat. The pack devoured the remains.

"That ends the tale, O Hari. I pray the moral has not been obscured in the telling."

Now perhaps you see the relevance. Your mortal man is doomed—and you can not

touch the she-wolf out of turn.

Hari swallowed as the dread meaning of Leela's words sunk into his consciousness.

"O Mistress, the moral is clear enough," he replied. His mind whirred, searching for some way out of the dilemma. He had little doubt that the zamindarini was capable of lying to the zamindar about the transgressions of a stranger in their midst, and she would surely be believed over him, assuming he would even be given the chance to explain. But how could he yield to her? The zamindar had been kind to him. He could not be an ingrate and a traitor. And even if he did capitulate, what new risks would he then face? No. He must hold firm and try to find a solution.

Yet my mortal man is clever. He will find a way.

Then, of a sudden, as if from the brow of Krishna, an idea came to him.

"O Leela," he said, "do not misunderstand, for surely my eyes have never beheld such beauty as yours—and who am I that I should be so greatly honored by your attentions? Surely I am blessed by the gods this day. If I seem reluctant it is only because there are circumstances which prevent me from giving rein to my heart's desire. Though you have kindled a flame within me, alas, I must strive to extinguish it lest we both commit sacrilege and blaspheme the God of Gods."

Leela was aghast as this declaration and for a moment was speechless.

"I will explain," continued Hari. "Know that when, these many years past, I reached the age of manhood, the time came for me to undergo the sacred religious ceremony wherein I would receive the holy Brahminical thread, this very one that winds about my body. At that time, as is the tradition, I made a sacred vow to Lord Brahma. As all know, a vow so given can not be broken lest Moksha be forever forsaken and future rebirths be as the lowliest creatures that crawl upon the earth.

"My vow to Brahma was this: that nevermore in this life would I look upon the nakedness of woman, nor lie upon the breast of woman.

"And so, O Leela, such is the reason I can not avail myself of the sweetness which is yourself, though my heart be sorely inclined."

A curse on his lying cunning!

What is he doing?

Leela listened in utter amazement. Hari's words rang true, for vows of celibacy on such holy occasions were not uncommon. And knowing the sanctity of such vows, she could not take offense at Hari's unwillingness to succor her. She could not expect him to break his vow.

Though no longer angry, and her pride now repaired, she was still deeply disappointed and pondered the situation mightily. She asked Hari to repeat the exact words of his vow once more.

Fortunately, having an excellent memory, he was able to do so. Suddenly Leela's face brightened as though lit by a thousand candles.

"Hari, I have found a way!" she cried, grasping both his hands in hers. "There is a way we can make love without you breaking your vow. Recall in my story of the hound and the she-wolf: had the hound complied with the wolf-queen's wishes, he would have mounted her from behind in the manner of the beasts. Well, then, so can you do the same with me. And you will not—by the very words of your vow—have lain upon the breast of woman. And if all the lights are extinguished with only the blackness of night to keep us company, so then will you have kept your vow not to look upon the nakedness of woman."

Oh, the deviousness of women!

I could not have said it better myself. She will put him into criminal conduct yet, and

the zamindar will have his trusted guest's head when he learns of this—as he surely will.

Even if some disreputable male servant has to be mysteriously moved to inform him.

Leela clapped her hands in glee, immensely pleased with her own cleverness. Hari stared at her wide-eyed, benumbed with astonishment. He had been outwitted.

Thereupon Leela bade Hari to leave and return to her that very evening at three hours after sunset. All would be in readiness. She would dismiss her servants, darken the room, leave the door ajar, and be waiting upon the floor cushions in anticipation of his coming. She waved him off with a smile.

No sooner did he return to his room than came a knock on the door, and Balu entered. The advisor hoped to learn what had occurred between Hari and Leela, and from Hari's gloomy look he suspected the worst. Balu knew that Hari would not be forthcoming unless he, Balu, could convince him that he knew of Leela's ways and could be trusted for advice. So with artful indirection the advisor revealed something of his knowledge of Leela and promised that he would keep any secret Hari might care to confide. And if Hari was in difficulty, he would try to help.

Hari would have preferred to keep his own counsel, but he was sorely pressed and time was growing short. So he decided to confide in Balu, who seemed sincere, and thereupon told him the whole story of his visit with Leela.

Balu pursed his lips and shook his head. "A serious problem," he muttered, "very serious. And I fear an insoluble one. Hari, you must flee. Take yourself as far from the palace as you can before the zamindar returns." The advisor then sighed wistfully. "Ah, if it were only I whom she desired!"

"O Balu," said Hari, "I have reason not to flee. Nor am I inclined to do so since I am innocent of wrongdoing. If I run, it would appear an act of guilt. Doubtless the zamindar would track me down anyway."

Together they pondered the problem in silence. The advisor sighed again. Hari looked at Balu and a glimmer of light came into his eyes.

But what is this? The deviousness of a man?

"Tell me, Balu," he asked, "were you in earnest when you said you harbored desire for the zamindarini? Please be candid, I beg you, for much is at stake. If you were, then there may yet be a way out of this dilemma, and perhaps a way to satisfy your desire."

Balu perked up. "I will confess such a desire, fool that I am, for she has long tormented me with her feminine wiles."

Hari then proceeded to tell Balu of his idea, and as Balu listened his heart beat faster, for he saw it was clever indeed. Together they worked out a precise plan in which the advisor readily agreed to collaborate.

They are plotting their way out of it! Disgusting.

At three hours after sunset Hari made his way to Leela's quarters. There were no guards about and Leela's door was ajar as she had promised. He took a deep breath and eased the door open. It was pitch black inside, as also had been agreed upon. He quietly entered, but was careful not to fully close the door behind him.

"Leela?" he whispered.

"I am here, Hari," came the soft reply, "in the center of the room among the cushions where you last saw me. Come to me. I am ready."

"Yes," he answered. "But first I would ask one thing of you. So that our joy may be complete, and so that we may be transported to the lofty realm of the gods and our minds and bodies be merged in perfect union, pray let no words pass between us this night from this moment hence. Let only the sweet silence of darkness mingle with your fragrance and bathe us in the stillness of bliss."

"Oh gladly, gladly," Leela replied, her passion redoubled by Hari's words. "Now come to me, for my flesh is burning."

Quickly, Hari slipped soundlessly through the door and into the corridor as Balu, just as nimbly, entered the room and eased the door shut. The advisor hastily disrobed, dropping his garments by the door, then proceeded to grope his way on all fours through the darkness in search of the waiting object of his desires. Guided by the sound of Leela's belabored breathing and the fragrance of her body perfume, he had no difficulty locating her among the floor cushions. His outstretched hand came first in contact with her smooth pulsating buttocks. He soon ascertained that she was bent over in the stipulated position. Thereupon, without delay or hesitation, he assailed the waiting bastion of delight with leonine eagerness, and henceforth the stillness was interrupted only by moans of labored ecstasy: a serenade of the night newly sung, yet as ageless as man and the gods before.

Hari returned to his rooms and prayed that the charade would be successful and that Balu would be able to satiate Leela's appetite so that a repeat performance would not soon be necessary.

A scullery servant, meanwhile, was searching the kitchen for a lost earring, a favorite bit of jewelry his father had given him as a child. Unable to find it, he concluded that it must have fallen sometime during the afternoon while in the performance of his duties. With the aid of an oil lamp, he immediately began retracing his steps through the dimly lit halls of the palace. As fortune would have it, and much to his relief, he found the earring in a corridor not far from the rooms of the zamindarini.

As he passed the door to the zamindarini's suite on the way back to his room, he heard a strange noise coming from within—a low moaning sound. Puzzled, he stopped to listen for a moment. He again heard the moaning, which was now louder, and could only think that the zamindarini must be ill and in pain. Concerned about his mistress, he knocked lightly on the door. There was no reply. He realized that he should report this to his superior, the majordomo, who would send a discreet woman to investigate, but the hour was late and the majordomo would not appreciate being disturbed over what was probably nothing. Yet suppose it wasn't nothing?

No, mortal moron. You must investigate yourself, this instant. This makes sense in the

circumstance.

So the man, believing this to be his own thought, quietly opened the door and entered the room, holding up the oil lamp to illuminate the darkened interior.

Oh! You are exposing the liaison! But to what purpose? Hari is not here, so will not be blamed.

His breath caught. There, squatting naked on the floor amidst a multitude of cushions, was the zamindarini, and attached to her from behind was the advisor, Balu. The servant saw that the moans were indeed those of his mistress, but moans of pain, he now realized, they were not.

As the lamplight flooded the room, all activity within ceased. Leela shot a look of surprise mingled with threat at the intruder, but her expression transformed into one of utter amazement as her eyes fell upon Balu behind her. Balu, stupified and benumbed with shock, a look of abject terror on his face, silently prayed for death to strike him swiftly.

But the zamindarini will blame Hari for tricking her like this, and have him promptly

executed along with Balu and the servant, thus covering her shame and protecting herself

from exposure.

The servant was the first to gain his wits, and he slipped out of the room without uttering a word.

Balu started to pull away in fear, but Leela cried out: "Hold, Balu! I command it!" Balu froze, not daring to move a muscle.

"So, I have been tricked!" Leela's words slithered like a cobra.

A cunning ploy, Ravana. But I shall counter it by putting a thought into her head—a thought to which she is not averse.

Then Leela smiled slyly. "But Krishna works in wonderful ways, does he not? You, Balu, have long lusted after me, not entirely due to discouragement on my part. But I would never have considered you because I thought you unmanly. I know now that I was wrong. Had it not been for the little game you and Hari have played, I would never have discovered your virtues. For, know you Balu, never before have I experienced such pleasure as I have this night. Your endowment is indeed generous and would put a bull to shame, and your skill at its employ is that of a master.

"So! I command you now—nay, I entreat you." Her voice softened to a purr. "Will you not continue to employ your talents on your zamindarini's behalf? Will you not resurrect your virtue and complete what you have so well begun? Fear not, our secret will be safe. I will even forgive Hari, for without him this night's pleasure would not have come to pass.

"And besides," she added, laughing, "now we need not be restricted to the position of the beasts, but may indulge ourselves in the full range of exotic delights that the great Vatsyayana has bequeathed us."

Balu could hardly believe his ears, but neither did he question his fate or hesitate before it.

Rather, he offered up a silent prayer to Brahma, and proceeded forthwith to engage with Leela, bringing to her and himself the manifold pleasures and delights that the great God of Gods, by so fashioning his children, intended for them to enjoy.

Then he remembered the scullery servant. "Suppose the servant tells the zamindar?"

Leela shrugged. "Must I turn advisor to you, as well as lover? Surely you can advise him that his choice is between a promotion to more comfortable employment, such as night guardian of the palace to ensure that no other person learns of our liaisons, or the untimely loss of his tongue? Is there any doubt of the nature of his choice?"

"No doubt at all, my mistress."

So you have countered me, Mohini, this time. You have accomplished your first

seduction, and balked my first kill. But six more such challenges remain, O luscious one.

Six more remain, you ugly spook.

When late in the night Balu departed the rooms of the zamindarini, promising he would meet with her again soon, he stopped by to briefly visit with Hari. Thereupon he related all that had occurred with Leela, and they both laughed until tears came to their eyes.

The next morning when Meena delivered Hari his breakfast of fresh eggs, he told her the happenings of the previous day. Though she was not at all amused by the tale, she could not help but admire the boldness of Hari's plan and his courage in carrying it out. Most of all she was relieved that the zamindarini no longer had any romantic interest in Hari. She had no wish to share him with anyone.

3

The Cave of the Guru

This episode is done. We must move on to the next challenge.

I find this interlude pleasant enough. The mortal man is a fine lover, and I enjoy occupying the mortal woman as she indulges his passion.

Then I shall call time on you, you succulent spirit, for you an not indulging my

passion. If you will not agree to urge your mortal man onward to the next challenge, you

must indulge me during the delay with a portion of the lustful activity I shall command

when I win this contest between us. This is the nature of our deal.

I shall give you no early sating of your lust, you monstrosity. I shall arrange to nudge the cute mortal man to develop a desire to travel again. It will be easy enough to cause the mortal woman Meena to press upon him too closely.

And I shall nudge the regional rajah to issue an invitation that the dull mortal man

will be obliged to accept I think there will be interesting opportunities in the rajah's palace.

We are agreed that such nudges do not constitute moves in our game, beautiful?

We are agreed, tuskface.

The days that followed were pleasantly uneventful. Hari spent many idle hours strolling in the palace gardens with Meena, talking and laughing about nothing in particular, reveling in nature's wonders. They picked flowers, fed the parrots and peacocks, and chased butterflies and one another.

Too, Hari met often with Balu, who was a veritable fount of knowledge and who patiently answered his endless questions about palace life and neighboring lands and peoples. Other questions he sought answers to in the zamindar's great library, where he immersed himself in books on history, geography, and literature.

Yet, despite the many pleasures that palace life offered, a growing restlessness crept upon him and once again he felt the pull of the open road. Also, Meena was becoming overly attentive and possessive. She would lovingly fuss about his deplorable lack of neatness, insisting on smoothing out every wrinkle in his tunic and was forever straightening out the sacred thread around his shoulder.

When he retreated to some remote corner of the palace to read, she would seek him out and find some real or imagined imperfection in his appearance about which she would gently chastise him and insist on putting right. Always he politely submitted to her attentions, never being so ungracious as to show discomfort or annoyance.

Though he desired Meena and felt a genuine fondness for her, he did not think he loved her, for he still slept well, retained his interest in the world about him, and suffered no feelings of lightness in his stomach or head. She would make some man an excellent wife, but marriage was not what he sought.

No sooner had he decided to leave the palace than news came of the zamindar's return. He knew now he would have to postpone his departure, for courtesy and custom required he pay his respects to his host and not absent himself so abruptly.

Balu confessed to Hari his mixed emotions about his master's homecoming. He would enjoy returning to his advisory duties, but would sorely miss his secret meetings with Leela. He took solace in the knowledge that the zamindar would be making a tax collection trip before too long.

It occurs to me that tracking the mortal man constantly as he trudges about will grow

tedious. Let me brand him, so we can readily locate him when we wish to.

Don't brand him! I want him to remain as handsome as he is. Give him a marker instead, and we shall orient on that marker.

As you wish. There is the zamindar's enchanted medallion. That should do. It will be

easy to spy, because of its magical aura.

That amulet is dangerous!

Only when invoked. This will add spice to the contest, lest it grow wearisome.

Very well. We shall give him the amulet. But if you cause the amulet to be invoked, it shall then be my move, regardless of its effect.

Agreed.

The zamindar invited Hari to a private dinner in his chambers on the evening of his homecoming, at which Balu was also present. He spoke about his recent visit with the rajah and how he had amused His Majesty by repeating the witty remarks that Hari had made at their first meeting at the palace gate. The rajah had been so delighted that he asked the zamindar to invite this clever lad to visit him and perhaps verbally joust with the court advisors, whom, the rajah felt, could well use the competition.

"And so, Hari," said the zamindar, "it seems you have an invitation to visit the rajah. It is an honor indeed, one that I hope you will appreciate and accept. But there is no hurry. Tarry awhile and give us the pleasure of your company a few days longer."

Hari was overwhelmed and flattered by the news. "O Zamindar, I am indeed honored, though I am unworthy. But I humbly accept, as it pleases both you and his highness."

"Well spoken," said the zamindar. "And do not be frightened at the prospect of gibing with the rajah's advisors, for you are equal to the best of them.

"Now, in appreciation of the pleasure you have brought me and my household, and in consideration of the long journey you are about to take, I grant you a boon. Name what you will, and if it be within my power I will grant it. Well, what say you, Hari?"

Taken by surprise, Hari did not immediately respond as he searched for an answer. He had no strong desire for jewels or fine clothes, and felt that an extravagant request would be unseemly. A good horse would serve him well on the journey ahead, but he really preferred to walk that he might better observe the world about him. What he did wish was that the goddess of good fortune would continue to journey by his side, but the zamindar had no power to command that. Yet he knew he must ask for something lest he offend the zamindar.

Now touch him, in the manner we agreed.

Done. This does not count as a move.

"There is one small thing I would humbly request, O Master," Hari replied, having a sudden notion. "The goddess Lakshmi traveled with me on my way here, as she accompanied you on your recent journey. Let me borrow that good luck charm which hangs about your neck that I may wear it on my journey to the rajah, and perhaps the goddess will again follow and protect me."

At these words Balu sucked in his breath and all but jumped out of his chair. He hurriedly pulled the zamindar aside and whispered anxiously in his ear. Hari heard only snatches of the conversation, but he surmised that Balu was urging the zamindar not to give up the charm and to offer something else instead. But the zamindar apparently refused to heed Balu's counsel, judging from the shaking of his head, and finally he said in an angry tone, loud enough for Hari to hear, that a man's word was his bond, and so be it. The zamindar and Balu returned to their seats.

"I will grant your request, Hari." The zamindar's voice was now somber. "But in entrusting you with the medallion, I ask that you guard it well, for it is dear to me. Know that it is very ancient and has been in my family for many generations. I must have your solemn promise that you will return it to me after your visit with the rajah. Whether the goddess of fortune will be lured by the amulet, I can not say, but I wish you well. I will give it to you on the day of your departure. Now, let us do justice to this fine dinner lest the chief cook take his vengeance on us in dinners to come."

Meena withheld her tears when Hari told her he would be leaving soon. She did not ask when he would return, knowing that he himself did not know. On their last night together she stayed with him longer than usual, giving wholly of herself as though to imprint her love forever on his memory.

When the day came for him to depart, she kept to her room so that no one would see her weeping.

The zamindar and Balu walked with Hari to the palace gate. The zamindar took the medallion from his own neck and hung it around Hari's, and gave him a sealed message for the rajah. Hari tucked the medallion beneath his tunic and carefully stored the message in his knapsack. Balu pointed out the direction Hari should take and told him of landmarks along the way. The zamindar and Balu gave Hari their blessings and kept watch until he disappeared into the western foothills.

Now he is marked. There is no need to track him every step of his dull journey. Let us

play together, delicious one, until the mortal man achieves the rajah's palace.

Play with yourself, tasteless one! I shall mind my own business until the next challenge us upon us.

In due course you will play my tune, Mohini.

I hope never to render such a sour note, Ravana.

Hari did not look back, his thoughts only of the adventures that lay ahead. He rejoiced in the sweeping majesty of the sky, hills, and mountains beyond, and in the many small things that appeared along the path: the bright flash of a bulbul bird scurrying through the brush, the graceful undulations of a caterpillar creeping up a blade of grass, the perfect symmetry of the shiny sloughed-off skin of a snake clinging to a stone, and the wrinkled face that time had carved into the twisted trunk of a long-dead banyan tree.

He saw no other on the path, but Balu had told him the route was not a well-traveled one. The night he spent under the heavens. He slept soundly, lulled by the rhythmical twinkling of the stars playing their silent ragas of eternity. He thought of the stars as the eyes of the universe, eternal witnesses to the events of the night that blinked in wonder at what they saw.

The next day the going was difficult. The path became rocky and the air thinner as the elevation increased. The foothills gave way to stark jagged mountains, their massive faces lined with crevices like somber old men, aloof and unfriendly. With the approach of evening the air grew chilly. Darkness quickly melted down the cliff-sides. As Hari was about to settle for a rocky cranny for his bed, he saw a faint light flickering on the face of a bluff just ahead. He walked further up the path to investigate, and saw that the illumination came from a fire burning in a cave low in the cliffside. From the changing shapes of the shadows on the cliff walls, he could tell that the cave was inhabited.

He climbed cautiously to the ledge near the mouth of the cave and was about to peek in when a voice from inside called out: "Come in, come in young man, the fire is warm and the night is cold. No cause to be afraid. There is only one harmless old man here. Ah, yes, quite harmless."

The voice was raspy though gentle and reassuring. Hari peered into the cave and saw sitting before a small fire a wizened old man with a long white beard, garbed in a plain white dhoti and shawl. A teapot sat on the fire, and neatly laid out on a blanket, as if awaiting an expected guest, were two cups and plates.

"Well come in, come in," said the old man, this time with a note of impatience. "The tea is ready and needs to be drunk hot."

Hari entered the cave, gave the traditional hand greeting, and bowed low before the old man. "I thank you, master," he said. "The night is indeed cold, and a hot cup of tea would be welcome."

"Well, sit then," said the old man, pointing to the blanket, "and take some chapatis with your tea.

I made them myself only this afternoon. Ah yes, my abode is humble but well provisioned."

"My thanks," said Hari, and he sat down and joined the old man. No one spoke until all the flatbread had been consumed and the third cup of tea poured. Out of politeness, Hari waited until his host spoke first.

"Well go ahead and ask your questions," the old man said finally, the frown on his forehead summoning forth a thousand wrinkles. "I can see that you are curious. Go ahead, but make it brief."

"Old master, I was wondering if you are a guru, for it is said that gurus sometimes live in caves apart from other men."

"Hmm. Some call me guru and some call me pundit. And some call me a crazy old fool. Labels are meaningless. I am Narusimhum. My life is one of solitude and contemplation, although at times I enjoy a little company. There are those who choose to call themselves my followers, and they bring me food and ask a lot of silly questions."

Hari was greatly impressed, for it was clear that his host was indeed a guru. But he refrained from asking any more questions, which the guru would no doubt consider silly.

Hari saw that his host's cup was empty, so he reached out for the teapot, and as he leaned forward the medallion that hung around his neck slipped out of his tunic. A look of amazement came over the guru's face.

Look at what he knows about that talisman!

More than the zamindar does. I hope he does not tell Hari, because the innocent man might be tempted to experiment.

"Young man," said the guru in a tremulous voice, "how came you by that talisman about your neck?" Hari could think of no reason not to answer the question, so he told the guru how he had acquired the medallion and of his promise to return it to the zamindar following his visit with the rajah.

The guru seemed greatly relieved. "Now be sure to guard the medallion well and keep it hidden,"

he admonished solemnly.

"But, O Guru," said Hari, "you called it a talisman, which is a thing of magic. Tell me, is there something about the charm that is special?"

"Hmm. Well, it is very old and quite unusual. Yes, such things have special value. But enough words have been spoken. It is time for bed. You can sleep by the fire. It will last through the night."

The guru then disappeared into the darkness at the back of the cave.

That is a relief.

For you, perhaps. I would be happy to see it kill the fool.

Remember, if he invokes it—

I know, nymph of Indra's heaven, I know. I will not cause it to be invoked.

Hari yawned, tired from his long trek that day. No sooner did he lay his head down on the blanket than he fell into a sound sleep.

He awoke the next morning to the tune of a steaming teapot. A plate of assorted fruit lay on the blanket beside him. The guru sat nearby, frozen in a posture of contemplation, his eyes closed. Hari dared not disturb him and ate some fruit as he waited patiently for the old master to emerge from his trance. But the guru did not move. Finally, feeling the need to be on his way, Hari shrugged, bowed to the guru, and quietly departed.

As he climbed down the cliffside to the path, he suddenly heard the guru's voice ring out:

"Should right to left bring peril, remember left to right. Left to right!" He stopped and waited for more of the guru's words, but there was only silence. Strange, he thought, as he set his foot upon the path and continued on his way.

4

The She-Demon

Hari whistled as he walked, a simple tune which he composed in his head and elaborated on in endless variations. The path had become level and smoother, though the bluffs were higher now and hemmed him in on either side. The gleaming mountain caps and the sliver of blue sky overhead were the only things of beauty to lighten his heart. The hours passed slowly.

Toward sundown he came upon an empty cave alongside the path. The goddess of fortune still traveled with him, he thought. He gathered some brush that grew among the rocks and with the flint he carried soon had a small fire going.

He watched the reflections from the flickering flames cavort with the shadows on the cave walls as he consumed a meal of figs and mangoes. For water he had only to step outside the cave entrance where numerous rivulets ran down the mountainside from above.

Hie thoughts turned to the zamindar's medallion. He took it from around his neck and held it up before the fire to examine it. There were Sanskrit letters etched into the metal on both sides, which were faint and worn. There were also symbols on both sides: on one side an eye within a five-pointed star, and on the other a seven-pointed star within a triangle.

Having learned Sanskrit from the village pundit, he tried to read the letters on one side of the medallion. They seemed to form a single long word. He tried pronouncing the word, first one syllable at a time, then by combining them. He tried several times, but some of the letters were so worn he could not be sure he was using the right ones. Finally he said: "Narakasurakanasanjum!"

No sooner had he spoken than the ground began to tremble and small stones fell from the ceiling all about him. And lo! A crack opened up in the center of the cave floor. Swords of flame shot out of the opening and a dense mist billowed forth. The mist churned and condensed and began to shape itself into a human figure.

Ravana! You cheated! You caused him to invoke the amulet!

I did not! I was not even there. I was going to focus on the idiot when he reached the

rajah's palace.

Well, the amulet has been invoked, so it is my turn.

The mist solidified, forming into a flesh-and-blood person. And there before Hari stood a beautiful young woman clad in a diaphanous red gown, with cinnamon skin the smoothness of polished gemstones, dark eyes that reached into one's very soul, a cascade of fine black hair that fell to her knees, large full breasts that rose and fell like great ocean swells, and long limbs that tapered to finely etched hands and feet.

Look into his mind. He did it himself.

Because you sneaked the urge into his fancy.

Hari's fear faded into wonder as he beheld the beauteous creature. Surely, he told himself, one so lovely, even though a spirit, could not be evil.

I yield the move under protest. Play it through, and in due course we shall see.

We shall indeed see. I still think you cheated.

"You spoke my name, young master," she said. Her voice was soft and lilting. "By so doing you have released me from my prison within the earth. For that I am most grateful."

"Who—who are you?" Hari stammered. "Where did you come from?"

"I am she whose name you spoke, a name which I myself may never speak. I am a creation of the elder gods who set me upon the earth to dwell among mortal men, to serve them and bring them pleasure."

"Pleasure?"

"Yes. And for many ages I did so, until three centuries ago I was ensorcelled by the great rishi, Baksura, who imprisoned me in a rock deep within the earth. In that prison I have remained until this hour of my deliverance. You spoke my name and set me free."

"But—but why did the rishi imprison you?"

"The rishi is mortal and did not understand my purpose. What mortals do not understand, they sometimes fear and seek to destroy."

"And is your only purpose to bring mankind pleasure?"

"Man, yes. But my pleasure is not for all men. It is reserved for a few great men, the pathbreakers, men of vision and ideas, men who seek to redirect the destiny of nations, men who challenge the very gods themselves. Such are those who have known me, who have partaken of my gift." She peered at him, her lovely brow furrowing. This seemed to make her even more comely, though this was hardly possible. "But I see your next question written in your eyes, my young savior.

What of my gift? Well, you shall know it. Because you have liberated me this day, and because I would ask of you one small thing more—and not least because I find you attractive—I will reward you with this, my gift."

Before Hari could utter another word, a light giddy sensation came over him. A shower of tinkling emanations washed over his body, relaxing him, and his mind emptied itself of all questions and reservations. The beautiful lady opened her arms to him, her whole being radiating love and desire. Her gown slipped from her shoulders, revealing her nakedness in all its perfection. Her beauty drew him, impelled him, as surely as a wayward comet is drawn to the heart of the sun.

As he stepped into her enfolding embrace, the walls of the cave faded into invisibility. Softness and warmth enwrapped him in a blanket of ether, the vastness of the universe his bed. His every sense and perception sharpened and refined itself, multiplying and accumulating into tidal waves of pleasure.

He felt unbounded freedom.

Deep within his body a turmoil gathered with the strength of a thousand volcanos. Comets of blazing lights and colors flashed all about as if in celebration of some momentous event, enveloping him in a cosmic embrace. The very seams of space seemed to split apart and explode in a blinding radiance. A million stars fragmented and for an instant hung suspended in the firmament before streaming into the limitless void.

He felt himself being lifted in a final shudder of unendurable delight, then the whirling galaxies gradually grew dim and faded away. Darkness gently closed around him, caressing him, lulling him into the sweet oblivion of dreamless sleep.

And I have my second seduction, despite you.

I am by no means sure of that

He woke to find himself lying on the cave floor next to a crackling fire. At first he could not remember where he was, but as his eyes wandered about the cave he saw the magical lady, and all memory returned.

He did not move or give any sign that he was awake, but watched her secretly. She was kneeling on the cave floor, her back to him, softly chanting some strange words in a harsh guttural language he had never heard before. He wondered if they were magical words and if she was performing a ritual of some kind.

She raised her arms and bowed down as if praying. As her head bent forward, her overflowing tresses parted and fell to either side of her shoulders. And Hari saw that embedded in the back of her head was an eye.

He held his breath, not daring to move a muscle. The eye was open, its pupil black as night, and it looked straight at him, penetrating to his very heart. The lady then lifted her head and her hair fell back into place, covering the terrible eye. She continued her chanting, showing no awareness of being spied upon, so Hari guessed that he had not been seen. Rather, that the eye had seen him but not caught him spying on it. But he knew now that the creature he had conjured up out of the earth was none other than a she-demon.

The creature ceased her chanting and turned toward Hari. He pretended sleep. She gently called to him and he opened his eyes and stretched as though just awakening. He glanced toward the cave entrance and could tell by the receding moonlight that dawn was not far off. Somewhere he had heard that demons were strong by night but weak by day. He hoped that was not a tale told by old wives.

"Come, let us sit together by the fire and talk," said the she-demon, her voice soft and inviting.

Hari obligingly pushed closer to the fire. "Now, young master, I would ask something of you, a small thing. As it is forbidden that I utter my own name lest I suffer the gravest of consequences, and not having heard it spoken these three centuries past until this day, I bid you to speak it again, twice more, that I may take a measure of pleasure in hearing it."

Hari knew from stories that demons were deceitful and not to be trusted, and therefore that he must avoid saying the she-demon's name again lest some terrible thing happen.

"O beautiful lady," he replied in an innocent voice, "it was only by chance that I correctly spoke your name after many erroneous attempts. And in truth I do not remember the correct pronunciation.

So please forgive my ignorance and inability to comply with your request."

"But you wear the talisman of the Asura king about your neck. Upon the face of the talisman appears my name, placed there by the great master himself. Pray read my name from the disk."

"Oh yes, the medallion. It seems it is more than just a simple charm. There are signs inscribed on both sides. Can you enlighten me as to their meaning?"

"The sign which appears above my name is my own. Its meaning may not be divulged to mortals.

Nor is it wise for you to inquire of the other name and sign. There is danger in such knowledge. But I ask you again, will you not read and speak my name?" Her tone revealed growing impatience.

"O lovely lady, I do not think I can say your name correctly, though if it pleases you I will try.

But you must be patient with me, for Sanskrit was always my poorest subject."

Hari held up the talisman, shifting his body about to catch the best light. He studied it intently.

"You must give me a moment to go over the letters one by one," he said, "for they are faint, and your name is a long and difficult one." He slowly mouthed each letter and formed them into syllables. Then he combined them and said loudly: "Nakasurakasanjum!"

"That is close," said the she-demon, "but you omitted the second and seventh syllables. Try again."

"Hmm. Yes, I see. I shall try once more." He again studied the talisman, slowly forming each letter and syllable with his lips. After as long a delay as he dared, he said: "Narakasirakanasanjum!"

"Almost, almost!" cried the demoness, raising her arms in excitement. "Try once more, just once more. It was the middle letter of the fourth syllable that you misread."

"Ah yes, I see the error. Give me another moment." Again Hari feigned the same ritual, mouthing each letter, this time knitting his brow in concentration. Then he smiled, his face aglow with assurance, and he shouted: "Narakisurakasanjum!"

"No! No!" screamed the she-demon, jumping to her feet in anger and frustration. "Now it is worse than ever! You are a stupid fool!"

Hari sat motionless, his heart racing. He dared not speak. The demoness glared down at him, fire in her eyes, her breasts heaving. Her ravishing form remained, but somehow she no longer looked beautiful so much as dangerous. After a long silence, she became calm and sat down again.

"So, my young lover," she said, her voice now edged with malice, "you play games with me. Let us speak plainly, shall we not?" She pointed her forefinger straight at Hari's nose. "Now, why will you not say my name? I warn you, speak not falsely or it will be at your peril."

Hari gulped down a small lake of spittle that had accumulated in his mouth. "Very well, I will be truthful. But so must you be. I do not think a true love-spirit would threaten her lover—unless you are more than you say."

The she-demon's eyes narrowed. "Very well," she hissed, "telling you my story is a small price to pay.

"Know that I am a princess of the rock demons, created ages ago by the Asura king to seduce mortal men. But, as I told you, my pleasures are not for all men—only those few who would leap the centuries and dare to challenge the tempo of history as preordained by the gods. Such men are grave threats, and so their march must be slowed. Such was my task, and to accomplish it the Asura king bestowed upon me the gifts of immortality, great beauty, and the power to divert men from their purpose. As you have witnessed, my skill is of the flesh, the perennial weakness of man. So it is that I embrace the chosen few as they are about to collide with destiny and alter the path of history. Such pleasures do I bring them that their purpose is forgotten in the oblivion of my embrace. And so that brief receptive moment in history passes by, and mankind continues to stumble through the ages, slowly, step by step, as the gods intended.

"Ten million years I delayed the discovery of fire, five million the discovery of the wheel, one million years the bow and arrow, ten thousand years the alphabet, five thousand years agriculture, three thousand years the forging of iron, one thousand years geometry, map-making, the compass.

And much more." She paused, reflectively, evidently proud of her accomplishments.

"When the rishi, Baksura, imprisoned me in a rock three centuries past, I cried out to the Asura king for deliverance, but the rishi's powers were great and could not be easily overcome. And so, with his own hand, the master of demons fashioned a talisman as the means of my escape. Upon it he etched my name and sign and set it among mortal men. As you know, the power of the talisman is such that whoever possesses it and speaks my name sets me free. My name spoken once frees me for one night, spoken twice, for a century, and spoken thrice, for a thousand years. You, young master, are my first deliverer. But you must say my name again before the sun rises this day, else I will be returned to my prison.

"You have heard my story. The time grows short. So I once again ask you—say my name.

Speak it now. I know that you can. For your reward I will grant you the pleasures of my companionship on the first night of each full moon for all the years of your life."

Hari was horrified by the she-demon's revelation, and yet he could not help being tempted by her promised reward. Even now, the afterglow of her embrace lingered and warmed him. But how could he liberate such a creature into the world of men?

He knew that sunrise was not far off. If the she-demon was history's ageless mistress of delay, he must now be its master for a few moments longer.

"O demoness," he said, "your story is indeed marvelous. But tell me, what of the sorcerer Baksura, how it is that...."

"There is no more time for questions!" the demoness shouted angrily. "Speak my name now!"

"Very well, I will try." Hari held up the talisman and studied it intently. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the she-demon's expression change from impatience to fury. Suddenly, in an eyeblink, she dissolved into a column of mist. The mist churned and swirled, then began to solidify.

The demoness now stood before him in another guise—that of a hideous monster. A head taller than he, she was covered with warted skin of greenish hue. Three yellow-slitted eyes bulged from a forehead covered with drooping folds of flesh. Her eyes were narrow and pointed, her nose an empty pit, and out of a lipless gash in her face projected double rows of fangs licked by a serpentine tongue.

A matted thatch of thick black hair covered her head and pelvis, two pendulous dugs hung limply from a narrow chest, and two attenuated arms extended from stooped shoulders. In place of hands were bony three-fingered claws ending in long curved talons.

The creature spoke, its voice sibilant and menacing. "Speak my name now, or I will rend you limb from limb!"

Hari knew his time had run out. He thought to run, but the she-monster stood between him and the cave exit. His brain whirred. Then, as a bolt from the heavens, he remembered the parting words of the old guru: "Should right to left bring peril, remember left to right." Of course! The she-demon's name was etched on the medallion in ancient Sanskrit which read from right to left. Then left to right must mean to speak the name backward.

The she-monster screeched and raised its claws. Hari backed to the cave wall and with shaking hands held up the talisman. There would be time for only one try. He sucked in his breath and cried:

"Mujnasanakarusakaran!"

The creature's talons descended toward Hari's throat, but when only a span away they slammed into an invisible barrier. Again the creature delivered a crushing blow, and again it was blocked by an invisible shield. The she-monster screamed in rage and continued to hammer at the barrier, but to no avail.

The first rays of sunlight peeked over the surrounding circle of mountains and poured down over the crags and crevices. A shaft of sunlight shot into the cave as from a bow and struck the she-monster. A pitiful wail rang out as the creature shuddered and began to turn to mist. The cave trembled and the writhing mist was sucked through the crack in the cave floor. As the last wispy wraiths disappeared, the crack closed and the trembling ceased.

So you influenced the she-demon to let him go.

I did not! It remains my turn.

I deny it. I think you sneaked in a thought. It is now my turn.

By no means. I retain the turn. I protest your challenge.

I protest this entire episode! You are claiming a seduction when you did nothing to

promote it.

Our deal specifies seven seductions. It does not say I have to promote them.

We shall have to go to a higher authority to settle this matter, precious.

Yes. I am confident I will prevail, repulsive.

For a long time Hari did not move. When finally his fear subsided, he held out an arm to see if the invisible shield was still there. It was gone. He sighed and gave silent thanks to the goddess Lakshmi for her protection, and asked a special blessing for the old guru whose words had saved his life.

He resumed his journey. The path now sloped downward, and by midday the mountains melted into foothills. His heart gladdened to see the sun again, to feel the fullness of its warmth upon his brow.

5

The Eye of Kali

The land became flatter and turned from green to golden brown. A vast plain stretched out to the horizon, its rippling fur paling and darkening in the breeze. The grass rustled, whispering of dark secrets, and when the breeze quickened, it hissed angrily in warning to the unwary traveler.

Hari trudged through the desolate lowlands for two days without seeing tree or creature, save for an occasional vulture circling high overhead and snakes sunning themselves on the path. Toward evening on the third day he came upon a coppice of coconut palms fed by a spring. The cool water slaked his thirst and revived his spirits, and the fresh coconut meat seemed a feast after days of dried fruit and stale bread.

He has wandered from the proper path.

That is as it may be. Perhaps there will be opportunity for a challenge along this route.

Unless you prefer to interfere, to correct his path, and give me the next move?

I shall see what offers here.

As he dined in the shade of a tall palm, a dog suddenly appeared: a small brown mongrel, thin and scruffy, the kind of pathetic creature found on the streets of many villages. The dog wagged its tail and whined, begging for food, Hari tossed it some scraps, which instantly disappeared, and called the dog to him. It approached cautiously, the circumscribed half-wag of its tail advertising its uncertainty.

Buttressed by Hari's gentle words and another handout, it allowed itself to be stroked and scratched behind the ear. Hari hoped the presence of the dog meant a village was nearby; his provisions were in need of replenishment and he would welcome a hot meal for a change.

He yawned. His eyelids grew heavy as he watched the sun chariot ride to the edge of the earth and disappear behind a scarlet feathering of clouds. His soul at peace, he was lulled to sleep by the burbling of the spring and the syncopated winking of the stars.

Next morning he took to the road early, the dog running on ahead, barking at any small creature on the path and driving it into the brush. Soon they came to a fork in the path. One branch, no more than a thin trail, veered to the south, and the other wider branch ran north. Not knowing which to take, Hari was inclined toward the wider one, but his companion chose otherwise. The dog ran merrily down the southerly trail, barking for Hari to follow. Thinking the dog might be near its home, he followed its wagging banner, and before long he spied the walls of a village.

The dog ran ahead and disappeared through a chink in the base of the wall. The wall was too high to scale, so Hari walked on in search of an entrance. Soon enough he reached the main village gate, an imposing barrier of solid wood, but it was closed. He rapped on the gate and called out, and soon he heard the grinding of an inner crossbar, and the massive door swung open.

A half-dozen armed guards immediately rushed out and greeted him with the point of their spears. Without explanation he was hustled into the village and the gate was locked behind him.

Though alarmed by the hostile reception, he was even more startled to see that his captors were all young women. None wore the traditional saris, but were clad in dull homespun uniforms, quite in keeping with their stern visages.

As he was marched down the main street of the village, all eyes turned upon him, and he could not help noticing a look of sadness on the faces of the villagers. Too, he saw only men and children in the streets. Other than his guards, there was not a woman to be seen anywhere.

He was led to a large golden-domed temple at the center of the village and through a maze of corridors within. The corridor walls were covered with paintings of the deities, dulled and streaked with age. He saw Vishnu in the proud guise of a lion; and Siva dancing before the figure of a great lingam and yoni. Scalloped eaves were decorated with friezes of fornicating gods, and gilded tableaus from the Hariyana were etched into wooden pillars and baseboards.

Upon entering the central hall of worship, Hari was amazed to see lined up on either side of the room row upon row of women: doubtless here was the entire adult female population of the village.

At the far end of the hall, glowering down over the assembly, stood an enormous golden idol, fully five times the height of a man. The giant figure sat crosslegged, a great red ruby protruding from its forehead. The idol's six graceful arms stretched out invitingly; one clutched a sword.

Hari saw that the bare-breasted deity was garlanded with skulls, and he knew at once that this could only be the great goddess Kali. A shudder ran through him. Kali: the black one, the inaccessible, the patroness of murderers, the goddess of sacrifice and death.

But Kali had other aspects as well, he knew. She was the goddess of fertility, the Divine Mother, the primal female, and as such was worshipped peacefully and lovingly by many of her cult-followers. Finding himself now surrounded solely by women gave him hope that it was the feminine and not the sacrificial aspect of Kali that they worshipped.

A door opened on the right side of the hall and a young woman emerged dressed in an elaborate robe that bespoke her to be the high priestess. She was followed by an entourage of plainly gowned acolytes. As she approached him, Hari saw that her stern demeanor was unable to disguise her striking beauty.

Ignoring Hari's bow of respect, the priestess forthwith accosted him in an angry voice that echoed throughout the chamber. "I am Sumi, tantric priestess of the goddess Kali. Who are you and why did you come to this village?"

"O priestess, my name is Hari. I am but a wandering student traveling in search of truth and wisdom. It was only by chance that I came upon your village. Indeed, I fear that I am lost. The road I seek is that which leads to the city of the rajah. I would be most grateful for your direction that I may continue upon my journey."

"Your journey ends here, intruder, in this village. That much is certain. It is only your fate that is uncertain."

"O priestess, I do not understand. Have I given offense in some way?"

"You are a male. That is offense enough. By the will of Kali, all men in this village are bound to the service of women and are governed and ruled by women. No man who enters this village ever leaves. Your fate will be decided by Kali herself soon enough. Meanwhile, you will be given work to do like the other men. And do not try to escape. The attempt will be fruitless and the punishment severe."

Are you sure you did not interfere to put him in this difficulty?

How could I have? It is a woman who brings him this mischief. I must admit to liking

her attitude.

With that the priestess turned and exited the hall. The assembly broke up, and Hari was ushered out of the temple under guard and led down a side street lined with mud huts. The guard stopped in front of one of the huts and told Hari to enter and remain there for the night. He would be given a work assignment in the morning.

Hari sat alone in the semidarkness of the hut wondering at his predicament. Soon a man entered and greeted him, introducing himself as Bahrain, a field worker who lived in the hut.

Balram was of middle years, had an intelligent face, and seemed quite friendly. He immediately set about preparing the evening meal, which consisted of maize cakes, fruit, and milk, which he asked Hari to share. Hari gratefully accepted, and as they dined Hari told Balram of his experience in the temple and asked how it was that women ruled over men in the village.

"It is a strange story," Balram said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "But I will tell it.

"Not two years ago this was a happy village, a good place to live and raise children. Men were masters of their own households, as were their fathers and forefathers. And like our ancestors, we worshipped Kali as the Divine Mother, peacefully and without strife. Kali was served by both a high priest and a high priestess, who were equal in importance. Now, it happened that the high priest, Amar, who was old and ailing, passed on to another life, and shortly thereafter the high priestess, Paru, also died. As succession is determined by bloodline, Sumi, the niece of Paru, was next in line to become high priestess. Since Amar had no living male in his lineage, it was decided that a new priest would be chosen by the people at the next Durga Puja festival. I myself, who was an assistant to Amar in the temple, was a candidate.

"Now Sumi, who was in the full flower of her youth, did not want to become a virgin priestess.

She was in love with a handsome lad, Anand by name, and waited only for the day her parents would seal the marriage arrangement. But Anand did not return her love, and instead thought only of leaving the village and of the adventures awaiting him in the big cities of the north. So one night Anand ran away, which broke young Sumi's heart. Her hurt turned to anger and bitterness toward all men. So she forsook worldly life and entered into the service of Kali as her high priestess.

"From that time, things began to change. Sumi claimed that Kali spoke to her in dreams, that the Divine Mother wished to glorify and elevate her own kind, and that women were Kali's chosen instruments and should cast off the bonds of female servitude which men had placed upon them. At first such ideas shocked women and men alike. But then a few widows and unmarried women took up the cause, convincing many hardworking wives and mothers that life would be easier for them if men could be made to do their fair share of the work. Sumi added fuel to the fire by threatening Kali's retribution on whoever disobeyed the goddess's pronouncements. Animal sacrifice was instituted, and secret meetings were held in the temple, from which men were barred.

"Sumi then announced that Kali had no further need for male priests and that men would no longer be allowed to worship in the temple. She chose acolytes to serve her from among the village maidens. The gates of the village were closed and barred, and no man was allowed to leave. Then Sumi declared that it was the will of Kali that women and children live apart from men. And so families were split apart, husband from wife, and cohabitation was strictly forbidden except for one day a year, and that only for the purpose of procreation. A tax was placed on men's labors to support a female guard, a guard to enforce the will of the goddess—as interpreted by Sumi.

"Many of the men protested, and some even threatened their wives in anger. But the men were beaten by Sumi's guards, who continually increased in number and now lurk on every street corner.

Any weapon owned by a man was confiscated, and men were prohibited from meeting together or congregating into groups. And so a new order took power, with Sumi at its head.

"It is an unhappy life for men now, and we have been unable to change things. And I suspect that many of the women have had second thoughts and yearn for the old ways. But we are all trapped together. I can only pray that Kali will open her eyes to what the blasphemer Sumi has done and punish her. The goddess is our only hope. Only by the intervention of the Divine Mother will we once again return to our cherished way of life.

"As to your fate, my friend, I know not. I have heard talk that Kali thirsts for human blood. I do not think Sumi would dare to sacrifice one of the village men. But you are a stranger. So beware and take care." Then he heard something. "Listen! Footsteps outside—the evening post of guards. It is dangerous to talk further. Ah, it is times like these that I am glad I never married. Perhaps the next life will be kinder to us. Good night, now. Try to get some sleep."

Hari lay awake pondering the story Balram had told him and trying to think of a way out of his misfortune. But no ideas offered themselves. His last thought before dropping off to sleep was of an old saying his grandmother had told him as a child: follow a dog and all you will find is a bone.

He seeks truth and wisdom. He has found some he did not need to travel for.

At sunup Hari was led by a guard to the outside of the village temple where he was provided with some rags and a bucket of water and told to wash the frescoes on the temple walls. The guard informed him that this would be his workplace for a few days and that he could go to and from work on his own, though he would be watched. The guard then left. Hari set willingly to his task, for the paintings were quite beautiful and badly needed cleaning.

I shall induce in the priestess a passion for my mortal man, for she is the only one who can free him. Observe her thoughts.

From a small upper window in the temple, Sumi watched the young stranger's every movement.

She had arranged his workplace just so she could study him unawares. She had hoped to find bitterness and pettiness in his face to convince herself that any punishment she meted out to him would be justified. But as she gazed down upon him, she could see only kindness, generosity, and an undaunted free spirit behind his shining visage.

How beautiful he is, she thought, and for the first time in two years she felt the pangs of womanly desire rise in her breast. She turned away from the window, a little frightened at the sensations that assailed her.

Would that I could induce similar passion in you, Mohini, for me. For brute power and

potent lust.

I suspect you will never understand why those do not suffice. I could be passionate indeed for one I respected.

Hari was busily polishing the brow of the Lord Vishnu when he heard an odd clicking sound. A small hidden door snapped open in the temple wall just in front of him, and one of the white-clad acolytes of Kali popped her head out and signaled for him to enter. He complied and followed her through the low door, which locked shut behind him. The girl led him up a narrow winding flight of stairs to a hallway on the upper floor of the temple, and pointed to a wooden door at the end of a long corridor. She then hastily departed.

Strange, Hari thought. But then everything that had happened to him since he set foot in the village was strange.

He went up to the door and knocked lightly. A female voice from within bade him enter. He did so and found himself facing the high priestess. Unencumbered now by priestly robes, she wore a thin white sari which was tightly wrapped to accent her feminine charms. The room was large and lavishly decorated, and Hari guessed it was her personal quarters.

The priestess seated herself on a sofa and pointed to a pillow on the floor in front of her. "Come, sit down," she said. "I would talk with you." Her voice was pleasant, yet had an undertone of formality. Hari did as he was bidden.

"I am glad to see that you have accepted your situation," she continued. "If you please me, then perhaps there may be more pleasant work. Some compensations. Does that interest you?"

"O priestess, your meaning is not clear to me. What compensations do you speak of?"

"I will explain. There is some discontent among the men of the village, which is unfortunate.

There are those who secretly express doubts about the laws that Kali has set down for them. They want a high priest to sit beside me in the temple. That is not possible. But so that they may see that Kali is understanding and compassionate, I am considering allowing a man into the service of the goddess. Not as a priest, but as my personal assistant. It would be a comfortable position for the person selected, and we would work closely together. A male presence in the temple would also serve to pacify the demands of the village malcontents."

She gave him a straight look. "Tell me, Hari. Would such a position interest you?"

"I am honored by your consideration, O priestess, but I am a stranger here. Surely there are others in the village more worthy than I. Nor is it altogether clear what the duties of such a position would be."

"Well, I would expect my assistant to—to assist me in any way that was required. Just as Kali expects loyalty and unquestioning obedience from her high priestess, so her priestess expects the same from those who serve her. There will, of course, be satisfactions—good food and comfortable quarters. And are we not both young?"

"Young?" he asked blankly.

My precious idiot.

Sumi stood up straight, so that her slender symmetry warred with her soft fullness. "Tell me, Hari, do you not find me attractive—even desirable?"

"In truth, I do, priestess."

"Well, I too will confess a certain attraction. Come, let us speak plainly. Although it is Kali's wish that the villagers live in abstinence, her high priestess is permitted certain privileges by virtue of her station. So I ask you, Hari, become my consort as well as my assistant, that we may fulfill our destinies in both body and spirit."

And there it is on a silver platter.

But I have confidence in his mortal foolishness.

"O priestess," he replied, "though the desire be strong within me, I can not accept your offer. I could not in good conscience enjoy what others are forbidden. Nor do I believe that the goddess wishes her worshippers in the village to be deprived of such things—or of freedom, family, and friends."

You high-minded fool! Just let her seduce you.

"Silence! That is enough!" Sumi screamed in rage, leaping to her feet. "So you reject my offer!

You prefer to be a righteous and noble philosopher. Very well. You want justice. Then you shall have it—the justice of Kali!"

That woman has a certain violent appeal.

Women can be fools too, especially when scorned. What unintended mischief!

Hari, taken aback by her vehemence, did not know how to respond. He had supposed his position to be reasonable.

"Hear me well," Sumi continued grimly. "Two days hence you will be taken before the goddess and asked the great riddle of Kali. If you fail to answer it correctly, your life will be forfeit. Let us see if you prefer the arms of Yama, the death god, to mine. Every man and woman in the village will be present to bear witness to the trial. Your sacrifice will be a fitting object lesson to the cowardly troublemakers who whisper and plot in every alley."

So your ploy has reversed itself, exquisite spirit. The passion you incited in this

woman's breast will now kill the man without my intervention.

"May I ask, O priestess, what if I should correctly answer the riddle?"

"No one has ever answered it correctly. But should that happen, your life will be spared. More than that, it is written that if a man correctly answers the riddle, then all men will be prized in the eyes of Kali. In that event, the village men will be given their freedom. But I do not think that will happen, for only Kali herself knows the answer to her riddle, and only she can say if the reply be right or wrong. If your answer be correct, the goddess will give an unmistakable sign. But if she does not give a sign, if she is silent, then the answer is rejected and you will suffer the stroke of her dread sword."

Delightful. And you can not interfere, enchanting vision, for it remains my move.

I confess that at times the perversity of women becomes annoying. But perhaps he will manage to answer the riddle.

"Now leave me!" Sumi cried, as lovely in her rage as in her interest. "Guard! Return this ingrate to his labors, only now let them be among the goats!"

That night Hari related to Balram all that had happened with Sumi. "It is worse than I feared,"

said Balram. "A woman rejected once is bad enough. But twice? She will surely kill you. Ah, my young friend, but you are brave. Your words this day fill my heart with pride and remind me how it was to be a man. I only wish I could help you."

"Tell me, Balram," asked Hari, "what of the riddle of Kali?"

"I have heard speak of it. But no man knows the question, and I think no mortal knows the answer. Some say there are many questions. Others say there are many answers so that Kali or her priestess may deny the one spoken in favor of another unspoken."

"But when I answer, suppose Kali should give a sign for all to see? By thus signaling her acceptance, Kali would at once free both me and the village men, would she not?"

"Yes, that is true. But how can we entice the goddess to speak openly or give a sign?"

Balram and Hari sank into a deep silence. Suddenly Balram's face lit up. "I have it! I have it!" he cried, then quickly lowered his voice. "Remember, I told you I served the goddess many years in the temple. I am one of the few who know of a secret door in the base of the idol. The idol is hollow inside. I kept a ladder there that I might polish the ruby eye of the goddess, for its glow has a hypnotic effect on the worshipers."

"You mean that the power of the priestess is not derived directly from Kali? That the gem dazzles others into obedience?"

Balram nodded. "In truth, I have never seen a sign unequivocally from the goddess. Always the news is from the priestess, who interprets signs she claims to have seen."

"I find this dismaying. How can we be sure of Kali's true will?"

The man shrugged. "I think we can not, so we had better help ourselves. My plan is this.

Tomorrow night I will steal into the temple and hide within the idol. When the time comes the next morning for you to deliver your answer to the riddle, no sooner will you have spoken than the great ruby eye of Kali will come crashing down on the altar, helped on its way by one Balram from within.

Such a sign could not be denied, and all will be won. What say you to this plan, Hari?"

"A good and clever plan, Balram. I favor it and will do my part. I pray only that the riddle be such that I am able to give a believable answer—or any answer at all."

And now the man interferes with your success, even as the woman interfered with mine.

"So be it. To bed now. We will implement the plan early on the morrow."

We shall see about that

Hari awoke early on the morning of the ceremony after a fitful night. Balram had stolen out of the hut hours before, and Hari prayed that he had reached his destination unseen.

An hour after dawn four guards came to escort Hari to the temple. The streets were empty, but when Hari arrived at the great hall he saw that all the village men and women had gathered there.

Standing before the flower-strewn altar was Sumi, adorned in her priestly robe, her acolytes lined up behind her. The unblinking third eye of the goddess looked down, casting an eerie glow over the assembly.

A faint tinkle of bells sounded. Sumi raised her arms toward the goddess, and the hall grew deadly silent.

"O Kali," she intoned, "Divine Mother, goddess of life and death, your children are gathered here before you to do you homage."

"Kali!" cried the audience in unison.

"This day we ask your judgment on an intruder in our midst, a man who knows not your ways and needs be tested in your eyes. He will be asked your riddle for all to hear. If by your sign he answers correctly, all men will be raised in your eyes. But if he fails to answer correctly, he will suffer the penalty of death upon your altar, a sacrifice to you, O Great Mother, and all men will be shamed."

"Kali!" cried the assembled worshippers, less loudly than before, the voices of the women predominating. The priestess turned toward Hari.

"Prepare yourself, unbeliever. I will say the riddle only once, and only one answer must you give.

Harken!

"Three mountains with but two peaks, I see; a smooth sloping plain leading to a forest, and within the forest a cave; the cave is guarded; within the cave a treasure chest, and within the chest the soundless breath of the world!"

She paused, and Hari realized with dismay that she had completed the presentation of the riddle.

It hardly seemed enough.

"Such is the riddle," Sumi proclaimed. "Say now your answer, Brahmin. Upon your reply the great gong will sound, and Kali will make her pronouncement."

Hari closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. The sweet aroma of the altar lamps played with his thoughts, and blazing colors flashed beneath his eyelids. The answers to riddles were always simple, he told himself. It must be something about Kali. His eyes opened and rested on Sumi's attractive body as he struggled to make sense of the riddle. Yet the last thing he needed at the moment was that kind of distraction.

"You must answer now!" cried Sumi. "If not, your silence will condemn you."

Then he had it. "Very well, I will answer," said Hari. "You described a virgin woman. The two mountains with peaks are her breasts. Below is the plain—the body sloping down toward the maiden fleece, the forest. Merging into the forest is the third and lowest mountain, that without a peak, which is woman's graceful curved mound of Venus. The cave is the yoni of woman, the guard signifies virginity, and the treasure chest is the womb. Within the chest, the soundless breath of the world—the unborn child, the future of us all."

The hall was still and breathless. Then a deafening clang reverberated through the chamber as Sumi, hammer in hand, struck the giant gong next to the altar. As the priestess poised to strike again, a cracking noise was heard coming from the head of Kali. All eyes turned upward to see the goddess's great ruby eye shudder, then leap from the idol's brow and fall to the altar below.

There was a stunned silence. Then a screaming and moaning arose from the worshippers. A man cried out, "The answer is correct! Kali has given the sign. We are free!" With that, all the men began shouting and rushing toward the altar. A murderous mob formed around Sumi. Quickly, Hari threw himself in front of her and held up his hands, shouting for silence.

"My friends, please listen! This is a great day. Kali has given you back your freedom. Just as I was tested, so you have been tested these past two years. And Kali found you worthy. Do not be vengeful toward her priestess who but heeded the will of the Divine Mother. Rejoin your families and worship Kali as before, in peace. Now you may choose a high priest of your own."

The assembly cheered, then broke up as wives pulled their husbands away and steered them toward home. The acolytes ran to join their families. Hari turned toward Sumi, who loosened her robe of office and dropped it to the floor. She smiled wanly at Hari, tears of gratitude in her eyes. Hari nodded and smiled warmly, which was more than she could bear, and she ran out of the temple.

Hari heard his name being called, and turned to see Balram staggering out from behind the idol.

"What happened, Balram? he asked. "Are you hurt?"

"Only stunned. I will be all right in a few moments. It is only a bump on the head."

"How came you by this injury?" asked Hari. "Did the guards attack you?"

"No, I fell. I will tell you the story. Last night I made my way into the temple undetected and secluded myself within the idol as we had planned. I waited patiently in the darkness, and at dawn I searched about for the ladder that I might reach and loosen the gemstone in the brow of the goddess.

But the ladder was gone. My heart nearly stopped beating. The villagers were beginning to enter the temple, so there was no choice but for me to climb up the inside wall of the idol unaided. That I proceeded to do.

"The feminine contours of Kali provided some footholds, and I gave thanks that our chosen god was a woman. I was about to climb into one of Kali's great breasts when my foot slipped. I can't imagine how it happened; I had thought I was past the worst of the climb. I must have been distracted by the importance of the task, and become careless. I fell to the floor where it seems I struck my head. After that all was blackness. When I awoke, my head was swimming, and I heard your voice as in a dream. You were giving reply to the riddle of Kali. Then the temple gong sounded, and I looked up to see the great eye of Kali tremble in its setting, then leap forward of its own will. What followed we both know.

"I never reached the eye of Kali. But, miracle of miracles, you answered the riddle correctly, and Kali expelled her own eye as a sign of her acceptance. I am ashamed that I had so little faith in the Divine Mother—and in you, my friend."

Hari listened in amazement and wondered if it was the Divine Mother who had saved him.

That afternoon a feast was held in the village. Balram was chosen as the new high priest. Hari, too, was feted, garlanded with flowers, and plied with exotic foods. He politely refused all gifts, but accepted the temporary use of a small house. The villagers implored him to remain among them, but he declined, saying he would remain a few days longer, but then must be on his way.

He looked for Sumi in the gathering, though was not surprised when he did not see her. Balram made a speech about family life, the duties of men and women, and the beneficent side of Kali's nature, and was cheered enthusiastically, though mainly by the men.

At nightfall the celebration ended and Hari returned to his new quarters only to find Sumi waiting for him. Their eyes met in silent understanding and he held out his arms to her. No words were uttered as they embraced and sipped from the cup of a thousand delights. Thereupon, great joy came to them, carefree and uninhibited, and as the swelling tides of pleasure inundated Sumi, she knew she was never meant to be a virgin priestess.

We hardly needed to peek into her mind to grasp that. Now if a certain Apsara would

similarly see the light...

Later, as they rested together, a question came to Hari's mind. "Tell me, Sumi," he asked, "do you think my answer to the riddle was correct, and so moved Kali to cast down her eye as a sign?"

"I do not know if your answer was correct, Hari, though it was a clever one. But that is not why the ruby eye of the goddess fell."

"Oh? If you know the cause, Sumi, then pray tell me."

"Very well, but you must keep the secret. It was I who loosened the eye of Kali, such that a slight vibration would dislodge it. The vibration I myself provided by sounding the great gong beside the altar. I—I think you know why I did it."

Hari threw his arms around Sumi, his admiration and affection for her increasing by leaps and bounds.

"But how did you reach the eye?" he asked.

"The idol is hollow and has a secret entrance. With a ladder it was a simple matter to climb to the eye and loosen it. This I did two nights ago."

I did not see that! Had I but known—

You would have known, had you not wasted your time ogling me instead of watching the village activity.

"And did you then remove the ladder from the idol?"

"Yes, but why do you ask that?"

And so your ploy of making Balram's foot slip was wasted. You used up your move for nothing, and now it is my move.

"Just curiosity. Ah, Sumi you are indeed marvelous. I hope you will never regret putting aside your priestly robes."

"No, I will not. The joy of this night alone surpasses a lifetime of rewards as a virgin priestess."

"I am glad you are satisfied. But what will you do now that your power here is gone?"

"Hari, I know you will leave the village soon and I doubt that we shall ever meet again. When you go, I too shall leave. I have an aunt in a distant village, and will go there and try to make another life for myself. But until then, my beloved, stay with me that we may crowd the pleasures of a lifetime into the little time we have remaining."

"Gladly, oh gladly."

Three days later Hari resumed his journey to the palace of the rajah. Along the path he was greeted by the very same mongrel that had led him to the village. The dog jumped happily up and down and ran on ahead, as before, to clear the path. When they reached a fork, Hari took the northerly branch and the dog took the easterly, this time making no attempt to persuade Hari to follow. Hari waved goodbye, but the dog ignored him as it ran off in pursuit of a butterfly that badly needed chasing.

6

Pitali: City of the Rajah

The land shed its smooth brown mantle and became hilly, the vegetation turned greener, and the path widened into a road. Travelers passed Hari by: merchants and mendicants, princes and beggars, priests and wanderers. Most, like himself, traveled on foot, but the more prosperous rode on splendid horses or were carried on tasseled palanquins by dark-skinned Sudras.

The road became crowded. The cries of vendors squatting by the roadway, the squawking of caged birds for sale, and the rattle of bullock carts filled the air in a cacophony of well-ordered confusion. Occasionally a white cow would wander by unattended. It puzzled Hari that these poor creatures were so thin and neglected, and yet so revered that even princes made way for them. But then there were many things he did not understand about the ways of his people.

As he topped the crest of a high hill, the wall of the city hove into view. Mighty it stood, extending as far as the eye could see, shimmering and undulating in the bright sunlight like a giant snake. Beyond the wall there rose a great golden dome surrounded by glittering spires and towers, which could only be the palace of the rajah. Here at last was the great city of Pitali.

Hari passed unnoticed through the city gates amidst the hustle and bustle of humanity, and followed the main thoroughfare toward the palace. He stopped to admire the handsome multistoried sandstone buildings that lined the roadway, adorned with statues of the gods and scenes from the Hindu epics. Too, he paused at the street of the artisans, fascinated to watch them at their work: weavers and makers of cloth; workers of metal, ivory, stone, and leather; basket makers, potters, and dyers.

Upon reaching the palace gate, he showed one of the guards the seal of the zamindar on the message he carried and was led to a side entrance of the palace. There he was turned over to a servant and ushered through a maze of corridors into the presence of a haughty man of prodigious bulk, who announced himself as the rajah's head housekeeper. Appraising Hari's somewhat bedraggled appearance, the housekeeper shook his head in disgust and ordered the servant to escort the visitor to such-and-such a room at the rear of the palace, which was to be his quarters, and to provide him with water for a bath and a fresh change of clothing.

Hari found the room unpretentious but comfortable, and was pleased to find it overlooked the palace gardens. From his balcony he could see terraced banks of multihued flowers and rows of blossoming bushes that bordered a winding path which led to a graceful half-moon bridge of white stone. Beneath the bridge ran a silver brook fed by a high fountain, the water of which gushed forth out of the upturned mouths of delicate statues of naked maidens perched on the fountain rim.

Flowering trees, hanging trumpet vines, and lotus gardens populated with parrots, doves, and peacocks decorated the lawns, and along the walkways were white stone benches guarded by lifesize tigers, leopards, and mythical creatures fashioned out of giant hedges.

No sooner had he bathed and put on fresh clothing than came a knock on the door, and a uniformed officer presented himself to say that the rajah was ready to receive the message of the zamindar. Hari was escorted to the rajah's Hall of Private Audience and told to wait in the back of the room until the rajah had finished with the case he was hearing, which was the last of the day.

At the front of the room Hari could see there were five persons: the rajah, a stately man of middle years seated on an elevated ivory throne; a dewan or advisor standing beside him; and three other people who apparently were the parties in the case being heard. The three were a stout elderly man and a pretty young woman, both richly garbed, and a young man quite plainly dressed. The acoustics of the room were such that Hari could not help overhearing the conversation.

The complainant, the stout man, was an irate father who had caught his daughter in a compromising situation with the humbly dressed young man, whom he now wanted punished. The young man, staring contritely down at the floor, did not deny the accusation, and the tearful daughter conceded that she had not altogether discouraged the young man's advances. The rajah nodded understandingly and assured the father that the lad would be punished, then dismissed father and daughter, saying it would be best if they departed and were spared the unpleasantness of witnessing the punishment about to be administered. When they had left, the rajah sighed and turned to the trembling young man.

"Well, boy, you must learn to be more careful in choosing your place of trysts. Lovemaking is an art in all of its aspects and must be approached with skill, care, and consideration. You have much to learn. So, for your punishment I sentence you to spend three days in my court library where you will read in their entirety the ancient manuals of love—the Kama Sutra, the Ananga Ranga, and the Koka Shastra—that you may learn something of the skill you obviously lack. Thereafter, stay away from that particular pretty young lady. If you must rove, divide your attentions among the fair maidens, with which this city abounds, whose fathers are not rich and influential merchants. Now begone, and report to my chief librarian on your first day off from your work."

The young man thanked the rajah profusely and scampered out of the hall. The rajah's advisor frowned disapprovingly.

"Lord, was not your punishment a bit lenient?"

"Ah, Amul," the rajah replied, "sometimes I think you were never young. Hmm. Probably you were not. But remember, the young man is an apprentice skilled in metal-making. Each sword he fashions is more important than a thousand of the baskets that yonder merchant peddles in the marketplace. The time may be coming when my army will be in need of swords."

The conversation between the rajah and the advisor quieted to a whisper, and Hari could no longer hear it. But from what he had heard, he liked the rajah already.

While he waited, his eyes wandered around the room and marveled at its beauty and richness of design. The checkered floor was of white ceramic tile, each tile colorfully painted in an intricate geometric design, no two alike. Paintings depicting battle scenes from the Mahabharata covered the walls. Centermost were the forces of the Pandavas engaging the army of the Kauravas, with Krishna looking on in benevolent approval. The ceiling was leafed in gold save for a large oval above the rajah's throne, within which was painted the artist's conception of the blissful City of the Gods.

"I see that you appreciate good painting, young man," came the voice of the rajah, catching Hari by surprise. "Come forward."

Hari approached the throne and saw that the rajah was indeed a striking figure: tall, slender, sharp of feature, and self-assured, with penetrating eyes that harbored a playful twinkle. Draped in a long richly brocaded robe studded with jewels, he was every inch a king, yet his friendly smile and easy manner belied his high station and dignity of bearing.

In contrast, the advisor, Amul, was older and shorter, with close-set eyes and a bulbous nose, and wore a sullen look that aspired to a scowl. His dress was only slightly less grand than his master's, though his posture was fully as stiff and formal as his demeanor.

"I understand you have a message from my good friend, the zamindar," said the rajah.

"Yes, Lord," Hari replied, handing the message to the rajah. The rajah broke the seal and read the message with an unchanged expression, then folded it and tucked it in his robe.

"So you are Hari," said the rajah. "The zamindar spoke well of you. I am pleased you decided to visit my home. Do you know the contents of the zamindar's message?"

"No, Lord, except that it was to introduce me."

"Well, there is more, but we will talk about that later. Meanwhile, you must be weary from your journey and will want to rest. We will meet at dinner."

Hari thanked the rajah, bowed low, and returned to his room. Tired after days of walking and nights of sleeping on the hard earth, he stretched out on the bed to nap. He did not awaken until he heard a rapping at his door and a servant's voice summoning him to dinner.

The dinner was in the rajah's private quarters, a room decorated solely in green, though of many shades and textures. He was seated between the rajah and Amul. Shortly three young ladies entered the room and seated themselves at the rajah's right. Hari looked from one to the others and was amazed, for not only were they exceedingly comely, but they were identical triplets, alike in every feature and detail. Only the color of their garments differed.

"Hari, may I present my three daughters," said the rajah, "Saras, dressed in white; Suseela, in green; and Sukunya, in red. I insist they wear only these colors, each her own, that I and everyone else may tell them apart." He smiled, obviously well satisfied with the situation and justifiably proud of the beauty of his offspring. There were known to be men who valued only sons, but it seemed that the rajah was generous in this respect also. "My daughters, this is Hari, who comes to us from the palace of our friend, the zamindar."

Hari bowed his head and the young ladies smiled at him, nodding in greeting, but did not speak.

Each one seemed prettier than her sisters, with her color setting her off to advantage.

"Although the gods long ago summoned my dear wife," continued the rajah, "they blessed our union with these three jewels. But they are not quite flawless," he added with a chuckle. "I should warn you, Hari, watch out for them. They like to play games, and I sometimes think they take advantage of their father's love."

The dewan allowed an expression of sour agreement to cross his face, and all three ladies flashed merry frowns at him, teasingly emulating his expression. It was plain that there was substantial truth in the rajah's cheerful statement.

And here we have, I think, three potential seductions. They may look the same, but they are three different mortal women. Their tastes should be similar, and I think access will be no more difficult for one than for another.

Perhaps. But you must touch only one at a time, and then it will be my move. I see

three potential kills, for I think the rajah's good humor will wear quickly thin if he catches

a man molesting any of these jewels.

"Oh Father," interjected Sukunya, "you talk as though we were still children. I am sure our guest would rather hear talk of more interesting things." She glanced brightly around. "I know! Perhaps he can help us answer the puzzle presented to us this day by our tutor. The question is: what is it in all the world that has parts in the greatest number, with no two parts the same? Saras said it was grains of sand, and Suseela said leaves on the trees. But our tutor said no, since some of these may be the same as others. I said people, but our teacher laughed and told me to look upon my sisters." Saras and Suseela giggled as they recalled the incident. "Do not laugh, sisters, for your answers were not accepted either," said Sukunya, cutely pouting. "Does anyone have a better answer?"

Nevertheless, that one strikes me as clever enough to deceive any man, especially her doting father. I will touch her first, with a passion that will not be denied, and we shall see what she makes of it.

"Well," said Amul, clearing his throat to insure that all ears attended him, "there may be some people who are alike in body, but no two souls are alike. Our souls are the mirrors of our deeds, and since no two persons live exactly the same, then no two souls can be the same."

"Oh, wonderful," cried Suseela, and all three girls clapped. Apparently they were not really at odds with the sober advisor, and did not disparage his remarks. "What say you, Hari?" asked Saras.

"The honorable Amul gave a good answer," replied Hari. "It would be difficult to better."

"Make a stab, Hari," encouraged the rajah. "It is only a game."

"Very well, Lord. According to the Great Book of Science which I read in the zamindar's library, no two flakes of snow are identical. Each flake is geometrical in design, the number of possible designs infinite in their difference. Consider, then, the total number of flakes that have accumulated upon the vast range of mountains we know as the Home of the Snow, the Himalayas."

"Hah! A clever answer," piped the rajah amidst the squeals of delight emitted by his daughters.

Amul said nothing, his expression dour.

"Father, do you not have an answer?" asked Sukunya.

"Hmm. I thought of the stars. Although I suspect no two stars are the same, the court astronomer does not agree with me, and I have no great book to cite as evidence. But are not numbers themselves different from one another, and do they not march on into endlessness?"

Everyone laughed and applauded at this reply. "But enough of games," said the rajah, "let us give our tongues a rest and enjoy some fine food."

Hari sampled a variety of vegetarian delights, many new to his taste, and as he ate he could not help noticing the rajah's three daughters stealing looks at him, which made him a little uncomfortable.

At the end of the meal the girls excused themselves and left the room, leaving the men to sip a strong drink which the rajah jokingly claimed was extracted from the sacred soma plant and imparted insight and longevity to both men and gods. The conversation turned to questions of religion and government, and whether the one was the ally or the enemy of the other.

"The ruler who seeks Atman achieves a state of benevolent selflessness and wisdom, and so rules wisely," argued Amul. "We can not rely only on intellect, which is but feeble and transitory. We must rise above our pride, our desires, and individual senses, and strive to achieve that which is the silent and formless depth of our being—Atman, the Soul of the World."

"All very well, Amul," said the rajah. "But what will all this purging of the senses and denegration of material things do for us in times of strife? It is their bodies and their property that the people demand to have protected then, not their souls. If a king or soldier becomes preoccupied with the Soul of the World, how well will he skewer his enemy in battle? What say you in this matter, Hari?

Speak freely."

"O Rajah, I have been taught that we of the Deccan civilization should seek balance in our lives.

Surely we have room for the soul as well as the material world. Yet their importance, one to the other, I think is not constant, but changes with the needs of men. In times of peace and prosperity, a certain amount of asceticism and concern with the afterlife may help to temper the corrupting influences of wealth and materialism. But even while our eyes seek the heavens, our feet should remain earthbound.

Recall that the Muslim conquests took place at a time when our people were steeped in the supernatural. When the sultan's armies sacked our villages and killed and enslaved our people, little resistance was offered. Instead, the people took refuge in prayer and spiritual consolation, comforting themselves that the next life would be a better one."

"Let us not be alarmists," countered Amul. "We Madrans can not all carry swords and arm ourselves against phantom enemies. Then our neighbors will become suspicious and arm themselves, and a race will begin that can only end in a conflict that no one wanted in the first place."

"There is much in what you both say," mused the rajah. "But have we not had enough reason to be suspicious of the rana, Chandra, in our neighboring state of Madresh? He has placed troops along our common border, though the Madreshian army officers say they are merely engaged in peaceful camping-out exercises. Perhaps, and perhaps not. What is certain is that we lack good military intelligence."

I grow bored with this prattle.

I agree. Touch him to move it along. You do not lose a turn.

The rajah's expression abruptly changed. "But enough of such talk for one day. Hari, you must excuse me now. There are other matters I must attend to. Come along, Amul, I will need you."

Hari was sorry to see the dialogue end, for he had been enjoying the exercise of minds. But who was he to decide how the rajah spent his time?

The evening was young, so Hari wandered through the corridors of the palace, perusing its many marvels of art and architecture. As he was looking at a collection of miniature Rajput paintings in an out-of-the-way gallery, a maidservant approached him saying there was a royal command for his presence and would he please follow her. He did so and was led up a narrow stairway, and thence down a dimly lit corridor to a room with a red door. The maidservant bade him enter, then departed.

The door was ajar, so he went in. The room was upholstered in many shades of red, from curtains to tapestries, and it even had pretty pale red sheets on the bed. No sooner had he crossed the threshold than the door swung closed behind him and he heard the click of the lock turning. He turned about, and there leaning against the door facing him was Sukunya, whom he recognized by the red color of her gown.

"I am sorry if I startled you," she said sweetly, "but I did not think I could entice you here any other way. Secrecy is important, for my father would not approve of a man in my room."

But perhaps he will nevertheless learn of it.

"Please forgive me, O Sukunya, for I thought it was your father who summoned me. It is not correct that I should be here, so if you will please excuse me, I will leave."

"But you can not leave, beautiful Hari, for I have locked the door and taken the key. I will not let you go until you have done me a service, and not an unpleasant one I hope." With that, Sukunya stepped over to her bed and began to ease the straps of her gown from her shoulders. The light garment drifted to the floor with mesmerizing slowness, revealing her ivory-smooth nakedness in all its budding glory. If Meena had been the most beautiful of young women, and the she-demon the most striking of supernatural females, this girl in red was surely the loveliest of nubile maidens—except, perhaps, for her sisters.

Though alarmed, Hari could not help being aroused by her loveliness. There was a certain special appeal in her youth and eagerness for experience. But fear rose in his breast, for these daughters of the rajah seemed fickle and untrustworthy. Better he should leave—if he could. He tried the door, but it was securely locked. He saw there was another door at the opposite end of the room which he also tried, but it too was locked. He raised his hand to rap on the door.

"That would be very foolish," said Sukunya. "The guards will hear and come to investigate. Then I will have to say that you forced your way into my bedroom, which I would truly regret. Your punishment would be most unpleasant. Now come here, silly man. You hurt my feelings by ignoring me so."

I was right. She is clever enough to make her snare tight.

Hari saw that he was lost. Were she to lodge a charge against him, the rajah's men would begin by cutting off the anatomy that offended her, and then proceed to less pleasant exercises. There was nothing to be done but to meet the demands of the moment. And so, heroically and unselfishly, he bent to the task at hand, doing his best to fulfill his captor's most ardent desires (for it was his way to accomplish any task set before him to the very best of his ability). Thereupon the twain coupled and clipped, fused and combined, Sukunya clutching and biting her bedcovers to prevent herself from crying out in her frequent peaks of passion lest someone overhear and misunderstand. Or, worse, understand.

When later Hari rose to dress himself, Sukunya grasped his arm and demanded a repeat performance. When he tried to protest inability, she suggested that such inability could readily become permanent, and inhaled as if to scream. Having little choice but to comply, Hari steeled himself and entered once more into the breach. In the end, though exhausted, he emerged victorious, having routed any lingering desires in his partner.

After he had dressed, Sukunya told him it would be safer for him to leave by the rear door, and she bussed him on the cheek as he quietly slipped out. "I would not really have cried the alarm," she confessed contritely. "It was just that I suspected you still had more joy to give." The door snapped shut behind him, and he found himself in a small stairless hallway facing yet another door, only this one was white. He slowly and quietly turned the door handle, but the door was locked. As he pondered whether to knock, he heard the sound of the lock turn and the white door swung open.

And there is no man here for you to touch.

But you may not touch anyone until my turn is done.

I may not need to.

He entered and found himself in another bedroom, which looked identical to the one he had just left, except that it was decorated in white instead of red. As his eyes roamed around the room, noting the white cushions on the floor and white sheets on the bed, the door shut behind him. He whirled about to see the rajah's daughter, Saras, dressed in a gown of white, in the act of locking the door.

She withdrew the key, carried it to her bed, and hid it among the folds. Only then did she greet him, smiling sweetly, bidding him to enter and be at ease.

"Greetings, Saras," he said, not entirely at ease. "I seem to be lost. Please forgive me for intruding on your privacy. If you will show me a ready exit I will be on my way. Perhaps this back door—does it lead to the corridor?" He tried the rear door, but it was locked. "Can you unlock the door for me, O Saras?" he asked pleadingly.

"Surely I can, Hari, and I will. But first you must do me a service." She then dropped her gown to the floor, exposing her nakedness to him, and his heart sank in his breast. "We daughters of the rajah, being identical in every way, insist on identical treatment. That is only fair. If a gift is presented to the one, it must be given also to the others. So, Hari, come and be glad, tarry with me awhile that we may find pleasure in one another's company. Not until the softness has returned to the tips of my breasts will you find egress from this room."

She is truly admirable.

Hari sighed and knew what he must do. Fortunately what might have proved impossible with the same maiden as before became possible with the new one, as was the case with breeding animals; there was potency in novelty. And so the two lay abed and clipped and combined, futtered and fused, and Saras bit her bedcovers to avoid screaming with delight as wave upon wave of pleasure assailed her. Hari, for his part, labored mightily that he might not disgrace his manhood for failing to rise to the challenge.

I am constrained to agree. It shall be similar with you and me, in due course, only

more violent.

Perhaps you will find yourself unable to wait for me, and will have to touch a man so that he seduces a mortal maiden for you. Then it will be my move again.

Your humor is of a canine nature.

But Saras, like her sister, demanded a rematch, which Hari was hard put to comply with. But thanks to some special tricks and enticements known to Saras, to Hari's amazement his tired body responded and rose once more to the occasion, fully meeting the requirements placed upon it. When he had spent himself, drained of all strength, Saras kissed him on the cheek and unlocked the back door of her room.

This time, before exiting, Hari carefully looked outside to be sure another blind alley or colored door did not await him. There was a corridor, and he gratefully stepped into it as Saras closed and locked the door behind him. He tiptoed down the corridor, which turned a corner, and lo, it dead-ended into a door of green. Hari groaned and slipped to the floor in utter frustration. Perhaps if he yelled for the guards, he thought, he could invent a plausible explanation. But suppose he was not believed? No, the risk was too great.

Just then a lock clicked and the green door slowly swung open. Hari took a deep breath, hauled himself to his feet, and entered the room. The surroundings were all too familiar, in their new color of green. The walls and floor shared this hue, as did the ornamental plants on the windowsill, and of course the bed dressings. Not surprisingly, a lovely lady in a green gown awaited him. He glanced across the room and saw another door, which he tested halfheartedly, knowing it would be locked.

"Suseela, please open the door," he pleaded. "I wish only to return to my room and partake of a good night's sleep." But she merely shook her head and smiled as she discarded her robe and draped herself over the bed. Hari knew further talk would be useless, so he undressed and, before entering into the fray, paused to perform a few simple yoga exercises that he might invigorate his body and fortify himself for the ordeal ahead. At least this was another new partner, though she looked the same, so that nature provided him with another dollop of potency.

O, delightful!

Thereupon the two commenced to couple and commingle and indulge in many variations of congress as was Suseela's wont, and long were they conjoined, for Hari found it difficult to reach a conclusion despite his partner's caressing undulations. But her accelerated tempo finally coaxed him to a fitting climax, whereupon Suseela shuddered in satisfaction and released the bedcover she had grasped between her teeth to keep from crying out.

Hari nearly fainted from sheer exhaustion. Suseela, having received full satisfaction, since the love match had been of considerable duration owing to Hari's harried condition, sought not to tax his capacity further, for which he was most grateful. He dressed himself with difficulty and wobbled out of the rear door and into the adjoining corridor. He heard the familiar locking of the door as he searched the corridor for a stairway to the floor below.

Now he passes beyond the women's quarters. I have touched a key man. Prepare for the

reckoning, sweet flower.

But to his chagrin, the corridor ended in front of yet another door, this one brown in color. Oh well, he thought, as he slowly turned the door handle. At least there were no identical daughters garbed in brown. The door clicked open and he quietly slipped inside.

Perhaps, bitter fruit, perhaps. The night is no longer young.

I know my man remains regardless; I feel his excitement.

The room was in semidarkness and no one seemed about, so Hari began to tiptoe toward another door he could see at the far end of the room. When he was but halfway to his destination, there suddenly came a moaning sound from somewhere in the room. He quickly ducked down only to hear the sound again. It was unquestionably human: he was not alone. The noise seemed to be coming from the corner of the room furthest from him. If he kept on his present course and ducked behind the furniture, he might make it to the door undetected.

There is certainly male excitement.

Crawling on all fours, he slowly made his way across the floor, being careful not to bump into anything. The moaning resumed, now interspersed with occasional grunts and gasps. He was within a few feet of the door now, but there was no more furniture to hide behind. The remaining open territory seemed like a vast plain upon which any moving object would be immediately spotted. He had no choice but to proceed.

Slowly he inched forward. Light was shining through the bottom of the door, which enabled him to see that he was in a bedroom. Just as he reached the door, a loud groan filled the room, and instinctively his head snapped in the direction of the noise. With no objects now blocking his view, he could see across the room to a bed in the far corner.

In the dimness he could make out two men on the bed, both naked and locked together in embrace. One was on all fours, the other mounted behind futtering his companion with great gusto. At that moment the receiving partner jerked up his head in response to a particularly hard thrust and let out a sonorous moan, which joined in counterpoint with that made by his antagonist.

The awful duet nearly terrified Hari into bolting for the door, but he was stopped by the sudden recognition of the undermost of the duo. It was none other than Amul the advisor. The face of the advisor's assailant he could not see, it being hidden in the darkness.

The idiot! He was supposed to intercept your mortal man and convey him to the rajah

for keen-bladed justice.

It seems that the long wait allowed him to become distracted. Your move is wasted, again, Ravana.

Were it my move, I would see him futtered by the deepest thrust of a spear! How could

the imbecile allow his passion to ruin such an opportunity?

I am sure I do not know. Perhaps he reminds me of you.

Regaining his composure, Hari crept to the door and slowly turned the door handle. The door clicked open and he slipped into the corridor. Apparently he had not been seen. He found a stairway and in a few minutes was safely back in his own room. He plopped down on the bed and immediately sank into a deep slumber. Unfortunately insufficient night remained to give him as much rest as he craved. One thing he knew: it would be some time before he again desired the amorous company of a woman.

The next morning the rajah requested Hari's company at breakfast, which was served out of doors in the garden. Sukunya soon joined them.

"Ah, Sukunya child," said the rajah, "how bright and shiny you are this morning. The warmth of your smile shames Surya, the sun god. But Surya was on time for breakfast. And where are your two sisters? Will they be joining us?"

"No, Father, Saras and Suseela are not here. Last evening after dinner they decided to ride to the lake palace for a moonlight sail. They said they would spend the night there."

In fact, she persuaded them. What passion that child possesses!

"Well, why did you not go too?" asked the rajah. "It was a beautiful evening for sailing, and that was surely better diversion than what was offered here."

Sukunya smiled as if not necessarily agreeing with that. "I was a little tired and retired early to my quarters. My sisters are always so full of energy, it is difficult to keep up with them. Perhaps it is because I am the oldest—old and weary—and tire more easily."

"Hah! Yes, child, that is so, you were the first born—older by all of five minutes. And such an old lady needs her rest."

"Oh Father, you always make joke at me. Besides, by remaining at home alone last night I had the opportunity to visit my sisters' rooms and try on their gowns and test their beds—I was sure they would not mind. You make me wear red all the time, so I wanted to see how it would be to wear white and green for a change."

"And did the new colors open up any new worlds for you, daughter? Beware of vanity, for it shrinketh the soul."

"Oh, I found the experience most rewarding. One's pleasures when tripled are indeed thrice the pleasures of the one." She darted a sidelong glance, smiling mischievously. "Would you not agree, Hari?"

Hari gulped and tried not to choke on the papaya he was eating. "A—a mathematical truth, O

Sukunya. I—I can not disagree."

She smiled brilliantly at him, perhaps about to make some seemingly innocent yet painfully pertinent remark. But at that moment Amul appeared and the conversation drifted to other matters, to Hari's great relief.

It had been Sukunya alone who had seduced him the previous night, Hari now realized. He was amazed and could not help but admire her cleverness. But how, he wondered, had she been able to slip so quickly from one room to another? Then he remembered the delays he had encountered in the hallway before each door, and he smiled to himself. She surely had alternate routes to her sisters'

rooms. Here was indeed a kindred spirit!

That afternoon he was called into private audience with the rajah where he learned about the contents of the zamindar's message. It seems that at the time of the zamindar's most recent visit with the rajah, the rajah had expressed concern about the camping of Madreshian soldiers on his northern border and whether it might have military implications. The zamindar, having been impressed with Hari's cleverness, had recommended in his message that the rajah consider making use of the young Brahmin's talents by sending him as a spy to the city of the Rana of Madresh.

"It is only because the zamindar thinks well of you that he proposes I send you to Madresh to be my eyes and ears," said the rajah. "I share his estimation of your abilities and believe his idea is a sound one. But the venture is not without danger, so you must decide for yourself. Whatever your decision, I will accept it gladly and without reservation."

"O Rajah," replied Hari, "I am honored that you think me worthy of so important an assignment.

I accept most willingly." For one thing, it now seemed that he would get more rest on the road than in the rajah's palace, considering the ruthless cleverness of the rajah's passionate daughter. The odd thing, he now realized, was that yesterday by day she had shown no sign of such interest. Truly the ways of women were beyond the ken of men.

He is learning.

So am I.

"You have my gratitude, Hari. Speak to no one about this, nor will I. And though I will miss you, it will be best if you depart soon. Try to get close to the court of the rana if you can. I will look for your return before the rising of the second new moon. An unpretentious horse will be provided to take you as far as the border. Here is a map of both states. Study it well, and take note of the black area, here. That is the Land of Peril. Stay clear of it, for it is said to be peopled by demons."

Hari accepted the map. "I shall, my lord."

"You are a brave lad. Know that if the gods had given me a son, I would have wanted him to be very much like you. Now you must excuse your rajah, for he must suffer to give audience to the Prince of Punt: a pompous old fool who believes that his frequent flatulencies are the echoes of the gods applauding his non sequiturs."

Hari retreated to the rajah's library where he studied the maps he had been given and sought out books on geography. He was curious about the place the rajah had called the Land of Peril, but could find no reference to it. He inquired of the rajah's librarian, an elderly wisp of a man with knowing eyes. The librarian nodded, and from a locked case withdrew a looseleaf manuscript, which he handed to Hari.

The manuscript was the handwritten diary of an explorer, and told of the author's passage through the Land of Peril and of the terrors within. The region overlapped the borders of Madra and Madresh states and was surrounded by unscalable mountains. Only one means of entry was known, through a narrow pass called Yama's Cut, at the northeastern corner of Madra.

The explorer told of the dreadful Asura who lived beneath terrible twin moons and whose breath hung in a deadly mist over Yama's Cut. By day he was attacked by whirling stone- and flame-demons, and at night by giant sky-demons. Most horrible was the grotesque cloud monster who hovered above Demon Knoll, a hill that must be crossed in order to pass through the fearful land.

That evening there was no summons from any source. Apparently Sukunya required an interval of recuperation also. That was a blessing. An interlude with her would ordinarily have been delightful, were she not the rajah's precious daughter and were she not so enduringly passionate. As it was, she was too much for him, somewhat in the manner of the zamindar's wife.

Perhaps I nudged her too strongly, as I did Meena; I must try to touch the women only as much as is required to do the job.

Touch yourself as hard as you wish, Mohini; I shall surely match your passion.

The next morning by the light of early dawn Hari bid farewell to the rajah and departed the great city of Pitali, leaving it to his host to explain his leavetaking. The rajah would say that wanderlust had beckoned the young traveler, and in that there would be truth.

7

The Rana and the Rani

Hari's path led him through the hills of Uma into Madra's northern forest. Legend told of a secret grove within the forest where trees shed their leaves each morning only to magically regain them again each evening. As a child his grandmother had told him stories of these wonderful trees—the Grand Maharanis, she called them, because they adorned themselves in rich garments each day, much as would a queen.

The forest was friendly and bright, sprinkled with sunlight, though the going was slow. His horse, a lazy old nag, had a will of its own and stopped frequently to nibble at delicacies growing beside the path. Hari tolerated the delays, knowing the futility of trying to reform a creature so late in years.

Besides, who could tell? The horse might have been a king in a prior life, or might become one in a later.

At a bend in the trail Hari came upon two sadhus sitting on a rock engaged in heated debate. He dismounted with the intention of seeking direction from the mendicants, but they were so deeply enmeshed in controversy that they did not notice him. He waited patiently for a break in the discussion.

They were arguing the perennial question—the nature of man and woman, and which was the superior sex. Said the one sadhu, a frail stalk of a man, "The female is clearly superior, for she is the source of all life, the great river and creator. By her cleverness and subtle ways she instructs and guides the male, and so directs the affairs of household and state alike. Just as she nurses and cares for the child, so she is the milk of life. It is from her breast that all good things flow."

There is a wise man.

"Phoo!" countered the second sadhu, who was even bonier than his fellow. "Is it not true that the supreme gods are male? Are not kings men? What could be clearer proof that the male is the greater?"

An excellent refutation.

"Bah!" the first sadhu replied. "We are not talking of gods, but of mortals. If men push their faces forward and appear to take control, it is because women permit it. Being wiser, the female uses the male as shield and target. Thus do women control from behind and protect themselves."

How fortunate that mortal men do not listen to such truths; there would be mischief if they recognized reality.

"We can not ignore the gods in this question," insisted the second sadhu, raising his forefinger to the heavens. "It was a god who created man and woman. The Great Book says that Twashtri, the Divine Architect, created man first. He decided to create woman only as an afterthought. He found that he had used up all his materials and so had to fashion her out of odds and ends. So he took the tapering of the elephant's trunk, the clinging of vines, the clustering of bees, the fickleness of the wind, the timidity of the hare, the vanity of the peacock, the hardness of stone, the cruelty of the tiger, the coldness of snow, the chattering of jays, the hypocrisy of the snake, and he combined these things to make woman and gave her to man."

And a sorry gift it was.

Then what is your interest in me, foul spirit? Perhaps you should give up this foolishness and seek some bold ugly freak of a monster like yourself for your romantic notions.

"Ah," fairly sang the first sadhu, "but Twashtri also used other things—the slenderness of the reed, the bloom of flowers, the glances of deer, the gaiety of sunbeams, the softness of down, the sweetness of clover, the warmth of fire, the fidelity of doves, the wisdom of the owl, and the cleverness of the fox."

How well he describes you, Mohini! I tolerate your dainty feminine faults for the sake

of your intriguing aspects.

I, having more discretion, do not care to tolerate your enormous masculine faults for the sake of your boring aspects.

"But it is the evil and cruelty that dominates in woman," interjected the second sadhu. "Did not your own wife cast you out of your home, O foolish one? Did you learn nothing from that?"

The defender of your gender has lost the debate, as was inevitable.

He is merely a dull mortal man. Had bright mortal women pursued the discussion, it would have been another matter.

Can we at least agree that it is time to give a neutral nudge to your own dull mortal

man?

Agreed, in the interest of accomplishing something.

At those words the first sadhu turned red and was about to deliver a blow to the head of his companion, when Hari politely intervened by bowing low before them such that his body came between theirs. His temerity surprised him; he had acted before he thought of any likely consequence.

"Pray forgive my intrusion, O Gurujis," he said, "I am a traveler new to these parts and wonder if you can direct me to the fabled grove of trees which is said to be hidden somewhere within this forest."

The sadhus looked at Hari in astonishment. Embarrassed to have been caught in a heated argument, for such was not the image that kept food in their bellies, they immediately strove to put their best foot forward. As if by magic, their demeanors transformed into the epitome of tranquility, wisdom, and poverty.

"Yes, O Brahmin," said the first sadhu, solemnly. "We can help you. You are most fortunate to have encountered us, for not many know the secret place of which you speak. You need but continue for a brief while on this path until you reach a place where the fragrance of honeysuckle is strong.

Then follow the scent and it will lead you to the grove."

"I thank you," said Hari as he bowed again, deftly depositing a coin in the sadhu's open hand. As he rode off, he could hear their voices rising again in angry debate.

He had not traveled far when the fragrance of honeysuckle reached him. It became stronger as he progressed. At the spot where the smell seemed strongest, he left the path and followed the invisible trail of sweetness into the forest. Soon he reached a large circular clearing. Surrounding the clearing was a ring of tall gaunt trees, completely naked of leaves, and clustered at the center of the clearing was a dense grove of giant honeysuckle bushes covered with brightly colored flowers.

He started across the clearing, but then stopped, startled by a movement in the grove. The honeysuckle bushes began to quiver as if alive. Thousands upon thousands of the blossoms shivered and shimmered such that the whole grove pulsated in waves of colors.

Upon moving closer he saw the cause of the display: the bushes were smothered in a sea of butterflies, millions of fluttering butterflies of every conceivable hue—a sight so incredible and breathtaking that tears came to his eyes. Never had he dreamed there could be so many butterflies in the world. How small is man, he thought, and how great the mystery and majesty of nature.

Long he watched the shimmering panoply in fascination. Unnoticed, the sun arched over the forest and slipped beyond the rim of trees, announcing in red-orange tones the coming of evening.

Of a sudden the grove exploded in a burst of fragmenting colors as the butterflies rose into the air as one, as though at some magic signal. They rose straight up in a variegated tremolo, forming into a giant rotating funnel, rising ever higher. Suddenly they dispersed in all directions. The air was dense with bobbing and fluttering wings, which glittered in the waning sunlight as they flew to the edges of the clearing and settled in the branches of the surrounding trees. Soon the naked branches were crowded with row upon row of the tiny creatures, their wings pulsating and twitching, forming a garment of living color. As darkness settled, all motion ceased, and in the quiet of the dwindling twilight Hari made silent prayer to the All-God for the magnificence of His earthly creations.

All that this nearly perfect scene is lacking is a gentle woman to soothe his brow and slake his recovering groin.

Again we agree. He may think himself alone, but we have each other's company. If you

should desire to soothe my brow and slake my urgent need—

I prefer to be elsewhere. But you are welcome to proceed to your satisfactions without me.

Truly it has been said that the female of the species was invented to torment the male.

Hari slept the night on a carpet of grass within the clearing by a small fire he had built to keep away any curious beasts. He allowed his hobbled horse to graze contentedly in the clearing, for the grass was lush and there was a small stream nearby to abate the animal's thirst.

At dawn he awoke to the music of singing birds. As the first rays of sunlight beamed into the clearing, the circle of trees came alive, first with the slow flickering of wings trying out the new day, then with a rush of motion as row upon row of butterflies peeled off the branches like a trained troupe of aerobatic dancers. They playfully flitted and chased each other in spiraling circles before descending in a cloud on the honeysuckle grove for another day's feasting on sweet nectar.

But one butterfly collided with another and suffered an injury. It spun out of control and landed in the grass.

Hari spied it, and went to pick it up carefully and hold it in his hand. It was a beautiful iridescent little thing, but clearly suffering. "O lovely creature, what am I to do with you?" he exclaimed, saddened to see it in such state.

I must heal that pretty lady butterfly.

If you do, you have expended your move, for its life has interacted with that of the

mortal man.

That is not fair! I am not causing a seduction or guarding his life.

But if you heal it, you are affecting his life, for he is saddened by its plight. Our

agreement does not specify how the mortal man's life is affected, only that the intervention

of one of us in a way that affects him counts as a move. Unless we agree otherwise—as I do

not in this instance.

And you presume I would be fool enough to yield my move, at the risk of losing our contest, for the sake of a passing insect?

This is what I presume, you charming beautiful spirit

Well, you are correct, you disgusting insensitive lout. I will heal that butterfly, and gladden the mortal man's soul. But you must agree to this: your own next move is limited to the realm of the animals, as mine has been.

As you wish. I can do much with a male animal.

I am sure you can. Perhaps you should find yourself a good rutting bull and indulge yourself endlessly.

Your wit is less delightful than your appearance.

The butterfly shook its wings, and lo, the damaged wing unkinked and became straight. It had, it seemed, not been broken, merely bent, and was better now. The butterfly flew out of Hari's hand and went to join its fellows among the honeysuckles. "O delightful beauty, how you have gladdened my heart!" Hari exclaimed.

Thank you.

As Hari rode out of the clearing, he passed beneath the now drab and naked trees that guarded the grove. How sad they seemed—perhaps because they had lost their beautiful clothes. Or perhaps they missed their happy playful friends. Yes, a home without the bustle of life was indeed a sad place, he thought.

The forest was soon left behind, and by midday he could see the towers of a fort in the distance, a sign that he must be nearing the state border. He released the horse and laughed to see it gallop off toward home at a pace faster than any he had been able to entice from it. To avoid the fort and the border guards, he turned east into some low hills, then gradually circled north. He could see a gathering of tents beyond the fort, which he guessed was the Madreshian camp the rajah had spoken of. Soon he came to a road beyond the border leading northward, and he set his foot upon it with a light and eager heart.

As he passed through village, field, and wood, he saw that the country was rich and bountiful and the people content. There were no signs of unrest that would require the presence of troops, nor any apparent reason why the people would look with envy or desire upon the neighboring land of Madra.

He spent the night in a grassy field, and by midmorning the next day traffic on the road began to increase. A flock of birds flew by and he knew by their size, speed, and the way they flapped their wings that they were homing pigeons, probably in a race. He had had a few racing pigeons himself in his younger years, and had enjoyed racing them against the birds of other boys in the village.

Now comes my turn with a creature of the animal realm. Observe the way of a male

with a female.

As the flock flew by, a hawk suddenly appeared and swooped down on the foremost pigeon, knocking it from the sky. The bird fell into a nearby clump of brush, and Hari quickly ran to the spot and retrieved it before the hawk could descend to claim its prey. The circling hawk screeched in anger at having been robbed of its meal.

Hari's fingers searched through the bird's feathers but could find no injury. Perhaps it had only been stunned. The bird was sleek and well muscled, clearly of high quality, and was banded. Hari carefully tucked the pigeon in his knapsack, hoping it would eventually revive.

What have you accomplished? The mortal man, instead of being dismayed by the pigeon's plight, elected to save it.

Be patient, you delectable trifle; there is some subtlety here.

Subtlety, you odorous organism? That I must observe before I believe.

The outline of buildings appeared on the horizon, and Hari knew his journey was nearing its end.

At the city gates he was stopped by guards and searched, as were all incoming travelers. One of the guards found the pigeon in his knapsack and hailed two other guards, telling them to place "the Brahmin thief" under arrest. Without being given the opportunity to ask questions, he was roughly marched through the city streets to the gate of an imposing multiturreted structure, which Hari knew could only be the palace of the rana. There he was turned over to another guard who marched him through the park-like grounds and into the palace, and thence into an audience chamber where he was told to wait.

Thief? What confusion is this?

The natural confusion of arrogant servitors. Your mortal man is doomed.

Not long after, a door opened at the far end of the room and a guard called out: "Make way for the Lord Chandra, Rana of Madresh!"

Hari watched in silence as the rana entered the chamber followed by a dewan. The king was slight, slow of step, and bent, and wore an opulent white beard that peaked on either side of his wrinkled but kindly face. Befitting his station, he was adorned in a red embroidered robe edged in lace and dotted with pearls, and on his head he wore a silk turban bound with a golden circlet encrusted with rubies. The dewan, in contrast, was tall, young, and not unhandsome, with stern eyes and a humorless mouth. Adorned solely in black without ornamentation, his expression was one of self-assurance, almost arrogance.

Hari was pushed forward and ordered to kneel before the rana, which he did in a manner that gave notice of his caste and upbringing. The king, seated upon a raised pavonine divan, gazed intently at the prisoner before him. The guard spoke.

"Lord, this is the thief we found with the rana's pigeon, which still wears the royal band. But the bird is dead." The guard handed the pigeon to the king.

"Tell me what happened, young man," asked the rana in a wavering voice. Hari then explained how he had rescued the bird from the hawk, and of his intention to release it once it revived.

"But the bird is dead," said the rana sadly. "Vega, my favorite hen, the fastest in my lofts—a champion who won many a race for her master. Tell me, what position was she in the race when you saw her?"

"She was well in front of the others, Lord."

"I knew it! A winner to the end. Ah, I shall miss this noble bird."

"Lord, if I may speak. I, too, once raced pigeons and know something of their ills. May I examine it a moment?"

The rana consented, and the guard took the bird and handed it to Hari. Hari knew from experience that sometimes a pigeon could be revived by gently massaging its breasts and blowing into its mouth. This he did, and in a few moments the pigeon regained consciousness and began struggling to be released. Hari let it go and it flew twice round the chamber and then out an open portal high in the wall, heading for its loft.

You touched the bird to make it live again. Now it is my turn.

Your turn, O ill-omened one. But limit yourself to the animal realm, as I did.

"Oh, wonderful, young man!" exclaimed the rana. "My thanks to you for twice saving my favorite bird. I can see that you are an experienced handler. But tell me who you are and what brings you to my city."

"I am Hari, Lord, a wandering student in search of knowledge who heard of the rana's fair city and would see it with my own eyes."

"And that you shall," said the rana, "as my guest. We will talk more about pigeons and I will show you the royal lofts. But now you will want a rest and change of clothes. Dewan Koti will find some comfortable quarters for you and see that you are well cared for."

The dewan made a shallow bow and led Hari to the second floor of the palace where he turned him over to a servant, who in turn ushered him into a colorfully decorated though not opulent room overlooking the city. As he surveyed his new surroundings, Hari wondered at the unexpected turn of events and gave silent thanks to Lakshmi for yet traveling with him.

In the afternoon the rana showed his guest the royal pigeon lofts. Besides racing homers, Hari saw many exotic breeds he had never seen before. There were damascenes from the Middle East sporting white-frosted feathers and black wing-bars; crested frillbacks from Asia Minor, their backs and wings covered with tight feathery curls; sleek helmets from Persia with colored pates that gave them the look of Christian monks; pouters from the East, tall and stately, strutting about like so many sergeant-majors; trumpeters from Turkestan, their proud faces encircled by large rose-crests; and graceful fantails, with backward-bending necks and spread ribbon tails, prancing about like court ladies.

The rana pointed out his favorite birds, identifying each by name and detailing its lineage. He spoke glowingly of the noble character of pigeons, of their habits of fidelity and mating for life, their love of home and family, and their ways of settling territorial disputes without bloodshed. Hari was moved by the old king's words, which did not sound like those of an aggressor or expansionist.

At the homer loft the rana pointed out Vega, the pigeon that Hari had saved.

"Was the race that Vega was flying a long one?" asked Hari.

"The release was at the border," replied the rana, "so it was less than a half-day's flight. Of late I have been sending all my racers to the border for release."

"And how do you determine their speed, Lord?"

"The birds are delivered to my general at the border camp with instructions to release them precisely at dawn the following day. The time of arrival home is noted for each bird, and the speed in leagues per hour is then calculated. But the speed has been slow in recent weeks, and I am wondering if that accursed general is letting the birds go promptly at sunup."

"Lord, if you wish I will accompany the birds when next they are sent to their place of deployment and see to their proper release."

"Ah! Will you do that, my boy? Wonderful! You know pigeons, and I can be sure it will be done right. My dewan, Koti, is in charge of military matters. I will inform him that you will accompany the next shipment of pigeons to the border camp. Now come, let us release the rollers and watch them perform their sky tricks. Then we will dine and I will introduce you to the rani."

Dinner was served in a parlor decorated in purple, canopied by an arched ceiling intricately carved in ivory. Hari was surprised at the rani's youth and beauty, a beauty more of the earth than the heavens, he thought. Koti, the dewan, was also present.

"My dear," said the rana to his wife, "Hari here is an expert on pigeons and has generously offered to take charge of the next release of my homers at the border."

"We are in your debt, Hari," said the rani with a smile that seemed practiced rather than genuine.

"I hope there will be no difficulty. I understand there has been some trouble around the border of late—Madran rebels harassing travelers."

"There is no need to worry," said Koti. "We have a contingent of soldiers stationed there to keep the peace."

The rana wrinkled his brow. "Is that wise, Koti? It might be taken as a threat by our neighbor, the rajah. Perhaps the border contingent should be recalled."

"But surely we need some soldiers there to discourage further disturbances, my husband," said the rani.

"Indeed, we do," added Koti. "And the border camp is an ideal place to release my lord's pigeons, it is not?"

"Ah, that is true," conceded the rana. "Very well, I leave military matters in your hands, Koti.

And the rani seems to agree. Tell me, when is the next shipment of supplies going to the border?"

"Two days hence, Lord."

"Good. My pigeons and their new handler will be ready."

A servant entered the room carrying a glass of green liquid, which was set before the rana. The rana grimaced. "Not that vile stuff again."

"You must drink the potion, my husband," coaxed the rani. "You know it helps you sleep."

This situation grows more interesting.

But this sword is double-edged.

"Better I not sleep," said the rana. "Then I would not have the same nightmare every night.

Cursed be that assassin! Though he failed to murder me in my bed, he yet plagues my sleep and poisons my dreams. I pray each night to Lakshmi to reveal him to me that I may dispatch him before I lose my sanity. Each night in my dream he stands over me like a spectre, his face hidden in hooded cowl, and then he strikes—"

The rana clutched his chest and turned pale with terror, and only gradually regained his composure.

"Do not excite yourself, my husband," urged the rani, soothingly, as she held the potion to the rana's lips. He sighed and drank without further complaint.

She deceives him without effort.

Deception comes naturally to the female of the species.

The next morning Hari walked about the city on his own, having refused the offer of an escort, and was much impressed by its beauty and prosperity. In the afternoon he watched the loading of military supplies onto horse-drawn carts in preparation for the trip to the border camp. Koti himself was to lead the caravan. The pigeon cages were loaded onto separate carts, each cage facing outward since the rana believed the birds would become better oriented if they could see landmarks along the way.

The caravan left at dawn. Hari rode on one of the pigeon carts to keep an eye on the birds. The journey was bumpy but uneventful, and the caravan arrived at the border camp at twilight. The carts were promptly unloaded, supplies in one tent and the pigeons in another. Hari placed fresh water and grain in each birdcage, and by the time the task was completed it was late. Tired from the long and uncomfortable journey, he flopped down on a cot next to the pigeons' cages and promptly fell asleep.

Now for another animal ploy.

In the night he was suddenly awakened by a pinching sensation on his right arm, only to discover that he had bedded down in the path of an army of ants who were using his body as a bridge. He brushed them to the ground, being careful not to injure any, and moved the cot to the opposite side of the tent.

From his new location he could hear voices coming from the supply tent nearby. Two men were conversing. One voice he recognized as that of Koti, the dewan, who was speaking.

"I tell you, General, the old fool has no idea that it was I who tried to kill him. My head was covered and he could not see my face. Next time I will not fail."

"And what of the rani? She may be your lover, Dewan, but can you trust her?"

"Yes, unquestionably. She approves of our plan. Kamala is ambitious and would rule over both Madra and Madresh—as my wife. Soon, my general, your army will be the mightiest on the continent.

As soon as the rana is killed, I will dispatch a message to you, and you must attack Madra at once.

Surprise will be on our side, and if all goes as planned the city of Pitali will be ours before the rising of the next full moon."

"Do not be overly confident, Koti. The rajah's head does not yet rest on the tip of my lance.

Meanwhile, we must take care not to arouse the rana's suspicion. He is much loved and has the ear of the people."

"Fear not, General. The ground has been carefully laid. By indulging the rana's personal whims I have gradually isolated him from the people and the rulers of neighboring states. He is no danger to us."

"And what of the boy you brought with you—how do you know he is not a spy?"

"I think not. He is a Brahmin with a head full of philosophy, nothing more."

"Just the same, it would be wise to keep an eye on him. Now goodnight, Koti."

What a devious ploy, Ravana! Indeed you are capable of brute subtlety. But I shall find a way to abate it.

It will be a pleasure to watch you try.

All became quiet. Hari's heart pounded and his head throbbed. Koti—a traitor. And the rani.

Should he escape now, he wondered, and carry the news to the rajah? But what of the rana? He could not leave the old king to be murdered. He must warn him. But how?

The pigeons! He would send a message with Vega, the rana's swiftest bird.

Before dawn Hari arose and readied the pigeons for release. He opened the front flap of the tent so they could fly clear, then passed a rope through all the cage doors so the flock would be liberated at the same time.

The great eye of Surya peeked over the horizon, and just as Hari was about to pull on the release rope, two strong arms grabbed him from behind. A second figure appeared from behind the tent. It was Koti. The dewan walked slowly along the row of cages and stopped before the midmost one. He smiled as his hand reached into the cage and removed a small roll of paper attached to Vega's leg band. The dewan's face was expressionless as he read the message.

"Your suspicions were correct, General," he said calmly. "The boy has large ears and has learned too much. Perhaps he knows more, information that may be of value to us. Do you have something to tell me, my young friend? No? Well, you will. There is a palace jailor in my employ who is skilled in ways of loosening the tongue."

Koti looked around. "Ah, I see the sun is up—time to release the pigeons. Oh, but let us not release them too hastily. Alas, the rana will be so displeased when his birds arrive home even later than last time. And it will be your doing, will it not, my young Brahmin? Yes, it is all clear to me now.

Instead of releasing the birds you were trying to steal them. Just think of how disappointed the rana will be when he learns of your treachery."

The false smile and calm expression departed from the dewan's face. Hari read only hate and fury there now.

"Guards!" screamed Koti. "Bind and gag this thief. He returns with us to the city."

The return trip was made in haste, and by late afternoon the caravan pulled up behind the palace. Hari was dragged through an unguarded rear door and down a long, narrow flight of stairs. A guard then removed his bonds and threw him into a dank solitary dungeon.

He is of little interest at the moment Let us follow the plotters, whose deviousness is

most appealing.

Agreed: most revolting.

Koti hastened to the rani and told her all that had occurred.

"You did well in capturing the spy, my love," she said. "But I am not sure it was wise to bring him back here. My overly sentimental husband might hear of his presence and decide to question him.

You must go to the rana and tell him that the Brahmin boy escaped across the border after trying to steal his pet bird. Leave it to me to get rid of the spy. I will pretend to be his friend, and even arrange his escape—through the endless caverns. There he will become hopelessly lost and starve to death—a fitting end for a meddler."

"A sound plan," said Koti, slightly unnerved by the rani's cold-bloodedness. "When will you do the deed?"

"This very night. And surely the time has come for you to fulfill your destiny, my love. One thrust of the dagger and a kingdom will be ours. And that will be only the beginning!"

Now will you conceive in her a sudden genuine passion for the prisoner? I think her

nature is too jaded to be subject to that, for she loves power more than sex.

True. I shall abide my time. But if she seduces him, it still counts.

You stretch the definitions until their very fabric threatens to tear asunder! But I will

allow it, for he will nevertheless die soon enough.

Hari sat huddled on the stone floor of the dungeon, his head cradled in his arms, and so did not hear the door bolt slide back or the cell door swing quietly open. As in a dream, a voice spoke to him, calling his name. He looked up to see a veiled woman in the open doorway signaling for him to follow her. He obeyed without hesitation.

He was led through a maze of dimly lit corridors, up a winding stairway, and into a dark room somewhere in the upper reaches of the palace. An oil lamp flickered and brightened, and he saw he was in a large and splendid apartment. The mysterious woman removed her veil, and Hari saw that his rescuer was none other than the rani. He bowed low before her in gratitude and wondered if she was really an ally of Koti after all.

"No need for formalities," she said in melodious voice. "These are my private rooms, so please be at ease. Come, let us sit down together. Among friends I am called Kamala."

Hari was not at all sure that she was his friend, but this certainly seemed better than the dungeon cell, so he acquiesced.

"It saddened me when I learned of your imprisonment, Hari," she continued. "I do not believe you are guilty of any serious wrongdoing, but Koti does, so you are in grave danger. If you have any secret information of a political or military nature you must reveal it to me now, and I will try to help you."

"I would gladly, O Rani, but in truth I have none to reveal."

"Well, I believe you, Hari. I will help you in any case. You must escape this very night lest Koti have you tortured or killed on the morrow. I know of an escape route through some hidden caverns nearby. Once through the caverns you will emerge at a place not far from the southern border."

"I am most grateful to you, O Rani. You have given me back my life which is yours but to command." But he was not sure why she had decided to help him.

Are you going to instill her passion now?

No need. She already has passion of the flesh, if not of the heart.

"Hmm. Well then, might you be willing to repay that debt here and now?"

"Yes, gladly, if it be within my power."

"Oh, it is that, for it is with your gift of youth and beauty that you may recompense me. Come, O

Hari."

The rani took Hari by the hand and led him into her bedroom. Realizing what was expected of him and taking his obligation to heart, being somewhat recovered from his recent depletion, he proceeded to discharge his debt with skill and alacrity. Its sum diminished with increasing rapidity, if it was to be measured by the rani's frequent moans of pleasure.

In the next room the rana slept fitfully, tossing and turning in his bed, his face contorted with fear.

He was having the same terrible nightmare that plagued him nightly, ever since the unknown assassin had tried to stab him in his bed. He had again prayed to the goddess Lakshmi, as he did each day, imploring her to reveal the identity of the attacker, but the goddess was ever silent. He was now on the verge of wakefulness, having developed a tolerance for the drafts of sleeping potion the rani gave him.

The rani pulled in her breath as the moment of supreme delight assailed her, and she could not help but cry out in her uncontrolled ecstasy. And whose name would it be most natural for her to call out in her moment of rapture than that of her habitual lover?

"Koti!" she cried. "Oh, Koti!"

The rana's eyes snapped open as a voice came to him out of the darkness. "Koti!" it said.

I did not touch her.

Granted. I was watching closely. But it matters not; your naïve mortal man still will

die.

The old king's breath caught and his brain churned. The goddess had spoken to him! The culprit was none other than Koti. Koti! Koti the ambitious. Koti the envious. Koti the plotter. Yes, of course. How could he have been so blind not to have seen it before?

Having extracted a usurious rate of interest on a fictitious debt, the rani, fully satisfied, summoned her personal maidservant and instructed her to take Hari by a secret way to the entrance of the hidden caverns. Hari made obeisance to the rani and departed.

At the cavern entrance the servant gave Hari the oil lamp she carried, saying he would need it in the darkness of the caves. He smiled and thanked her, and was puzzled at the tear that trickled down her cheek.

8

The Endless Caverns

In the perennial darkness beneath the earth, time was its own master. No longer under the watchful discipline of sun, moon, and stars, or subject to the control and measurement of human contrivance, time fluxed and flowed, condensed and stretched in strange ways. To one caught in the fickle clutches of the time god, in the aberrations of his secret courses, minutes and hours, night and day, and the many feeble ways mortals measured the tempo of their lives had little meaning.

Hari wandered from cavern to cavern, how long he did not know. The air became stale and his footsteps hollow and distant. Strange obstructions appeared in his path—monolithic rock formations shaped like prehistoric beasts, and great stone icicles growing out of the cave floor.

As he passed through a large cavern, a slow dripping sound reached his ears and he followed it to a clear pool of water. He set the lamp he carried down at the pool's edge and leaned over to drink.

As his lips were about to touch the water, a school of small white fish swam by inches from his face.

His heart lightened to find life in such a forsaken place. He watched the tiny creatures swim about in endless circles, seemingly content in their isolated world beneath the earth. He saw too that they had no eyes and marveled at the efficiency of nature for withholding from her children what they did not need in their darkened universe.

Despite his hunger and thirst, his vegetarian ways forbade his eating any of the fish or drinking from their pool, so he contented himself with the water he caught in his cupped hands as it dripped from the cavern ceiling.

The oil lamp suddenly flickered out, its fuel exhausted, and lo! the cavern was illuminated in its own light. A luminous blue glow emitted by the rock itself filled the stony chamber. He wondered at the eerie majesty of the vast cavern: such might be the subterranean domain of the Narakasura, king of the netherworld, he thought.

The walls of the great gallery arched upward into the dimness, draped in folding tapestries of stone. Glittering buttresses cut across dark overhanging cliffs, rudely disturbing the vertical symmetry.

In the center of the cavern a massive column rose up to the ceiling where it blossomed out into a glistening amphitheater, from which hung stone spears of white, purple, and amber. Rimming the walls were feathery chalk-like ferns, fragile fans and stone flowers, broad shields and veils.

Hari continued on through the caverns, whistling to keep up his spirits, the echoes reverberating in a chorus of many voices. From time to time he scraped an arrow into the floor to mark his way, and when twice he came upon the same marking he knew he was lost.

Passing through a narrow corridor, he tripped and fell, only to discover he had fallen over a human skeleton. The skull-face stared blankly at him, transfixing his gaze, and as he searched its empty eyes, as though awaiting a message, the lipless jaws moved. He jumped back only to see a white eyeless salamander crawl from beneath the rotted teeth. It scurried a few feet to a nearby wall and stopped. There on the wall, Hari saw, was some writing scratched into the rock: a message no doubt left by the poor soul whose skull now housed another eyeless creature.

The message read:

I, Anandrum, died here alone and in my prime. My fate is just for my crimes were great.

Whoever reads this message, pray for me and thee, for neither will again behold the light of day in this lifetime.

Slow at last the fool catches on.

Yet there is one here who knows the way out.

Continuing on with a heavy heart, he wondered if the rani was indeed a traitor and had meant to send him to his death; he intoned the primal word, Om, to give himself courage. Too, he wondered if the salamander was the reincarnation of the former owner of the skull, and what terrible crimes must have been committed for a human to be reduced to such a lowly state.

Weariness soon overcame him, and he lay down on the stone floor to rest. How ironic, he thought: all his life he had sought escape from people that he might be alone with his dreams and fancies. And now he was destined to die alone in this forsaken place without the comfort of another human being. Instinctively, his hand reached up to the amulet which hung about his neck.

Could the amulet save him? he wondered. He recalled his fearful experience with the she-demon. Who or what might he conjure up this time if he spoke the name on the other side of the amulet? Dare he try? No, he decided. He could not risk loosing some terrible creature upon the world. Better he should face Yama with a noble heart.

His eyelids grew heavy, shutting out his fears for a time, and he fell into a peaceful sleep.

Now do I make my move. I hope that my mortal man has the wit to fathom what is necessary.

When he awoke he felt refreshed, although his empty belly complained audibly. A nearby pool of water, this time unpopulated, slaked his thirst and quieted his stomach. It was then that a noise reached his ears—a faint echo. It sounded like a person weeping.

He followed the sobbing sound to a large cavern with shining walls streaked with porphyry. As he entered the chamber the weeping sound ceased. Puzzled, he sat down on a rock and wondered if his ears had played tricks on him or if he was going mad. Then he heard a sniffle, unmistakably human, and he knew he was not alone.

"It is said that the weight of a problem is lessened in the telling," he said, speaking into the emptiness. "Will you not come out of hiding and share your sorrow with me?" The echoes of his voice flitted through distant chambers. There was no reply. "Please, will you not speak to me?" he entreated. "I will not harm you. Perhaps we can help one another."

"You can not help me," came the reply. The voice was feminine and laden with sadness.

"Well, how can you know that?" asked Hari. "Will you not show yourself that we may talk further?"

"Can not the ear hear without the aid of the eye?"

"But why do you hide? Are you afraid?"

"No, I am not afraid, and I do not hide."

"But I can not see you. Are you behind a rock? Please come out."

"I stand before you, but you can not see me, for I am a Bootham in Tri-Sanka Swarga—a spirit of the middle existence between death and rebirth."

Hari was amazed. He had heard of such spirits but had never thought to encounter one.

"Forgive me, O Spirit," he said in an apologetic tone. "I did not mean to disturb you, but I thought I heard someone weeping. Was it you?"

"Yes."

"It seems, then, that we both have reason to be troubled. I am lost. Pray tell me of your plight, O

Spirit."

The weeping commenced again. It was so heartrending that Hari could not help but feel sympathy.

"Please do not cry, Spirit. Perhaps if you tell me what distresses you, you will feel better." The sobbing diminished to an occasional whimper. "Do you have a name? Mine is Hari."

"My name is Pudmini."

"A lovely name. Now, Pudmini, tell me what troubles you."

"Very well," the spirit replied. "Not two years past I was alive and mortal and living happily in my village not far from the city of the rana. I was soon to be married and was blessed in that the match was made with one whom I dearly loved. His name was Arjun.

"In the months prior to our marriage Arjun and I would meet secretly in the fields, though we restrained ourselves from intimacy and breaking the rule of troth. But our passions grew strong within us, and when on the day before our marriage vows we met one last time in the fields, we could no longer restrain our love. And so we revealed our nakedness to one another and would have there consummated our love but for the interjection of cruel fate. We were being spied upon, and as we kissed, cries and shouts rose up around us, and a horde of villagers surrounded us.

"Arjun became afraid and ran, and as the sin of love before marriage is less for the man than the woman, the villagers let him escape. But a rain of stones descended upon me and did not cease until my body lay limp and lifeless in the field. Thus it was I departed life before my allotted time.

"As it is for those whose death is premature, I became a Bootham—a spirit imprisoned in the middle existence, who must linger in this state half a lifetime more until the time comes that would have been my normal span upon the earth. Only then will I escape this prison, will my soul be released and reborn into another life. Such is my curse and my sorrow."

Hari sighed, feeling great pity for Pudmini. A grave wrong had been done her. Yet he knew the laws governing the cycle of life, death, and rebirth were sacred and immutable. But surely the gods were not blind to injustice, he thought. Perhaps there was a chink in the armor of divine law that might be pried open if the occasion merited and the need was great. His eyes stared into space as he contemplated the problem.

"Tell me, Pudmini," he asked finally, "while living as a spirit, have you ever received any supernatural message or sign of any kind?"

"No, not a message. But as I was passing from mortal life into spirit life, I remember hearing a voice, as if in a dream. I do not know why, but I thought it was the voice of the Lord Krishna. But it could not have been."

"Pudmini, tell me, what did the voice say?"

"It made no sense. The voice said: 'Though spirit be not flesh, so spirit flesh will be not spirit.

When love denied is love fulfilled by a mortal heart that is pure, so will the soul of the innocent be unbound.' I have pondered those words long, and dwelt upon them much, for I have little to do here but weep and think, but their meaning escapes me."

Hari pondered the words. What could they mean? How could the flesh of a spirit who had no flesh not be a spirit? That could not be possible—unless a spirit did have flesh. But how could an invisible noncorporeal being have flesh?

"Pudmini," he asked, "are you standing close to me?"

"Yes, just in front of you. Why do you ask?"

"Please do as I ask, Pudmini, I beg of you. You must trust me. I am going to hold out my hand to you. Please take it in your own hand."

"But—" She seemed to shrug. "Oh, very well."

Hari stretched out his hand and waited, his heart thumping. Then he felt the soft touch of a hand upon his own.

"Pudmini, I can feel your hand!" he cried with delight.

"And I yours, Hari."

"Now I understand the meaning of the words you heard. Surely it was a message from Krishna.

You see, Pudmini, you are both spirit and flesh. You can not be seen, but your body can be touched and felt like that of any mortal. And you can feel me in turn. Pudmini, the Lord Krishna in his mercy left you a means of escape. Your soul can be freed!"

"Oh Hari, is it true? Pray, tell me how!" Hari could feel Pudmini's hand trembling with excitement.

"By Krishna's own words, your soul will be released when you complete that final act of love—which you were denied and unjustly punished for as a mortal—with a mortal man who is pure of heart."

He did fathom it!

In that situation I would have fathomed it faster.

But you are not eligible, for you are neither mortal nor pure of heart.

I have desire enough to make up for both, as I will demonstrate if you will simply hold

still for the denouement

But you must be accustomed to singular outcomes—or should I say climaxes. Co perform a solo.

As the echoes of Hari's words died away, an utter stillness filled the chamber. When finally Pudmini spoke, her voice was soft and hesitant.

"A mortal man? But—but there is only you, Hari. You have been kind and understanding, but I can not ask this of you. I have no right."

"Oh Pudmini, you do not need to ask. I want to help you. But Krishna's words say that he who would free your soul must be pure of heart. I do not think I qualify."

"Do not say that, Hari. That is the least of my doubts. Thought I have known you but a brief time, I know that your heart is pure."

As it is, for he is perpetually naïve.

"Well, there does seem to be a dearth of candidates. But if you are willing to risk my heart's uncertain condition, I gladly offer my unworthy self to you, Pudmini. You need not decide now. Think on it awhile."

"There is no cause for delay, Hari. Long have I suffered imprisoned within these walls. My soul craves freedom. You discovered the means of my salvation. Now I beg you to liberate me forthwith.

Do this, and my heart and my gratitude will be yours forever."

"If you are truly decided," he said, discovering the notion to be increasingly appealing, because of the merit of the cause.

"I am ready, Hari."

Hari spread out his tunic over a smooth plateau of rock to use as a bed—the best he could do.

He held out both his hands and she placed her hands in his. Her trembling fingers spoke of shyness and hesitation, which he understood, and he was gentle and patient with her.

His fingers were his eyes. He ran them through her hair, thick and silken-soft, over her face, her satin-smooth skin, and high cheekbones, over her long lashes, which fluttered to the touch, over her large deepset eyes, straight narrow nose, and soft full lips that parted and shivered ever so slightly, down her slender neck and small rounded shoulders, over her firm full breasts, which rose to the touch, across her narrow waist and generous hips, and down to her trembling thighs. He marveled that such beauty could be revealed by the mere touch of a hand.

He set his lips to hers, which ceased to tremble and answered with willingness and warmth. Her breath quickened and her hands explored his body, searching out places of secret pleasure and lingering there when his body responded. His hands and lips and tongue also found her secrets, and when she arched her back in a sudden shock of delight, he did not let her fall back but led her on to ever-greater heights.

She did not cry out as a searing sweetness filled her being; her body rose eagerly to meet its tormentor, rising and ebbing, the sweetness building, ever building, finally exploding in a spasm of joyous rapture: a brief moment of eternity suspended in time and space.

Oh, I wish I were doing that!

I have been trying to make you play the role, ravishing nymphid.

Not with you, hideous oaf. With him.

Somehow I had suspected that. But soon enough I will win the contest, and your

plaintive desires will have no relevance. It is now my turn.

As they lay resting in one another's arms, an image came into Hari's mind, and he smiled to himself, amused. He pictured himself in the act of making love to Pudmini, an invisible woman—how ridiculous he looked!

Suddenly Pudmini pulled herself from his embrace.

"Hari, something is happening to me," she cried.

Hari leapt to his feet. In the empty space before his eyes a shadowy figure appeared. It gradually increased in density, darkening and solidifying, until lo! standing there before him was a maiden of such startling beauty that his breath caught. His eyes recognized the features that only his hands had known; but, oh, his hands had been such poor judges, he thought. A sweet pain pierced his heart.

"Hari, it has happened!" Tears of happiness filled Pudmini's eyes, "My soul is free! But, oh, I can not stay. Another life beckons me even now. Thank you, Hari, for my release. My heart is yours.