"That is apparent from your speech to your garments to your features; no one in this region resembles you," said Hasin Dahele. "Tulsi Kil and Sanat Ji Mani, you say?" He leaned back and clapped his hands. "You will be my guests, and welcome in my palace. You are to be fed and clothed and treated as I would be treated."
"Greatness," said Sanat Ji Mani, "we are most grateful, and we mean you no disrespect, but, if I may ask: what have we done to deserve such distinction, for we are unaware of anything we have done that would entitle us to your hospitality?" He knew from long experience that the favor of Princes, especially unearned favor, could carry with it a heavy burden. "We are strangers in your land, and we have come here with nothing."
"All the more reason I should receive you well," said Hasin Dahele curtly. "Go. Enjoy your meal, put on new clothes, and we shall speak again."
"Greatness," Sanat Ji Mani persisted, bowing to show respect, "I most humbly request that you tell us more: you must understand that we have been on the road for some time and have not often encountered kindness, let alone such generosity."
"I will explain more once you are rested and comfortable," said Hasin Dahele in a tone that closed the matter. "Vayu Ede, go with them and see they are attended to properly." He clapped his hands again, then rose from his throne. "We meet again in the late afternoon."
"Come," said Vayu Ede to Sanat Ji Mani. "A bath is being readied, one for you and one for the woman, and then there will be a meal,
and you will be allowed to rest through the heat of the day." He waited until Rajput Hasin Dahele was out of the room to turn toward the other end of the reception hall. "This way. Both of you."
"Do you think we should?" Tulsi asked when Sanat Ji Mani had summarized the agenda laid out for them.
"I think it would be sensible, at least until we have learned more. At the very least, you will be fed, and we will have better clothing." He indicated his thread-bare, travel-smirched garments. "Do not tell me you would prefer what we have."
"No," she said hesitantly. "But I do not want to be made a captive for the sake of a few rags, either."
Sanat Ji Mani, doing his best to keep pace with Vayu Ede, said, "We cannot bolt now. We could not get out of this palace without being stopped. Oh, yes, the windows are open, but this room is toward the rear of the palace— that long approach went through the center of the building— and we would still have to get out of the grounds if we are to escape; there is a wall to climb, as well. Perhaps you could do it, but I cannot; I cannot move quickly enough." They had passed the door through which they had been admitted, and were continuing on toward the end of the vast chamber.
"But could we not hide, and…" She shook her head. "No, of course not. You are right. We will take stock of our situation when we can better understand it."
"You make it sound so galling," he told her.
"Because it is," she responded. "I do not like not knowing why we have been singled out."
"Neither do I," said Sanat Ji Mani, "but so long as we are not in immediate danger—"
"Are you certain we are not?" she asked.
"No; but I am willing to reserve judgment for the time being." They were almost to the end of the reception hall.
Vayu Ede paused in front of another door, this one somewhat smaller than the main one, but decorated with an inlaid pattern of leaves worked in ivory and precious stones. "This leads to the domestic part of the palace. The Prince's family have their quarters here, and they are not to be approached in any way. You need not worry that you will stumble upon them by accident; Guards are posted outside
their wing, and you are not to go beyond them. I think you will find the guests' accommodations to your liking." He opened the door, motioning to Tulsi and Sanat Ji Mani to come through.
Sanat Ji Mani told Tulsi what Vayu Ede had said, adding, "We should keep to the restrictions they place on us for now, and proceed carefully so that we do not do anything to create suspicions about us."
"I should think not," said Tulsi with feeling. "Oh, Sanat Ji Mani, I wish you could hold me for just a moment. I feel so… alone here."
"You are not alone," Sanat Ji Mani promised her.
She did not answer, giving her attention to the luxurious western wing of the palace: there was a magnificent series of apartments off the corridor down which they walked, each one furnished opulently, with aromatic woods, lovely silks, and carpets woven by masters. All the rooms were good-sized, with shuttered windows to keep out the mid-day heat without blocking air. She was mildly startled when Vayu Ede stopped in front of one of these rooms and bowed her into it. "For me?"
"He indicates so," said Sanat Ji Mani, and then said to their guide, "I want to be near her, as near as your custom permits."
"You will be across the hall," said Vayu Ede. "And you shall have the chamber at the end of the corridor for your bath." He smiled benignly.
"Are we permitted to bathe together?" Sanat Ji Mani asked.
Vayu Ede looked a bit startled, but said, "There is nothing to say you may not."
"Then, if you would, arrange it," said Sanat Ji Mani, and relayed what had been said to Tulsi.
"Do you think they are trying to keep us apart?" she asked, frowning at the thought.
"They may be, but I doubt it. If they had wanted to do that, there are many ways they could have accomplished it by now." Sanat Ji Mani kept his voice low, but there was power in it, holding her attention. "We will try to discover what their purpose is, and as soon as we do, we will know how to act."
"If you say so," she said dubiously.
Sanat Ji Mani nodded to her, but spoke to Vayu Ede. "What shall we do now?"
"The bath will be readied for you. While you bathe, your clothes will be taken, washed, and mended; you may have them back if you wish, but it is the honor of the Prince to clothe you, and there will be garments waiting for you when you return from bathing. I will tell the slaves that you and your woman are to bathe together, so they will not be shocked to see you both." He bowed, his fingers pressed together.
"They are going to examine our things," Sanat Ji Mani to Tulsi. "While we bathe."
"And attack us while we have nothing with us," she said, a combination of disgust and fright in her stance. "If we refuse, they will only make it worse."
"Very likely," said Sanat Ji Mani.
"Should we request other arrangements? I have your knife still. I can keep it with me, in case we have need of it." She was careful not to touch the knife hidden under her sash.
"That is an excellent idea," said Sanat Ji Mani, and went on to Vayu Ede. "How are we to manage this? You say these are our chambers, and that the bath is at the end of this hall. How do we do this?"
"There are robes in your rooms; leave your clothes, don the robes, and go along to the bath," said Vayu Ede. "When you return, new garments will be set out for you; I will come for you and take you to the Prince's morning dining room."
Tulsi listened to Sanat Ji Mani's version of this with growing unease. "I do not like it," she said sternly, "but I doubt there is much I can do about it."
"Very little," Sanat Ji Mani agreed. "Keep alert as we go; we can discuss this further while we bathe."
"They will be listening," said Tulsi, unwilling to go into her appointed chamber alone. "Wherever we are."
"Very likely," Sanat Ji Mani said, and, aware of her wariness, said to Vayu Ede, "Would it be permitted for the two of us to occupy the same room: we have done so for many weeks and we are used to it."
Vayu Ede considered the matter, then said, "If she has served you, then it is fitting that she remain with you. You had better share the room appointed for your use; it is larger and the bed is more generous. I will inform the Illustrious Prince of your request and its disposition."
With that he bowed. "I will return when you have bathed." Then he leaned toward Sanat Ji Mani and whispered something to him, stepping back at once. "It is true." With that, he turned away and went back the way he came.
"What did he say?" Tulsi asked.
"You may stay in my chamber with me," said Sanat Ji Mani, too startled to repeat the second message. "I think they will be glad of having us both in one place."
Tulsi put her hands to her face in horror. "You mean we could be more easily attacked together than apart? Yes, I see," she went on, giving him no chance to answer. "How foolish of me, to play into their hands."
"The two of us are stronger together than apart," he said, hoping to lessen her growing dread. "It is better that we are together, I think."
She nodded several times. "Yes; yes, you are probably right. Neither of us can vanish if we are together."
"You cannot vanish from me, no matter what others may do," he said gently. "The blood-bond holds me to you. In time, it may hold you to me."
"If I lie with you six times," she said impatiently. "Yes, I know; you told me, more than once." Impulsively she left his side to gather up the robe left out for her. "Let us do as they ask. Whatever is coming, let it come quickly."
"Very well," he said, following her into the chamber that had been allocated for his use. "When we bathe, I will not lie in the water; you may, but for me it would be most… unpleasant."
She paused as she started to strip off her clothing. "As you were in the river?"
"Nothing that extreme," he said, and turned away to undress; he had to admit his clothing needed to be patched or destroyed; were he in his own house, he would consign it to the rag-bin. "Running water or tide-driven water makes me ill; standing water only makes me queasy."
"That sounds unsettling," she said, skinning out of her trousers and leaving only her loin-cloth in place. "I will not surrender this."
"There is no need; you can remove it in the bath," he said, casting away the short kandys he had been wearing for so many days; beneath
was a sleeveless shift in frayed black cotton, with a tear on the shoulder and pulled seams on the sides. He pulled this over his head with some trepidation, reaching for the robe laid out for him, intending to cover the swath of scars that ran across the whole of the front of his body from the base of his ribs to be covered by his leggings secured at his waist. He very nearly succeeded when Tulsi took hold of his arm.
"What are those?" she asked in a hushed voice.
"They are how I was killed, and why I could walk again," he said as he slipped his robe around him; the soft saffron color seemed odd to him, who habitually wore black.
"What did they do?" Her voice was hushed, her eyes very wide. "I can see why you kept them covered all this time."
Working the bands of his leggings, he peeled them off and dropped them with his other garments; he pulled his robe more completely closed and secured it with the sash he had been provided. "I was disemboweled, but they did not sever my spine or burn me, so—"
She held up her hand. "Of course. You returned."
He tugged off his hand-made shoes and put them near the bed, hoping they might not be taken away. "As soon as you are ready."
"I am taking this," said Tulsi, holding up the little knife. She was wearing a robe of pale blue-green now, and it brought out the color of her eyes.
"A very good precaution," Sanat Ji Mani approved. "Who knows if we will need it."
"Do you expect trouble?" she asked, looking directly at him.
"No, but that does not mean we can avoid it." He stepped into the hall and looked around. "I see no one."
"But we are being watched, are we not?" She went past him, starting down the corridor with a determined stride that turned into a flying cartwheel. "There," she said as she landed. "Look all you want," she added to the walls.
Sanat Ji Mani followed after her, his thought distracted by what he had heard Vayu Ede say so quietly and what they might portend:
I know who you are
.
* * *
Text of a letter from Rishi Harata Medha to Sultan Nasiruddin Mohammed bin Tughluq.
* * *
To the most Excellent Naisuddin Mohammed bin Tughluq, favored of your god, Allah, and devotee of the Prophet Mohammed, the High Priest of Shiva sends his greetings for the last time.
We who have struggled to remain in Delhi are now faced with the necessity of leaving or starving, and while death is not feared by us, we do not wish to succumb through the agency of men, but the Will of the Gods, Whose work the world is. For months we have attempted to maintain our temple and our place in what remains of the city, but it is becoming impossible.
Conflicts among the followers of Timur-i's man and your supporters have destroyed most of the farms and orchards in our vicinity, and therefore no one has any food to bring to market. The warriors seize any they come upon and confiscate livestock for their use, so that the few people within the walls are left to scavenge like pi-dogs or like vultures. No one worships now, not any god. The call to your prayers is not often heard, for those making such calls become targets of archers.
