I forced a grin on my face. “Send the harem wife that you trust the most. We’re going to need her to cause a distraction.”
Gauri nodded approvingly. “If you’re starting anything at the harem, that will get his attention. It’s where he spends most of his time anyway. Give me some time before you send the wife to start a distraction. I need to gather my belongings and say some goodbyes.”
“You have my word,” I said, before adding, “and my admiration.”
Gauri leaned close. “So far, I like you, whether or not you’re a real sadhvi, although I have no doubt that you aren’t. But make one wrong move, hurt a single hair on the head of the harem wife I send to you, and you can be sure that I will have you kicked out of these gates or worse. And my brother will be none the wiser.”
In my head, I heard the Gauri from what felt like only four days ago. She had thrown her arms around my waist and told me she would protect me. At least I knew the protective instinct wasn’t something she’d lost.
Gauri jogged off in the direction of the harem and I pulled Kamala along to the palace temple. “Well? Any word? Any news about the Chakara Forest?”
“None-none-none,” sang Kamala. “But they are still there.”
“How can you recognize their presence against all the others?” I asked. “Surely death isn’t just waiting inside the Chakara Forest.”
“Death is just a little pulse, like a splinter in my veins. But this is different. He rarely leaves so many representatives at once. Certain people, the Dharma Raja culls individually, and then there is a surge in my heart like fire and a thousand carmine flowers blooming all at once.”
“Representatives?” I repeated.
But then I realized. The hounds in the halls, their mouths thick and writhing with human spirits, their coats brindled like emerald and diamond. Living jewels turned monstrous. They were Amar’s messengers, his representatives gone to fetch troublesome souls and bring them back to Naraka. But why have all of them in one place at the same time?
“Beasts,” whispered Kamala, affirming my suspicions. “Four-eyes. Tongues like lashes. Fun to kick. Prone to chasing and nervous flop sweat. They chew on bones, but only the tibias and femurs of virgins with mixed eyes. Preferably when one eye is black as a cygnet and the other is green as a grass shoot.”
Not a very pleasing image. Now, all I could see were giant hounds chasing down the souls of those who wanted to cling to life a little longer. It also meant that they were waiting to gather something and bring it back to Naraka, but why? And why would he need so many? At least I knew where all of the beasts and the people would end up: Naraka.
Perhaps there’d be a way to figure out how to follow them. To get back to Amar. But how could I save him if he wouldn’t know me? How would going to Naraka even make a difference?
“Do you think clouds prefer to drop rain all at once or to test the ground occasionally?” asked Kamala. She was staring at me with a strange intensity. It was either hunger or thoughtfulness.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because you are splitting yourself, maybe-queen-but-certainly-liar.”
Splitting myself.
“You are a fraying, fragmented bone. And no one, not even I, would deign to eat such a thing.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“I don’t expect anything,” said Kamala archly. “I expect sunshine and moonshine. But I am telling you to stop being a broken bone. You are in one place, so be in one place. Or I’ll bite you.”
Be in one place. I was here. I wouldn’t leave Gauri. It wasn’t like last time, when I had no choice but to flee or die. Right now, she was the one who needed me. And truthfully, I needed her too.
By now, we had nearly reached the palace temple. Beautiful sandstone walls arced around us. I stayed outside, near the pillared mandapa halls where deities with half-lidded gazes considered us stonily. There was a figure moving toward us, an emerald veil pulled low over her face. She must be Gauri’s friend from the harem. I wondered who she was. The figure didn’t look familiar. The woman moved slowly. She was older. Stockier. She had none of the lissome watery-grace of the harem wives I remembered. She moved like someone who had no one left to impress.
Sweet incense wafted from the temples. The afternoon sun of Bharata looked like thick yolk as it dribbled slowly into evening. The parched air had lifted. Insects practiced their enigmatic songs in stark bushes and wilted flowers.
The harem wife approached. I practiced how I would greet her. Should I bow? Should I do nothing?
“What’s your plan?” asked Kamala.
“I’m going to ask her to start a fire.”
Kamala’s eyes gleamed. “Oooh … I do love when they’re served up hot and piping and charred.”
“You and I will be gone by the time the fire starts. It’s just a distraction for Gauri.”
The harem wife was finally here.
“It is a great honor to meet you,” I began. “I am so pleased that the Princess Gauri has placed you in her confidence. It will make this next task much easier.”
The harem wife stopped, her fingers still tightly clasping the edge of her green sari. She removed it, slowly, from her face, peeling back the silk until it showed a chin that I knew wobbled when she screamed, thin lips now parched dry from repeated inhales at a water pipe, a smirk scalded into the sagging flesh of her left cheek, and eyes made for watching you burn and never once—not even to wipe away particles of dust and ash—blinking.
Mother Dhina.
23
A SHARED CONSTELLATION
All my words, whatever they wanted to be, fell out of me in a long whoosh.
“You,” I breathed.
I forgot that I was wearing the garb of a sadhvi. Mother Dhina glared and took a step back.
“How dare you speak to me in such a manner, beggar? I don’t know why Gauri placed our trust in you.”
Our trust? I had to be mishearing her. The Mother Dhina I knew had never helped a single person. I didn’t even know whether she cared about anyone beyond her daughters and they were probably married and long gone from the mirror-paneled foyers of Bharata’s harem.
I dug my heels into the ground, preparing for a slap that never came. And why should it? I wasn’t Maya anymore. That girl really had become a ghost. I was clinging only to the emotions she stirred in me—hate and anger. But also … regret. There were so many times I had waited outside the gossamer curtain of the court’s inner sanctum, waiting for them to notice that I was more than my horoscope. More than some girl they could tack all their half-remembered suspicions to.
I gathered my breath, and said something I didn’t expect:
“I apologize for insulting you and your—”
“My daughters died of the sweating sickness,” cut in Mother Dhina. “I am not Princess Gauri’s mother. In case that is what you thought.”
Parvati and Jaya dead?
I had no fondness for them. Yet I wouldn’t wish such an end to their lives either. Where had I been when the world was pulling up its roots and razing the places and people I knew? I wondered if they walked past my chambers while I slept, dreaming up nightmares and gardens that splintered underfoot.
“I am not anyone’s mother,” said Mother Dhina softly.
Her face was unguarded. Grief transformed her and for a moment, the Mother Dhina I knew sank away. I saw a woman with ruined beauty, kohl-dark eyes ringed with dryness. I saw a woman who had placed her faith in an era that had not treated her any differently, that had taken her children and left her with the double-edged sword of a long life.
“Broken-bone, broken-bone, smash her with a silver stone,” trilled Kamala in my ear. “Maybe-queen-maybe-liar, you share something with this crone. Is it blood? Is it sinew? Let me rend and taste her tissue.”
I shoved Kamala. “Why don’t you go graze?”
“Graze?” she retorted. “I do not graze.”
“Go stalk a peacock.”
“You are not very nice,” said Kamala, huffing and trotting away.