The Temple Dancer (8 page)

"Well," said Slipper with a sigh. Then taking a custard apple, he looked
up smiling. "So. Who's hungry?"

Upon entering the dense, overhanging trees, Lucinda at last felt as if she
had entered a different world. Damp stagnant shadows replaced the hot
sun. Even the caravan's clatter seemed muffled by the leaves.

Lucinda grew used to the rhythmic roll of the elephant's shoulders beneath the howdah floor. In all directions she saw nothing but dark leaves
and branches. The patches of sky that peeked through the foliage looked
white as linen. She heard the whispers of wind and the chatter of a thousand birds; she smelled the mold and dampness of the forest floor, and the
warm, grassy smell of the elephant's body.

"Why do you keep looking out?" Slipper asked. "There's nothing to
see.

Lucinda took a while to realize that Slipper was addressing her.

"Leave her alone, Slipper," Maya said. "Can't you see she's happy?"
Lucinda nodded gratefully to the nautch girl, surprised that she of all people would understand her feelings. "Have you seen much of the world?"
Maya asked. Lucinda shook her head. Maya's eyes drifted back to the stack
of palm leaves on her lap. "Well, there we are similar, you and I."

Lucinda gave her a surprised glance, but did not contradict her. She
leaned out over the edge of the howdah, though the forest here looked just
the same as the forest a hundred yards back. "But aren't we going to talk?"
Slipper sighed.

From the front of the line, Captain Pathan looked back and saw Lucinda
peering out. Frowning, he peeled his mare to the side of the road, and waited
there for the howdah to catch up. "Keep the curtains closed, madam," he
told her, trotting along beside it, but Lucinda looked away and pretended
not to hear. "Madam, for your safety," he insisted. She ignored him.

Frustrated, Pathan rode back, and sent Da Gama to the howdah. "How
are you all doing so far?" the soldado called.

Slipper crawled forward to answer, his pale jowls showing blotchy pink
patches from the effort. "Hello, Captain," he said in Hindi. "Why do you
wear so many guns?" For at each of Da Gama's hips hung apistola with its
grip facing backward, and he wore two broad belts that crossed in an X
over his chest, where he had tucked half a dozen more.

Da Gama laughed and answered in Hindi. "I have more in my bag, Senhor Eunuch. Better having too many guns and not needing them, eh?"

"Are you worried about wolves, Captain?" Slipper asked. His tiny eyes
opened wide.

Da Gama lifted an eyebrow. "That is so," he said. "I'm worried about
wolves." He nodded toward the curtains. "Keep the curtains closed, eh?"
he said. Then in Portuguese, he added, glancing at Lucy, "Better for everyone that way, eh, Lucy?" With that he trotted back to the end of the line.

With unexpected agility, Slipper quickly started to pull the curtains,
but Lucinda held out her hand to stop him. "He was only teasing you, you
silly!" she said. "You don't really think that wolves will see us?"

"He wasn't speaking of wolves," said Maya.

Sensing danger without really understanding it, Lucinda removed her
hand. Soon Slipper had closed them in.

The howdah was much darker now, and Maya took the palm leaves from
her lap, touched them to her forehead, and placed them on a square of silk
beside her.

"What are they?" Lucinda asked.

"Can you read?" Maya asked, handing them to her.

Of course, a book, Lucinda realized, as she glanced at the writing on
the palm leaves. They'd been sewn together across the top. "I can't read
this language," she answered as she handed it back.

"It's the Gita," Slipper said. "She reads it all the time."

"You know this book?" Maya asked. Lucinda shook her head. "Our
most sacred text," Maya continued as she folded the thin volume in its silk
cover. "Bhagavad Gita, the Song of the Adorable One."

"That means her god," Slipper put in, his lips pursed in disapproval.

"You think our god is different from yours?" Maya asked. Slipper
seemed about to snap an answer, but Maya's eyes were so gentle that instead he merely blinked. "When Mohammed said there was but one god,
did you think he meant one different from mine? Or from hers?"

"Whatever you say, mistress," Slipper replied, though to Lucinda the
eunuch looked unconvinced, even angry.

Maya smiled. "In this book, the Lord says, `When the wick of righteousness burns low, I take on human form.' Isn't that what Christians believe as well?" She cocked her head at Lucinda, who at this moment was
uncertain what she believed.

"That's not what we think," Slipper answered, as if for both of them,
before Lucinda could say a word.

"Perhaps I misunderstood," Maya replied, her face now so still it
looked like a mask.

"I thought only your priests could read," Lucinda said to Maya after
an uncomfortable silence.

Maya turned her eyes from the eunuch. Lucinda could sense that it
took her some effort to breathe calmly. "Yes that's true, for the most part.
Some of the merchants read, of course, but not Sanskrit, not the language
of the gods. But for some reason, reading is taught to us devadasis, to the
dancing women of the temple." She laughed, but her eyes were serious. "You know it's funny-only the brahmins say these words aloud, but I
never met a brahmin who has actually read these books. They learn reading, when they're boys, but they prefer to memorize the scriptures, by repeating the words their guru says. Sometimes those words they memorize
are completely different from what's in their books."

"I'm glad I never learned to read," said Slipper.

"But if women are not to say the words aloud, why do they teach the
dancing girls to read?" Lucinda asked.

"I've often wondered that myself. Maybe because the texts we devadasis must study are too boring for the brahmins to bother with: the
Natya Sutra, the book of dance, for example, or the Kama Sutra, the book
of love. Maybe because so many of us devadasis end up sold to the Muslims, where the brahmins know we'll have no access to the scriptures." She
shook her head ruefully. "But of course that seems unlikely, doesn't it? If
they really cared about our welfare, they'd not have sold us in the first
place."

Now surely Lucinda had known before this that Maya was a slave, but
for some reason the bayadere's words hit home with unexpected force.

"Please don't look shocked. It is your family that has bought me."

"What?" Lucinda stammered.

"It is nothing special," Slipper said, sensing her discomfort.

"What difference should it make to me-to any of us? It is but one more
life: Now I'm a slave.... Have I not been a king? A tree? A dog? A nobody?
I've taken birth a million times and will be reborn a million more."

Lucinda said nothing. She had often heard the local merchants blaspheme this way. But Maya was so pretty, with skin nearly as fair as hers,
and so young, just her own age, and it disturbed Lucinda to realize that she
was no more than some man's property.

"He's a slave as well, you know," Maya said, indicating Slipper with
her eyes.

Slipper sat up as tall as he could. "There's no shame in being a slave,
miss. It's not what you are, but how you act that makes the difference."

"Yes," agreed Maya. "That is what the Gita teaches us as well." Her
eyes sparkled as though she found the eunuch's discomfort amusing. "Otherwise I should not have offered myself for sale."

"You offered to be a slave?" Lucinda gasped.

"Why not? As Slipper says, there is no shame. Our temple had been nearly destroyed by floods, and the shastri had hinted that he could get a
good price for me. I'm sure it saved the temple."

"What about your family?"

"I've been an orphan for as long as I remember. And my guru died. She
was all my family to me, and she disappeared in the floods. So why not?
Why do you look so shocked?"

"I had no idea," Lucinda answered.

"You thought that I was born a slave, as you were?"

Lucinda's hand covered her mouth. "How dare you! I'm a free woman!"

"Are you?" Maya said softly. "Have you a house? A purse full of gold?
Do you go where you please? Take a lover when you wish, or none at all?"

Lucinda answered with a frown.

"Please forgive me, then," Maya replied. "I thought you were like all
the other farang women-some man's property with no freedom of her
own: a virgin, maybe, offered to a rich man to unite two fortunes, or a wife
whose only value is in manufacturing sons."

"I forgive you," Lucinda answered. In the silence that followed, she
found herself becoming aware of the endless rocking of the dark, shadowed
howdah, and wished that she could be once more on solid ground.

"I don't feel well," Lucinda said at last. "I have a headache." She leaned
over onto one of the cushions, fluffed her hooped skirts over her ankles and
squeezed her eyes tight. But she could feel the stares of the other two. The
howdah rocked, creaking like a boat tossed by the waves. In a few minutes
she was asleep.

When the endless sway of the howdah stopped, Lucinda woke. "Where are
we?" she asked.

"We've come through Valpoi, and we've just stopped at someone's
house," Slipper answered, looking perturbed. "And we passed right by a
perfectly satisfactory inn, too."

Lucinda was the last one to inch down the silver ladder propped against
the elephant's flanks. Slipper stood to the side, speaking seriously to Maya,
who tried not to look too annoyed.

The wide, comfortable courtyard overlooked a deep valley. The sun was just setting, and its red rays colored the mountains to the east. Hindi
servants hoisted luggage and hurried it inside. Da Gama came over to
Lucinda. "Your uncle arranged that we should spend the night here. This is
the house of Fernando Anala, one of your father's trading partners."

"I don't think I ever met him," Lucinda answered.

A tall Hindi wearing a shiny silk turban appeared at the door of the
house and came down the verandah. "My master wishes to greet you," he
said in passable Portuguese. With that he gave a stiff but correct farang
bow, even giving his fingers a little flourish as he spread his arms. Rising, he
looked at Lucinda, Da Gama, and Geraldo, and with a sweep of his hand,
motioned them toward the door. The others understood that they were not
invited. Even so, Lucinda glanced at Maya, letting her embarrassment
show. Maya nodded, unconcerned.

The servant led them down a dark corridor lit by high-flamed candles,
to a great hall, nearly empty except for a thronelike chair at the far end. He
bowed them through and latched the double doors behind them.

The clack of Da Gama's boots on the wooden floor echoed from the high
ceiling. Beside the throne a half-dozen torches burned so bright that it was
hard to see who sat there. A mastiff resting at the man's feet stood and
growled as Da Gama approached, but the man clapped once and the dog sat.

When they reached the throne, Da Gama bowed, sweeping his broadbrimmed hat. "I am Jebtha Da Gama at your service, senhor. Here are Geraldo Silveira and Lucinda Dasana. Your friend Carlos Dasana sends his best
wishes." Geraldo bowed as well, and Lucinda gave a curtsy.