By the Waters of Oblivion (chapter excerpt)

     Jaagudar had something special in mind for Padmarana on his next visit to the tower at Landupali. It seemed that the young prince had never experienced the time of Holi was it was intended... with a mug of bhang and its concomitant pleasures. Unlike his cohorts who grew up in the villages, he had never tasted the holiday drink, for the purdah of women who clustered round his mother were ever watchful of “little boys getting into trouble.” Surely now, the prince was of an age when a little departure from the normal way of looking at things might help to loosen his spirits a little... For all that his parents had been doing in their attempt to undermine his love affair, and all the Brahmins had been up to to inflame the minds of his parents, and the whole big little world of Jharsuguda Gadh crowding in on his sense of personality...

     Padmarana rode up one fine morning on his horse, and stabled it in its usual spot. Jaadugar was sitting at his little desk in the bottom floor, with a wry smile on his face. He had already made the bhang, which now sat in a huge crock on the counter in his kitchen and he had had a few nips of it himself. But now, he offered his full mug to Padmarana.

     “Drink, my boy, for life is short, and we are mortal!”

     “What is...?”

     “This is the nectar of the Gods, young Master. Bhang, a concoction of milk and the ganga plant. It is Shiva’s blood, and his whelping-milk. It will make you see with your third eye open!”

     “Why do I...?”

     “Because, my boy, it is time you experienced a load off your mind. When I think of all the ways those people at Jharsuguda Gadh have misled you, and held you to promises you cannot keep, and expected you to live in their stilted and stuffy conditions for caste and status, I think of you as yet an innocent lamb in the hands of wolves! And here, I am offering you for today, a way to escape them!

Padmarana drank the glass, sipping it carefully. The sour taste of the milk, the sweetness of the rose petals, the indescribably spicy taste of the crushed ganga leaves... as well as the various spices and rose petals which Jaagudar has flavored it with... it was certainly a very, very tasty drink! When he had gulped the entire mug, he asked for more.

     “More? I suggest, young Prince, that you wait a while before you ask that of me. This is a powerful intoxicant! Two glasses may send you into a little head spin... I should hope you might keep your wits about you, at least!”

     “Today is Holi. I am supposed to be at the castle, and take part in their festival...”

     “Bah! Festivals! What are they but rituals for the peasants, and time for the Brahmins to reassert their stultifying stupors of stubborn stupidity! Nay, my Prince, the peasants, rest assured, are high on the bhang themselves! You only miss the crowds. And the colored dust. You can live without that. I am saying, for today, if you but sit here with me in the tower, and we recreate ourselves at some pleasure or another.... Why, it is a fine day for us to fish from the top of the tower! Would you enjoy that?”

     “Perhaps. I don’t know what I am to expect...”
     “Well, you may feel a little dizzy, but then, I will do the fishing, and you can sit in my chamber. Is that alright with you?”
     “I should hope so. I was planning to see Aruna near the time of nightfall...”

     “And so you shall, and so you shall. This will be but a mild few hours of excursion away from all your earthly duties, even, the duties you have to your love. Let me take your cloak... Here, set it here by the lintel.”

     Padmarana handed Jaagudar his coat, and as he sat warming himself near Jaagudar’s immense baking oven, he looked out the window toward the river. The horse was contentedly munching on the green shoots that grew from the river bank. Jackdaws and magpies and jays screamed laughably at each other in the morning light. Padmarana even, for a second, imagined he could understand them, and surprised Jaagudar with a crowing noise he directed toward the sounds up in the trees.

     “My prince! You can’t have come under the bhang so quickly!”

     But it seemed to Padmarana, of course, that perhaps he had.

     “Expect things to seem a little different after today, but especially for the next few hours. The bhang is like a curtain lifted from your eyes. It is one man’s intoxicant, as it is to another his toddy. You will understand why we only drink bhang for the holiday of Holi... There are few other ways to dispel the permanent cast of dreariness that the priests would like to see imposed n all of us! So be merry, be light of heart, Padmarana. Come, let us go to my chamber!”

     They climbed the stairs, up past the room in which Padmarana had studied the stars and the plants under Jaagudar’s command, up to the top level, and Padmarana took a seat on the wizard’s bed, as the wizard went to a wardrobe and collected out a fishing pole and a long, long skein of line. He fussed over the ends of it for a bit, and drew some bait from his wizard’s cape, and put it to his hook. Then, he waddled over to his little perch, the one where he often sat daily and dumped his stools into the water that ran beneath... and threw the line with hook and bait off into the rippling river below.

     “Ah, Padmarana! This is one deep pleasure I have, to just sit here and look at the river and the forest and the mountains, and not to have to turn back and look toward Jharsuguda Gadh and all the fuss it contains! For when I fish, I put myself into the mind of every fisherman that lived ever. I am only connecting myself to the great chain, and I only take what I need to eat, and to feed my friends such as you, And the great chain and the great river flow on, on ever onward! With or without us. You see, Padmarana, we are all a little bit like these fish, We swim in our bliss, unaware that there are little lines with hooks that dangle with bait to distract us from our journey on life’s river. One temptation and SNAP! you have been captured, and you are food for... whoever it is in society that has set their line on you. In your case, being at the top of the chain of Sakadwipa, there are all that many more snares being set for you. But I am leaving you this as an escape...”

     They sat silently, Every so often Jaagudar would pull on his line, and see there was no fish (yet), but then suddenly he had one. He had one! He drew in the line and on it was a six inch perch. He put the fish into a basket he kept near the passage to the little bench and laughed.
     “First one. But one is never enough, is it lad?”

     He baited his hook again. Suddenly, Padmarana felt it. The bhang had crept up on him so slowly, so unnoticeably, he hardly even saw... but now he started laughing uncontrollably, Sitting on the wizard’s bed, he slumped over, convulsed with giggles. Jaagudar looked at him, and laughed as well.

     “Ah, you see? My friend, this is what I knew you needed.”
     Padmarana was helpless now, he had fallen under the spell of the bhang.

     “Everybody at the castle is... like a duck!” he blurted, suddenly, inexplicably.

     Jaagudar looked at him with a wry grin.

     “And how so is that, young man?”

     “They are like ducks in a pond. There is a big gander. There is a cutting drake. There is my mother, all sudden and sodden in her ways... following behind... are all the others... Oh! They are a family of ducks!”

     Jaagudar laughed. “This is what I mean, Padmarana. The bhang gives you insight you never expected to get. And I am sure there will be more."

     Padmarana continued his laughing. Imagining Lalachi and Moee as the fattest, orneriest geese he had ever seen, he could see them even now, honking and blatting orders to his father. His father, who was The King!

     But the fun of the bhang was only beginning.

     Jaagudar tossed down his line again. A skein of geese were flying in the direction of the castle, The green forest showed wisps of smoke where the villagers were making their simple fires for morning meals. The day was young. His young student was accomplishing this all very well, so far...

     With Aruna clutching his waist from behind, Padmarana rode into the castle up from the market road. The horse proudly strutted, and many heads turned in the courtyard. Who was this woman riding with the prince?

     He dismounted and gave her his hand to help her down off Chaiya Bataka (Shadow Wanderer). With her hand still in his, they walked together, side by side, toward the inner doors of the king’s chamber.

     Mohan and his courtiers were gathered for lunch. When Padmarana and Aruna came walking into the throne room, hand in hand, heads went up. A gasp was heard from several of the Brahmins who usually took lunch along with the king. These were Daridar, Motee, Lalachi, and Bevakoop. Not quite immediately, but just as soon as the king had laid eyes on the boy and the girl, a cry of outrage came from the four Brahmins.

     “Mohan, you must send back all this we are eating, now! The shadow of a sudra has fallen upon your food! We are debased!”

     Mohan looked at his son and his lover. An expression of scorn and loathing Padmarana had never before known came to rest in his father’s brow lines.

     “Padmarana, who is this woman? The Brahmins are calling her sudra! Why have you brought a sudra to the palace? And why have you brought her to me? Wait, don’t say it. I can see it written on your faces. You are in love...”

     Padmarana, lost for words, could only nod.

     “Well and fine, then, my son, he is in love. And now he proposes to show off his no-caste paramour to me, his father the king!”

     Servants scrambled to grab the king’s plates and those of the Brahmins, who were gathered around the throne in a semi-circle, sitting on their knees. Motee was loath to surrender his plate, but the servants would be back again soon, with more.

     “Father, your Majesty, yes, this is the woman I love. Her name is Aruna and she is from the village of Katar-Baga. She may be a sudra, but she is from a good family. She is also a musician. I have often spent mornings listening to her and her friends as they gather by the river to play...”

     “So that is where you go every morning! Humph! I should have figured as much. And next I imagine you will tell me that you have engaged to marry this girl, eh?”

     Padmarana found himself nearly choked, now. A tear had begun to form in his eye, but he batted it back, and pressed on. He knew that the willfulness of his father was something he could not quite match, nor was his father’s temper something he ought to tread upon incautiously.

     “That is for the future, father, Your Majesty, but, yes, we have engaged.”

     Another uproar began among the Brahmins sitting at the king’s feet. Mohan shushed them with a wave of his hand.

     “Padmarana,” he said, his face now barely able to contain a certain mocking haughtiness, “You know what this will mean. Such things are just not done.”

     Mutters from the Brahmins. "No, no,” “just not done,” “tut-tut-tut!”

     “I have no idea what this will mean, your Majesty. I thought...”

     “Well, you thought. So, you thought. and what were you thinking? The son of the king of Chhattisgarh, married to a common woman, and a no-caste, at that? Do you realize what this will mean for our family? What do you think your mother will say?”

     The wrath of Queen Sasita was something Padmarana had not, in all fairness, even considered when he invited Aruna to ride to the palace with him that morning.

     “Truly, father, I do not yet know...”

     “Well I can tell you for one, Padmarana, that she will not be happy about this. But I will leave it to you to discover just what this will mean for her.”

     The news had already traveled quickly back to the purdah, where Sasita and her own group of Brahmins, cronies, and courtiers were engaged in the same meal. When Padmarana and Aruna approached the Queen, mouths dropped open.

     “It is Padmarana. And a strange woman! The sudra they told you about, o Queen! We must send back the meal!” the Brahmins wailed.

     “Yes, I see it is Padmarana. And I see the girl beside him appears to be a no-account of poor birth. And the king’s men tell me she is to be betrothed to my son!”

     Tears were openly rolling down Sasita’s face.

     “Oh, the shame! This cannot be for the Prince I gave birth to! To mock all the nobility of his line, and to marry a common person!”

     Aruna and Padmarana turned to each other. They exchanged a look, of knowing sadness. Both of them, holding back tears, gathered themselves and prostrated themselves at Sasita’s throne.

     “Your Majesty, my mother, I apologize sincerely for the regret you will face. But I have made my own mind up about this. Jaagudar says...”

     “Jaagudar! Jaagudar says! What is this, the Prince’s guru gives advice on marriage that, lest none of this house and court be consulted it should be precedent over our own family’s honor and tradition? Did you not ever realize that I had plans for you, Padmarana? I had planned for you to marry Anjali, the daughter of the wealthiest zamindar in the kingdom, and he was oh so very willing! She has a dowry that will bring you great wealth and riches! And you would wish to throw all of that away, and run off with a poor wretch...”

     Now Sasita buried her head in her arms, and two of her ladies in waiting came to her side. Rejection and spite was in their eyes, as they stroked the queen’ hair, and fanned her in the heat of the day.

     Padmarana continued.

     “Jaagudar says that if a man is in love, he should give his righteous will unto it. That there is nothing more important for a man of the world than love. It is my righteous will, my mother."

     “There is nothing more important for a fool, either!” Sasita interrupted.

     “If it means to disrupt what you have made plans for I am sorry, but, this is my life, and this is my love. You would love her, too, if you knew her.”

       Aruna blushed at the prince’s words, but she kept her silence.

     “I will take my dinner in my own room this evening. And the servants will cook me a meal that I shall eat, together with Aruna here, in my chamber. And traditions be damned! I want only what I know is the best fruit of my heart, the love I have for my love.”

     Rising, and dismissing the women at her side, Sasita glowered down at Padmarana.

     “And so you shall live with the consequences! I shall speak to Mohan about this. You go, and eat your supper, and take the girl away from me!”
     She strode off from the throne, and disappeared back to a divan that was set off behind a pair of screen. They could hear the queen’s agonized crying behind them as they left the purdah, and headed toward the prince’s own chambers.

     No one accompanied them, they were alone. And they were alone when they sat on the edge of the bed Padmarana had been sleeping in since coming from the tower of Jaagudar two years before. His bedchamber had some stools, some books, a telescope with which he would often stare up at the stars and planets with, and it was open on the river’s side to the cooling breeze. In this unlivable hot weather, the breeze of the afternoon was one sure friend.
     Aruna took his hand.

     “Padmarana, my prince. I had no idea they would react this way.”

      "I should have foreseen it. But, Jaagudar is right. A man should follow his heart and live by what it speaks to him. Their stupid Brahmins and traditions! It makes me want to weep for pity, it does.

     “Then do not pity them.”

     “But we must, of course, live with the consequences, as she says. That I am sure will not be long for these walls.”

     He looked around him. The little room had been at least as much a friend to him as the room at Jaadugar’s tower, for the time he had lived with his parents again. But the room also now took on the look for Padmarana as- just another place. Just another place where time and daydreams had been spent, uselessly, listlessly, none of it mattered. Home was where she was, and would be where she was, and the castle had never quite felt like a home.

     It would feel even less like a home when the king and queen summoned them later, after they had taken the meal the servants had brought them, and feasted, for what could be the last time, on the idlis, kir, and curried fish with bananas. The servants had brought it, and then scurried off, as if the two lovers already had something of the appearance of lepers, and bringers of ill fortune to the castle.

Padmarana and Aruna both came before Mohan again. Now, the Brahmins had been joined by Lalachi and Daridar) behind the King’s throne. Sasita stood at the king’s right hand, looking imperious, casting baleful looks to Padmarana and the girl as she was well wont to.

     “We have been talking, Padmarana. If you shall persist in your foolishness...”

     “I shall.”

     “Then we are forced to take actions. From now forward, you will not be welcome at Jharsuguda Gadh. You will live in the forest and live like the no-caste you would wish to be. You will not be welcome to come here, to sup, to revel in your silly past times, and lounge about the palace in the lap of luxury. For I am making you the head of my Rangers. You would not think I should just cast you out and not give you something worthy of my son, as a livelihood? But you have offended us, your mother and I. Making these rash choices always have a way of bringing karma back upon us, do they not?”

     Padmarana frowned. Their talk about karma, again! What kind of karma were they setting for themselves? But alright.

     Mohan continued.

     “As the head captain, of all the captains, of the forest rangers, It shall be your duty to ride the boundaries, to hunt down poachers and squatters, to keep order in the forest. You have shown yourself skillful at the hunt, therefore, you are also charged with keeping the tigers and the boars from terrorizing any villagers in our forest kingdom. You are also to keep watch for enemies, those who might take advantage of our sparse defenses, and ride upon us, whether from the north, or from the east.

     “I am sorry if I cannot wish you and your love a happy future. But in taking on this role, at least you might still keep something of your honor, from the house of Dwipa, the lineage of your ancestors, the nobility of this kingdom. Do you understand me?

     “Where shall we live, your majesty?”
     “That, my friend, will be entirely up to you. You are a clever son. I am sure you’ll figure things out.”

     Mohan clapped his hands. It was a signal for the armed guards who stood behind the queen, the councilors, the Brahmins, and all the courtiers, to come forward, and march the lovers from the throne room.

     “I may still keep Chaiya Bhataka?” he asked one of the guards that led them back through the courtyard.

     “As you wish, my prince.”

     At least some of the bits of his old life were not going away all so fast. That they still called him prince... this was something of a victory, itself.

     The stone hut that Padmarana found deep in the Ushakothi, abandoned at least a century, stood in a clearing among a stand of pipal and jacaranda trees, just fifty yards from the river. Set back from sight of those traveling the river in boats, more or less it afforded access for water for drinking, cooking, and washing, and Padmarana could also fish it if he wanted, but this, he rarely did.

     Around the hut others had made gardens in the past—locally, villagers called it “Pitapali” because it was once the home of a shepherd by that name, although its last three hundred years had seen it occupied by traveling sadhus and bikkhus, and so never continuously occupied, the garden spaces had grown back over with wild vetches and turmeric. Padmarana was riding along, with Aruna at his back sidesaddle, riding south from the wizard’s tower, when they came upon it—its small, squat, humble profile distinctly standing out from the green of the lianas and overgrowing pipal figs.

     “This! Here!” he cried, and Aruna clung even closer to him as he did, as his horse took an unexpected jump at the surprise.

     “This place! We’ll make it out own home. Our own castle. No one can exile us from, we will make it the new center of our lives!”

     Aruna meekly sighed, knowing full well Padmarana had had a speck of the villager’s lot to contend with, would be getting a full, fat dose of it, soon. How long would it be before his reckless idealism caught up to the flat reality of this—a life wrested from the land and soil, food bought by the sweat of his brow, the yearly onslaught of the monsoon and the perils it always brought along with it...

     The west side of the hut also where its entrance was, faced out toward the river. On the opposite wall was but one window, rather, a hole set in the stones that acted as a window for there seemed no way of stopping up the winds. Until they came, when Aruna hung a thick rug that could be turned aside to let in breezes.

     On the north side, the direction they rode down from, about two miles back was the village of Dumurmunda. Another seven miles below would be Katar-Baga, Aruna’s village. So she was not really all so far away, but, all of it was a good fifteen miles from Jaharsaguda Gadh.

     Around the hut, the forest was home to dozens of animals. A herd of sambal deer came by nearly every mourning. there were langurs and spider monkeys in the trees, and the forest birds made each morning begin with chatter, laughter, and territorial cries.

     “This will be perfect and all we’ll need,” Padmarana had said. Now it would be up to him to make it so.

     They brought with them not a lot of necessary supplies- they had blankets, carried on their horse, they had a small basket carrying two cooking pots, spices, and a couple of knives. The tools he would need (hoe, plow, rake, shovels) for their garden, Padmarana would trade or barter for in Aruna’s village that first week. No questions were asked of the Prince, for the news would have quickly spread through all of Sakadwipa that King Mohan had banished his own son from Jharsuguda and all he was doing had the complete support of the villagers, who, while afraid to speak ill of the king, were even more loath to speak ill of Padmarana or say anything he might construe as insulting him.

Besides, those who knew them both already adored Aruna, who has long been held to be the most talented of the apsaras living in the village. And her friends would assure she was never truly lonely, for Eesha and Kiya and Sunila would come to the stone hut to visit, often.

     When Aruna and Padmarana came to the hut, they did not being a lot of clothing with them. Because Aruna’s village was not so far, she took only a couple of saris along to begin with, but returned several times so that in end, she had most of her own clothing with her.

     Padmarana though, growing up as a noble prince, had nearly five times that many clothes at the castle, and when he left, took only the clothes he was wearing and his “ranger’s dress.” official uniform. He returned to the castle but once, to gather a heavy cloak, a robe, and four different salwar kameez. These would be his only (and most humble) wardrobe through the years of his banishment.

     Aruna also brought from her parents’ home the vina she played, often when she was solitary and alone, but more often when her friends came to visit. The morning concerts they had by the river continued, only they had moved to the hut, but Padmarana enjoyed them no less than he had before.        The girls were happy in their continued friendship and the concerts progressed without the usual explanations or interruptions of the villagers, too busy in their livelihoods to bother with traveling the extra distance to hear them.

     Padmarana’s garden, begun during the monsoon, took shape as months passed. He built barricades to keep out the sambal deer, improved the already burly stands of turmeric and mint, harvested pipal figs and other fruits from the trees thereabout, when he was not called upon to patrol with his rangers.

His Rangers were hardy, swarthy men born to the Kshatriya caste themselves and given, (in their spare hours), to dice and odd games of risk and contest. Padmarana had no difficulty in keeping them indiscipline, however, for all of them recognized his authority,. The principal chief of the mahouts, Tonkeraja. had by now become his best friend outside of Jaagudar, beyond the castle, if only because he was seen more often, and frequently.

     Whenever Padmarana was away, Aruna would sit in the shade of the stone hut on a little stone bench he had made for her, and talked to the birds. She would begin by mimicking one of the birds which would no doubt begin to listen to her, and reply. She could imitate many of the local birds including the mynahs, the sparrows, the crows and the kites. In this manner she would cajole and tease the various different birds who lived in the forest canopy just across the way.

     Aruna had begun this little practice as a child, and so far, she had not mentioned a word of it to Padmarana. This was her little daily meditation, where she could join in with the chorus of the innocent creatures who merely sing their own presence to the world. It was a wonderful way for her to feel she was connected- to the earth, to the Mother Goddess, to Brahma and the great visions that anyone could see were after all, only figments in Brahma’s imagination.

     This then was her own world view, that the great Brahma was the overarching sustainer of everything, and that all people were, and all the trees animals people and stars… were just objects within Brahma’s unknowable mind. Therein, the souls of all humanity mingled in a great soup of knowledge and folly, every state of human endeavor could be turned whichever way Brahma pleased, and all of us were no more than motes of dust in the sun rays that broke from the forest floor across to where she sat…

     Of course, there was work to do, and she would get to that. But it always helped her when she could make the time to speak to the birds. At some times, she thought the birds began to recognize her and the times of day she would sit with them, but no, the birds didn’t keep conversation books or appointment slips, the birds were there just for the sake of their birdness.

     When she was small, she had chased the kites and crows from the grain fields, but now, the pleasant songs of the forest birds and the pleasant way they made her feel was what came to minds when birds did. What she could not know, was that the goddess had chosen birds as her preferred method of letting her know things- as an apsari, and still within the realm where beneficent spirits are ordained to come to earth and help with human progress, there were chores the goddess would presume her to undertake on that behalf.

     One of these was that she were to marry Padmarana, become the Queen of the Realm, and so, be in a position to help what the actual spirit guardians of the world wanted to see done. It would be for the people that she lived, but she, as Padmarana’s wife and lover, could sleep and dream of life in the charpoy of Queen Sasita. Padmarana, by this age, had had quite enough of it. He would not live out his princedom in jealous and impatient expectation. How could he, he could tell the disdain his father now held him in just by the scornful way he had sent him out to scratch up a living from the wilderness. And so, it were much better just to focus on the needs of the Rangers, of the regions under his protectorate, and the people within them. He could rule where his father would not bother!      And in this way, he could also make more friends.

    But friendship with a prince is always, for those who are born of a lower seat, a proposition which is a double edged sword. For gaining the favor of a prince might curry the disfavor of a jealous neighbor, and those who were once friends might become rivals. The idea that there could even be rivals for the throne of his father was not something he could consider, or at least, would not consider seriously at this pint in time. Who would dare question the motives and deeds of a great king like Mohan? Who indeed, except for the Brahmin caste who stood behind the throne whispering in his father’s ears. Were they truth or lies they whispered?

     For now, the friends Prince Padmarana had were his elephant mahout, Tonkeraj, Jaagudar the wizard and the wizard’s assistant Lalnivasi, his wife, of course, and maybe he could consider her parents, and most of their neighbors, also to be “friends,” although there was still that irrevocable caste differentiation that stood between Padmarana and the people of the streets.

     As for Aruna, whose new status among her friends had been elevated to second-next -place to-God (the King), among her friends her company was sought ever more eagerly, but it

was not for several months that Aruna came back to the village and invited them to visit. When they did, the girls would sit outside on the bench and on the grassy places in front of the hut, and play their instruments as they had before Padmarana had come riding along and changed all their lives.

     Aruna preferred to play her music in the afternoons now, and afternoon ragas like Bhimpalasi and Suud Sarang became the focus of what they would improvise upon, rather than those of the early and mid morning. These ragas were a little more active, carried more insistent rasas, and left each of them, at their conclusions, happy that they had completed those particular walks through the forests of raga. Aruna began to see the forest itself as a means of inspiring her playing, alive as it was with the myriad plants and animals that she knew to be there, but made so little seen of themselves.

     And as for those animals, there were some who were drawn by the music, to stand their distance and listen, charmed as they were by the magic weaved by the band of young goddesses.