Dalliance

[Rabhya]

(Solo.)

"The world was our pleasure garden...and we thought of you, the inhabitants we had fashioned for it, not as our children, but as decorations. Chattels. Slaves."
- The Pearl of the Soul of the World, Meredith Ann Pierce



Harappa
The Indus Valley Civilization, India
Circa 1900 B.C.


In Harappa, word spread like water seeping into the cracks of the parched earth, and like the earth, the world came alive at the slightest stirring of events. And if the stirring became a whirlwind, there was no telling when it would quiet down again.

So, the comfortable life in the Indus Valley’s grandest city began to slowly fracture when two female attendants were found dead in the servants’ wing.

Their violent demise might have gone mostly unnoticed by a majority of the population, but the fact that they were Lady Januja’s personal handmaidens had leaked out. As had the juicy details of the deaths; the throats of the young women were sliced directly beneath the chin, gaping from ear to ear in a ghastly second mouth.

Some of the older, more reticent citizens of Harappa held their tongues except for the obligatory shake of the head, and small talk about what the world was coming to. But a great deal of Harappa’s people were young, and in their own social circles they gossiped and asked, in unabashed curiosity, if the rest of the handmaidens’ bodies were still intact, or were they ravaged like street trash in some back alley?

The rumor seemed to drift more toward yes than no, but in fact, the young women had not been raped or despoiled in any way, save one. Their stomachs had been trampled – the footprints were gouged into the skin, breaking it at the deepest points like bite marks. It was this scrap of information that silenced most of the taboo discussion about the murders, for it was a mockery, and a warning. It mimicked the victorious steps of the dark goddess Kali, who’d danced upon the corpses of her enemies in a bloody euphoria.

The warning against Lady Januja left by such violence was grim and crystal clear. Everyone, from the oldest Brahmin to the smallest child, knew the history of Lady Januja as an illustrious one, which was inevitably going to be envied and threatened.

Lady Januja was a daughter of the ancient mountain goddess Parvati, the result of a fleeting romance between Parvati and a rich human merchant. Januja’s mortal roots tore her away from a significant place in the Indian pantheon, and planted her firmly in the earthly affairs of her fellow humans. Yet she was not so far from innate godliness that she could not hear the celestial voices of her divine family, the Ancients, from time to time. As a mediator between God and Man, Januja found her place in the human world in Harappa, where she became a sort of patron, a living saint….though no miraculous deeds were required of her.

Two hundred years after her arrival in Harappa, Januja triggered one of the greatest upheavals in the history of the Hindu pantheon. She gave birth to a daughter with unnaturally black skin.

Had Januja elected to send her daughter out into the world to forge her own way, like any self-respecting God would, the notion of another dark-skinned deity might not has been half as treacherous. But Januja still felt the searing neglect and obscurity she’d inherited at her birth; she was determined to keep her own offspring from becoming just another of the halfling progeny left behind by the Ancients. She would make the pantheon into her daughter’s birthright.

Her carelessness sparked opposition in Kali, who believed this daughter was being raised to take her place. For Rabhya, Lady Januja’s baby girl, was a daughter with skin as dark as twilight, the mottled gray, blue, and black of the midnight sky. Skin like her grandmother Parvati’s past self.

Skin like Kali.

The circumstances of Kali’s creation were forever disputed; those who followed Parvati claimed that her husband, Shiva, teased the mountain goddess about her dark, murky skin, calling her “blackie,” though not without a touch of fondness. In defiance, she shed the skin as willfully as a serpent, and became Gauri. Shining. Her cast-off skin, according to Parvati’s devotees, sprang to life and became Kali.

Those who followed Kali, however, dismissed such a tale as a self-serving theory of vanity and chance. Their story was accordingly shady, consisting of a battle between Skanda, the warlord of the heavens, and the demon Raktabija, from whose blood sprang hundreds of demons to make war against the gods. Parvati came to the aid of Skanda in the form of a half-naked, wrathful goddess with a ravenous fire in her sunken eyes – Kali. In this form she was unstoppable, wiping out Raktabija’s forces in one fell swoop and allowing Skanda to dispatch the hell-demon himself. And in her victory, Kali decorated herself with the spoils of the battlefield. She wreathed her neck in a collar of severed heads and tore across the field in a frenzied, triumphant dance.

In either tale, whichever was true, she was but a shell of a goddess, Kali was. In both stories she was the cast-away portion of a goddess who had been held in the highest regard from the very beginning. Her warmth flared bright for her disciples, but their number grew at a snail’s pace when compared to the disciples of the much more maternal Parvati. Every failure she met at the hands of her fortuitous creator was another maddening notch on the belt of a woman shorn by polite society. The violent diety was made all the more infamous by her vile, reckless actions and defensiveness.

And Kali and her partisans were vengeful against those who offended the dark woman.

[Rabhya]

Lady Januja, the Oracle of Harappa, the colloquial saint of the Indus Valley, studies the room in which each unwilling participant of this late-night assemblage now sits. Slanted burgundy light intensifies the waves of dust being kicked up by irreverent feet. It's an old, old room, one that Januja has only recently decided to doctor up. After four hundred years, her laziness has finally started paying her back in layers of grime and dust. But rather than go about things the traditional way, she has ordered stained glass - from Egypt, naturally, the Romans haven't quite grasped the art of non-murky colored glass - to replace the foggy panes that were stubbornly collecting dirt from the ages. The rest of the sooty remains will be cleaned up last.

As always, beauty comes first, and the importance of good housekeeping stays in second place.

The room, as well as the rest of the citadel it belongs to, is built of fired brick. Being old, again, it does not have the glazed, glossy look of the redone parts of the citadel, but it has a sort of charm that Januja has dubbed "old world." Old world to the Indus Valley civilization is about one hundred years prior. Old world to Januja is over four centuries in the past.

A yawn grabs her attention again. At times, she withdraws so deep into herself that she forgets her physical surroundings, but she attributes it to the silent pull of her otherworldly ancestors instead of introspection. Her head moves sharply in the direction of the culprit. Vasant, second-in-command and advisor to the Regent Jaidev, has taken it upon himself to slouch and sigh, wordlessly communicating the day's fatigue of the others in the room. One would assume him to be a sharp sort of man, his hair combed, his clothing neatly pressed and decorated with the few medals of honor and service (mostly scraps of embroidered silver, Januja thinks acidly) he can boast about.

In truth, he's a lethargic man, more committed to the idea of a luxurious life (guaranteed by his position) than to the duties of his post. Noting the wine-red flush on the horizon through the window, the demi-goddess marks that it is almost dusk...So of course he isn't thinking about the priority of this meeting, thinks Januja, her mind rapidly firing out ways to berate him for his indifference. He's thinking about the artisan Bhushan's second-eldest daughter meeting him in her courtyard just as she promised him, for a night of indulgence. This is one of her numerous godly abilities; to see the present through the eyes of the subject.

She clears her throat, softly, but in the tense silence it is loud enough to make them all jump. Almost all of them. There are two guards at the door, at attention, whose eyes dart furiously at the first sound in several minutes. They are not worthy of description on her part.

There also is the Regent himself. Jaidev is quite the contrast to his advisor; tall for a Harappan man and rumpled, his smooth brown skin complimented by a mass of dark curls the color of chocolate (a lovely, rare import from southern continents almost out of their reach - the chocolate, of course, not the hair). His appearance is slovenly, though pleasingly so, but his eyes are keen and black, aware of everything. There is an earnestness in them, and Januja affably notes that he, unlike his companion, has nothing on his mind but the trying day and how to resolve it. His opinion, however, has been carefully concealed in his mind from view. This presents the idea that he has some skill, some resilience when it comes to serving the Lady Januja. It is a quality she both admires and supervises.

"I have called you here," says the Lady, her voice strong and bristling with a hint of impatience, "To ask you what you make of today's events and how you imagine they could be fixed."

"My Lady Januja, with all due respect," begins Vasant, although clearly he has no respect for anyone who may force him to shirk his nighttime obligations, "Nothing about today can be fixed, only learned from. It's already been revealed to the people that the women were victims of murder--"

He winces as Januja's hawk-like gaze swoops down upon him. "I believe one of the first things I said I wanted was for this to remain undisclosed. Am I correct?"

As outspoken as he is about his opinions, Vasant has a tendency to quail beneath the scrutiny of his Lady. "Indeed, but you know the way of these things. The other servants talk, talk distorts itself and spreads faster than a fire in the brush. I'm not entirely sure what details are circulating in the city, but some of them are bound to be close to the truth, if not the truth itself..."

"Oh, well, naturally the cramped housing will allow it to spread even more quickly," snaps Januja. "Until the whole of India is at my back door waiting for a chance to slit my throat or that of my daughter's."

Oddly enough, this is the first time the four men notice the girl sitting next to her mother on a large, crimson cushion studded with beads. On most occasions she is the first individual to have every pair of eyes drawn to her, but in the day's excitement, she has nearly been lost in the shuffle. She is twirling a string of engraved jade beads around her long, slender fingers, but for a moment the startling amber eyes flick towards her mother in a brief flash of recognition. Even the strange, tapered ears seem to perk with attention, but after a moment it is gone, and she reclines against the pile of silken pillows behind her, the twirling arm perched elegantly atop them. She is not quite so unnerving tonight, wearing an ebony robe beneath a gauzy black sari in an attempt at mourning the loss of her two maidservants. The dark colors take away some of the morbid fascination with the color of her skin. Skin with the grayness of velvety smoke and the deep blue-black of the Indus River at night.

"We are significant people in the world, Rabhya and I. Long-lived, yes, but not immortal, Vasant," continues Januja sternly. She doesn't bother to extend Vasant the courtesy of using his title. "I am the satrap, the mediator between the rulers of the earth and the rulers of Heaven." Her eyes, so light a brown as to seem gold, bore into the Advisor. "There is no question as to whether or not I have enemies as well as worshippers. I was under the impression that it is your job to keep this city as settled as possible to keep us out of jeopardy. So either find a way to shut up those rumors, or find out who has gotten close enough to kill off our personal handmaidens, thanks to your negligence!"

Vasant purses his lips, appropriately chastised, and silent for the time being. For a moment, only the sound of Rabhya's jade beads clinking together fills the room. Suddenly Jaidev has risen from his cushion to address Januja, seemingly to defend his second-in-command as well as assert his views. "My Lady, I assure you that it was no fault of Vasant's. Without a direct command from myself, he has no authority, and I was not quick enough to protect your servants, nor to keep the survivors from squealing."

Vasant throws a somewhat nasty look toward the stoic Regent immediately after the word 'authority.' Januja has been clenching her lips so tightly, they have almost begun to disappear. But she listens quietly.

"I assure you, I will be hard at work to pursue the assailant," promises Jaidev with a note of smugness. "In the meantime, I'll double the guard around the citadel, particularly in yours and Lady Rabhya's quarters."

"Well then," replies Januja, her irritation momentarily dormant. "I'm pleased to know at least one of you knows his place and intends to keep it. Before you leave me, might I ask what you believe the purpose of these killings was?"

She is not really asking permission. With her, every question is rhetorical, merely a formality to keep her reputation in Harappa in good standing. If her usual ill-mannered impetulance were to make an appearance outside the walls of the palace, she might lose her position as a benevolent oracle, and be cast into the desert alone. Demi-God or no.

Jaidev answers right on cue. "My first impression was that some of the more low-standing merchants who live close to the river are not all that pleased with your decision to grant more privileges to inner-city traders and artisans. It leaves them with fewer options, or so they seem to think. They may have rallied together in some sort of peasant uprising against you, to make the trading into what they consider fair again. It may have been one of their men."

"And what of their stomachs?" asks Januja, for once betraying a little apprehension over the whole deal. Thus far she has treated the matter of her own possible demise with nothing more than a sense of impatience. "The mockery of Kali's rage. Footprints all over the bodies as though in a violent dance. Why go to such lengths?"

Vasant begins fidgeting again, a little too obviously for Januja's taste. Fine then. She will assign to him some tedious, meaningless task in the morning, to teach him a little obedience. Then he will be free to groan and squirm like a child all he wants.

"...For intimidation, I suppose," Jaidev is saying. His powerful shoulders lean back against the firebrick wall, yet even so, he does not look laggard like his second-in-command. He only looks as though he is ready to spring forward at any second, and handsomely so. "It's one stroke of creativity they can be given credit for. They, like the rest of Harappa, are well aware the Goddess Kali sees you and your daughter as a threat to her station and would do something about it. They are just trying to scare you."

"Well, for a little while, it worked," says Januja in a rare bit of humor.

Jaidev smiles pleasantly, the look on his face both mocking and charitable. He is more amused by the Lady's antics than impressed, but out of a sense of duty he continues to oblige her. "Of course."

"Then I trust you will get to work at discovering the origins of this unfortunate event?"

"At once, My Lady."

Looking mildly satisfied, Januja tilts her head slyly at Vasant. "It seems to me, Advisor, that your Regent is the one doing all the advising today."

Vasant's face reddens with chagrin.

"I suggest you finally come to terms with the fact that your duties do entail a fair amount of work." She sweeps herself up into a standing position, her light blue robes dragging on the floor with a soft swishing sound. "I expect this new security as well as results from both of you in the morning," she announces as she walks swiftly into the adjacent chambers. Her daughter follows suit, but at an almost sluggish pace, her movement languid and deliberate like a serpent. Rabhya proceeds slowly after her mother, and as she passes the Regent and Advisor, her head inclines just so, the golden coin eyes coy, flicking over at Jaidev with hidden intent. She looks away just as quickly, the meaning of her glance lost on everyone.

Almost everyone.

[Rabhya]

"You're quite the tricky one, Jaidev, you know that?" exclaims Vasant immediately after departing the citadel. His voice is a lively blend of admiration and envy as he glances over at the Regent. "If I didn't know any better, I'd mistake you for Krishna herself. Well, aside from the fact that you're decidedly male. Though you've got rather womanly lashes."

For the first time, the stolidity of Jaidev's face cracks into a touch of a smile, not an indifferent smirk as before. "You could use the name of the Grecian god of trickery and spare me your opinion of my effeminate eyes." The two men are in rare form after getting a reprieve from their duties for the night - Jaidev, ever efficient, has already deployed a dozen men to stand guard at the bedroom doors of the Ladies. Vasant and his Regent turn from the citadel's impressive eastern courtyard onto a rangy paved path toward the trading market. At their right, the Indus river appears to dance with cerulean light, stirred into a frenzy by the remaining ferrymen stroking the water as they pass in their flatboats. Jaidev stares across the stony walkway into the river as though discovering it for the first time, marveling at its peculiar way of collecting lamplight in its ripples and splashing it back up toward the sky.

"Hermes hardly suits you," Vasant is saying. He has a tendency to ramble when he means to argue a point. "I see no winged sandals gracing your feet, and I hope I never do. And don't think me so stupid as to allow you to change the subject." Vasant's slothful demeanor seems to have vanished entirely since he no longer finds himself in Lady Januja's stifling company. The spring in his step might also be attributed to the early ending of their report to Lady Januja, leaving the Advisor plenty of time to meet Bhushan's eligible daughter, Basu, without fear of tardiness. He leers at Jaidev with relish. "Now. To the matter at hand. How many Regents has Lady Rabhya lived to see?"

"In her lifetime?" Jaidev takes his time answering. Unless in the company of his Lady, he treats every matter with deliberation. "Five, at least. One to serve for each decade before losing most of his drive for the job."

He himself has only just taken over this position two or three months before. According to popular opinion, the previous Regent has lost his nerves three years too early. A good bundle of nerves is needed to apprehend Lady Januja's impulsiveness and temper, and ever since his childhood, Jaidev has possessed a steel backbone. He has more than enough spine to handle verbal blows, and his imperturbable nature has served him well when it comes to rash, opinionated ladies (and gentlemen, for that matter) of the royal household.

"Five," repeats Vasant matter-of-factly. He is watching the Regent closely, his dark eyes narrowed in mirth. "And you, number six, are the first one to whom she bestows The Look."

"The Look," echoes Jaidev softly, amused.

"That is, the Look she reserves only for those with the finest strain of blood. Young men blessed in both wealth and physical beauty. Now, you are neither rich nor beautiful," comments Vasant with all the formality of a philosopher. Jaidev chuckles again. "But your face is hollow from what I would guess is a lack of sleep and nutrition, and your hair is long and oily, so I suppose women find such alarming features attractive," he adds with disapproval. "I find them more well-suited to thieves and brigands. Fortunately for you, I don't have the capacity for cowardliness, so my chances of abandoning your friendship for others less startling than yourself are slim."

"I believe you've lost sight of your point," Jaidev replies, his mouth twitching with the effort to keep from grinning. It is an effort he has had to put forth more and more in the recent months. Vasant seems to have made it his primary obligation to make Jaidev laugh, as though he were a younger sibling looking for approval. Of the two men, the Advisor is older - Jaidev's senior by nearly a decade - but his behavior lends some disbelief to this fact. If it were not for the faint traces of gray in his hair (made all the more obvious by the black dye coating them) and his rounder, more boyish jawline, many Harappans might assume the two military men to be brothers. After Vasant's transfer from a small settlement in Kalibangan to Harappa and Jaidev's ascent to Regent, the men have grown so close, they might as well be kin. Vasant's clever arrangement of public affairs, defense and code of law compliment Jaidev's military procedure and swift dispatching of orders. Without the Advisor's careful orderliness or the Regent's keen execution, the city would be nothing short of messy; the absence of one man would be like a stray tool thrown into the gears of a complex clockwork machine.

In social matters, Vasant is the spokesman, the one tossing crude jokes and swapping tales with other men of his nighttime engagements, while Jaidev looks on with tolerant amusement, quietly interjecting his own dry wit when the need arises. In dealing with women, Vasant is the one who moves to strike first. Being shorter, a little more aged and of round countenance, he must be the pursuer, for no one will come to him first. It is only after a bit of wheedling and conviction to the cause that Vasant has a night to look forward to, and he fondly recalls each encounter. Jaidev, on the other hand, is in possession of a magnetic charm, being 'dangerously' handsome and, for the most part, silent. Were he more concerned about the art of love, he could easily surpass Vasant in the storytelling department.

But despite their obvious differences, the two men are nigh inseparable. Even now as they approach the market, the few lingering soldiers and merchants are loath to interrupt the two, knowing that an intrusion will result in a long saga of the latest dramatic romances of Vasant. Or a formal instruction from Regent Jaidev.

"I haven't lost sight of my point, I've only just begun to address it," protests Vasant as he fiddles around with the marks of achievement pinned to his shirt. "Don't dismiss my opinions so lightly, my friend, they do frequently involve you." He begins to display the burnished pins more widely, as though to entice young Basu further. "And incidentally, what was that slight against me earlier, about my lack of authority?"

"What slight?"

A scoff. "What slight, indeed. Without a direct command from me, he has no authority...." Vasant's voice drops and takes on a sober baritone quality remarkably like Jaidev's. "I will double the guard around the citadel, and build a statue of your likeness entirely out of lapis lazuli, and kiss the toes of your dirty sandals...."

With a quick laugh and equally quick reflexes, Jaidev snatches up the pin Vasant has been idly polishing, and tosses it up and down in his open palm. Being less advantageous in height, Vasant reaches up repeatedly to try and whisk the pin out of his friend's hand but laughing as he does so. The two men scrabble halfheartedly for the metal pin until Vasant realizes there may be women in the vicinity, watching him like vultures to ascertain his manliness.

By now they have entered the traders' market. Every stand and dais out in the street has been deserted for the night, but the long rows of shops standing just behind them are still open for business. The sound of tiny golden bells, jingled when customers pull back the silken embroidery that hides the view of the shops' interiors, makes its way to the men's ears. Jaidev enjoys his evening walks, particularly at this hour, for though he is perfectly content to walk alone or with only Vasant, he likes to watch people going about their business. It makes him feel confident in his abilities, to know that his city - in his mind he has adopted it as 'his own' - is safe and functional under his watchful eyes. The heavy, fragrant smoke from lamps and perfume filters out from between the threads of the tapestries, making Jaidev feel sleepy and serene.

Looping the pin back through a tiny hole in his shirt, the Advisor gives his tall companion a look of mock consternation. "So. Why the coy glance from Harappa's most infamous courtesan?"

"Courtesan," repeats Jaidev with a glinting smile. Vasant notices that repetition, with Jaidev, is more due to stalling an answer than to contemplation. "That's the last thing either of the Ladies would like hearing, least of all from you."

"But it's true, so why not?"

"They don't like you. I thought you were aware of this."

"Well, of course I knew that. I don't like them, either. However pleasing to the eye they might be. What I still don't know is why Madame Sunil is giving you special attention."

Hearing the Hindi name, the Regent's eyes taper as though he is on the verge of another laugh. "Madame 'Dark Blue?' You're losing your sense of creativity, Vasant."

"Answer my question or I'll come up with something worse for you."

"Fine." Jaidev folds his long, muscular arms behind his head as they walk. "In fact, I'm feeling charitable. You've only just begun to grasp the system of Harappan politics, so why don't I educate you on its history in our fair city?"

"Go on, then, as long as it eventually leads to your answering my question. Which it better. It's not as though I could stop you, anyhow." Vasant's pins finally arranged the way he wants, the Advisor catches up to his companion's longer stride. "When it comes to history, you're about as long-winded as I am."