The Vagabonds and The City — 7th Installment
©By Vijaya Sundaram
July 30th, 2013
“So?” asked the imp, again, the former gleaming wickedness back in its eyes. He was now a diminished djinn, a blue-gold-winged, green-skinned gremlin, nothing as tall and imposing as the winged creature who had stood and spoken eye-to-eye with the Great Blue, the Marid, the Djinn of all Djinns.
Mala turned without a word and walked away. Hesitating a moment, then scowling at the imp, the young Kingling also walked away behind her.
The imp loped after them on all fours, tail held high, then stood up again, human in aspect.
“Stop, child! You now know what is in store for you. I planned it all. What I’ve set in motion cannot be undone. Your father will never speak to you again. The Pasha said so. He cannot intercede for you. You fate is tied to this kingdom. My fate is tied to yours. However …” and here, the gremlin paused, as if surprised at himself, “However, if you wish for a smoother fate, call for me.”
Mala turned around and glared at him. The Kingling turned as well, scowl still on his face. He seemed shaken, though. His scowl was the mask that children wear when they are scared, and wish to hide it. She, on the other hand, seemed outwardly unmoved by all this now that she was back in the garden.
The gremlin handed Mala a tiny, tarnished pot. Wordlessly, she took it. “When you pour some water into this pot, put it on the stove, and tell it to boil, it will smoke, and I will appear. It’s not as if I am so fascinated by you that I’ll always be around. There are other places, other faces, other fates to complicate. Though yours, of course, is the most fascinating,” he added, with a sudden fluting of gallant courtesy, and bowed.
With unusual acuity, Mala saw through all the puffery, the hot air that people and gremlins seemed to emit. Inwardly, she found herself unwilling to admit what she had seen in the place out of time, with the abyss yawning below. It would be best, she thought, surprised at her cleverness, to confuse the creature.
“That was all a mirage you created!” she spat out, and held out both her hands, palms facing outwards, as if warding off further illusions. “This is, after all, a desert kingdom, despite the dancing fountains and the lovely olive groves. Mirages multiply here. I thought you’d be more interesting than that. Couldn’t you do better? I’m tired. I’m off to bed. When’s supper, Rahim?” she asked, turning to the astonished Princeling, who had stood there, startled at her sudden change of subject.
Taking her cue, Rahim drew himself up to his full height and said, “We’re late. It began when the sun set. The shadows of twilight have lengthened. Let us go right now. Goodbye, Smoke Son of Si’Lat!” he added.
The Djinn inclined its head acknowledging its title, smiled at them, and began to turn into a glowing mist. “We shall meet again, young ones!” came its silken voice, and it glimmered out of sight, a whoosh of cool air swirling in its spot.
The children held hands and broke into a run towards the rooms that had been set aside for her and her father the night before. Only the night before! The thought made Mala’s head spin. Was this all a dream or a nightmare? Was it the visitation of night-creatures who prey upon human emotions? No, it couldn’t be! Here was the Kingling, the young Pasha-to-be, running alongside her, and here was … the two children nearly collided with someone and pulled up short.
It was the silent, turbaned servant, the man who had not smiled once since she had arrived. He looked grim, but he bowed.
His burr-rough voice was the first reality they encountered that evening. “Young Prince, the Pasha is awaiting you. Your mother sent out servants to find you. They will want answers. As for you, young daughter of the imprisoned foreigner, food has been laid out in your quarters, where you and your father slept last night. You will find a servant who will take care of you. Her name is Homa. Go now. After supper, the Pasha has commanded to appear in his family’s quarters. He will question you about where you and the Princeling have been. Be prepared and be truthful.”
Such was his voice that Mala felt a tremor of dislike. This was a man in whose presence she could never feel at ease — she did not know where she stood with him. Around him hung an atmosphere that created repulsion. Yet, there was nothing in his words that she could fault, but there was everything about his tone that she did fault.
The Princeling gave Mala a sympathetic look and a little smile. This time, she smiled back. They were at the mercy of older people, and this gave them a sense of concord. Rahim looked haughtily at the manservant, who made his face smooth as stone, and led the way. Mala went towards the fountains and the gardens bordering her quarters. A gentle, kind-faced woman who was sitting on the bench outside arose and came swiftly towards her. She had a gauzy veil half-covering her face, and her ankles had heavy copper anklets. Her hands were like little doves, and her long, single braid snaked down over her shoulder like a heavy, silver-edged black rope.
“Come, child! I was so worried about you! Don’t you remember me? I was the one who stroked your head when you were sad. It was I who led you to the garden after your father was taken to the dungeons. You were crying, and you barely looked up. My name is Fereshteh. They call me Homa, as well. It doesn’t really matter what they call me. I’ve been here for a long time. And it looks like you are going to be here for a long time, as well. Come, your food has been waiting for you. I will help you with your bath. I will sleep in the room beside yours. I will be here for you,” she said, and her kindness overwhelmed the little girl.
“Why are you doing all this for me?” asked Mala in wonderment.
“I was sent to do this, but I also asked to do this, child,” said the woman, whose voice was like the softest of ouds. “As soon as I saw what the Pasha had done to your father, I asked his wife, the beautiful and sad Afsoneh to allow me to wait upon you, to help you. She had, at that moment, turned to ask me to do the very same thing and was only too glad to let me go to you. She doesn’t mind. She has many others who will attend on her, and her heart cried for you when your father was taken away. I saw her tears myself, although she didn’t say a word before the Pasha.”
“Why didn’t she say something, if her heart cried for me?” asked Mala, who was still stiff within when she thought of the Pasha’s wife. “What good are her tears if they cannot help my father who spoke only truth and did no harm?”
Fereshteh/Homa’s face was sad. She opened her mouth, as if to say something more, then shook her head and merely said, “Come, come, we’ll talk more tonight, after you’ve spoken with the Pasha. Do not tempt fate, child.”
And so, Mala allowed herself to be led to her dinner (this time, it was only the small, sullen, dark-haired boy who served the food and took it away when she was done). Then, she stepped into steaming bath misted with rose essence. The tub, gleaming white marble with curling inlays of lapis lazuli flowers, was fit for a princess. Fragrant jasmine oil was rubbed into her hair, and onto her skin. When she stepped out, clean and scented, a deep blue and gold garment was laid out for her. (She did not question that she was treated like a princess, despite her father being a prisoner. So much strangeness had happened to her that it seemed to be but natural to be treated thus.)
Through all this, Mala did not speak of what she and the Princeling had seen, nor did Fereshteh/Homa ask.
When Mala was dressed, the taciturn servant reappeared, as if by magic. “Is she ready?” he asked Fereshteh/Homa, ignoring the little girl, who stood looking steadily into his burnished face.
“Yes, Abbas Sattari. She is ready, as you can see. Bring her back safely, or I’ll be angry,” was her cold reply.
“You? You are simply the Pasha’s wife’s servant. Don’t give yourself too many airs,” he replied in a flinty voice. “Come!” he added to Mala, who stood, looking from one to the other.
Fereshteh/Homa made the sign of peace to Mala, and went within her chambers, her back showing stiff disapproval and dislike of the man.
Mala, making up her mind to ask more questions of Fereshteh/Homa, followed Abbas Sattari, that frowning concealer of thoughts, to the Pasha’s inner rooms.
A leopard followed her. A blue-gold-winged and green-skinned gremlin followed the leopard.
Mala reached the inner courts of the Pasha, and drew in her breath, for it was bright as day within. A hundred oil lamps were ranged all about the room, and several glass containers hung from the ceiling, glittering with oil lamps. A peacock stood at one arched window, and several beautiful ladies, clad in thin silk, and veiled, except for their kohl-lined eyes, danced the Dance of the Seven Veils. A trio of musicians played sensuous music on stringed and bowed instruments and a goblet-shaped drum.
The gremlin turned into mist just before the reaching the hall, and floated behind the leopard. At a sign from the Pasha, the unsettling beast went straight up to him and lay down, docile as a dog. The Princeling was seated slightly behind the Pasha, to his right, while his mother, the beautiful Afsoneh, sat slightly behind the Pasha, on his left. Mala’s sharp eyes took in the red-rimmed eyes of the mother, and the flushed cheeks of the boy.
The Pasha looked angry. He gestured to Abbas to seat Mala on a cushion on the floor near his feet. Mala sat down, resigned to whatever was going to happen next.
The Pasha said nothing and watched the dancers, tapping his jewelled fingers. He ignored her.
When the dance was over, and the musicians wound down their music, and everyone left, backing out while making many obeisances, the Pasha turned his attention to the little girl.
“So where did you take my son?” he asked casually, as if continuing a conversation they had been having, or as if asking whether their day had been a good one, or as if asking out of idle curiosity.
“I do not know, O Pasha. All I know is that neither of us wanted to be there,” she replied cautiously, sitting up straight, not knowing what the Princeling had told his father.
“He told me that you had both gotten lost while wandering through the olive groves, and then found yourselves in a strange place. He insists that this is the truth. Tell me, is he speaking truth?”
Mala bit her lip. She had never lied in her life. Yet, if Rahim had not told his father of their strange experience, he must have had a good reason. She had grown to like Rahim. She was silent for a heartbeat. Then, she nodded.
“You lie, child! And after all the courtesy I extended to you and your father! He’s in the palace dungeons. Do you want to go there, too?”
“Yes, only if I can be with him!” came her quick reply.
“Ah, but that I will not allow. And I will NOT imprison you. Instead, I will give you one night to come up with a good explanation about where you had gone. If I do not hear something to my satisfaction, your father will never see you again. And you will not get away that easily. You will be beaten if you lie to me. Do you understand?” said the Pasha, who could not explain even to himself why he was giving Mala enough time to come up with an answer. Perhaps, deep down, he was intrigued by this other-worldly child. Perhaps, he saw, even through the haze of his overweening pride, the possibility of his downfall in the child’s gaze. Or perhaps, he just wanted a good story.
And what if I am silent? asked the girl, silently, but kept she that thought to herself. She might be brave, but she was still scared.
And what if you tell him the truth? came a sly voice in her head. Why don’t you? You have nothing to lose. Even if he won’t believe you, I will plant a haze in his mind, and he will forget what you said.
You! Why are you still here? Go away! This is all your doing! thought-fumed Mala at the gremlin. She heard a silent hoot of laughter. In another corner of her mind, she realized that during all this, she had not given her father much thought, consumed instead, as she had been, by the loss of her mother-shade, and the astonishing beings she had met.
“Abba,” she thought, silently, somewhat urgently. “Abba! Are you all right?”
Silence met her thoughts and worry flooded in. Then, snapping back to herself, she looked straight at the man who had taken her father away.
“What are you glaring at?” growled the Pasha. He turned to his wife, “I tell you, this child is not all right in the head. That’s why I’m not ordering her death right away. I am interested. I am also merciful. I shall simply decree that she be given five lashes tomorrow, if she lies to me. Am I not merciful?”
“Yes, Sun of our Kingdom,” murmured the beautiful Afsoneh, eyes on Mala, signalling something which she didn’t understand. “You are merciful,” and she turned her head away, letting the gauze veil that had covered her head, fall away from her face, so that a dark red bruise showed on her left cheek, and a droplet of blood fell upon her robes.
Now do you see why you have a part to play in this kingdom? Do you see? Go ahead, tell him the truth now! See if he listens. See if he believes you. Why do you hesitate, girl? So? A coward, after all you brave talk?! taunted the gremlin.
Be quiet! Do not tempt me! “Stop talking to me!” This last came out in a shout, and the trio in front of her started.
In the heavy silence that fell, it was the Princeling Rahim who spoke. “Father, I think she meant to address me just now, not you. She saw that I had started to open my mouth to say something. She was upset with me, because it was I who asked her to follow me deeper and deeper into the groves, after which we got lost. I’m sure she is angry with me now, because I didn’t tell you about it. It is my fault, father. Let me have the five lashes.”
“Young imp! Are you not satisfied with the scolding I gave you when you were late? Are you not satisfied with the slaps I administered to your mother when she interfered? Help me, Great Master of the Universe, Giver of Life, I have a sentimental fool of a wife and an irresponsible monkey for a son!” raged the Pasha. “Enough of this foolishness. I will deal with both of you tomorrow. Remember, girl, I need the truth. Come, Afsoneh! To our bed-chamber! Abbas Sattari, take my son to his chambers, and make sure he is not up and about after you put out the candles.”
The Pasha got up, with a swish of robes and strode away, his wife in his wake. She looked briefly at Mala, and put her finger to her lips. Mala nodded, not knowing why.
As Abbas led Rahim from the inner courts appearing blind to all of this, Mala gave Rahim a grateful, watery smile, which he returned.
At the door, Abbas turned and said curtly to her, “What are you standing here by yourself? I am supposed to take you back to Fereshteh/Homa. The Prince’s quarters are beyond yours. Come!”
So, Mala went with them. The leopard padded behind her. The gremlin padded behind the leopard.
Rahim did not speak to her along the way. Like his mother, he held a finger to his lips. She did the same to him. They were in it together. The Pasha had decreed that he was to be her friend. The Princeling had become her friend, now. Little did the Pasha know what it would cost him.
Abbas Sattari stopped at her quarters and knocked briefly on the door, then left her there, taking the Princeling with him. As Rahim left, he turned and winked. She lifted her hand in farewell.
The door opened, and Fereshteh/Homa stood there. She put an arm around the girl and enveloped her in a warm, motherly hug. The child melted into her arms and felt safe.
Then Fereshteh/Homa looked over her shoulder at the leopard who had stopped at their quarters and clicked her tongue at it. It went away on soundless paws.
“I’m not scared of it, but I’m wary. It’s not a normal animal. It seems to be too close to the Pasha,” sighed Fereshteh/Homa. “Come, tell me what the Pasha said. Are you to be killed? Are you to be beaten? What is it that you did? Tell me.”
And Mala found herself telling Fereshteh/Homa everything that had transpired. Fereshteh/Homa shook her head, and said, simply, “I knew I should have done something about that little djinn long ago!”
Mala was astounded. “You know that djinn? How so?” Then, she hesitated and added, “Could you … could you tell the Pasha? Perhaps, he will believe you because you’re older than I am, and a trusted servant.”
Fereshteh/Homa shook her head. “The Pasha doesn’t trust me. I’m his wife’s loyal waiting-woman, you see, not his. And Abbas Sattari is the Pasha’s man. And they do not know something else about me. No one does. I am not merely human. I am something more. No, I’m not a djinn, either. Do you know the meaning of my name? Fereshteh are creatures of the air. Those who believe in God and other illusions call us angels. They are the ignorant who know nothing. We’re not reducible to such foolishness. We are beings who inhabit the air, and very rarely take human form. We exist in scattered mists and moisture. We flow with the winds, and make the air breathable for humans. Why am I telling you this? This is why: I need to meet with your little djinn. He’s gotten too big-headed, thinking he can change the shape of the future. You need to arrange our meeting, for if we meet unprepared, bad things can happen.”
Mala tilted her head and considered this as she had considered everything that had happened to her that day — calmly, unnaturally so. She was suddenly overcome with weariness. Sleep tugged at her eyelids. She yawned.
Fereshteh/Homa suddenly seemed to note how exhausted Mala was, and looked remorseful. “Yet, I am still human. I’m sorry, child. I forgot what an ordeal you have been through on this, your second day in a strange land. Let me get you to bed.” And she helped the little girl get ready for sleep. She stayed there, stroking the child’s forehead, singing a beautiful song in a soft, low voice.
It was midnight when Mala fell asleep. Her mind was in swirling ocean in a storm. Fereshteh/Homa’s voice stilled the waters. It had been an exhausting day.
Fereshteh/Homa undid her hair, removed her veil and undid her very self. She drifted away into the air and surrounded the quarters where the girl slept and sent her a dream of peace. Tomorrow could wait. No one should see her this way. She would slip back to human form when the sky turned gold and red.
Quietly, the little girl slept. Quietly, the Fereshteh wove around the house. Quietly, a djinn waited, hidden in the dark olive groves, dreaming it all while he lay on a tree branch. And hidden deeper within his servant quarters on a hilly parcel of the Pasha’s land, a turbaned, taciturn man looked up at the air swirling around the quarters where Mala slept. Beside him, a dark, sullen boy stood, unsmiling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~To Be Continued~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Filed under: Original Short Stories Tagged: Brave Girl, djinn, Fereshteh, gremlin, Imp, medieval Persia, Pasha, Prince, servants and spirits of the air
