Laldasa (24 page)

“Of course we know who she is,” Hadas interjected, “but most of us have never seen her. She's very impressive.”

“She is that,” admitted Jaya. “Well, you'll get a chance to be impressed all over again tonight. She'll be at the Mesha Fest.”

“Will I be at the Mesha Fest?” asked Hadas.

“That depends on you. Do you want to be there?”

“I'm not sure. The people from the dalali won't be there?”

Jivinta laughed. “By all the attributes of God, no! I wouldn't think of inviting them into the House Sarojin.”

Hadas vacillated a moment, then said, “Well, I really would like to come to the celebration. Do you have the Time of Gifts? That's my favorite part.”

Jivinta Mina chortled. “Well, we call it that, but it's more like the ‘Time of Entertainment.' People here generally hire professional performers to present their gifts. It saves them the trouble of having to develop their own talents.”

“But Mesha gifts are supposed to come from the spirit,” objected Hadas. “How can you hire someone to give from your spirit?”

“My sentiments exactly,” said Mina, and patted Hadas on the knee. “And if you want to give something to the guests tonight, then I encourage you to do so. I daresay Ana will have something to present.”

Jaya was immediately interested. “Really? And what might that be?”

“Scoundrel,” interjected Mina Sarojin, before Anala could answer him. “Only one of questionable upbringing asks what a gift is before he receives it. You will have to wait until tonight to hear Ana's recitation.”

Wait he did. He was dressed first and, as tradition demanded, stood at the base of the Grand Stair waiting for the rest of the family to descend. Ravi was with him, acting in his usual capacity.

The Rani Melantha was the first one down. Jaya gave her a dutiful kiss on one cheek, after which she excused herself to oversee the last minute preparations. Jivinta Mina was next to appear, on the arm of Hadas. Jaya felt an absurd tickle of jealousy at the way Hadas doted on his grandmother. He fanned it away and smiled up at them.

“You're all looking quite splendid this evening,” Jaya observed when the trio reached the hallway. “Where is the Rani Sadira? Taking her time, or trying to escape?”

Jivinta Mina reached up and slapped his cheek smartly with her fan. “Do not mock the effort one person takes to please others, Gauri. You have no make-up to apply but a dab or two of kohl. You have no hand-dazzles to cover your palm, no skirts to arrange, and no significant jewelry.” She tapped the glittering cascade of silver lotus blossoms that fell from his left earlobe.

“Now, Jivinta, I did have to plait my hair.” He turned to display how the top layer had been woven into a complex, jeweled braid that ended above the middle of his back in a clasp of Saroj crimson and gold.
 

“Hah! You mean Ravi had to plait your hair. You never could braid it correctly. Now! You will appreciate Ana when she descends. I am going to preside over the Entry.” With that, she led her devotee out into the Entry Hall where guests would most certainly be arriving any minute.

Jaya grimaced. Appreciate Ana! He had no trouble doing that. The problem was the form his appreciation insisted on taking. He couldn't just label her a beautiful work of art and appreciate her from afar. He had yet to find a way to combat the effects of the chemistry or sakti or whatever it was that took hold of him when they shared the same room.

If the circumstances had been different, if he had not been a member of the Vrinda Varma and she had not been the daughter of Rokh Nadim, and Rohin, he wouldn't have bothered to fight that chemistry. But circumstances were what they were, and he was who he was, and she was who she was, and what either of them would have done under other circumstances was academic.

He pondered this for a moment, then, almost without thinking, embarked on a mental discipline aimed at giving him a measure of detachment. He was engrossed in that and totally oblivious to anything else when a ripple of static coursed up his spine. He nearly swore.

She was descending the staircase behind him; he knew that without looking. He applied the discipline, focusing his mind on a familiar mantra, and felt the calming influence immediately. It was true, he thought, with some satisfaction, you never forgot the lessons of the schoolroom completely.

He turned, smiling, and caught her about six feet above him on the carpeted flight. His self-mastery scattered like a flock of frightened birds—up from the ground of discipline, out the windows of his soul.

She had frozen on the seventh step (to be admired?) and was assaulting him with those eyes. He couldn't read the expression in them and didn't try. She was wearing crimson—dazzling as a sunset—with matching jewels and gold twist gleaming from here and there. Her hair was bound loosely in more twist and a large red gem dangled over her forehead from the gold and silver winged diadem atop her head.
 

She was all contrasts—creamy skin, crimson gown; blood and gold sparkle, fiery hair. Jaya's whole being was astonished. He heard nothing but the roaring of his blood in his veins. That, and the laughter of arriving guests in the Entry. He wallowed for a moment in confusion.

At his elbow, Ravi said, “You are the image of the Goddess, Rani Ana.” Then, “Oh, but I've embarrassed you. Forgive me.”

Ana, looking down, was flushing like the asok blossom. She seemed, Jaya thought, as stricken as he was.

She took Ravi's offered hand and descended the last steps to stand facing Jaya. He felt like a man coming out of a stupor.

“Shall I attend?” asked Ravi cautiously.

“Yes, yes, by all means.” Jaya took Ana's hand from Ravi. “Shall we greet our guests, Lalasa?”

Ravi's eyebrows ascended in a swift echo of Ana's. He cleared his throat and moved away before them toward the Entry.

“You mock me, Nathu Rai,” Ana rebuked him as they followed Ravi from the Hall. “I am not your ‘beloved.'”

“I'm not mocking you, and you may stop sounding like my Jivinta, if you please. One Mina Sarojin is quite enough.”

“You forget our circumstances.”

“No, I only attempt to.”

“Don't.”

He turned to look at her as they stood, arm in arm at the head of the long Entry Gallery, under the archway. “Ana, there's something to be worked out between us. This is something we both know.”

Her brows arched. “Do you speak of Karma, mahesa?”

“I speak of what I don't understand. Gloat if you like, but I freely admit my ignorance.” He began to walk again, down the long, cavernous passage toward the bevy of arrivals. “I've never thought of myself ... as what I'm becoming.”

Ana glanced at him, puzzled. “And what is that?”

“When I find out, you'll be the first to know.”

They dined in the state banquet hall, which consumed half the premier floor's south wing. The other half was a Salon of epic proportions with six huge fireplaces and three sunken braziers—all lit. For this occasion, Jaya took his place in a throne at the head of the Taj table. Ana sat at his right hand and he wondered who had arranged for her to sit there. It spoke, at least insofar as Mehtaran etiquette had it, of betrothal or other liaisons. Jivinta Mina was the chief suspect.

Dinner was enjoyable. The company was lively, the food delicious. Time flowed in a swift stream to the end of the meal. They moved into the State Salon, then, amid laughter and chatter. Fruit wines from the Sarojin vineyard had flowed freely at the dinner table and most guests were already in high spirits. Musicians played traditional Springtime cantalons from a recess beside the raised stone semi-circle where gifts would be presented later in the evening.

Ana instantly became the object of attention as she entered the Salon at Jaya's side. She did not seem surprised, but then only a complete ingénue would have missed the flickering glances directed at her from every corner of the banquet hall. She circulated freely among the many guests, repeating the fabricated story of her meeting with Jaya to anyone who asked while Jaya watched her out of the corner of one eye, hoping she would be able to keep her glib fiction straight and wondering how a miner's daughter came to be so at ease in a crowd of the caste-conscious. It must, he figured, be a function of her own castelessness. Or perhaps it had something to do with being Rohin.

There was that paradox, too. How did a miner's daughter come to be a candidate for the Upward Path and its rigorous spiritual and mental disciplines? He'd found several books containing references to the Rohin in his library. They were conflicting in tone; one ascribed to the Rohin bhakta absurd austerities, another portrayed the women of the Discipline as little more than ritual whores with witching powers, a third extolled their honesty, devotion and pragmatism.

None of those things rang quite true. Ana had laughed at him for calling her an ascetic. Yet, she seemed to take her chastity quite seriously. She was certainly devoted to something, but Jaya Sarojin subscribed to the opinion that religion was a myth one chose to believe, which was hardly honest and arguably pragmatic.

Accessing the Kasi-Nawahr Library database in search of more information, he had gotten nothing but facts and figures and cryptic references to secret Rohin practices and powers. In the end, he was no closer to understanding what motivated Anala Nadim than he had been before. The Rohin secret was within her, and he suspected it had little to do with facts or figures or mysterious disciplines.

His eyes still half on Ana, Jaya drifted to the perimeter of a lively discussion between some elder statesmen. It centered, not surprisingly, around the situation on Avasa.

“Damn Guilders!” The deprecation, uttered in Vadin Sarad Valli's precise Durvan accent, surprised Jaya into a chuckle.

“What is for laughter, Sarojin?” Sarad asked, laying his stress on the wrong syllable.

An intentional gaffe, Jaya knew. Valli reputedly called him the “Jinn Rai” when among friends. He only wished he might have done something to warrant being labeled a demon prince.

He smiled. “Sorry, Vadin. Your vehemence was-“

“Amusing, evidently,” concluded the Vadin. “That surprises me, Nathu Rai. I wud think a Lord of the Vrinda Varma wud be also vehement about the Guilders.”

“You know me, Sarad. I inherited my seat on the Vrinda Varma. Vehemence about anything is beyond me.”

“Now, that's not what I hear.” The Vadin Bel Adivaram joined the conversation from behind.

Jaya moved slightly to take him in and lifted his beverage in salute. “Vadin.”

Adivaram inclined his head respectfully. “Nathu Rai.”

Sarad Valli's round face was lit by curiosity. “And what do you hear about our eccentric young mahesa? Something wort' repeating, I hope?”

“I've heard no more than what I've also observed. Which is that the Mahesa is vehement in his attachment to a certain young lady.” The Vadin's eyes turned their sly gaze to where Anala held animated conversation with another group of guests.

“Do you blame him?” asked Valli. “She's an excellent hostess, Nathu Rai. Where did you find her?”

“In Kasi.” Jaya was purposefully vague. He was a little weary of telling the misidentified baggage story.

“Ah, yes!” said Valli. “The Hotel Ramkasha wasn't it? An uncommon coincidence that. Serendipity, one might say, eh, Sarojin? Already in the family, too.” He flashed a toothy, simian grin. “Very convenient.”

Jaya caught the oblique reference with a tickle of irritation. Sarad Valli was forever reminding him of the onerous excesses of the “old families.” Only in a Taj household was it not considered sinful to simply treat a female cousin or niece as if she were a wife.

“I'd call it a salvation. Ana saved my honor this morning by leading the family devotions. I had completely forgotten the Erai invocation.”

Adivaram's eyebrows scooted halfway up his broad forehead. “Indeed? Isn't it unusual for a young Rani to be schooled in such things?”

“Ana is Rohin.”

The Vadin's eyes protruded. “Her father honored such a ridiculous pursuit? A woman such as that should not be wasted in a monastery.”

“They do things differently on Avasa. Apparently, the Rohin do not lock themselves away in retreat, and the lines of caste are allowed to blur in areas of the spirit.”

“Backward little dirtball, isn't it?” said Adivaram.

“Ah, that reminds me of a joke my son tol' me this morning,” began Sarad Valli.

Jaya moved away from the group before the conversation degenerated into racist humor. He had almost reached Ana's side when a hand fell warmly to his shoulder. He turned, saw who the hand belonged to and smiled.

“Uncle Namun! You came after all.”

Namun Vedda returned the smile wryly. “Well, I got to thinking about a lecture your Jivinta gave me the other day about carrying sound ideas to extremes. I decided that attending the annual Sarojin Mesha Fest hardly constituted a conflict of interest. I'll be glad when this mess is all over with, Jaya,” he added. “It will be good to get back to normal—not have to worry about infringing on your neutrality. I sometimes wish Vedda Technologies didn't have to do business with the Consortium at all. In fact, there are times I wish I could return to academic life and leave the business to the businessmen. Had my father and his father not been businessmen, it might have been so.”