10.1 Viveka
As we headed for the thicket, I heard angry shouts from behind us. The Northern soldiers had understood what we were doing and they didn't like the plan.
As if to confirm this, Rikit spoke in my ear. "Let's see if your Northern brothers dare to follow us in here," he said.
"Damnit," I cried out above the sound of the pounding hooves. "I told you before, I'm not a Northerner!"
He didn't say anything in response to that. We reached the edge of the thicket a second later, and were instantly enveloped by close-growing trees that almost shut out the dim daylight. Rikit steered his horse expertly through the trees, clicking his tongue in the universal language of horse-riders. When the trees grew too close together, he stopped and dismounted.
"We must walk from this point on," he said, speaking very softly. "There is too much danger of the horse breaking a leg in a snake-hole or rabbit-hole."
He indicated the leaf-strewn ground of the thicket. I wondered what would happen if one of us happened to step into a leaf-covered snake-hole. I didn't stop to think about it. My whole sanity rested on not thinking too much about my situation, just surviving from moment to moment.
The forest--once inside, it was nothing less than a forest to my city-bred senses--was still and silent. There was a faint background of unfamiliar sounds, crickets calling, birds chirping, insects buzzing and clicking. There was no sound nor sight of the larger predators that I knew were probably around somewhere.
I glanced fearfully up at the trees. Ever since I was a little girl, I had always been scared of sitting under a tree for fear that a leopard would descend, grab me in its jaws and pull me up, to be eaten at leisure, limb by limb. Back in the US, it was cougars and mountain cats that I'd been uneasy about, during my couple of reluctant treks through the Catskills and sole visit to Yellowstone.
The forest floor was knotted with tree roots, dried leaves and the mulchy vegetation that you never see Hollywood movie stars having to deal with. Or even Hindi film stars in unrealistic films like Ram Gopal Varma's Jungle. Which my brother Vhy had appropriately renamed Bungle. Right now, that was the movie I felt I was in, so intensely were my nerves on edge.
I stepped carefully, trying not to trip over anything. It was difficult going with my hands tied behind my back, and the back of my neck prickled with tension. I expected at any moment to feel an arrow or spear shaft bury itself in my back. The tension was killing.
Finally, Rikit stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. By this time, our progress through the dense foliage had taken a small toll: the shoulder of my tee shirt had been ripped away by a low-hanging branch and my face, neck and arms were covered with tiny scratches from tree trunks and branches. When he caught my bare shoulder, his hand felt oddly comforting on my skin.
It made me wonder for a moment what would have happened if those Northern soldiers had been the first ones to find me, instead of Rikit. Something passed through him as well, and I saw the look in his eyes change briefly, then he snatched his hand away from my bared shoulder.
"Here," he said gruffly, indicating the little clearing where we'd stopped.
"What happens here?" I asked, keeping my voice low. While I wasn't happy about doing as he ordered, neither was I too keen to find out if the Northerners would treat me better than this film ishtar lookalike. Especially after the way they had dealt with the Southern army's peace herald.
"Here I shall make a stand and fight off your brothers." He was reaching into his saddlepack, removing the crossbow and a quiver of bolts. I saw that he had a second crossbow and he took this out too, laying them both carefully on the ground.
I hissed angrily: "They're not my brothers, damnit, how many times do I say it?" I was growing tired of these stupid accusations and of defending myself against them.
He ignored me and busied himself cutting off a length of vine from a banyan tree, then using it to do something that looked vaguely familiar even to my urban eyes. After a moment, it became obvious what he was trying to do: He was laying traps.
I glanced back in the direction we'd come from. The sounds of horses and soldiers shouting had died down once we'd entered the thicket. I guessed that they had stopped to regroup and decide how best to proceed next. But it was only a matter of time before they caught up with us, and when they did, well, he was only one man against thirty or forty. Even Hritik Roshan couldn't beat those odds and this guy was only a duplicate!
"Let me help," I said.
He looked up at me suspiciously. "If you try to scream and warn your people, I will slit your throat without hesitation," he said.
I dropped to my knees beside him. "Listen to me, Rikit. I'm going to say this one last time. I am not a Northerner. Right now, I'm with you, and for that alone I'm sure those men will kill me if they get hold of me. So why don't you give me a break here and let me help. You're hopelessly outnumbered anyway. Maybe if I lend a hand, we might be able to even the odds a little."
He scowled. I could see he didn't like the situation. I admired him for even attempting to make a stand in such circumstances. But he and I both knew that he was as good as dead once those soldiers caught up with him, jungle or no jungle. He scanned my face closely, as if seeking any sign of deception. Finally, he nodded shortly.
"All right," he said, gritting his teeth. "I must be a fool for it, but I am going to trust you."
He pulled out a knife, turned me around, and cut through my ropes in one quick jab.
When I turned around to him, rubbing my sore wrists to get the circulation back, he was pointing the knife at me. "If you are lying, then you will be the first to die."
I didn't try to argue. I understood him somewhat better now than when we'd first met. He was a soldier on a losing side, waging a hopeless doomed war against a far greater force, and right now he was alone, cut off from his own forces, and with only a peculiar stranger to count on for some much-needed assistance. I almost felt bad for him. If I'd been in his position, who knows, maybe I might have not bothered to even take me as a prisoner...
Bending down, he picked up the two crossbows. "You can load these for me. That way, I can keep shooting and buy us some time."
I smiled. "I can do better than that."
I took one of the crossbows, primed it and slid in a bolt. "I can shoot these. I took archery in my sophomore year at Michigan State. We used crossbows as well as the traditional recurves. I'm a fairly decent shot." I hefted the crossbow, pointing it in the direction we'd come from. "I can help you fight off those Northerners chasing us."
He looked at me incredulously. "You would do that?"
I shrugged. "Why not? It looks like my life's on the line too right now. You're not a woman's first or best choice, and I don't know what Suzanne would say about this, but I figure I would rather take my chances with you than those people out there."
He looked hugely relieved, almost pleased. I could see he was trying hard to revise his earlier opinion of me. Then suddenly, he frowned. "Who is this Suzanne?"
As if to confirm this, Rikit spoke in my ear. "Let's see if your Northern brothers dare to follow us in here," he said.
"Damnit," I cried out above the sound of the pounding hooves. "I told you before, I'm not a Northerner!"
He didn't say anything in response to that. We reached the edge of the thicket a second later, and were instantly enveloped by close-growing trees that almost shut out the dim daylight. Rikit steered his horse expertly through the trees, clicking his tongue in the universal language of horse-riders. When the trees grew too close together, he stopped and dismounted.
"We must walk from this point on," he said, speaking very softly. "There is too much danger of the horse breaking a leg in a snake-hole or rabbit-hole."
He indicated the leaf-strewn ground of the thicket. I wondered what would happen if one of us happened to step into a leaf-covered snake-hole. I didn't stop to think about it. My whole sanity rested on not thinking too much about my situation, just surviving from moment to moment.
The forest--once inside, it was nothing less than a forest to my city-bred senses--was still and silent. There was a faint background of unfamiliar sounds, crickets calling, birds chirping, insects buzzing and clicking. There was no sound nor sight of the larger predators that I knew were probably around somewhere.
I glanced fearfully up at the trees. Ever since I was a little girl, I had always been scared of sitting under a tree for fear that a leopard would descend, grab me in its jaws and pull me up, to be eaten at leisure, limb by limb. Back in the US, it was cougars and mountain cats that I'd been uneasy about, during my couple of reluctant treks through the Catskills and sole visit to Yellowstone.
The forest floor was knotted with tree roots, dried leaves and the mulchy vegetation that you never see Hollywood movie stars having to deal with. Or even Hindi film stars in unrealistic films like Ram Gopal Varma's Jungle. Which my brother Vhy had appropriately renamed Bungle. Right now, that was the movie I felt I was in, so intensely were my nerves on edge.
I stepped carefully, trying not to trip over anything. It was difficult going with my hands tied behind my back, and the back of my neck prickled with tension. I expected at any moment to feel an arrow or spear shaft bury itself in my back. The tension was killing.
Finally, Rikit stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. By this time, our progress through the dense foliage had taken a small toll: the shoulder of my tee shirt had been ripped away by a low-hanging branch and my face, neck and arms were covered with tiny scratches from tree trunks and branches. When he caught my bare shoulder, his hand felt oddly comforting on my skin.
It made me wonder for a moment what would have happened if those Northern soldiers had been the first ones to find me, instead of Rikit. Something passed through him as well, and I saw the look in his eyes change briefly, then he snatched his hand away from my bared shoulder.
"Here," he said gruffly, indicating the little clearing where we'd stopped.
"What happens here?" I asked, keeping my voice low. While I wasn't happy about doing as he ordered, neither was I too keen to find out if the Northerners would treat me better than this film ishtar lookalike. Especially after the way they had dealt with the Southern army's peace herald.
"Here I shall make a stand and fight off your brothers." He was reaching into his saddlepack, removing the crossbow and a quiver of bolts. I saw that he had a second crossbow and he took this out too, laying them both carefully on the ground.
I hissed angrily: "They're not my brothers, damnit, how many times do I say it?" I was growing tired of these stupid accusations and of defending myself against them.
He ignored me and busied himself cutting off a length of vine from a banyan tree, then using it to do something that looked vaguely familiar even to my urban eyes. After a moment, it became obvious what he was trying to do: He was laying traps.
I glanced back in the direction we'd come from. The sounds of horses and soldiers shouting had died down once we'd entered the thicket. I guessed that they had stopped to regroup and decide how best to proceed next. But it was only a matter of time before they caught up with us, and when they did, well, he was only one man against thirty or forty. Even Hritik Roshan couldn't beat those odds and this guy was only a duplicate!
"Let me help," I said.
He looked up at me suspiciously. "If you try to scream and warn your people, I will slit your throat without hesitation," he said.
I dropped to my knees beside him. "Listen to me, Rikit. I'm going to say this one last time. I am not a Northerner. Right now, I'm with you, and for that alone I'm sure those men will kill me if they get hold of me. So why don't you give me a break here and let me help. You're hopelessly outnumbered anyway. Maybe if I lend a hand, we might be able to even the odds a little."
He scowled. I could see he didn't like the situation. I admired him for even attempting to make a stand in such circumstances. But he and I both knew that he was as good as dead once those soldiers caught up with him, jungle or no jungle. He scanned my face closely, as if seeking any sign of deception. Finally, he nodded shortly.
"All right," he said, gritting his teeth. "I must be a fool for it, but I am going to trust you."
He pulled out a knife, turned me around, and cut through my ropes in one quick jab.
When I turned around to him, rubbing my sore wrists to get the circulation back, he was pointing the knife at me. "If you are lying, then you will be the first to die."
I didn't try to argue. I understood him somewhat better now than when we'd first met. He was a soldier on a losing side, waging a hopeless doomed war against a far greater force, and right now he was alone, cut off from his own forces, and with only a peculiar stranger to count on for some much-needed assistance. I almost felt bad for him. If I'd been in his position, who knows, maybe I might have not bothered to even take me as a prisoner...
Bending down, he picked up the two crossbows. "You can load these for me. That way, I can keep shooting and buy us some time."
I smiled. "I can do better than that."
I took one of the crossbows, primed it and slid in a bolt. "I can shoot these. I took archery in my sophomore year at Michigan State. We used crossbows as well as the traditional recurves. I'm a fairly decent shot." I hefted the crossbow, pointing it in the direction we'd come from. "I can help you fight off those Northerners chasing us."
He looked at me incredulously. "You would do that?"
I shrugged. "Why not? It looks like my life's on the line too right now. You're not a woman's first or best choice, and I don't know what Suzanne would say about this, but I figure I would rather take my chances with you than those people out there."
He looked hugely relieved, almost pleased. I could see he was trying hard to revise his earlier opinion of me. Then suddenly, he frowned. "Who is this Suzanne?"
posted by Ashok K. Banker at 12.10.05
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