Garbo’s Faces

a Novel — Part 20: Esh

Harriet was in better shape than any of us, that much was clear — well, not counting Attra, of course, who like a hunting dog would vanish far up ahead one moment only to return from far behind the next.

“Reconnoitering,” he said when I asked.

“Reconnoitering what?” I wondered.

“You never know,” he said. But I got the feeling he was just enjoying himself.

Well, as it happened, he wasn’t. He was looking for relays. First up ahead, and if nothing, circling back to make sure he didn’t miss one. And to protect us. The relays were cobras, young and perhaps inexperienced. They might attack if three people they had never seen walked right into them, unless, of course, led by a cobra guide.

I pieced this together after the third relay, because after each one we rested a little, at Attra’s suggestion, and then changed course slightly, now heading for a new landmark, which we never quite got to before we rested, veered a little, and headed for another.

“Who are you seeing?” I asked finally, after the fourth change.

“Outposts,” he said.

“Esh’s people?” Using Madhuri’s phrase.

“Yes,” he said.

“I thought you knew the way,” I said.

“Esh moves from place to place,” he answered. “We are pointed to his current lair.”

While I spent most of my time talking with Attra — when he wasn’t charging ahead or chasing from behind, that is — I was very happy to see that Harriet and Madhuri got along. Neither had a complete grasp of English, and seemed to have found a warm sistership in their common shortcoming, each helping the other with words and phrases to build a fine bridge of understanding between them.

I wondered then, and have often since, whether in the end they needed any words at all. Madhuri spoke less and less and smiled more and more, and Harriet, too, walked with a strange smile on her face the last day. When, many years later, I asked her about it, she simply said that this was between her and Madhuri. Sisters, is what I think. Madhuri younger than her years and Harriet older than hers.

:

By the fourth day, the landscape had changed from plains and the occasional patch of forest, then to foothills, then to mountainous. Understand, though, these were not the Himalayas by any means, but tall and rocky hills nonetheless, sort of stern foothills, if that makes any sense.

This day we were simply walking from relay to relay, rather than from landmark to landmark, for we could see the distant cobras, they were that close, and then, as if the rock had slid aside (which it well might have), we found ourselves about to enter the mountain.

We were at the mouth of a large cave. Perhaps not the size of the Swedish troll cave, to be sure, but large nonetheless. Of course, this turned out to be the antechamber.

Several large cobras materialized, and for all her preparations — Madhuri had told her what to expect — Harriet let out a small yelp at first. Well, it can be pretty unnerving. A young cobra rose to about my height and asked us to enter. We did, Attra first.

Madhuri’s feet had begun to bother her a little, and she was happy to have arrived, and happy about the cooling shade (the sun had been relentless all day). Harriet did not object either, though she kept alert, looking about her vigilantly, as if tracking the individual movements of our welcoming party.

And as for me — probably in the worst shape of any of us — I was jubilant to have arrived.

After a brief conference with a nearly yellow snake — age or strange pigmentation, I couldn’t decide — Attra slipped away to our left, to be debriefed, I thought. Madhuri, by word from the same yellow cobra, was to follow Attra.

Another snake, amazingly beautiful with multi-colored and glittering scales, and amazingly tall — he must have stood eight feet risen — requested that Harriet and I follow him. He then moved down a hallway to our right. Harriet, a little concerned at being separated from Madhuri, turned as if to ask her a question. Madhuri noticed, smiled back at her: not to worry.

By now my eyes had adjusted to the dimmer light of the mountain and I realized that this cave had once been inhabited by humans, or something humanlike. I could make out carvings along the walls: of forests and animals, of rivers and mountains, of hunting scenes, of elephants and chariots.

The hallway now narrowed and veered to the left, then introduced several neatly carved doorways to our right. We stopped by the first: my room, said the snake, where I was to rest for a while and freshen up. The next door down was Harriet’s.

Our resplendent guide bade her follow and I translated. Harriet, after a quick glance at me (I nodded, it was all right) — a little apprehensively — complied.

I turned and entered my assigned quarters.

It was indeed a room, telling again of human builders. It was square and ample, carved out of the rock with some precision, and again with beautifully carved scenes for decoration; and with niches in the walls for candles, which were in fact lit.

Lit by whom? I wondered. A question soon answered when a tall monkey, walking upright, and with grace, arrived carrying water, washcloth, and towel.

“How was your journey?” he asked in perfect snake tongue.

“Pleasant enough,” I said, “but long. It will be good to cool my feet.”

“Esh thought so,” he answered, placed the bowl at my feet, bowed and moved away, as gracefully as only an agile monkey can. Then, at the doorway, he added, “I am Mandar. I will be your servant while you stay with us. I will be right outside, if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I sat down on a low, wooden chair and tended to my feet.

I was drying them when Harriet stepped in, girlishly excited.

“They have monkeys,” she said, quite loudly. “Even one that speaks English. Manini is her name.”

At that, Mandar, from his station just outside my door, cleared his throat and said with a perfect Jeeves accent, “We all do, ma’am.”

It was too dark to see for sure, but I think Harriet turned deep red with embarrassment. “I am so sorry,” she said to Mandar.

“Not at all, ma’am,” he said.

“How are your feet?” she asked.

“Been better,” I said.

“I’m used to walking,” she said, by way of telling me that she was all right.

“I’m used to taxis, or the tube,” I answered, by way of telling her I was suffering.

“Have you noticed the carvings?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She looked around my room and I followed her glance. These scenes all seemed to be from the Mahabharata. To my left, I could make out Arjuna’s chariot drawn by four horses, Krishna urging them on. Another wall showed Bhishma, shot by a hundred arrows, still alive, still answering Yudhisthira’s question, waiting for them to run out so he could take his leave. The third wall showed another chariot in battle, I could not tell which.

“Same as in my room,” she said. “They are exquisite.” She went over to trace some of the detail with her fingers. “Just wonderful. How old do you think they are?”

“I think these scenes are from the Mahabharata,” I answered. “And it was written about two thousand years ago, which would make them younger than that.”

“That long fairy tale?” she asked.

“It’s a little more than a fairy tale,” I pointed out. “Many still consider it history.”

“They look ancient,” she said then, tracing the intricate detail of horse and grass and arrow with her finger.

“Well, younger than is a very relative term in this context,” I said. “At a guess, I would say they’re at least a thousand years old.” No more recent than that, for they were certainly of an age when the Mahabharata was taken to heart and lived by: these carvings must have taken years, if not lifetimes, to complete — a testament to the importance of the Mahabharata.

“They look ancient,” she said again.

“They are,” I agreed.

Mandar cleared his throat again, a curious thing to hear a monkey do, but it got our attention. “Esh would like to see you now,” he said.

“Ah,” said Harriet, a little apprehensive.

“Follow us,” said Manini, in equally excellent English.

Mandar and Manini led us back the way we had come to the large antechamber we had first entered. Here we veered right, and crossed it to enter another passageway, this one lit from above by long tunnels of light, maybe the diameter of a small coin, leading all the way to the surface of the mountain, but placed so closely together as to resemble a night sky when you looked up. The carvings here were clearly visible, even more exquisite in the better light. I was hard put not to stop and admire them, but Mandar and Manini did not slow their step.

We soon arrived at a large hall, also carved, and with the same daylight-turned-night-sky as lighting. We stopped by a door at least twice my height where Madhuri and Attra were already waiting, too, along with several monkeys.

Madhuri looked refreshed and happy. Excited to see Esh again, I thought.

Attra, if anything, looked apprehensive, although I’m not sure how I could tell. He was too still, perhaps. Reverent might be a better word. He was about to enter the presence of greatness, if not holiness, and he knew it. He turned to face me, but did not change expression, as if to tell me to behave myself. He need not have bothered: I could sense the same impending awe within myself, stilling my thoughts and seizing my stomach. Clouds of moth stirring within.

One of the guards — which is what they must have been — addressed Mandar in a language that was neither snake or human. Their own, then. Soft, not a hissing, but with lots of air, though that may have been because they were whispering.

Mandar turned to us. In English: “We’re to wait a moment or two.” Then by way of explanation: “Esh is on his way.”

I looked up again, and marveled at the almost impossible feat of drilling holes, that small, so straight as to let you see sky through it. How long could they be? Hundreds of feet, at least, was my guess.

And what tools did they have, did they use? As an architect I found it more than just amazing, I found it impossible. I grappled with this as Mandar spoke again.

“Esh is ready.”

The guards swung the large stone doors open to let us in.

The ceiling of this hall was studded even more amazingly with pin pricks of daylight, in patterns: constellations? Then, being an architect, and of a practical bent — it comes with the architectural territory — I wondered (after I had caught my breath, that is): what do they do when it rains?

“They don’t use this hall when it rains,” said Mandar, either aloud or only in my head, I’m not sure which, but it was a terrifying reply. I looked over at him, and found him looking straight at me, smiling, I think. Had I voiced my question, or just thought it? I looked back at Mandar who said, no thought: “Yes, I can hear your thoughts, and you mine.” Then he inclined his head in a short, courteous bow, as if to apologize for the intrusion. I went looking for my breath.

Found it. Then I looked up again, and yes, definitely: constellations. There must have been several thousands of these strands of air through the mountain. Who, I could not help but wonder, who had made this? Who had possessed the necessary technology? Mandar, if he heard, did not answer that.

Harriet too had been struck by the sight, for she, too, had stopped, head bent back, gazing, following the curvature of the distant ceiling, a night sky indeed.

“You approve,” said an ancient voice, at which point Harriet shrieked in shock. She later told me that when Manini’s voice first appeared in her head, conveying Esh’s message, translated and clear, it was as if she had been dipped in ice water, every cell standing erect at attention. She had then looked around for the source of the voice and found Manini, her assigned servant, smiling at her, much as Mandar had at me, and I knew exactly what she was talking about.

“You approve?” asked the ancient voice again, in clear snake tongue.

“I’m sorry,” said Harriet, who now looked for and found Esh upon what looked like a small podium by the far wall. “I’m sorry.”

Manini’s translations went both ways, and were so quick that I had the strange sensation of Esh talking snake talk, and Harriet answering him in English, both perfectly understanding the other. Yes, Manini was very good at translating.

“You approve,” said Esh for a third time, and finally Harriet registered the question.

“Yes,” she said, and looked up again at what she so approved of. “Oh yes.”

“We did not do this,” said Esh.

“Who did?” asked Harriet. My question, precisely.

“The Arenshi,” said Esh. “Nearly two thousand years ago. They were very good carvers, and impossibly skilled at drilling holes, but bad fighters. Inept soldiers. That is why they had to hide in this mountain.”

Then, before Harriet could answer, Esh said, “Madhuri. Come here, girl, let me see you.”

Girl?

Madhuri’s time to blush.

At Mandar’s and Manini’s gentle prodding, we now all approached the low platform where Esh lay, resplendent in silvery scales from head to tail. And that is how you tell snake age, I thought.

“Not necessarily,” said Mandar — or thought, it was confusing. But I realized that around him I would have to watch not only my tongue.

“You look well,” said Esh, still addressing Madhuri.

There are few times that I have seen Madhuri tongue-tied, but this was one of them. She behaved just like the little girl Esh apparently was talking to.

“Thank you,” she managed finally. “And so do you.”

“I want to thank you for coming,” he said to us all, and Manini must have been back at translating, for Harriet stood to attention again, looking straight at Esh.

“Bring these fine people something to sit on,” Esh then said to no one in particular. A command, I soon discovered, with specific listeners.

A brief but well-organized scramble ensued, and suddenly we found ourselves seated on small but quite comfortable stools, bringing our eyes and Esh’s almost level. He then not so much moved as de-materialized and re-materialized at the edge of the podium, closer to us, perhaps only eight feet away now. We could all see him clearly now, and Madhuri drew a quick breath when she noticed that Esh’s eyes were clouded over: two small, milky opals.

“Don’t worry, girl,” he said. “I don’t need them to see.”

Madhuri didn’t, or couldn’t, answer.

I’m sure Esh noticed Madhuri’s embarrassment, but he made nothing of it by continuing, “You have come from far away, and I thank you.”

It took me a moment to realize that he was talking to Harriet now, who nodded and smiled.

“You are a potent dreamer, Siddhi Sapna.”

Harriet at first didn’t realize that Esh was still addressing her, for she said nothing in return. Manini must then have clarified it, for Harriet looked at Manini and then back at Esh, who was still looking at her for an answer.

“Why do you call me Siddhi Sapna?” she asked. “Madhuri did too.”

“Because,” said Esh. “That is your name.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Siddhi Sapna. There is no better name for you.”

“The one who achieves her dreams?”

“The one whose dreams grow real,” confirmed Esh.

“And that is me?”

“Oh, yes.” Then Esh added, “Do you know who you are?”

“No,” she said, understanding the question correctly. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, I am not here to tell you,” said Esh.

“Then,” asked Harriet, “Why am I here?”

“To remind you.”

“To remind me of what?”

“That you did get exactly what you wished for.”

She did not answer.

“Remember when you and Elisabet Malcolm used to climb on top of your backyard latrine to sunbathe on its roof, when suddenly you were no longer on top of an outhouse but on a sandy beach with blue sky, and waves breaking on the nearby shore so loudly that even Elisabet could not help but hear them?”

Harriet had frozen in place, eyes wide and riveted on Esh. She nodded, slowly, with difficulty, but said nothing.

“Remember when your uncle David asked you what you were going to do when you grew up, and you answered without hesitation, ‘Why, first of all, I shall be a great diva and then a princess.’ Do you remember?”

Harriet nodded again, mouth slightly open, stunned.

“Remember when you had your brother and your friends dress up in your stage plays, and you handed their roles to them, and you acted yours so well that they could not help but believe it was all true?”

“Yes,” she managed.

“Remember when you looked up at the starry winter sky and wished with all of your life that you would become the most beautiful and most famous actress the world has ever seen. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” she said again, after a long silence.

“You see, you are a good wisher,” he said.

This, she did not answer.

“You are Siddhi Sapna, the one whose dreams come true,” he said.

Harriet looked over at me before she answered. “Yes, they have come true.”

“And now I hear that you have killed Dag Hammarskjold,” said Esh.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I did.”

“Many people wished him dead,” Esh said.

“But you just said that my wishes come true.”

“As do others’ wishes.”

“But I did wish it.”

“Yes you did.”

“But you say, it was someone else’s wish that killed him?”

“Remember that starry winter sky and the wish you lifted into it.”

“Yes,” said Harried.

“Was there any part of you, any part at all of you, that did not wish it?”

“No,” she said without hesitation.

“Was there any part of you that did not wish Dag Hammarskjold dead?”

“Yes,” said Harriet after only a brief reflection. Then she drew a long breath, and held it for so long I thought for a moment she had stopped breathing. Then she slowly let it out, and I could almost see her self-torment leave on the air she expelled into the light. She smiled, and I could have sworn that Esh smiled too.

“Did you,” she began. “Did you bring me here only to tell me that?” Not a little incredulous, but very grateful.

“No,” said Esh. “I only just found this out.”

“Why, then?”

“To remind you what a potent dreamer you are.”

“I remember,” she said.

“And,” he added, “to tell you about trolls.”

“About trolls?”

“They are very fond of you, I hear.”

She did not answer.

“And one would be very unwise not to honor those upon whom trolls bestow gifts,” said Esh.

Harriet’s hand traveled to her neck, to make sure her elusive gift was still in place. It was. Her hand returned and found its mate. “I am just a Swedish girl with dreams,” she said.

“But what dreams!” said Esh.

Harriet bowed her head then, if only a fraction. As noble and honoring a gesture as I have ever seen. Esh saw, of course, despite his clouded eyes, and said, “I hope one day you will see them all for what they are.”

“My dreams?”

“Yes.”

Harriet reflected for a moment. “I think I sometimes do,” she said.

“I think so too,” he answered.

No one spoke for some time. The thin shafts of light glittered in their thousands around us. Finally Esh spoke again: “And now you are a princess in exile.”

Harriet understood. “Yes,” she said. “Voluntarily.”

“Is there any other kind?” he asked.

“I suppose not.”

The silence reserved for Esh’s answer, remained silence. Then, instead of answering, he addressed Madhuri.

“You look well,” he said again.

Madhuri, who by now had had the time both to chase down the cat and to retrieve her tongue, answered, “It has been a long time.”

“Many years,” he confirmed.

“I thank you for seeing me again. It is an honor.”

“It is a true pleasure,” Esh said. But it was clear, both to me and by this time to Madhuri as well, that it was Harriet Esh had wanted to meet, and that Madhuri was here as guide and mother-in-law more than anything else.

Madhuri bowed, as one does before royalty, and remained looking at the floor in deference.

“And you, Nachiketa,” he said, facing me. I could not fathom how, but he faced me squarely and he saw me very well, this I knew. “You have met our traveling dancers.”

It wasn’t a question, but it sounded like one. I scrambled a little to understand him when I saw that stage again, and my rescuers caressing the ankles of Pearly Soames.

“Yes,” I said. “They saved my life.”

“So you owe us a life,” he said.

“Yes, I do.”

“No,” he said. “It’s all been settled. That was Madhuri’s gift to you. We owed her a life, Attra’s. She gave it to you.”

I looked over at Madhuri, who smiled back at me.

I, too, bowed in thanks, then, and Esh smiled.

“You’ve met trolls,” he said.

“Yes,” said I and Harriet at precisely the same time. Then we looked at each other and laughed.

“They know snake talk,” I said. “Very well.”

“So they should,” said Esh. “It is their language.”

And, just like that, there it was, so simply said, so plainly answered, with no embarrassment at all. Just stated.

“It is?”

“Why, yes. They came first. At one time they were all there was.”

“The Rakshasa?”

“Oh, long before them.”

“The Rakshasa seem like troll.”

“They are but shadows of trolls.”

“Then,” I said, hardly believing — but seeing again in memory the stone jugglers and hearing again in memory their river of song, I did believe — “Then they are truly ancient.”

“They invited Athansor,” Esh said. “They spread the world before his feet and bade him make the world his home.”

“They were here before Lord Krishna?” I asked.

“What has he got to do with it?” said Esh, and I looked over at Madhuri, who looked as bewildered as I felt.

“I thought Athansor was Lord Krishna’s horse,” said I. “I have also heard it told that Lord Krishna and Athansor are one and the same.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Esh, but there was laughter in his voice.

“So it is not true, then?” I asked.

“The troll spread the world of green grass and wide fields before Athansor’s feet and he alighted and found the grass fresh and good and found the fields vast and firm. And he made the world his home.”

“So, they came here first?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Esh.

“They are the Earth Gods, then?”

“Yes,” said Esh.

“Even before Hanuman?”

“Hanuman is but a pup,” Esh said with another smile.

“But the Ramayana and the Mahabharata,” I began.

“Are but recent memories.”

I nodded that I understood.

“I had three purposes in asking you here,” said Esh. “One was to see Madhuri again, to balm my cloudy eyes.”

I looked over and my grandmother was blushing again. Beautiful in his praise.

“The second was to remind our exiled princess of her dreams, and yes, once I knew more, also to ease her heart.”

Harriet sat still, hands in her lap reassuring each other. She smiled at hearing his second reason.

“My third reason was to tell you the story of the trolls. Seeing as you have met them.” Esh then turned to three monkeys in pure white sitting cross-legged to his left. “Refreshments, please.”

Another brief, and well-organized stampede ensued, after which there were trays before each of us bearing minted tea, flaky pastries, crystallized ginger, and honey, as well as glasses of strawberry juice so cool they sprouted beads of condensation running down their sides. We all waited for Esh to be served something as well, before we would touch our refreshments, but when he noticed this he said, “Oh, I no longer eat. Please help yourselves.”

Then he rearranged himself on the stage, settling in for the telling.

The three monkeys in white returned to his side and sat down. Beside us Mandar and Manini also sat down, crossing their legs for comfort. A restful silence settled on the large hall after one and all had made themselves comfortable.

There was anticipation in the air.

Then he began.

© Wolfstuff