The man halted and turned in their direction. He was wearing a cotton terracotta-colored tunic that reached his knees. A pristine whitedhotiwas tied in intricate folds underneath. A salt-and-pepper beard covered the lower half of his face. His gray moustache curled over an unsmiling mouth and the eyes underneath the heavy turban were watchful.
“The halls are that way,” he said, pointing. “Please help yourselves.”
“It is very generous of you to provide passing peasants like us with food,” said Veer with suitable gratitude.
“The generosity is from all the people in the city, not just me, my good man.” There was no answering smile on his face, as if he was determined to keep a distance.
“We are thankful all the same,” said Veer, joining his hands in namaste and bowing. “It is hard to find honest work here.”
The man’s eyes became guarded. “You come from faraway areas to worship the divine. The least we could do is offer you our hospitality as our guests. May Lord Brihadeeshwar grant your wishes.” He gave a short nod and walked away. The sword he had tucked into his waist belt, thekamarbandh,glinted in the sunlight.
Veer rubbed his chin, straightening to his full height, as he watched him go.
Billadev cleared his throat and raised his brows in question.
“That was the captain of guards, Aradatta,” said Veer. “A member of the temple committee.”
“Oh.”
Veer had posed as a traveling blacksmith in search of work so he could be involved in the repair of temple doors. He had an idea, an admittedly outrageous one, but for that to work, he needed to get that job.
But his petition for work was denied at the employment offices by this same captain of the guards due to lack of references.
He didn’t try to press the matter or draw attention to himself when he heard the captain was a paranoid watchdog. And now, after meeting the man himself, he had to agree.
Veer suddenly tensed and let out a foul curse. His eyes burned gold.
“What? What happened?” Billadev gaped at his eyes and said, “It’s Chandra, isn’t it?”
Veer hurried toward the temple square, not bothering to answer his question. Billadev lengthened his stride to keep pace.
Chapter 18: The Temple Elder
Chandra stared down at the elderly woman in front of her. It was surprising how intimidating the woman was despite her physical frailty.
Her body was bent in half by age, propped up by a stout walking stick. Her skin had so many wrinkles and sags it was difficult to say where her bones were. A plain cotton saree was draped in loose folds over her torso, and she wore no additional upper garment. Her earlobes had elongated to her shoulders by the weight of her ancestral gold studs she must have worn all her life. And yet, the eyes beneath the ash brows were piercing in their intelligence.
“You’re of high birth, what excuse do you have to be so rude to a visitor who has come from far to pay homage to God?” demanded Chandra.
She felt the tremble in Matangi’s hand and squeezed in reassurance.
Their morning had begun nicely enough. Matangi was the sister of a bandit leader, Maruthi. Veer had befriended him to accompany them on this journey. From what Chandra gathered, the brother and sister were orphans with no other family. Matangi didn’t usually travel with the bandit troop but had decided to come along to the temple upon learning her brother was going to be in the vicinity.
She had joined Chandra in moving around the temple complex, more, Chandra suspected, because of a lack of a familiar face than anything. And Chandra was sure Veer didn’t mind a girl in her teens tagging along if it meant he had extra eyes on her.
Then today, they had run across the elderly woman and her granddaughter arguing in the town center. The pair was having a crisis, having forgotten the name of a plant whose leaves were to be a part of the ritual.
The granddaughter was making note of the exhaustive rituals on palm-leafed manuscripts. She had been looking increasingly harried as her grandmother berated her for failing to write them down fast enough, resulting in her forgetting the name of the important plant.
Chandra felt compelled to help. At times in Devarakonda, her mother would run short of some herbs and Chandra, who roamed the woods and sometimes beyond, procured them for her. It helped, too, that her life in a similar, though smaller temple city, made her aware of the rituals and their necessary steps. Though she hadn’t been allowed to participate as much since her banishment.
The elderly woman, grateful for her help, had offered Chandra a job in the temple kitchens, but then she had caught sight of Matangi.
And the tattoos that marked her as lower caste.
The elderly woman asked Matangi to leave, and Chandra took offense on her behalf, causing a public argument. Chandra realized then that she was talking to one of the members of the temple committee, but it had been too late to back down. Nor did she want to, if she was honest.
“Matangi has come here to fulfill her mother’s last wish. How can you refuse such a request? And based on what? You belittle her for something not under anyone’s control. Isn’teveryone equal in God’s eyes? Even King Amarendra, when he built this temple, made it open for all devotees irrespective of their caste. Why have the rules changed now?”
