Samsāra

Chapter Seven

Armed with her sketchpad and pens, she started taking an active role in her education. She sketched out things she wanted to know, things that were not in the room. Abstract concepts were harder but she got by, for the concept of time and hours she drew the movements of sun in the sky, coloured a bright yellow and used the moon for the concept of weeks and months and the woman named the hours, words for day and month They had also developed a series of complex sign and body language technique for further understanding. It was tedious and crude but very helpful.

Two months after they began, Ajiona could now understand a smattering of what was being said around her and could speak haltingly making herself understood. However, she gave no inclination that she was progressing; she chose instead to listen instead of talk. The chambermaids were a well of information, they gossiped over her believing she did not understand. That way she knew those who mocked her and those that did not. The small female, Mekhala that loved braiding jasmine in her hair and cooed romantic ballads and spoke in sighing tones about the princes and Pragya who seemed more mature than all the others and condemned the others gossips and somewhat malicious teasing. Both of them never made mockery of her silent tears at night, the way she tossed and turned unable to sleep they rebuked the others when they did.

Ajiona knew it was Pragya that summoned the rajavaidya to see to her insomnia and he prescribed a tonic that knocked her out. She dreamt of the tall man she had taken a blow for, the one that had promised he would come back for her, the one she had seen at her trial, glaring down at her. She woke up after and unable to return to bed had done yoga till dawn. In the morning, she presented the drawing of the man to her teacher.

'Yuvaraju!' Her teacher proclaimed. 'Bhallaladeva.'

Ajiona nodded and flipped open to the other page where the other man was drawn.

'Cinna yuvaraju, Amarenda Bahubali.'

Ajiona did not take the tonic again after that night. Instead, she lay quiet and still as a stone on the bed and waited till her companions were asleep then she would tiptoe to the balcony and practice. She was thankful her body hadn't forgotten nor had her mind as she moved from one form to another, the remaining hours before daylight she slept like a baby. Her appetite had improved also and she regained her weight and the glint of her eyes returned.

On some days, when the weather was fair, her teacher named Gandhari took her out. At first it was to the small courtyard below her balcony where there was a jamun tree and a little pond. Glad to be out of the confines of her rooms and in open space, Ajiona's mind would wander until she wasn't paying attention and Gandhari gave her a few precious minutes to revel in her little freedom. Most times it was the gardens Gandhari took her to for her lesson, her appreciative curiosity about the exotic plants she had never seen before with their vibrant colour allowed her to learn faster and she returned each day to her apartments with new words to her vocabulary, the songs of the birds in her ears and the effulgence of those fabulous flowers etched on the walls of her mind, the sweet fragrance of open air and flowers unforgettable.

She spied various women and girls of her age in bright silk carousing the gardens sometimes, they giggled underneath the bright umbrella hoisted over them by hefty men at the sight of her kneeling to smell the ketaki flowers. They whisper to themselves from behind their palms and Ajiona, if she strained enough, caught a sentence or two of their whispers. She's as pretty as they say. I heard she's a whore. Do you think she can teach me the art of love? It gave Ajiona a sketchy picture about how she was viewed in the palace and did not like it. Every now and then it was the princes that passed the two of them together and at times just one and always with the retinue. The younger prince, Amarendra Bahubali always acknowledged their presence, with a wave or an occasional nod. But he never came over to them, perhaps it was improper or it could be the disapproving glare Gandhari always had whenever he flashed his easy grin. Ajiona wondered how many girls had lost their hearts to the grin and if Mekhala was among those unfortunates. The older prince was another matter; he was always striding purposefully through the garden, unlike the leisurely pace of his brother, scowling at whatever was in front of him, a flock of men trailing after him.