The Mahabharata of Palmira

1 Palmira decides on a story

1 Palmira decides on a story

It seemed so long since she had heard the sound of flowing water that for a moment she imagined she was listening to the ripples of a stream. She opened her eyes. She stared in a daze at the gentle flames.

She picked up her tongs and prodded the smouldering mass. The flames flared lilac. She tapped the tongs on the grate and put them down again.

She knelt up, releasing the cushion beneath her, and then dragged it along as she sidled on her knees towards a box by the wall. The box was made of wood, colourfully decorated on its front panel. Its open lid was leaning against a sendal hanging which covered the wall. The bottom edge of this hanging was weighted down by a row of cushions, also silk, but in a heavier material and richly embroidered.

She picked out a scroll from inside the box and began to unroll it, revealing a picture of a hunting scene. Suddenly she heard a noise and turned sharply.

‘Out!’

‘Palmira ―’

‘Out!’

She flung her cushion at the retreating figure but missed, knocking over a crossbow by the door. Taking a deep breath she unfurled the scroll again, and gazed at it absently.

In the distance a castle crowned a hill. The castle was coloured in reds and browns. Towards the right of the picture a stream flowed down from the hill, opening out beside a grove of trees into a watercourse with preening ducks. The land was coloured green; and the blue colour of the stream became striated with the same green, as the surface of the water extended.

By the pool stood a crane, its beak pointing upwards at a descending falcon. These two birds were depicted with a most delicate attention to detail.

On the extreme right of the picture two hounds, rather less lifelike, stood watching. To the left, in the foreground, a man was seated on a throne. He was dressed in a dark green robe with a purple mantle. The mantle was fastened at his left shoulder with a brooch of amethysts and emeralds. His right hand held a lily stalk with three flowers. His left hand pointed towards a second bird of prey perched on a stool at his feet, a white gyrfalcon.

A gold crown rested on the man’s head. His hair, too far receded at his brow to show there beneath the crown, fell at the sides of his neck in reddish locks curling up at the ends. Beneath the lines of his forehead his blue eyes were deep-set. The wrinkles under his eyes merged into furrows; and these in turn flowed out into the hollows of his cleanly shaven cheeks. Little spots of pink had been used to capture the force of life beneath this gaunt skin.

Palmira let go the bottom of the picture and the paper rolled itself up again. She became aware now of the two voices outside; but they were not distinct enough for her to catch the words...

‘What’s she doing in there? What was it?’

‘I wasn’t meant to see. You know she doesn’t let us go in her room without permission.’

‘Yes, but she was in there.’

‘I know but I forgot to knock. And if I’d knocked, she wouldn’t have let me in.’

‘Yes, but you saw whatever it was, so you might as well tell me.’

‘No! I just know she wouldn’t want me to tell anyone else.’

‘Yes, but I’m not anyone else! Come on, what was it you saw? Tell me...’

Palmira had now closed the lid of the wooden box. She got up, replaced the fallen crossbow, and tossed the cushion onto her bed. Her bedcover was of the same material as the hanging, and it fluttered at the force of the cushion, sending a ripple of air to ruffle the flames. Palmira glanced back at the fire. Then she heard the voices outside rise in anger. Suddenly there was silence and she hurried out.

When she saw them grappling together on the ground Palmira cleared her throat.

‘What’s this?’ She put her weight on her stronger leg and with her weaker foot prodded first one boy and then the other. ‘Henry! Eh? Henry! Come on, what’s this about?’

The two combatants separated and began to dust themselves off.

‘Well?’ persisted Palmira. ‘What will your mother say? You hardly ever argue, let alone fight. Why were you fighting?’

‘You don’t have to have a reason,’ said the first Henry.

‘Nonsense!’ cried Palmira.

‘We don’t need a reason to fight,’ said the second Henry. ‘We’re boys, remember. You’re always saying boys don’t seem to need a reason to fight.’

Palmira smiled, and then checked herself with a frown. ‘Come on, what was it?’

‘Palmira... did you actually predict we would be boys?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, to our mother...’

‘When she was pregnant with us...’

‘Ah! No. I don’t think your mother was that interested in finding out your s*x. Not once I told her she was expecting twins. I think that must have put her off any further prediction.’

‘But how do you do it?’

‘Mother said you touched her, or listened, or something like that, and that’s how you knew she was having twins. But how can you possibly tell by touching if it’s going to be a boy or a girl?’

Palmira chose to ignore their questioning. ‘For the last time, boys, what were you fighting about?’

‘That’s our secret,’ said the first Henry. He had put a date in his mouth and was speaking with it lodged in his cheek. ‘We’ll tell you if you tell us how you do it.’

Palmira frowned. ‘Let me see... You were fighting over whose turn it is at the well. Eh?’

‘You’ve got a completely full cistern, Palmira.’

‘We both pumped today.’

‘Are you sure?’ She looked at them sternly. ‘I’d really like to have both cisterns full.’

‘And why do you always have us doing work for you? We’re supposed to be here for our education, not to do work for you.’

‘And then when we do work you complain. You’re always complaining.’

‘I’m always complaining?’

‘You are,’ insisted the first Henry, sucking the last bit of sweetness from the date stone. ‘If it’s not the work it’s our studies.’

‘And if it’s not our studies it’s the work!’ concluded the second Henry.

‘That’, said Palmira, ‘reminds me of when the Hodja met one of his neighbours ―’

‘Palmira!’ cried the first Henry, spitting out the date stone.

‘Not another Hodja story! Please, Palmira!’

‘Pick it up!’ she demanded. ‘Always complaining!’ As she spoke Palmira set about fluffing up the cushions on the tiled floor of her yard. ‘Can’t you manage to keep these the right way up?’ The floor side of these cushions was covered in canvas, while the top was in a much softer sarsenet which suffered from the roughness of the tiles. ‘Well,’ she continued, ‘the Hodja had a neighbour who also was always complaining. One cold winter he was standing next to this neighbour in the market place, and they overheard a huddle of people moaning about the cold.’ Palmira sat down on one of the cushions but the two boys remained standing. ‘This neighbour said to him:

‘“Hodja, you see how some people are never content! They’re always complaining. If it’s not the cold of winter, then they complain about the heat in summer! If it’s not the heat of summer, then it’s the cold of winter ―”

‘“Yes, yes, I see,” interrupted the Hodja hastily. “But what will you have to say in the spring? I suppose you’ll complain then that they’re all too contented!”’

The boys frowned. Palmira put her hand up to feel the breeze. She took a deep breath, letting the air slowly out of her lungs. ‘Now boys... I need to talk to you... By the way, which one of you came into my bedroom without knocking just now? Right, as a punishment you can go in and bring me some wine.’

‘Wine? From the cask?’

‘No, I filled up a bladder.’

The second Henry went inside to fetch it.

‘Oh, wait!’ Palmira shouted after him, noticing the bowl which now contained only stones and no dates. ‘More dates, please. And there’s some sour milk if you want...’

‘When are you going to get those half-half dates in again?’ the first Henry asked Palmira.

‘Who knows? When they bring them. Now, Henry, what was your quarrelling about?’

‘It wasn’t anything.’ Henry shook his head. ‘Palmira... has anything happened lately?’

‘Has anything happened? What do you mean?’

‘It’s just that you seem... You haven’t got a new boyfriend or anything, have you?’

Palmira laughed. ‘Why? Do I seem excited? Anxious? A new boyfriend! Out here? No, Henry. But it’s very observant of you. No, I’ve got a new stock of ore coming. It’s excellent quality. The best I’ve seen for ages. And almost as good as a new boyfriend.’

The second Henry came out slowly with a bladder of wine under one arm and two bowls balanced in his other hand. Palmira took the wine from him and he put down the dates and sour milk on the more shaded end of her table.

‘I’ve just been telling your brother about some ore that’s coming...’ Palmira took a sip of wine from the bladder. ‘That’s what I want to discuss with you. Wait! Olives! It’s your turn,’ she said to the first Henry. ‘Olives and honey, please — and you can take that in.’

The first Henry picked up the bowl of date stones and went inside.

‘Now, Henry, what were you quarrelling about?’

‘Nothing,’ answered the second Henry, still standing. He picked a date from the bowl. ‘When are you going to get half-half ones?’

‘Who knows? With the plague about ―’

‘But I thought you said it was only along the coast and over the sea. Those nice dates come from even further in, don’t they?’

‘That’s exactly why they don’t want to travel nearer the coast to bring them here.’

‘But... could they catch it from the things in your store house? I mean, the things the traders leave — can you catch it from things like that?’

‘I don’t think so, Henry. No, I don’t think so. But it’s probably wise of them not to travel much at the moment.’

The first Henry returned now with the olives and honey.

‘On the sunny end, please,’ said Palmira, ‘I don’t like my olives too cold.’ Henry put them down as instructed. Though the table was very low it served its purpose of keeping the food clear of the tiles. Occasionally a marauding ant would start to climb up one of the legs; but the smooth overhang of the marble top usually proved too much for these creatures.

‘Sit down, boys...’ Palmira dipped an olive in some honey and put it in her mouth, licking her fingers. ‘Now... I need you to help me work this ore I’ve got coming down from the hills. I’ve already spoken to your parents about it ―’

‘Why d’you need their permission?’

‘Well... It may be a little dangerous this year... Still, you two should be safe enough. Your mother isn’t very happy about it, but your father managed to persuade her ―’

‘But aren’t we going to be doing the same as last year?’

‘Yes, but last year you only did it for a couple of days, didn’t you? This year I’m going to need you for about fifteen days. Perhaps more if the wind holds out. I’m afraid you’ll have to get here first thing each morning to clear the furnace flues ―’

‘When’s it getting here, the ore?’

‘In a few days. Till then you can get in some hemp and halfa. And there’s some paper in the store that needs trimming.’

‘What about Mulciber? Isn’t he going to help?’

‘Of course, of course. He’ll come when the ore’s here. But once the ore’s all safely in I’m afraid I’ll have to go to the coast, so I’ll be leaving you on your own to work with Mulciber — don’t worry, I’ll only be gone for a few days. I just need to pick up a document. Of course, this year Mulciber will have to leave before dark — remember that his wife’s due next month — so you’ll have to do more clearing up. Now, in exchange ―’

‘Can we just do maths?’

‘That’s a good idea, Palmira, we’ll work for you if you let us have a rest from the Latin and Arabic.’

‘That’s a fair exchange, Palmira!’

Palmira smiled. She was silent for a few moments, dipping her finger in the honey. She waved away a hornet. ‘I had another idea,’ she said. ‘A story.’

‘A story!’

‘What, a real story?’

‘What do you mean, Henry? What’s a real story?’

‘One that’s just for fun,’ explained the first Henry.

‘Not for our education,’ added his brother.

‘I see... So you mean... one with beautiful princesses, handsome princes, lots of fighting, and a little mathematics too ―’

‘What?’

‘Palmira, when are you going to let us read the Abaci?’

‘When you’re ready to copy it accurately, Henry, and not before. Your Latin’s just not good enough yet. Besides, the Abaci is mainly about numbers. There’s more to mathematics than just numbers, you know. But of course, if you’re very impatient to start on it, perhaps we could spend the next two weeks just on Latin ―’

‘No! A story ―’

‘And a proper story, Palmira.’

‘Will you really tell us a proper story?’

‘Well, I don’t know how proper it will be. But I expect there will be some handsome princes, some fighting, perhaps a beautiful princess even ―’

‘When are you going to start? Now?’

‘What’s it called? What’s it going to be called?’

‘The story?’ Palmira took another sip of wine. ‘I’m going to tell you the story of Karna.’