BOOK V — Tymnes the Scythian
The road descended with many bends and turns from the Paripatras to the plains of Avanti. From the height of land it followed a small stream, which grew into the^ northward-flowing Sipta River. Thirty or forty years before, Avanti had formed part of the short-lived, ramshackle Indian empire of King Menandros but had quickly reasserted its independence after his death.
As Prasada trudged along, the character of the country changed. On the northern slopes of the Paripatras, the jungle was smaller, becoming scrubby or bushy. As we descended into the plains, cultivation:—mainly of wheat and poppy— again became frequent. We passed oxcarts and men riding camels and asses.
At a village, Bhumaka left us. I gave him a drachma of King Menandros, which I had taken in change in Barygaza, to make up for the loss of his snakes, and he happily wagged his head and took his leave. I suppose I paid too much, but I was not up on the current prices of serpents.
The sun hung low in the red-banded western sky as we neared Ozenê. Then came a drumming of hooves behind us. A troop of cavalry galloped up, shouting for us to halt. These men were taller and lighter of skin than the Indians whom we had seen hitherto, with beards dyed red, green, and blue. They wore large turbans and tunics not unlike the Hellenic kind, all gaudily colored. They carried lances and small bucklers and rode in a curious way. A ring was attached to the girth on each side, and the rider hooked his big toes into these rings, thus giving himself a steady seat.
The leader, wearing the largest turban and a shirt of scale mail, shouted incomprehensibly up at us until Otaspes, shouting back, found a tongue they had in common. After more speech, Otaspes said:
"He asks what we mean by riding an elephant. Know we not that it is forbidden to all but royalty?"
'Tell him King Girixis—"
"I have already told him. He will escort us to town, to do us honor if we are telling the truth; but if not—" Otaspes drew a finger across his throat. "We must be careful with these fellows. They are Arjunayanas, who would as lief spear you as not."
"What people is that?"
"They come from a great desert northwest of here. I believe the lands of the Indian Hellenes lie beyond this desert, but I have not been there to see. Anyway, these rascals are mercenaries, serving the king of Avanti—or rather the queen mother, who really runs the country."
We resumed our plod towards the city, while the sun set and the Arjunayanas cantered restlessly back and forth. They never rode at a walk or a trot. The silver sickle of a new moon hung above the red band of sky that surmounted the western horizon.
A little way from the road, a grove of huge old trees rose ahead of us. As Prasada carried us closer, I saw that this grove contained a small temple. There were lights and movement, and the next instant our escort was streaming away, galloping up the path to the temple. One of them shouted to us to follow.
A crowd, fitfully revealed by the yellow glow of butter lamps, was gathered before the temple. The cavalrymen dismounted. Leaving a few to hold the horses and lances, the rest mingled with the crowd.
Some ceremony was going on. Seated on Prasada beyond the fringes of the crowd, we were too far away to see clearly in the fading light; but a turbaned man handed something to a shaven priest. There was a racket of drums, gongs, and howling chants. Something flashed in the lamplight, and the audience gave a gasp and burst into song.
We waited, but the Arjunayanas seemed to have forgotten us. At last I told Koka to resume our way to Ozenê. I also asked Otaspes what we had seen at the temple.
"An Arjunayana gave his baby daughter to be sacrificed to Shiva," said the Persian. "Thus they dispose of their little girls when they cannot afford their dowries."
"Beastly barbarians!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, yes?" said Otaspes with his silent laugh. "Your servant has heard that Hellenes expose unwanted daughters. Here they sacrifice them to a god, whereas you throw them on rubbish heaps like so much garbage—unless that be a vile slander against the noble Hellenic race!"
I could only chew my Up in silence, since everybody knows that my fellow Hellenes do just that, so that the population of mainland Hellas is much less than it once was. To change this embarrassing subject, I asked Otaspes:
"Are the worshipers of Shiva a kind of Brachmanist?"
"The Orthodox," he explained, "are divided into two main sects or cults, as well as many minor ones. The two main cults are the worshipers of Shiva and of Vishnu. These two groups get along amiably enough, since each believes that the other's god is but an aspect—whatever that be—of its own. But they are united in detestation of the Buddhists and the Jainists, whom they deem wicked heretics."
The Jainists are a reformed sect, whose doctrines, I believe, are somewhat like those of the Buddhists; but, since I never had a chance to investigate them in person, I will not attempt a description of their cult.
As at Mahismati, a squad of Bactrio-Greek mercenaries guarded the city gate. There was the same jovial welcome, the same promise of entertainment in exchange for news, and the same import tax. Ozenê proved a larger and more imposing city than Barygaza or Mahismati, with a well-built wall and straight streets crossing at right angles; but it had the usual filth and swarms of beggars. A beggar trotted alongside the elephant, holding up a hand without fingers. Another hobbled after him on a crutch, displaying a twisted foot that dangled uselessly.
"They form a hereditary guild here, like every other occupation," explained Otaspes. "Their parents mutilate them— cut off their fingers, or dislocate a joint—so they can beg better."
The three rulers of Avanti sat on their cushions on their terrace of audience. In the middle was King Ariaka: a youth of not yet twenty years, small and sallow. He sat unmoving and unspeaking, staring straight before him with eyes that seemed to have no pupils.
"He is in a poppy trance," whispered Otaspes. "Tuck that statuette inside your shirt; we don't want them to think you a Brachmanist."
On the king's right sat his mother, the widowed Queen Indrani. This was a good-looking woman of perhaps forty, with well-filled bare breasts and a voluminous skirt. She wore a single rope of pearls and a few bangles, but no more gewgaws than any prosperous Indian matron; Indians care little for appearances.
On King Ariaka's left crouched the minister, a lean, vulture-faced Buddhist priest in yellow, named Udayan. He and the dowager queen ran the land between them, since the king was such a slave of poppy juice as to be useless as a ruler.
Here were no music or dancing girls. Although this court was not quite so informal and disorderly as those I had seen before in India—the Bactrio-Greek guards actually stood at attention—the gods know it was loose enough. People came and went, chattered loudly, and shouted: "O Queen!" or "O mantrin?" (minister) whenever one of them thought of something to say.
As we arrived, the queen and the minister were interviewing a band of Sakan mercenaries, who had come to Avanti seeking employment. They comprised a score of light-skinned men dressed in Scythian fashion, in long-sleeved, belted jackets, snug breeches tucked into the tops of high boots of soft leather, and caps that stuck up to a point on top and were prolonged down at the sides into a pair of tails that could be tied under the chin. The Bactrio-Greek guards scowled at their hereditary foes.
The Sakas' leader was a handsome fellow in his thirties. Bare-headed, he had his hair cut short in the shape of an inverted bowl. He shaved his chin but sprouted a huge, up-curling black mustache. He wore russet breeches, an emerald-green coat embroidered with golden thread, and a russet cloak to which green roundels were sewn. Golden earrings and bracelets and a necklace of amber and bear's claws completed his outfit.