Victory City(42)

The idea shocked her. She set it aside for further consideration at another time.



* * *



—

Yuktasri Sangama turned into a nocturnal creature. Without asking anyone’s permission she adopted a pattern of sleeping much of the day, snoring lustily, and rising as the darkness fell. Then she stepped across the invisible protective rekha and went into the forest. The first time she did this Pampa Kampana woke up and had to restrain herself from following. She saw shadows moving in the forest, and heard laughter, and understood that the wild women of the forest had come to meet her daughter, and that that was the company Yuktasri sought and needed. The next day she drew Yuktasri aside and asked, as gently as she could, “Tell me about them.” At first her daughter was reluctant to answer but once she started talking she couldn’t stop. Her eyes were alight with excitement as she spoke, and Pampa Kampana saw a happiness in her which was unlike anything the young woman had felt in her old life.

“In the beginning,” Yuktasri said, “they thought I was a spoiled aristocrat. They wanted to push me around, to throw me between them like a toy. But they couldn’t catch me. I ran up a tree trunk in my bare feet and chopped branches with my hands and the branches fell on their heads and then I got some respect. They speak a strange language which I at first thought they had made up so that they can talk to one another, like a mixture of many tongues and some wolf-talk too. But soon enough I realized that—even though they speak it with a terrible accent of their own—it’s actually the same language the pantheress spoke, which we instinctively understood. They call it the Master Language, or something meaning something like that, and the magic of the forest works, so that even though I don’t know the words I know what they mean. It’s as if someone is whispering translations into my ear. Are there interpreter-spirits in the forest, whispering to us all? I think there must be. Most of the women don’t bother to wear clothes and their hair is a mess and to be frank they are dirty and they stink as well. I don’t care. I want to get to know them all. Last night they only sent a small group, six of them, like a scouting party. But the forest is large and they have several encampments. I want to learn everything, every track and trail, and how and what they hunt, and what they do for fun. They say they will teach me. In return, they want me to teach them everything I learned at the Green Destiny kwoon. The vertical running, the flying leap, the climbing tornado, the staircase somersault, the chopping. They don’t have swords but they want to learn stick fighting.”

“If the forest is a safe place for them,” Pampa Kampana wanted to know, “why are they so fascinated by the martial arts?”

“They are worried,” Yuktasri said. “There are rumors of hostile monkeys.”

“Monkeys? What sort of monkeys? Monkeys are sacred creatures to us, as you know. They are the children of Lord Hanuman and the descendants of the tribes of his ancient kingdom of Kishkindha.”

“These are not temple monkeys,” Yuktasri said. “They are wild, and the forest is full of them, some brown, some green. But we don’t need to worry about the green and brown ones. They mean no harm. The ones the women fear most are pink, and alien to this place. Definitely not the children of Lord Hanuman or the remnants of Kishkindha. Foreigners.”

“Foreign pink monkeys?”

“They say the pink monkeys have almost no hair on their bodies, and their bare skin is a horrible pale color. They say the pink monkeys are large and unfriendly and travel in swarms and want to take over the forest.”

Pampa Kampana was puzzled. “But the forest is under Aranyani’s protection, so that can’t happen.”

“I don’t know,” Yuktasri said. “Maybe her magic doesn’t work against them.”

“Has anyone seen these pink monkeys?” Pampa Kampana asked.

“I don’t think so,” Yuktasri replied, “but the women keep saying, they’re coming. And apparently there are no women monkeys. It’s just an army of males.”

“Sounds to me that this might be a story they tell themselves,” Pampa Kampana said. “It doesn’t sound real. A story, maybe, about their general dislike of men. Also, if Aranyani’s spell works, maybe they would turn into females when they entered the forest, and change their plans and settle down.”

“Oh,” Yuktasri said, “if you heard them tell it, you wouldn’t say that. This is the song they sing.” And she sang it.

    O the Monkeys are a-coming,

they’re as pink as wagging tongues,

And they’re not like any monkeys

in any song we’ve ever sung

Not lithe or sweet or hairy,

and as big as any man,

O the monkeys mean to harm us,

and to rule us if they can.

O pink monkeys are a-coming,

and their tails are very short,

And they speak a cruel language

which we never have been taught,

It is not the Master Language

of the forest and the wood

But they mean to be our masters,

let that be understood.

Tell all the forest creatures,

tell the Wolf and Bird and Deer,

Tell the Tiger, Bear, and Panther,

that the danger’s very near,

And the danger’s coming closer,