The Tigress and the Yogi by Shelley Schanfield

Author:Shelley Schanfield
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake House Books via Indie Author Project
Published: 2016-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

THE COURTESAN’S MANSION

By noon the sun would make the rooftop too hot for sitting, but it was early in the day. A few branches of the neem tree hung over the roof, and underneath them it was shady and cool enough. Kirsa liked it there. It was a quiet, private place. From this spot, she could see over the houses of the courtesans’ quarter to the river.

“I had a place like this at Addha’s old mansion,” Ratna had told her. “When I began my apprenticeship, I used to look out over the river to the Forest of Bliss, where I grew up. My father was a holy hermit there. He had just died, and it soothed me to be alone.” Kirsa liked Addha’s beautiful, kind apprentice instantly, and to know that they both had lost a father made her feel closer to her. Right away Ratna took to calling her “little sister,” which increased her adoration for the lovely young woman.

Ratna said she didn’t often come up there nowadays because of her duties serving the house’s patrons, but the very first day when the last guest left she had fetched Kirsa and brought her up to sleep under the fading stars. Ratna said she would leave the ladder propped in the corridor so that Kirsa and Chandaka could easily climb through the opening to the top.

Chandaka was eight, almost two years older than Kirsa. He was the slender, quick, and cheerful son of Addha’s senior courtesan, Amrapali. On the first day, when Kirsa thought she would die of her fever and her grief, he had sat next to her pallet and told her stories to distract her. She couldn’t help but smile when he made funny faces. He was full of mischief.

The Brahmin cook didn’t approve of them climbing up to the roof. It didn’t take more than a day for Kirsa to see that the cook didn’t approve of anything Chandaka did. He complained to Lakshmi that the boy was leading Kirsa astray, but Chandaka smiled at Lakshmi, and she gave them a halfhearted scolding and told them to be off and behave themselves.

It seemed ages since Lakshmi had pulled her out of Ganga’s waters—though it had only been nine days; Kirsa had counted them. She remembered running from the Beggar King’s camp into the river. Some presence helped her. Then she had seen Lakshmi bathing and saying her prayers, but the presence was gone, and Kirsa was sinking into Ganga’s watery breast. She would have sunk forever if the plump woman hadn’t seen her struggling to stay afloat and hauled her dripping and gasping to the riverbank. Kirsa had shivered with cold and exhaustion while her rescuer cooed over her hurt hand. “You’ll come home with me,” Lakshmi had said. “Let King Ram just try to get you back!”

As Kirsa sat in the pleasant shade, she thought about the burning grounds. A whole different life, as if she’d died and been reborn. The luxuries showered on her almost

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