The chariot
The horse whisperer had informed members of the court that the head horse was a bit ill, as it was seen to shudder its hinds every so often and kick back without vigor, an act that did not even dislodge the dew drop from the horseshoe. The horse whisperer had arranged for some members of the court to come to the stable and see for themselves. He had asked the cleaning lady to spend some more hours the night before to make sure no hay strand peeked from beyond the cage. The dung was piled in the shadow.
The head horse got well again in three days. Its partner had already started agitating for a ride and could be seen looking this way and that out of the stable. When the horse whisperer brought the head horse to its partner, both kissed one another, with their thick lips rolling on the fur, and they stood together side by side waiting for the chariot to be yoked.
The court members were standing outside in the grass. It was raining a little bit, but mostly it was just clouds. They were twitching, scruffing their feet on the grass, taking out plods that turned upside down and revealed the wet, bone-white roots.
“Which of us is to tell? We need his eyes this time.”
“The hill ain’t gonna move. Can’t it wait? I have a feeling he makes a run for it.”
“Can’t. It’s about time to see if he does make a run for anyway. The fatness his highness is, I’m not sure he can make a run for anymore.”
It was up to the two or three hesitant ones, still wringing their dry hands, to go to the king and tell him it was time to go observe the hill.
The king was just about to get into his sleeping suit, though it was a few hours yet to sun set. He had these odd looking slippers on that looked like fat fishes, that had patterns of flowers on them, flowers with long vines coiling on the underside, tickling the balls of his feet as they moved with the undersea currents…
“Well, well,” thought the members of the court, looking down, “the pedestrian woulda been happy with those slippers…these kids these days, they looking back and up and down, what ya’ll wearing they saying. Meanwhile theys not big enough to carry a school bag proper!”
The king looked each member in the eye. Two he looked at their facial hair, to see if they were disguise—this is something he needed to do, ever since he had been foretold that they would come in disguise in the dark days. They were all alright. He embraced the two, guffawed with one and punched another lightly on the stomach. His drowsiness was really gone. “Yes, yes, it is time to observe the hill, I understood.” Then wringing his hands, a slight smile, “Well, let’s get going then. Harsh Ahoy!”
The chariot was white and glowing in the pale light and its curtain was drawn back. The horses were quiet and still, except for their tails, which were swinging side to side like twin girls’ hair when running home from school.
The king ascended the steps and the chariot slightly leaned over. A charioteer sat on front with his back straight and stiff. He whipped the head horse and the trot began. The thing had been sick, and so this first whippin’ in a while caused a cold shiver to its core.
The king looked back at the court looking at him. They would slide down the staircase rails, they would. They would certainly go through his drawers.
*
In the shrubs, the shrubs knee high, the thistles scraping the silk, a thread coming off and engaging with a thistle, its tongue playful with a few orders to order about while still in a habit of being stitched.
He had made a run for. The charioteer had taken a pause to urinate. Or perhaps to say hi to the hoodlums playing some board game by the road. In any case, the charioteer had left the chariot and the king had had a proper accounting and made a run for. He was in the shrubs, looking at the hill.
“Me eyes fallen on the hill, when I drew the curtain open. What is me to say now? Saw a hog and ran after it. Nah, won’t get caught, not this time. Now all I gotta do is get on the other side of this hill.” Now scampering up the slope on all fours, slipping at times but holding on to a limb, the silk stained with brown-green-black patches on the knee-balls, his fish slippers long since flip flopping in a bush and then open-mouthed laying on the side, “Sometimes a hill gets so big it ain’t the view…no, it block the view…”
*
The charioteer had in fact gone to the hoodlums. He had thrown a dice into their board game when he had been about five feet from them. They had been startled, they were groggy with the afternoon’s drink. There had been a score, some bit of gold for his chest. Quite a bit, actually, and also a pause for him to tell his view on the state and future of nation. He had squinted his eyes in the speech, as if he could see west to east and east to west very clearly.
He had come back to find the king had gone. But the court had told him what to do if this happened. He was just to ride on to the edge of the hill, loiter a bit and ride back to the palace with the curtains drawn. This way, no one would know the king was not in the chariot. So, he did that.
*
But a lady knew. The lady with the beads on the mound. A pile, three inches, then another. Gatherings of beads like tents. A biker was looking at her on the mound before it sped away. The traffic police just sat on his stool and took a drink of water.
She went up to the horses. The chariot had to go slow on account of the traffic. The horses were panting because of the horns and the speed of the micros rushing all about them. They were slow but panting. She went up to the head horse’s ear.
She whispered, “King Milinda, King Milinda, had said monk Nagasena, there is no chariot. Head horse, head horse, I say, I see no king, I see no king.”
King Milinda crouches before the monk Nagasena
The charioteer climbed down and stood between the head horse and the lady. He said, “Malady! Be gone!”
*