Outside the Great Gate of Devapur there was a line of merchants and farmers waiting to be admitted; it was almost dawn and the sky was showing the first rosy glow of dawn. The forest beyond the walls of the city rustled and rang with the emergence of day-dwelling animals while the small farms between the trees and the walls bustled with activity. Rajput Hasin Dahele's Guards were making their way along the waiting line, spears in their hands, supervising the crowd. A babble of Hindi, Gond, and Kola made it plain that this market was an important one, drawing merchants from far away as well as more local growers and craftsmen. Toward the back of the line, Sanat Ji Mani and Tulsi waited to be let into the city with the rest.

"How many coppers do we have left?" Tulsi asked as she watched the Guards approaching in their gaudy uniforms. She had taken her pack off her shoulders and held it leaning against her leg.

"Six," said Sanat Ji Mani. "Enough to pay our gate-fee and to buy you something to eat. Beyond that, we will have to earn more."

"Will you be doing conjuring?' She sounded uneasy."They may not want you to do such tricks."

"I may, and I may not. Let us see what the Guards tell us." He did his best to reassure her with a quick smile, but he was aware that she was not solaced.

"I will do as many performances as they allow," she told him fervently. "So you and I will not lose everything."

"Let us hope that will not be necessary," he said, and paused to listen to the people gathered around the Great Gate. Although he recognized a few of the languages and dialects, he knew none of them well enough to converse readily, which he knew could be a problem.

"What do we do if the Guards want a bribe?" she asked.

"Let us wait until they ask for one," he recommended, shifting his weight to ease his right foot.

"All right," she said nervously, and tried to contain her apprehension.

"They have not reached us yet, in any case," he pointed out. "They may not go to the end of the line, for the sun is almost up, and the Gate is opened at sunrise."

"That would be reason enough for them to deny entrance to any they have not questioned." She was about to make another, more caustic, observation when the first brilliant rays sliced along the sky, cutting through the trees and casting shadows as long and sharp as lances. "The Gate will be opened now."

"Move with the others in line and we will attract little attention," he said, turning away from the sun.

"I shall hope we pass unnoticed-and untaxed," Tulsi said.

"Indeed," he said, holding his empty sack before him as if it still contained something more than a few coins.

Ahead of them the line began to move as the Gate swung inward, groaning loudly on its massive brass hinges; an answering shout arose from the crowd and those at the head of the line surged forward. The Guards went back to the city walls, forming a line next to the Gate. A good number of merchants were waved through.

"There-you see?" Tulsi said, pointing. "Men of means are allowed in."

"We are not to the Gate yet," Sanat Ji Mani said.

"No; but when we get there, we will be denied entry, I know it." She looked about nervously. "Look. They have pulled that man with the load of charcoal out of the line. They will do the same to us."

"Perhaps," Sanat Ji Mani said. "If we are refused admission, we can set up out here, so that those coming and going from the city will see us, and we can earn some money that way."

"If the Guards will let us," said Tulsi bleakly.

"We will manage somehow. Chafing at what may not happen serves no one." He laid his hand on her shoulder. "I know you are anxious-I do not blame you-but you cannot improve our chances by fussing."

"Do you tell me you are not apprehensive?" she asked as they moved closer to the gate with the rest of the line.

"I am disquieted by our circumstances," he told her, wanting to ally her fears.

She rounded on him. "If we have nothing to eat tonight, what then?"

"Then I shall hunt," he said. "I hope it will not be necessary, but if it is-" He made a philosophical gesture.

"It does not bother you, this necessity?" She noticed they were nearing the Gate, and stopped speaking.

"Yes, but not so much that I cannot do it," he said in a low voice, moving forward carefully to conceal his limp as much as possible.

They were almost through now; a customs man sat at a table just inside the Gate collecting fees and issuing writs for the market. There were three men standing behind him, all officials of the city, by the look of them; one was white-haired and had a deeply lined face and wore a heavy gold chain indicating his importance. The others deferred to him, which he obviously expected them to do, listening for his opinions before voicing their own.

"Who are you and what is your purpose here?" the customs officer asked in Hindi, and repeated his question in Gond.

Sanat Ji Mani answered in accented-but-passable Hindi, "We are entertainers. The woman is a tumbler and acrobat. I conjure. We have come a long way."

"By the look of you, you must have," said the customs officer. "A tumbler and a conjurer. How long do you plan to perform here?"

"Today, possibly tomorrow," said Sanat Ji Mani. "If things go well."

"And where have you come from?" the customs officer demanded.

"I come from far away; so does my companion," Sanat Ji Mani said, and felt Tulsi grow nervous with all these questions.

"That is obvious," said the customs officer and turned to the old man with the chain. "What do you think?"

"I think the Rajput Hasin Dahele will want to see them." He nodded twice, his whole demeanor reeking of sagacity.

The customs officer addressed Sanat Ji Mani. "Our Rajput would like to speak with you, if you would be good enough to go with these Guards?"

Although Tulsi could not understand what was being said, she was aware something had happened. "What did they say?" she asked edgily.

"They want us to go with the Guards. Apparently they think the local Rajput wants to see us." Sanat Ji Mani was able to preserve his outward calm as he spoke to the customs officer once more. "Why would your Rajput be interested in the likes of us? Does he enjoy tumbling, or conjuring?"

"Not quite," said the old man, and bowed slightly to Sanat Ji Mani. "Come with us, if you would. You will suffer no harm from anyone, I assure you."

"And just who are you, that you can give such assurances?" Sanat Ji Mani asked, his tone growing sharper.

"I am the Alvar poet, Vayu Ede; I am advisor to the Rajput Hasin Dahele." This time his bow was deeper and more respectful.

Tulsi looked about in dismay. "Why do they want us?"

"I have not been informed; I will translate anything I am told," Sanat Ji Mani said, hoping to lessen her misgiving. "Perhaps if we go along, we may discover what the Rajput wants."

"But I need to perform. We will not earn any money if we must wait upon the Rajput, and that would be-" She stopped as two Guards came to flank her and Sanat Ji Mani. "Are they taking us to prison?"

"Perhaps," said Sanat Ji Mani. "But I doubt it. The Guards have not drawn their weapons."

"Small comfort," said Tulsi, reluctantly walking as Sanat Ji Mani kept pace with the Guards. "Why do you not run?"

"Because I cannot, not with my foot as it is, and the sun in the sky. I would be caught quickly, and that might make our situation far worse than it appears to be right now." He tried to soothe her. "If nothing else, we should get some food out of this."

"Do you think so?" She tossed her head. "Timur-i would be as likely to order us whipped as to feed us."

"We do not know that this Prince is as despotic as Timur-i," said Sanat Ji Mani, and noticed that the Guards were listening; he wondered if they could understand the language he and Tulsi shared, and decided to be more circumspect. "It might be best to wait until we find out what this Rajput wants of us."

She caught his intention at once. "Yes. You are right," she said, and fell silent.

They made their way through the streets, passing a number of temples and open squares, some of which were readied for markets, some of which apparently served other purposes. The city itself was good-sized-about half as large as Delhi-with an array of buildings that went from squalid to grand, spreading over a cluster of rising hills toward a palace that crowned the highest point of the land, a gorgeous citadel built more to impress than to defend. As they approached the magnificent entrance to this enormous building, the road grew steeper and Sanat Ji Mani limped more with the effort of the climb; he was glad that they had not much farther to go, for between the sunlight and his half-healed foot, he was becoming exhausted.

"Tell me if you need my shoulder," said Tulsi, her voice low.

"I think I can manage, but thank you," he said. "We have only a short way to go."

Tulsi kept silent, her eyes on the palace ahead of them; it shimmered in the morning light, its white-granite walls brilliant, its ornamental stone-work in jasper and malachite, its domes glistening with rosy marble, its watch-towers topped with large brass finials that shone like gold where the sun struck them. A cadre of Guards lined the way from the first door to the interior of the palace, their weapons sheathed, but their presence carrying an explicit message. The servants of the Prince wore dark-green livery, an unusual requirement in this part of the world; it revealed, more than the palace, the wealth of the Prince who reigned, for it meant he could afford to spend a great deal on his household. "So many of them," she whispered to Sanat Ji Mani as they passed the first door into the palace and faced three more, all standing open.

"It is intended to impress us," said Sanat Ji Mani in an undervoice.

"And it is impressive," said Tulsi, glancing at the groups of servants gathered to watch them. "I have not seen the like since Samarkand."

"Oh, yes, it is impressive," said Sanat Ji Mani, grateful that they had nearly reached their destination.

A last pair of doors swung open revealing the main reception hall. Windows stood open along the eastern wall, admitting the glowing morning light so that the whole room was luminous; a contingent of Guards lined the approach to the carved-ivory throne that stood at the top of a tall dais, just at this moment empty; as Vayu Ede motioned Sanat Ji Mani and Tulsi forward, a sudden twangling of hidden instruments filled the air, and the Guards bent almost double at the waist. A door at the rear of the dais swung open and a man in gorgeous silks, golden ornaments, and many jewels came to sit on the throne; he was still fairly young-no more than thirty-with handsome features and an impressive moustache beneath a strong nose and deepset eyes. He was full of energy, and he had the air of a man used to being obeyed.

From a hidden alcove, a strong-voiced herald called out, "This is Hasin Dahele, Rajput of Beragar, Grandson of Raja Hasin Napadas, Lord of many elephants, Protector of the Gods, Master of the city of Devapur, the Most Fortunate, Most Exalted ruler. All bow low before him."

"We are supposed to bow," Sanat Ji Mani told Tulsi, and did it himself, copying the manner of the Guards.

"Do I bow?" Tulsi asked. "Or are women expected to show more deference?"

"Try bowing," Sanat Ji Mani recommended, and sighed with relief when she did.

"Who are these people?" Hasin Dahele asked, addressing Vayu Ede.

"They are strangers, Greatness, come from far away; they have not come here before-no one at the Gate recognized them," the self-proclaimed poet announced. "He says he is a conjurer, she calls herself a tumbler."

"And is this true?" Hasin Dahele addressed the new-comers.

"As far as it goes, Greatness," said Sanat Ji Mani. "It is what we do to earn our living now."

Vayu Ede inclined his head and shot a penetrating look at Hasin Dahele. "They have not always done this."

"The woman always has," said Sanat Ji Mani at once, not wanting to speak anything but the pristine truth. "I have not."

"It is as I said, Greatness, is it not?" Vayu Ede inquired in a manner laden with implication.

Rajput Hasin Dahele folded his hands. "It may be; it may be." He leaned forward on his throne. "What are your names and where do you come from?"

"What is he asking?" Tulsi asked softly.

"He wants to know who we are," said Sanat Ji Mani, and went on in Hindi to Hasin Dahele. "The woman is Tulsi Kil. She has been part of a troupe of entertainers all her life until she became separated from them a few months ago. She has been traveling with me since then." He paused. "I am called Sanat Ji Mani. I come from far away."

"That is apparent from your speech to your garments to your features; no one in this region resembles you," said Hasin Dahele. "Tulsi Kil and Sanat Ji Mani, you say?" He leaned back and clapped his hands. "You will be my guests, and welcome in my palace. You are to be fed and clothed and treated as I would be treated."

"Greatness," said Sanat Ji Mani, "we are most grateful, and we mean you no disrespect, but, if I may ask: what have we done to deserve such distinction, for we are unaware of anything we have done that would entitle us to your hospitality?" He knew from long experience that the favor of Princes, especially unearned favor, could carry with it a heavy burden. "We are strangers in your land, and we have come here with nothing."

"All the more reason I should receive you well," said Hasin Dahele curtly. "Go. Enjoy your meal, put on new clothes, and we shall speak again."

"Greatness," Sanat Ji Mani persisted, bowing to show respect, "I most humbly request that you tell us more: you must understand that we have been on the road for some time and have not often encountered kindness, let alone such generosity."

"I will explain more once you are rested and comfortable," said Hasin Dahele in a tone that closed the matter. "Vayu Ede, go with them and see they are attended to properly." He clapped his hands again, then rose from his throne. "We meet again in the late afternoon."

"Come," said Vayu Ede to Sanat Ji Mani. "A bath is being readied, one for you and one for the woman, and then there will be a meal, and you will be allowed to rest through the heat of the day." He waited until Rajput Hasin Dahele was out of the room to turn toward the other end of the reception hall. "This way. Both of you."

"Do you think we should?" Tulsi asked when Sanat Ji Mani had summarized the agenda laid out for them.

"I think it would be sensible, at least until we have learned more. At the very least, you will be fed, and we will have better clothing." He indicated his thread-bare, travel-smirched garments. "Do not tell me you would prefer what we have."

"No," she said hesitantly. "But I do not want to be made a captive for the sake of a few rags, either."

Sanat Ji Mani, doing his best to keep pace with Vayu Ede, said, "We cannot bolt now. We could not get out of this palace without being stopped. Oh, yes, the windows are open, but this room is toward the rear of the palace-that long approach went through the center of the building-and we would still have to get out of the grounds if we are to escape; there is a wall to climb, as well. Perhaps you could do it, but I cannot; I cannot move quickly enough." They had passed the door through which they had been admitted, and were continuing on toward the end of the vast chamber.

"But could we not hide, and ..." She shook her head. "No, of course not. You are right. We will take stock of our situation when we can better understand it."

"You make it sound so galling," he told her.

"Because it is," she responded. "I do not like not knowing why we have been singled out."

"Neither do I," said Sanat Ji Mani, "but so long as we are not in immediate danger-"

"Are you certain we are not?" she asked.

"No; but I am willing to reserve judgment for the time being." They were almost to the end of the reception hall.

Vayu Ede paused in front of another door, this one somewhat smaller than the main one, but decorated with an inlaid pattern of leaves worked in ivory and precious stones. "This leads to the domestic part of the palace. The Prince's family have their quarters here, and they are not to be approached in any way. You need not worry that you will stumble upon them by accident; Guards are posted outside their wing, and you are not to go beyond them. I think you will find the guests' accommodations to your liking." He opened the door, motioning to Tulsi and Sanat Ji Mani to come through.

Sanat Ji Mani told Tulsi what Vayu Ede had said, adding, "We should keep to the restrictions they place on us for now, and proceed carefully so that we do not do anything to create suspicions about us."

"I should think not," said Tulsi with feeling. "Oh, Sanat Ji Mani, I wish you could hold me for just a moment. I feel so ... alone here."

"You are not alone," Sanat Ji Mani promised her.

She did not answer, giving her attention to the luxurious western wing of the palace: there was a magnificent series of apartments off the corridor down which they walked, each one furnished opulently, with aromatic woods, lovely silks, and carpets woven by masters. All the rooms were good-sized, with shuttered windows to keep out the mid-day heat without blocking air. She was mildly startled when Vayu Ede stopped in front of one of these rooms and bowed her into it. "For me?"

"He indicates so," said Sanat Ji Mani, and then said to their guide, "I want to be near her, as near as your custom permits."

"You will be across the hall," said Vayu Ede. "And you shall have the chamber at the end of the corridor for your bath." He smiled benignly.

"Are we permitted to bathe together?" Sanat Ji Mani asked.

Vayu Ede looked a bit startled, but said, "There is nothing to say you may not."

"Then, if you would, arrange it," said Sanat Ji Mani, and relayed what had been said to Tulsi.

"Do you think they are trying to keep us apart?" she asked, frowning at the thought.

"They may be, but I doubt it. If they had wanted to do that, there are many ways they could have accomplished it by now." Sanat Ji Mani kept his voice low, but there was power in it, holding her attention. "We will try to discover what their purpose is, and as soon as we do, we will know how to act."

"If you say so," she said dubiously.

Sanat Ji Mani nodded to her, but spoke to Vayu Ede. "What shall we do now?"

"The bath will be readied for you. While you bathe, your clothes will be taken, washed, and mended; you may have them back if you wish, but it is the honor of the Prince to clothe you, and there will be garments waiting for you when you return from bathing. I will tell the slaves that you and your woman are to bathe together, so they will not be shocked to see you both." He bowed, his fingers pressed together.

"They are going to examine our things," Sanat Ji Mani to Tulsi. "While we bathe."

"And attack us while we have nothing with us," she said, a combination of disgust and fright in her stance. "If we refuse, they will only make it worse."

"Very likely," said Sanat Ji Mani.

"Should we request other arrangements? I have your knife still. I can keep it with me, in case we have need of it." She was careful not to touch the knife hidden under her sash.

"That is an excellent idea," said Sanat Ji Mani, and went on to Vayu Ede. "How are we to manage this? You say these are our chambers, and that the bath is at the end of this hall. How do we do this?"

"There are robes in your rooms; leave your clothes, don the robes, and go along to the bath," said Vayu Ede. "When you return, new garments will be set out for you; I will come for you and take you to the Prince's morning dining room."

Tulsi listened to Sanat Ji Mani's version of this with growing unease. "I do not like it," she said sternly, "but I doubt there is much I can do about it."

"Very little," Sanat Ji Mani agreed. "Keep alert as we go; we can discuss this further while we bathe."

"They will be listening," said Tulsi, unwilling to go into her appointed chamber alone. "Wherever we are."

"Very likely," Sanat Ji Mani said, and, aware of her wariness, said to Vayu Ede, "Would it be permitted for the two of us to occupy the same room: we have done so for many weeks and we are used to it."

Vayu Ede considered the matter, then said, "If she has served you, then it is fitting that she remain with you. You had better share the room appointed for your use; it is larger and the bed is more generous. I will inform the Illustrious Prince of your request and its disposition." With that he bowed. "I will return when you have bathed." Then he leaned toward Sanat Ji Mani and whispered something to him, stepping back at once. "It is true." With that, he turned away and went back the way he came.

"What did he say?" Tulsi asked.

"You may stay in my chamber with me," said Sanat Ji Mani, too startled to repeat the second message. "I think they will be glad of having us both in one place."

Tulsi put her hands to her face in horror. "You mean we could be more easily attacked together than apart? Yes, I see," she went on, giving him no chance to answer. "How foolish of me, to play into their hands."

"The two of us are stronger together than apart," he said, hoping to lessen her growing dread. "It is better that we are together, I think."

She nodded several times. "Yes; yes, you are probably right. Neither of us can vanish if we are together."

"You cannot vanish from me, no matter what others may do," he said gently. "The blood-bond holds me to you. In time, it may hold you to me."

"If I lie with you six times," she said impatiently. "Yes, I know; you told me, more than once." Impulsively she left his side to gather up the robe left out for her. "Let us do as they ask. Whatever is coming, let it come quickly."

"Very well," he said, following her into the chamber that had been allocated for his use. "When we bathe, I will not lie in the water; you may, but for me it would be most ... unpleasant."

She paused as she started to strip off her clothing. "As you were in the river?"

"Nothing that extreme," he said, and turned away to undress; he had to admit his clothing needed to be patched or destroyed; were he in his own house, he would consign it to the rag-bin. "Running water or tide-driven water makes me ill; standing water only makes me queasy."

"That sounds unsettling," she said, skinning out of her trousers and leaving only her loin-cloth in place. "I will not surrender this."

"There is no need; you can remove it in the bath," he said, casting away the short kandys he had been wearing for so many days; beneath was a sleeveless shift in frayed black cotton, with a tear on the shoulder and pulled seams on the sides. He pulled this over his head with some trepidation, reaching for the robe laid out for him, intending to cover the swath of scars that ran across the whole of the front of his body from the base of his ribs to be covered by his leggings secured at his waist. He very nearly succeeded when Tulsi took hold of his arm.

"What are those?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"They are how I was killed, and why I could walk again," he said as he slipped his robe around him; the soft saffron color seemed odd to him, who habitually wore black.

"What did they do?" Her voice was hushed, her eyes very wide. "I can see why you kept them covered all this time."

Working the bands of his leggings, he peeled them off and dropped them with his other garments; he pulled his robe more completely closed and secured it with the sash he had been provided. "I was disemboweled, but they did not sever my spine or burn me, so-"

She held up her hand. "Of course. You returned."

He tugged off his hand-made shoes and put them near the bed, hoping they might not be taken away. "As soon as you are ready."

"I am taking this," said Tulsi, holding up the little knife. She was wearing a robe of pale blue-green now, and it brought out the color of her eyes.

"A very good precaution," Sanat Ji Mani approved. "Who knows if we will need it."

"Do you expect trouble?" she asked, looking directly at him.

"No, but that does not mean we can avoid it." He stepped into the hall and looked around. "I see no one."

"But we are being watched, are we not?" She went past him, starting down the corridor with a determined stride that turned into a flying cartwheel. "There," she said as she landed. "Look all you want," she added to the walls.

Sanat Ji Mani followed after her, his thought distracted by what he had heard Vayu Ede say so quietly and what they might portend: I know who you are.

Text of a letter from Rishi Harata Medha to Sultan Nasiruddin Mohammed bin Tughluq.

To the most Excellent Naisuddin Mohammed bin Tughluq, favored of your god, Allah, and devotee of the Prophet Mohammed, the High Priest of Shiva sends his greetings for the last time.

We who have struggled to remain in Delhi are now faced with the necessity of leaving or starving, and while death is not feared by us, we do not wish to succumb through the agency of men, but the Will of the Gods, Whose work the world is. For months we have attempted to maintain our temple and our place in what remains of the city, but it is becoming impossible.

Conflicts among the followers of Timur-i's man and your supporters have destroyed most of the farms and orchards in our vicinity, and therefore no one has any food to bring to market. The warriors seize any they come upon and confiscate livestock for their use, so that the few people within the walls are left to scavenge like pi-dogs or like vultures. No one worships now, not any god. The call to your prayers is not often heard, for those making such calls become targets of archers.

There is disease everywhere and the wells stink from the carrion rotting in their waters. The river is nothing but a sewer and even though the rains have begun, they cannot alleviate all the pestilence that is abroad in these streets. Those who do not starve still sicken and then die, their agony unattended and no record made of their death. Vermin are the only creatures flourishing in this charnel house-they and the vultures are sating themselves on the dead.

The children of the city-those remaining here-are gaunt and their bellies are swollen. Every day we find their bodies where they have gone to sleep the night before and never wakened. Women, too, are dying rapidly, sacrificing their food to their husbands and children. A few get by prostituting themselves, but some of them are killed for dishonoring their families and others are beaten by the soldiers because they are women of the streets and no laws protect them.

In fact, there is no law here any more. I and my three remaining priests have become a haven for those seeking to find security in the city, and we can no longer offer that. We have tried to do as you requested and tend to those still living in the city, but it is no longer possible and there is no reason for us to remain, not when there are temples in other places where we could be welcome and safe. It is lamentable that we must abandon our temple, but we have remained here longer than we had intended to fulfill your purposes. Since that has become an unendurable task, we are leaving the city in two days time-when your messenger puts this into your hands, we will be gone.

May your god Allah and our Gods spare this city any greater grief than it has already suffered.