Two Friends, by John Payne

It was two years since the end of war with the garuda. My friend and I were again sharing conversation and lentils beneath the shade of a tree. He loved to cook, so I encouraged him to do so whenever he came to visit.

I had lived in one city or another for most of my life. Like most people in the larger cities, I lived in one of the many small room available in the tall buildings near the market. I had no stove and nowhere to make a fire, so I became accustomed to the tejkhana for my meals and never learned to cook for myself. Now that I am in Daayata, I live in a house complete with a brick-walled oven.

Image of Vindhya Range from French Wikipedia (CC)

Many times we talked of cooking and of life in a small village. Even though it had been two years, he still grieved about his home. He suffered from knowing that he would neither see it, nor his son, ever again.

“Who will teach my son the sacred traditions?” he asked the sky. “Who will show him the way to live in righteousness?”

“Who is equal to your beloved, Shessin?” I replied. “Will she be unable to direct the path of your son?”

Shessin closed his eyes and sat silently eating a little of his stew.

“Sa Shessin,” I began, “I spoke without thinking. I regret any insult. Please… ”

“You do not need to address me so formally. We became brothers in the war. You are my only family now that it is over. I know you mean no harm.”

“Still,” I said, “I shouldn’t have mentioned your beloved.”

“Like everything else of my homeland,” he replied, “she is gone forever.”

I remembered when wizards tore a hole in the sky. There was no time to test the spells and incantations. The garuda were continuing their northern march, devastating the land. We could not consult the Amankashi priests to stabilize our magic. They had been scattered by the thundering weapons of our enemies. We were certain that the rift would swallow all the garuda whole.

We could not foresee that the magic would grow uncontrollably and swallow the southern continent. Thousands of garudas vanished in seconds. In our desperation, we eliminated tens of thousands of Shessin’s people along with our own territories on the southern continent. Many soldiers like Shessin and I are still haunted by our pyrrhic victory.

We sat quietly for a few minutes before he began to sing. His song sounded like water rushing quickly. I struggled to find the best description. The sound was simultaneously familiar and alien. I recognized the sound from somewhere. Was it a waterfall? The fast rivers in the mountains?

Clouds began to thicken in the southwestern sky. Shessin and I gathered our meal and utensils and moved inside the house. We reclined on pillows on the floor to continue our meal. Before either of us could speak again, it began to rain suddenly. I could hear the rain fall hard against the roof.

“Finishing your song?” I asked.

“I am not singing,” he replied, “why do you think I’m singing?”

“You were singing outside before the rain,” I said, “and I thought you started again.”

Shessin sat up with a start. I was afraid that I had offended him again. He looked me in the face and asked in measured tones, “Do you think the rain sounds like my naga song?”

Though startled by the question, I said, “Yes, I do. It sounds like the second verse of the first one you sang outside.”

Shessin narrowed his eyes at me. I could see that he was choosing his words carefully – a sensation that made me nervous.

“Does this offend you, Shessin?” I asked.

He drew a breath slowly before responding that he was not upset.

“Then brother, please tell me why you are so startled?”

“You have a talent, Majeet, that is rare for your kind. Udya¹ have not understood our language for hundreds of years.”

“Do not flatter me, Shessin,” I replied, “I am a warrior, not a scholar like you.”

“Majeet, my brother, my family,” he said, “you know much more than you believe.”

Shessin looked increasingly worried. He considered his words for some time, and then reclined on the pillows again.

“Maybe you are right, my warrior friend. I mean no disrespect,” he added quickly, “but I was caught up in my sadness. Please eat and let us talk about something more pleasant.”

I grew more curious about his estimation of my abilities. I wondered if I could learn the language of the naga.

“Please teach me,” I said, “I want to know if I can truly learn your ancient language.”

“It is a foolish thing you ask,” he said, “I spoke in haste and I should not have mentioned it. Please, brother, think of this no more.”

I found that I could not easily forget his song. However, I honored his wish and we talked about the library and played a game of chess. He went to his dwelling some hours later. After he left, I took the candle to my mat and read a scroll of some common love story. Minutes later, I was asleep.

~~

The next morning, I thought I heard my friend’s song again. I walked outside, expecting to see Shessin, but he was not there. I called out to him, but there was no response. It was raining lightly, so I went back inside to make tea.

While sipping my tea, I found the words that escaped me the previous day. Shessin’s song sounded like a hard rain. I could no longer escape his song, nor his words to me about understanding the naga tongue.

I ran to his dwelling and knocked on the door. “Shessin, please let me in,” I said.

Shessin came to the door and invited me inside. Once seated on his couch, with a cup of tea in hand, I said “Shessin, I understand now. The naga tongue sounds like falling rain. It’s inescapable to me now. I hear your singing every time it rains, but I can’t understand the words. Please, teach me.”

He thought about my request for a few moments and then agreed. We would begin my education this winter.

~~

Faithfully, I went to his dwelling and he taught me the naga tongue. I drank it all in like cool water on a hot day. He was right that I had a talent for it. By the approach of Spring, we were talking regularly in the ancient tongue.

Shessin’s countenance lightened. He seemed to be more cheerful. When he would speak of home and his son, there was more hope in his voice. I enjoyed seeing my friend happy for the first time since before the war.

One day, we set out on a trip north to another town. It had been a dry winter, so the road to Nasharpa would be only a half day’s journey.

I had planned to stay in Nasharpa for a few days to visit some of my relatives. They were still unnerved by my friendship with Shessin.

“In ancient times,” they would say, “men would not be so casual with the Naga. You do not address him properly. You talk about trivial things with him like food and weather. Have you no respect?”

~~

After being in town for two days, clouds gathered in the western sky. I made my way to my relative’s house to avoid the coming rain. It was light rain at first. After a few minutes, it became heavier. I had been distracted by preparing tea. As I walked close to a window, I thought I heard Shessin singing.

As the rain continued, my concentration wavered. I sat on the floor and listened.

When the rain ended, I gathered my things and made a quick journey back to Daayata, to Shessin’s home. I knocked on the door loudly, eager to see him.

When he answered, his face was sad, matching my own. We sat on the floor in silence for a long time. The growing sadness was filling the room and pushing out all the air. At last, I spoke.

“I heard the song of the rain,” I said, “I heard the entire song from start to finish.”

“Tell me what you heard.” Shessin replied, “Tell me about the song.”

“The rain sang about it’s yearly journey from the southern lands traveling west along the sea currents. After a few days journey, the rain finds a cold current and travels north to Shayakand. At Shayakand, it turns eastward and crosses the land heading for a far eastern land. Once there, it prepares for the trip back to the southern continent to begin the cycle again.”

“Yes,” Shessin said slowly, “that is the journey of the rain.”

“And then, the song talks about a tear in the sky interrupting the cycle that had gone uninterrupted since the beginning,” I said.

“Yes,” Shessin said sadly, “I know this part well.”

“In the final verse, the rain laments that it doesn’t know where it comes from and doesn’t know where it will go. The rain is hopelessly lost and wanders the world hoping to one day return home.”

Shessin closed his eyes and sat motionless.

“I have never heard such sadness in all my days,” I said.

Shessin began to speak. “You have heard this sadness ever since I shared with you about my lost home,” he said. “It’s just that you didn’t understand the source of my sadness until now.”

“Does the rain always sing this song?” I asked.

“Yes, it is now,” Shessin said, “this has been the song of the rain for the past two and a half years.”

“Shessin,” I cried, “why didn’t I listen to you? I should not have pressed you to learn your ancient language.”

“My brother, my family,” he replied, “I am so alone. I only wanted someone to understand. I regret that it had to be you.”

~~~

It is summer now and rain comes often. Each time Shessin and I hear the song of the rain, we do our best to console each other. I grieve with my friend for a home I never had. I grieve alone for the knowledge I have gained.

Footnotes

1. Udya is the term used by other races to refer to humans.