Manya-Samya
Of the northern coast
The waves beat against the hull of the gently guiding ship as it held its northerly coast. The sails full of wind bellowed out like the stomach of a pregnant woman. They carried in their cotton wombs the child of the wind which came flying across the ocean water. It carried with it the refreshing, cool salty air of being out to sea. And as the day's sun lowered over the horizon, illuminating the figure of hills laid to wait against the warm earth the vessel continued unabated.
But there was no lack of life aboard the ship's deck. The day's management drawn to a close a haggling group of sailors and princess stood around the center of the deck. Cheering and cawing as they hoisted into the air golden coins. The sheen of the metal caught the end-day sun and glowed like suns in their own right and name. From within the heady and screaming mass sang the sound of music, the light rhythmic tapping of the Tabla as it tapped out a fast and chaotic beat. The fingers danced across the tightly strung hide like swords in combat as the human drummer danced with the pair of instruments in his lap, his eyes wild and expectant as he tapped out the rhythm to the cock fight.
Forced into a gladiatorial square in the middle of the deck a pair of brightly plumed crimson and orange roosters clawed away at each other. Feathers flew as blood lashed against the deck as the two noble fowl gored into one another with the spurred ends of their feet. A wild and primal urge to kill glowed in their eyes. Their squalls and squawking of anger, fury, and of pain rose to complete the music as well as the crowd's cheering.
Sathsvitra sat crouched at the center of his circle, his eyes excited as he cheered on a bird with an irregular crown of feathers atop its head. His hands beat the floor of the ship's deck with the force of hammers, beating and drumming just over the timing pulse of the tabla drums. He licked his lips hopefully. Watching the noble combatants make jabs to slay the other in gladiatorial combat.
His competitor, a sun-kissed and ship-worked human stood equally cheering and clenching his fist at each blow delivered by the chickens. Every time a bird drew blood – no matter the one – he winced. Not in cowardice, but in fear that each blow would put down the bird of his choosing. His fingers wrapped around a sack of gold, the scars brought by work and fistfights stretched across his knuckles each and every time he flexed those thick hooks along the well worn leather purse.
There was hope in each of the gambler's eyes. A thirsty for gold and victory. They stood at the battleground each like generals watching their armies fight an even brawl. And with as long as the fight lasted there was no doubt that the winning bird would soon die itself. The tals of the drummer's design bounced in their ear, bringing to life the furious song of combat. Complete with the screech of death.
There was a sudden roar as Sathsvitra's chicken went down. With a wet squall it fell limp against the deck, twitching as blood splashed from its gouged face. An eye had been torn out from the hooked blades on the other bird's foot and now it hung desiccated and destroyed from its socket. The bird lay against the deck, exhausted and dying with heavy breaths. Cheering, the human gambler threw up his hands and cheered among a chorus of applause and excited screams. Even the tablas ceased to play as the drummer rose from his seat to applaud the victorious sailor.
“IMPOSSIBLE!” Sathsvitra roared furious as he shot up. Striding forward through the battlefield he punted the victor's bird to the side and rounded on the winner, “You cheated!” he challenged, getting into his face. His heavy fingers jabbed between his chest. The satyr prince breathed dragon fire. His cherry-hot face in the sailor's.
Balel stood by at a distance as he watched the quarrel unfold.
“Cheated!?” the sailor defended himself, “No m'lord, it is I who had the best bird! Not you! That is simply that!”
“I refuse to believe.” Sathsvitra grunted, continuing his accusations, “I saw something funny about that bird of yours. You pulled a trick! You cheated!”
The other sailors backed off. Some among them were afraid and quacking. Balel watched a burly Bandara step back. The two's eyes met and they exchanged knowing nods. But many, though driven back by sudden shock did not have the same level of anxiety as the others, but quickly came to realize there was another path to making money.
“And fuck your mother's tits!” the sailor declared triumphantly, placing his hands on the prince's shoulders and pushing him back.
On the far side of the deck Balel spotted Gopda. Sathsvitra's more distantly reserved brother looked on. But as he crossed his arms as he leaned against the deck railing he gave no impression of looking to interfere. He – like everyone else – was going to let this play out.
“Fifteen Rupees on Babi.” offered the Bandara as he trudged to Balel's side.
“Likewise on Sathsvitra.” Balel matched in a dry tone. He held out a hand and the two shook.
“You will not taint my honor!” Sathsvitra roared. His voice seemed to shake the very ocean air. And even if by chance, the wind died briefly as his boisterous wrath.
“Then I will!” Babi shouted back, throwing a hand into the air, “And I will taint you when I put you to the floor!” he declared. He rushed forward, but made no more than two steps before Sathsvitra swung, decking the sailor in the face and scattering him to the ground. The sound of crunching bone ground the air with a streamer of fresh, immediate blood.
With a hard meaty 'umph' Babi hit the ship's deck. Hands held tight to his face to fight off a river of blood that was flowing from between his fingers. He screamed incomprehensibly into his hands as Sathsvitra stood over him.
The sailor rolled on the deck, caressing his broken face. The prince stood over him, scowling. His heavy horse tail swept back and forth much like a cat's. “Sathsvitra!” Gopda shouted over to him. The majestic brother walked across to him. Now things were silent and only the sound of his hooves could be heard, “Stop here, head to the cabin.” he ordered.
For a tense minute it looked like the two princes were going to brawl. And in that tense certain moment the Bandara leaned over to offer another bet. “As you wish.” Sathsvitra conceded calmly. But his calm was merely the eye of a storm, held in place by restraint. His words were tense and stressed, spoken behind clenched teeth. Without ceremony he turned from the broken sailor and walked off, much to the awe of the onlookers. Gopda watched him from alongside where the brief exchange had turned to blood.
The Bandara nodded, and handed Balel a handful of coin. “Good fight.” he said meekly, and stomped off with his heavy, apish gait.
Balel gave a small smile as he counted the new coin in his hand. A satisfying – if short- victory. The deck was beginning to clear and Gopda left the broken and groaning sailor to his own miseries. “When I was told there was going to be top-side amusement I didn't imagine ring matches.” Balel observed as Gopda came over.
“Hardly, but I don't think the commoner stood a fair chance.” Gopda replied with a distant stare back, “He'll pull himself up and head back.” he said.
“You think?” asked Balel.
“Pretty certain. Then he won't get in Sathsvitra's way again.” Gopda sighed with a neutral calm, “And then he won't be gambling on this ship again when the crew has become so terrified of him.”
“Then you're not worried?” Balel asked.
“Hardly, if his wroth couldn't be fixed when he was a colt, then it will never be addressed here.” the prince nodded confidently, “There's a love of gold him in too. Dangerous, but useful for us to have.”
“How so?”
“When we get to the city, there'll be no turning him back if he can still loot something.”
“And you'll let him at it?” Balel asked, leaning back on the railings.
“Don't have a choice on the matter. And he can only carry so much. He knows that much. But it doesn't make him a bhikku yet.”
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