literature

The Dragon's Blood, Ch. 5

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BROTHERS, NOT BY BLOOD

Arjun sat patiently in the grass while Chinji worked at his hair with a pair of scissors, styling it into spikes at the sides using some wax. "I don't like it," he pouted, looking at his hair in the mirror he held. "I want it to look more like yours." Five years of being able to sleep at night with a full belly had paid off in dividends; he was now almost as tall as his adopted brother.

"Our hair isn't the same," said Chinji. "Mine's curly, and yours is straight. I can't make it look exactly the same. Besides, you want to stand out, don't you? You have to stand out somehow if you want girls to notice you."

"What's the point?" he asked, tapping his finger against the brand on his cheek. "All they ever see is this."

"Hey, scars are cool!" Chinji insisted. He stuck the scissors in his satchel and stood up. "Alright, I'm all done! We better get packed up now. Tomorrow's going to be a hard day."

Chinji and Arjun were now the ones who did most of the bartering. Chinji's father, Dhir, insisted that they had to learn how to do it sooner or later if one of them were going to take up the family business one day. Neither Chinji nor Arjun could get anywhere near as good a price for their spices as the old merchant, but with each passing village, town, and city they continued to hone their skill. No longer did Arjun whisper to his customers, fearful of their disapproval. Instead he could speak up loud and clear, persuading them to pay good money for a product he had come to take pride in. He still felt Chinji was better at it, but then again, he was sure his brother was better at everything.

As Arjun stood and handed the mirror to Chinji he spotted Dhir preparing the horses. The years had not been kind to the man. His hair was graying and dark bags now hung under his eyes. He never seemed to sleep for very long at a time and rarely sat still, always seeming to be ready for something he expected to happen. Arjun was sure this was his fault, that the stress of caring for someone as troublesome as him had burned through both the man's mind and his purse. Dhir was nothing like this when he had first taken him in as a young boy, but Chinji insisted it wasn't Arjun's fault. But even thought Chinji said it, Arjun didn't believe him, and as time went on he wondered if even Chinji doubted it. Every few months the boys would wake up early in the morning to find the man covered in thin gashes, quietly washing the blood off his sword. "It's nothing to worry about," he used to tell them, "go back to sleep." As they grew older and more insistent that line no longer worked, and so he came up with new excuses. "I was careless. I was taking a walk in the woods and a panther attacked me." Or a wolf. Or a lion. Or a bear. He almost said it was an elephant once before catching himself, although Arjun had become suspicious long before that. He had only seen a panther once in his life, had never seen a lion or a bear, and though he heard them often in the distance the wolves rarely came closer than the night horizon. He had a hard time believing that one person could run into so many wild beasts so often.

"Do you need any help, sir?" Arjun asked, running to the man's side to help him hitch the horses. He always called him "sir". It didn't feel right calling him by his given name, but it didn't feel right calling him "father" either, even though he had long ago taken up the surname Sen and introduced himself using Dhir as the name of his father. He really wasn't sure what their relation was. He believed in his heart that Chinji was his brother, but Dhir didn't address him as "son" as he sometimes called Chinji, only as "young man" and usually just by the name Chinji had given to him.

"I've got it, Arjun," the merchant answered wearily. "You and Chinji go make sure the campfire is doused and buried, and make sure we haven't forgotten anything."

"Yes sir," Arjun said with a nod, running off to do as he was told. It only took them a few more minutes to gather their things into the back of the cart and be on their way. This day was Chinji's turn to drive while the merchant lay down in back to nap. Arjun sat at Chinji's side watching the yellow plains roll past them. These were the lands of the south, wide open pastures with few borders, the land where Dhir said Chinji had been born and where they always returned to purchase their spices for the coming year. Normally the two boys would be chatting and laughing loudly as they rode along, but today Arjun didn't say anything. They had been this way many times now over the past few years, and he knew even without looking that Chinji had too much on his mind to be light-hearted today.

By midday they began to approach a long stretch of trees that cut across the plain, growing strong and green along the banks of a muddy stream. The road crossed it by means of a sturdy wooden bridge, but Chinji had the horses pull the cart to the side, leading it into the stubby grass. "Dad!" he called back behind him. "We're here."

Dhir sat up with a groan and rubbed his head. "Already?" he asked with a yawn. "We just left."

"It's been almost half a day!" said Chinji, slipping down out of the cart and offering his father a hand. Together the two began to walk downstream into the overgrowth along the river's banks. Arjun jumped down out of his seat and followed silently after them. A fair distance away from the road, in the shadow of the trees, were two piles of rocks beside wooden markers weathered gray with time. Chinji bent down and began to clear the brush around them with a knife, then took some pale-colored pressed flowers from his satchel. He left half of them in front of one marker, half in front of the other.

Arjun couldn't read very well yet—Chinji was still teaching him—but he could read the words on the two markers. "Jyoti Pandit" one read. "Dhir Arjun Sen" the other read. He had never met either one of these people, but he knew who they where. One was Chinji's mother and the other his baby brother, from whom Chinji had given Arjun his name. "We'd stopped for the night," Chinji had explained once long ago, "and then she said the baby was coming. But it was too soon. She didn't stop screaming, and the grass was covered in blood. I couldn't sleep all night. Then in the morning, both of them were gone forever." Arjun stood away, watching as Chinji clutched his chest and broke down in tears despite his age. Even the merchant's head was bowed as he wiped at his cheeks with wrinkled fingers. This was the only time he ever saw them like this, once a year in this very spot. He could feel that those buried here were very special people, unlike him. He wished that he had gotten to meet Chinji's mother before she had died, and that his real brother, the real Arjun, had survived somehow.

He could hear Chinji and his father begin to talk, perhaps to each other, or perhaps to the two who had passed on, and turned away. This wasn't a place for him, and felt guilty that he had no tears to shed for them. He began to walk away, wanting to leave them some privacy, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked back to see Chinji's face, glistening with tears, smiling at him. "Sorry for taking so long," said Chinji, "I know this place doesn't mean anything to you."

Arjun shook his head. "But it's important to you. You shouldn't have to hurry."

"It doesn't matter, we're done now," said Chinji. "Time to go." His father had already gone on ahead back to the cart, and so he ran to catch up with him.

Arjun hesitated and walked back to the real Arjun's grave, squatting in front of it. "Thank you," he whispered. "I really like your name. I hope you don't mind that your brother gave it to me. He's really nice to me, you know? I wish you two could have lived together instead of him having to settle for me. I'll try to be a good brother for him in your place, okay?" He gave a sincere bow before standing and running back to the cart.

"All set?" Chinji asked as Arjun climbed up into his seat.

"Yeah, let's go," said Arjun. "We better hurry if we want to get to the Grand Bazaar early enough."

"Hold on," Dhir called from the back, taking a couple crumbled scraps of parchment out of his pocket. He handed one to Arjun and one to Chinji. Arjun looked down at the scrap, covered in pencil scratchings, and recognized it as a list of the various spices they dealt in.

"What's this for?" asked Arjun.

"You boys are old enough to manage on your own," said the merchant. "I'm leaving our stock this year up to you two. Chinji, you'll buy half, and Arjun, you'll buy the other half. Think of it as a game. We'll compare your prices in the end and see who came out better."

"No way!" Arjun objected. "That's too important for us! We're not ready yet!"

"Arjun's right," Chinji agreed. "The price we buy the spices for here will determine our entire year. If we pay too much, we won't be able to make anything later—or worse, we won't even make enough back to be able to buy next year's spices."

"You've got to learn how to do it on your own sooner or later," his father replied, lying down and tipping his hat forward to cover his face. "I've seen both of you barter. If I didn't think you were ready yet, I wouldn't let you do it."

"But nobody will want to sell to me!" Arjun argued. "Everyone always sees my brand first, and they think I'm a thief!"

"Are you a thief?"

"N-no, of course not. I'm not like that anymore."

"Then you shouldn't worry so hard. You can't use that brand of yours as an excuse forever, after all. You won't always have me around. I'm making you do this because I know you can succeed. You're a good kid, Arjun." Dhir gave a yawn. "Hurry up and get moving, Chinji, we've got a lot of ground to cover."

"Yes sir," said Chinji reluctantly, taking up the reigns and guiding the horses back up to the road.
One of the aspects of Arjun's character that was so interesting to me when I wrote this is the way he imagines himself as such a troublesome person when in fact the text paints him as very helpful and polite. I don't know, something about that contrast just struck me. Poor Arjun, you really shouldn't be so hard on yourself!


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