Their blades bound and disengaged, feinted, thrust, parried, riposted.
Yama met an elaborate attack with a stop-thrust, his longer blade again drawing blood from his opponent’s upper arm.
The man in black stepped up upon the log, swinging a vicious head cut, which Yama beat away. Pressing the attack then even harder, Yama forced him to back out upon the log and then he kicked at its side.
The other jumped backward, landing upon the opposite bank. As soon as his feet touched ground, he, too, kicked out, causing the log to move.
It rolled, before Yama could mount it, slipping free of the banks, crashing down into the stream, bobbing about for a moment, and then following the water trail westward.
“I’d say it is only a seven- or eight-foot jump, Yama! Come on across!” cried the other.
The deathgod smiled. “Catch your breath quickly now, while you may,” he stated. “Breath is the least appreciated gift of the gods. None sing hymns to it, praising the good air, breathed by king and beggar, master and dog alike. But, oh to be without it! Appreciate each breath, Rild, as though it were your last—for that one, too, is near at hand!”
“You are said to be wise in these matters, Yama,” said the one who had been called Rild and Sugata. “You are said to be a god, whose kingdom is death and whose knowledge extends beyond the ken of mortals. I would question you, therefore, while we are standing idle.”
Yama did not smile his mocking smile, as he had to all his opponent’s previous statements. This one had a touch of ritual about it.
“What is it that you wish to know? I grant you the death-boon of a question.”
Then, in the ancient words of the Katha Upanishad, the one who had been called Rild and Sugata chanted:
“‘There is doubt concerning a man when he is dead. Some say he still exists. Others say he does not. This thing I should like to know, taught by you.’ ”
Yama replied with the ancient words, “‘On this subject even the gods have their doubts. It is not easy to understand, for the nature of the atman is a subtle thing. Ask me another question. Release me from this boon!'”
“‘Forgive me if it is foremost in my mind, oh Death, but another teacher such as yourself cannot be found, and surely there is no other boon which I crave more at this moment.'”
“‘Keep your life and go your way,'” said Yama, plunging his blade again into his sash. “‘I release you from your doom. Choose sons and grandsons; choose elephants, horses, herds of cattle and gold. Choose any other boon—fair maidens, chariots, musical instruments. I shall give them unto you and they shall wait upon you. But ask me not of death.'”
“‘Oh Death,’ ” sang the other, “‘these endure only till tomorrow. Keep your maidens, horses, dances and songs for yourself. No boon will I accept but the one which I have asked—tell me, oh Death, of that which lies beyond life, of which men and the gods have their doubts.'”
Yama stood very still and he did not continue the poem. “Very well, Rild,” he said, his eyes locking with the other’s, “but it is not a kingdom subject to words. I must show you.”
They stood, so, for a moment; and then the man in black swayed. He threw his arm across his face, covering his eyes, and a single sob escaped his throat.
When this occurred, Yama drew his cloak from his shoulders and cast it like a net across the stream.
Weighted at the hems for such a maneuver, it fell, netlike, upon his opponent.
As he struggled to free himself, the man in black heard rapid footfalls and then a crash, as Yama’s blood-red boots struck upon his side of the stream. Casting aside the cloak and raising his guard, he parried Yama’s new attack. The ground behind him sloped upward, and he backed farther and farther, to where it steepened, so that Yama’s head was no higher than his belt. He then struck down at his opponent. Yama slowly fought his way uphill.