Indira was too surprised to respond with the customary phrases. Instead, she blurted out:
“You speak English!”
Ushulubang made the gesture of affirmation, with a subtly humorous twist.
“Certainly. How could I be certain the scribes have captured the true spirit of Goloku’s teachings if I could not read the holy tongue myself?”
She reads English, too. And her accent’s extraordinarily good—especially given that she must have learned from another Pilgrim.
Suddenly, Indira was filled with—not anger, exactly, but extreme exasperation. She had had more than enough of these bizarre new myths and legends which seemed to be springing up like weeds.
“English is not a holy tongue,” she said harshly. “It is simply a language like any other. A ummun language, true. But the ummun have many languages.”
The two other gukuy who had entered the hut with Ushulubang registered ochre/pink confusion/abashment. But Indira was surprised to see an emerald tint appear on Ushulubang’s mantle. Green, Indira had learned, was a very complex color for the gukuy. The various shades carried subtle differences in meaning, which, though they all had love and tranquillity at their base, could express those fundamental emotions in a multitude of permutations.
Emerald is the color of contentment.
“As I surmised,” said Ushulubang. The old gukuy made the gesture of profound respect. “I had hoped, but I could not be certain until I came here and spoke with you myself.”
“Be certain of what?” demanded Indira.
The opoloshuku gestured to her two companions. “My apashoc”—the word meant “kin of the road”— “had told me that you were the guardian of the secrets. A jealous guardian, they said, who would not impart the secrets to the people.”
Indira suppressed a sharp retort.
“But I did not believe them. I thought instead—”
Ushulubang paused for a moment.
“What have the apashoc told you of Goloku?”
Indira was taken aback by the question. She fumbled an answer: A holy person; a saint; a sage; possessor of all wisdom; embodiment of goodness; teacher of—
Ushulubang whistled derision.
“What nonsense! Goloku was a crude boor; a rascal; a drunk; a teller of lewd jokes; and most of all, she was a tyrant, hard as bronze.”
Indira’s eyes widened. The gukuy on either side of Ushulubang flashed bright ochre. Ushulubang glanced at them both, and again made the gesture of derision. (But the subtleties of the arm-curls contained also, in some manner Indira could not determine, the connotation of affection.)
“They did not know Goloku, as I did.” For a moment, Ushulubang’s mantle turned a deep, rich shade of brownish-green.
“I am the only one still alive,” said Ushulubang sadly, “of Goloku’s first apashoc. All that is left of that small band of sisters. There are not even many still alive of the later apashoc. Very few, of those who knew Goloku personally, survived Ilishito’s persecution.”
Indira knew the tale. She had heard it many times from the Pilgrims on the mountain. During Goloku’s lifetime, her disciples had been few in number. After the founder of the Way died—of poison, it was said—the Paramount Mother of the time, Ilishito, had ordered the extermination of the sect. Guided, according to proclamations of the Anshac officials, by the divinations of the priests. From what she had been able to learn of Anshac society, Indira suspected that the decision had actually been made by the awosha—the ruling council of the Ansha females. Although, by all accounts, the Paramount Mother Ilishito had been more than cruel enough to have ordered the persecution herself.
Of the inner circle of disciples—those who had learned directly from Goloku herself—only Ushulubang had survived. Due, Indira thought, to the fact that Ushulubang was herself a very high-ranking member of the dominant clan. She had been officially expelled from the clan, and her clan markings scoured clean with caustic substances. But her life had been spared by the priests.
To their everlasting regret, I suspect.
Ushulubang’s mantle returned to gray. “These young apashoc have never really understood Goloku. I do not criticize them, you understand.” The pinkish tones in her two companions faded. “They have tried, and tried very hard. Under the most severe circumstances. But—they always lapse into the great error. The error which Goloku flailed us for committing, mercilessly, every day of her life.”