PuppyChow
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Historical Kitara.
So Gylkryst's little story inspired to make historical version of Kitara's story.  It's the cool thing to do.
It's a bit roughly written because I wanted it to feel like it's a story being told. Also, there are lots of obscure Indian cultural references, so I apologize for my anthropoloical nerdiness.
Let me tell you what I can of my birthland, now a place of dreams and memory. In the year I was born, a great star swept across the sky. I did not know it then that I, like that star, would be sent across the world to a mysterious end, passing by all the other stars twinkling in my world.
My mother is a misty vision and a warm breath on my cheek. I knew her only three or four rains before I was given to the Temple. In the city it was either wet or dry. The summer baked the earth like na’an on a stone and in the winter we were soaked always with rains. The nights were cool and clear and the air smelled always of spices and flowers.
I grew up with the feeling of smooth stone under my feet. At the Temple I was taught to read and to write, to dance and to sing and to praise. My days were filled with learning and practice, Kama Sutra, Vedas, and the mysteries of love. I was often remarked upon for my pale eyes. The purohitas said they were remnants of an ancient time when pale visitors from the West had come to our land.
To live in the Temple we also had to live for the temple. We learned to cook, arrange flowers and incense, and to enlighten patrons with dance and clever conversation. In the summer of my 15th year I gave myself to the Shakti, the divine female power, and be wed to the gods. I would be a vessel for their love and the embodiment of Lakshmi, Pavarti, and Sarswati.
The other Devadasi were like my family. We were a sisterhood; we spent all of days together, and grew to know each other and our bodies intimately. It was a time of liberation; twisted figures intertwining stretched across the temple walls and everything was kept beautiful and sacred.
One summer a strange visitor came. He wore a keffiyeh; he was a Muslim. I had heard stories of his people before, but this man did not seem to be such the terror of the Rajput princes. His eyes were bright with entrepreneurship though rough around the edges, and he had an uncomplicated confidence in his manner.
His presence excited the purohitas. We presented to him the dance of Nataraja and he spoke longly with them. Later he came to us, “Would you like to join me on a journey?” Many of us were frightened of him. In the end, several of the girls were chosen, including me my sahki, my dearest friend. We were no longer kanyakaa, but had not born any children and were considered to be old. We would go then, and spread the wonders of the Devas to the world.
The man also took with us many kinds of spices, some jewelry and perfume and yards and yards of saricloth. We travelled with him to the sea and the city of Bharuch, or Barigaza. The other Devadasi and I marveled at the huge ships and the strange people. The man spent days in the market with his cohort, a young man who wore a very fine coat. This friend was called Ghudad and was what was known as a Ghawazee. I did not know it then, but Ghudad would soon become one of my closest friends.
The Sea was larger and wilder than anything I had imagined. I learned that the strange Muslim man was the Captain and a man of much respect. And although he was close friends with the captain, the other men on the ship often treated Ghudad the Ghawazee poorly. The men on the ship were kind enough, though their eyes were always on us.
We spent days and days in the ocean and the journey was perilous. Storms often battered the ship and two of my sisters and some crewmen were swallowed forever. At times I could see land on the starboard or port. Ghudad told me stories in broken language of the dark people that lived there. On calm nights he would play his Qitara and we would dance.
Often other ships would blink on the horizon and the men would become nervous. Ghudad told me tales of pirates and instructed us to hide if we were ever boarded. One night such a ship crept up silently beside us, and as the morning dawned we found them no more than 50 lengths away. For a long while we floated along silently beside one another; it was a fine vessel, much bigger than ours but just as light, with colorful sails. The men were terrified. Ghudad told me that this was an infamous ship, and that we would be either very lucky, or very unlucky. I prayed to Lakshmi.
Soon a man came out onto the deck. He shouted words with the Captain for some time in broken Arabic, but his tone was not fearsome. In fact, with his easy smile and sandy colored hair, the man was very unlike the pirates in the stories. I did not hide.
Eventually he came aboard. The captain entertained him for a time in his quarters and my sahki and I made chai for them. The man left with some of our supplies and a few of the other Devadasi, who were tearful. I assured them of the man’s gentle face, though I was not certain I would ever see them again. If the crew objected they made no qualms, and there was still fear in their eyes as the ship drifted away.
We arrived at our destination, a city that was once called Alexandria, after what felt like the better part of a year. By this time I had learned much from Ghudad, including a bit of the Arabic he spoke. The city was sun baked and shone with sweltering throngs of people. We docked and unloaded and a hostel near the port, and the captain took his spoils to market. Most of the crew went home to their families, and I rarely saw Ghudad.
One evening the other girls and I were especially polished and driven to a large building in the city. There the captain had us perform the dance of Kali for a man with a great beard and cruel eyes. I was afraid of him. He had a fierce way of speaking that made the Captain loose his aura of certainty. The tension made me unsure and when we retuned to our hostel I tossed and turned until I was shaken by Ghudad, who had crept through the window.
He woke the other girls and instructed us to leave with him. “Or else you will belong to that fierce man” he said. The others didn’t understand; we were already married to the Devas, how could we belong to anyone? I was upset with Ghudad urgency, so I chose to go. I kissed my friends and made them promise to tell no one where we had gone.
I gathered my things and followed Ghudad into the dark streets. We walked for quite a distance until we were encased in rows of small shops and houses. I heard the sound of drumming and saw that in a small square a fire was burning. Around it a mess of people were dancing, men and women, shaking their bodies in brilliant shimmers. They were the Ghawazee, Ghudad’s family.
His mother was a beautiful but aged woman. She welcomed me warmly with her hands on my face. She had a scar on her cheek that hid with a veil. By day the Ghawazee danced and played for money, and a night the celebrated their life outside of society. They were often sought as companions, and it was the first time I heard the word tawaif. I learned that her scar was from the fierce bearded man, who once favored her. My heart sank to my stomach for the fortunes of my friends.
Ghudad’s family was kind. His sisters showed me their dances and painted my eyes with Kohl, and my hands and feet with Henna. I showed them the dance of Enticement, and told them stories of Rama and of the Kama Sutra. They taught to mend clothes and make fires. I asked Ghudad once why he chose a life at sea to his family. He shrugged sheepishly, “I can’t dance...”
Our time spent there was a restricted gift. The Captain, it was whispered, was coming to find us. “You must leave…” Ghudad’s mother urged. “Go and stay with Abji and change your names. We will visit you if you make me some money.” The family prepared us for our journey, and two of the sisters decided to come along. It was not so long a journey this time before we were in the most exotic place I had ever seen, a place called Constantinople.
The streets were filled with people of every type. There were people with pale skin and hair, and eyes like mine. There were objects from across the world, even things from my homeland. I thought that this must be the home of the visitors from the West, the yavana, which the purohitas had spoken of. Abji owned a small tavern where he served hookah and drinks and food for the Muslims and Egyptians. It was a lushly decorated place with creations from his Ghawazee travels. He was a happy man with a kind family and a great ear for music.
I changed my name to that like Ghudad’s instrument: Kitara. The sisters and I danced and chatted with the guests. I told them stories of my home and lessons from the Kama Sutra, which oddly fascinated many of them. With the addition of dancers and Ghudad’s Qitara, Abji’s tavern grew to be a favorite and we lived well. Though there were often disputes between the paler men and the Muslims, my life was settled for a time and I cannot say I was unhappy.
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6/14/2009, 8:01 pm
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RathisofEryndor
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Re: Historical Kitara.
I read this before, but i'll say again, great stuff.
I really gotta get in gear.
---
Co-clanmaster of the Warband
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6/15/2009, 2:22 am
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AIM
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GYLKRYSTofDUGAR
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Re: Historical Kitara.
moar vikings...where's rathis! when does he come in! haha i love this kitara i really do.
---
Kunolf 'rjodrvaldyr' Sigvarsson af hid Austvargr af Gardariki
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6/15/2009, 10:37 pm
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Evias
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Re: Historical Kitara.
Wonderful.
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6/18/2009, 10:44 am
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Big Jamal
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Re: Historical Kitara.
Historical Soren:
Is a Somalian Pirate.
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6/20/2009, 8:37 pm
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PuppyChow
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Re: Historical Kitara.
Oh noez! Getz off mai boat!
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7/9/2009, 6:42 pm
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