Past Loves Ch. 03: Bhavini and Hano

All characters involved in sexual activities in this story are over the age of 18.

3: City state of Uruk (in modern day Iraq): 3000BC

Bhavini and Hano

Gentle waves lapped happily against the prow of the ship as it made its lazy way upriver from the sea. Bhavini was grateful for the relative calm of the river in comparison to the open ocean, where the rolling waves had made her feel constantly nauseous. She was much happier with her feet on dry land which was something that had been very rare in their three month journey from her homeland in The Indus. Since then they had been travelling ever westwards, sailing into the setting sun, heading for The Land of the Two Rivers and the wonders that awaited her there.

She stood up near the prow of the ship, hanging on to one of the sail ropes and watching the rest of the world pass her by, every day a new sight and wonder to behold. Back at home, the whole world had been green, or some shade of brown, the lush jungle foliage surrounding her humble village hemming them in from the world around them. But here, everything was vast and open. A thin strip of lush green fields hemmed the river on either side, filled with all manner of crops and trees, people like ants in the distance moving amongst them. But beyond the fields stretched the dry, endless arid expanse of the high desert, a solid yellow sea of unmoving sand.

But they were not alone on the river, her view was constantly blocked by the sails of other ships and smaller boats sailing up and down the mighty Eurphrates, bringing goods from all across the open world. Every now and then the captain of the ship would call or wave a greeting to another sailor, who would reply in kind. Bhavini was still too unfamiliar with the local dialect, and especially the regional mannerisms of the sailor's speech to understand what they were saying, but it was all very exotic and exciting.

She was doubly excited because she had gathered that today was finally the day that they would reach their destination, after three long months of travel they would finally be arriving at the town of Uruk. Although she was told that it was actually much bigger and grander than the town she had grown up in and was more accurately described by this strange new and interesting word 'city'. She craned her neck out above the balustrade of the boat, hoping to catch a glimpse of the distant stone and mud-brick homes that she had heard so much about.

Since her childhood she had known of the land between rivers, her father was an influential and successful trader in spices, the primary export of her homeland. She had grown up hearing of the magnificence and everlasting grandeur of the city of Uruk. She had longed to go there one day and see so many people all living in one place, see the buildings as tall as ten grown men, but mostly, she wanted to learn the ways of The Writers.

She was familiar with some of the basic inscriptions that her father's scribes made on the pots and clay tags of produce that were regularly shipped out. But she had heard that in Uruk, wise people had developed a fascinating new way of making words permanent, capturing them forever on clay tablets. The whole idea of being able to not only be able to record what people said, but also to be able to 'read' those words days, weeks, even months and years later astounded her. She knew that she wanted to learn this new and powerful craft.

As she had grown into womanhood, Bhavini became more and more familiar with the pictographic diagrams and little scripts which the traders used on their produce. As she had grown, so had her understanding of how one mark could mean one sound, and put next to another, which meant a different sound, came together to mean a whole word.

Now she was 18 years old. She was fully grown, in fact well past marital age, at least by most people's standards. But as the third daughter of a rich merchant, she had her uses beyond marriage, and so her father had finally seen a way to both fulfil her wishes to travel and make her useful to the family in the bargain. And so she had been shipped off, along with the rest of the cargo sailing to distant Uruk, there to learn the art of wordcraft from a learned teacher of such things. Bhavini couldn't be happier with the arrangement.

Her sisters had mocked her cruelly when the news had come through, telling her that she must be too ugly to even be worth marrying off to some fat son of a trading partner of her father. But Bhavini had rolled her eyes and let the teasing go unheeded, she knew very well that her older sisters were only cruel because they themselves in fact were married off to two of father's corpulent but rich business associates.

In fact Bhavini had a very secure and satisfied self image. She was certainly still young and was considered by many to be quite a beauty. She was slim and well built, with long caramel-tanned limbs and clever dainty fingers. Her hair, which was tied back in a ponytail, was long and so dark that it almost appeared silvery in the high blazing sun. She had large deep brown, intelligent eyes, framed by long dark lashes. Her nose was pronounced and high-boned, as were her wide cheekbones. She had a wide knowing smile and she knew that many of the young boys, and even some of the girls that had laboured in her old home estate had often thrown her a look or two, yearning for something that they would never achieve.

- - -

Finally, after standing and staring out at this new world that they were traversing for the better part of the morning, their destination finally hoved into view. As they rounded a bend in the river, the massive stone and brick metropolis of Uruk took Bhavini's breath away. There were more buildings here than she had ever seen in her entire life, all mostly formed out of stacked yellow-grey bricks in the same blocky interlocking patterns. It was like some massive hive of insects, sprawling out across the landscape, and at its centre the massive stone built ziggurat palace of the rulers. Nearly every wall and rooftop that she could see was covered in lush growing vines, grasses and flowers, giving the whole place a vibrant blanket of colour and life.

The air was filled with the sounds of people shouting and calling to each other in many different strange foreign languages, also with the ever-present smoky-foetid stink of the city. The ship she was riding in finally sailed up to a massive free open dock where many other boats and ships of all different designs were also moored up. Immediately men jumped down from the deck and began unloading the precious cargo, and Bhavini saw several other men in long pale robes, carrying simple slates of clay, framed in wooden tablets. As the bales and boxes were unloaded these men moved between them, making small marks on their clay slated with a little wooden marker. These must be the remarkable Writers that Bhavini had come to study under.

Bhavini's heart was hammering now with excitement and trepidation, she hadn't known what to expect when entering Uruk for the first time, and the entire experience of sensations had somewhat overwhelmed her. But she was also eager to get off this wretched boat and get her feet onto solid land once again. She gathered her meagre possessions in a satchel from the cabin she had been stowed in and made her way up on deck once more before descending the gangplank, awaiting whatever or whoever she would meet there.

For a moment or two she seemed to be completely ignored by most people, and she merely had to step around large burly men carrying heavy bundles. She made her way gingerly towards the end of the long stone pier where she could make out a collection of more well-dressed people standing. She had been told to look out for a slave who bore the mark of The Writers, usually signified by a brand on the back of the hand in the shape of a snake. Upon reaching the group, most of them also ignored her, but one young-ish looking man in a long yellow tunic stepped up towards her.

'You are Bhavini Vardhana, daughter of the Indus spice trader?' he asked meekly, keeping his head low and his hands with palms together in front of him.

Bhavini recognised the traditional supplicating behaviour of a slave, and indeed, he had the mark of a curved snake on the back of his hand. She nodded at the boy and smiled lightly, unsure of how to act in this strange new circumstance.

'You are expected by The Writer Hano, if you would please follow me I will take you to their home, where you will lodged and where you will study under their tutorship.'

He reached out his arm to take her bag, but Bhavini held onto it, as it contained all that she now owned in the world and she was loath to hand it off to a complete stranger. The boy merely lowered his head again and turned away, leading her off into the city.

Bhavini was completely confounded by the labyrinthine passages and paths of the massive city. Every set of white washed clay brick houses looked exactly the same to her, and the myriad pathways and steps, and open boulevards were all crammed with people, moving to and fro. The effect was very over-stimulating and Bhavini found herself having to take a few calming breaths every now and then to acclimatise herself. The boy waited patiently as she did so, perhaps this was a normal reaction for people visiting the city for the first time?

They appeared to be ascending the large hillock upon which Uruk seemed to be built, getting ever closer and closer to the massive stepped ziggurat at its centre. The buildings here were taller and better built out of stone. Long hanging vines hung from many of the windows and the ever present stink of the lower city was often covered by the flowery scents of the blooms that grew there.

At long last the boy led her up to the front doorway of a large white washed clay and stone house with at least three different levels that Bhavini could see, and several other wings attached to either side. Up until this point Bhavini had been so overwhelmed by the experience of the city thus far that she had not given a single thought to who it was she was supposed to be studying under here.

Master Hano, the boy had said. Although she was eager to learn, Bhavini dearly hoped that the Writer would not be some lecherous old creep with busy fingers and eyes for a pretty young woman like her. Strictly speaking of course relations between Master and Pupil were not supposed to take place, but of course, everyone knew that the reality of such things was quite different. She had heard stories of such things of course and she certainly hoped that the person who taught her would have more of a sense of decency and respect. But, in her heart, she knew that she would be lucky if that was the case.

The moment of truth, the boy knocked twice on the door and stepped back a bit. After a moment or two the door opened and out stepped a very well dressed woman of probably around 30 years of age. Bhavini thought that she must be a servant or something, but that she was very glamorous if she was. Writer Hano must be very wealthy indeed if he could afford to dress his serving staff so glamorously.

The clothes consisted of a long tunic which fell almost to her feet, but was high enough to see her sandaled feet beneath the delicately embroidered hem. The neckline was high, gathered around the torso and held at the neck, exposing the back and shoulders, but these were covered by a wide brightly coloured shawl. The woman held herself with some considerable poise, straight backed, with her face held high, looking down her nose at the boy before her. Bhavini could see that she was also quite beautiful, her face was all soft rounded lines and her hair was a beautiful wavy dark mass held behind her head with a pin, and her skin glowed a deep dark olive colour in the midday sun.

As her eyes flicked over Bhavini, they regarded her with a sharp intelligence and seemed to assess her in an instant. Bhavini blushed, and looked down quickly as she realised that she had been staring at this vision of sophisticated urbane womanhood before her.

'Good Morning Mistress Hano,' the boy guide said respectfully, 'I have brought you the Vardhana girl for your tutorship, Mistress.'

In an instant Bhavini felt her stomach drop a few inches, this was Master Hano, Mistress Hano in fact, her tutor and teacher. Bhavinin felt herself being momentarily filled with a complex mix of embarrassment, relief and excitement. She continued to stare at the ground as she saw Mistress Hano move towards her, her long red dress flowing like water around her hips and legs.

The next moment Bhavini felt the soft but firm texture of Mistress Hano's hand on her chin and she felt her head inclined backwards until she was staring directly into the older woman's unavoidable, penetrating eyes. Her new tutor seemed to regard her with some scrutiny for a moment or two, tilting her own head back and forth as if taking in every feature of Bhavini's face. Finally, apparently satisfied with what she saw, Mistress Hano smiled kindly and released her chin, but not before giving it a little squeeze between thumb and finger.

'Very good,'

she said, turning away and heading back towards the house, waving her hand to dismiss the guide boy as she did so. Her voice was deeper than Bhavini's and her accent was as sophisticated and well pronounced as herself.

'Come inside out of the sun girl, it's much cooler in here and we'll get you all settled in.'

Bhavini bit her lip nervously before following her new teacher into the cool, dimly lit interior of the home. The inside was relatively plain but tidy and clean, the brushed clay floor had a wide carpet covering most of it and the clay plaster whitewashed walls also had intricately woven tapestries hanging from them. Mistress Hano was walking up a set of stairs in one corner and beckoned Bhavini to follow.

There was an upstairs landing, which three doors split off from, and Mistress Hano stood next to the open one with her arm outstretched.

'This is your room darling,' she said with a smile, 'That room opposite is my room, and this other door is my study where we will be working together. We will begin our lessons tomorrow, as it's too late in the day to begin now. When you have unpacked, please come and join me downstairs for an afternoon meal, you must be tired from your long journey. But I always try to get to know my students, especially if those students are prepared to dedicate themselves to my teaching, as I hope you will do Bhavini.'

Bhavini smiled and nodded, unsure of the proper thing to say and still slightly embarrassed that she had first imagined this beautiful, amazing woman as a fat old man.

'Yes... Mistress Hano, thank you. I... I am very eager to learn all that I can from you, and thank you, thank you very much for teaching me.'

At this, Mistress Hano smiled kindly and put her palm on Bhavini's cheek.

'Such good manners you have my dear, just Mistress is a fine title for now.' With that she left the room, leaving Bhavini to her new accommodation, feeling very overwhelmed, but very lucky and excited.

- - -

The rest of the evening went by in a blur for Bhavini. She had been provided with a small bowl of clean water and a sponge with which to clean herself, which she did, wiping off the accumulated dust and dirt of the journey. She also did her best to appear presentable for Mistress Hano, changing out of her dusty pale tunic and into her other cleaner clothes. She tied back her hair again and brushed her teeth with the small brushing stick that she kept for such things.

Dinner was a sumptuous affair. An ample supply of well seasoned flavoured rice along with delicious spiced dhals and roasted vegetables. The roasted goat meat was perfectly tender and flavoured and there was also the delicacy of honey glazed figs and a sweet wine, which Bhavini had never tried before. The dark red liquid stained her lips and made her head feel fuzzy, and she giggled happily at all of Mistress Hano's jokes and made very light and pleasant conversation with her new tutor.

Mistress Hano was a fascinating woman. She had taught and still kept up correspondence with important people from all over the world. She told her of the mighty Kingdom of the Nile far to the west where men clad all in gold ruled over thousands from atop their mighty war elephants. And of the Island people of the far western sea who plied the great waves on sleek sailed ships. Of the dark skinned peoples of the far south with whom they traded for spices like the cinnamon on the honeyed dates. And of course the peoples of the Indus, from whence Bhavini herself came.

Bhavini listened to all of her tales with rapt attention, getting lost in the sound of the older woman's voice, watching her lips move as she formed the words, and her hands as they gestured or just rested lightly on her jar of wine. Occasionally Hano would stare right at Bhavini, looking at her with kind eyes but also with a cunning intellect which both intimidated and intrigued the younger woman. She found herself utterly enthralled.

Eventually of course, the evening came to a close and Bhavini made her way slightly unsteadily, thanks to the wine, up the stairs and collapsed happy and full onto her soft sheepskin mattress and pulled her woven blanket over herself. That night she dreamt of ships plying the waves of the open sea, bringing the words of Mistress Hano with them wherever they went. She heard her voice ringing through her head. It's sultry soft rhythms and textures soothing and enrapturing her without words, just sounds and emotion.

- - -

The next morning Bhavini awoke unsure of where she was and what she was doing there. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, the soft mattress and plain whitewashed clay walls alien and sterile. Then as the grogginess of sleep passed, she remembered, she was in the house of Mistress Hano, her new Writing tutor, she was to learn the secrets of the written language of Uruk and how to make words permanent in clay. Mistress Hano would teach her, she didn't know which she was more excited about, the new skill, or just spending more time with the intriguing woman who had taken her under her wing.

Very carefully, Bhavini stepped out of bed, slipping on her sandals and stepping towards the small wooden door which separated her room from the main hallway. It must have been past dawn outside as a thick yellow sunshine was filtering in through the shutters on the window. Very gently she inched her door open, she did not wish to disturb her new Mistress if she had not risen yet. As she glanced across the small landing to the door of Mistress Hano's room she could see that the door there was also open, and Bhavini almost turned away to head down the stairs, but a glance of movement from beyond the door caught her eye.

Exposed on the wide, multicoloured woven bed sheets she could make out the long shapely form of a beautiful tanned brown leg, crooked in a bent position with the foot flat on the floor. Carefully, Bhavini crept forwards a little, knowing that she was spying but curious as a cat. As her view into Mistress Hano's room opened up a little more, her breath was completely taken away by what she beheld there.

Lying stark naked on the bed, spread eagled, with her hand between her legs lay Mistress Hano. Her eyes were shut and the lids fluttering, teeth gently biting at her lower lip, and her beautiful brown perfect skin was slightly flushed with a soft dusting of sweat. Her large, shapely breasts lay exposed and gently rippling, the dark brown nipples which crowned them looked hard as raisins, and Bhavini could make out from where she crouched, the dark bushy patch of pubic hair above her Mistress's pink slit.

One of Mistress Hano's hands was gently caressing her right breast, cupping its ripe fullness in her palm, whilst also plucking and twisting at the swollen nipple, extracting the occasional quiet moan and thrust from its owner. Her other hand reached down to the wet fullness of her slit, two fingers rubbing in gentle slow circles around the bud which lay at the top, where the lips met.