Finally, Priya took Padma from Bhumika’s arms and pressed kisses against Padma’s cheeks and into her curls, then swore laughingly when Padma yanked at her braid in return. “Goodbye, egg,” she said. “Don’t swear like me, or your mother will skin me, you understand?”
Priya raised her head and met Bhumika’s eyes. Her expression grew graver. “I’ll be home before you know it.”
She and Priya had never been good at uncomplicated affection. And Bhumika could not bring herself to embrace Priya now, when it would feel too false, or too vulnerable—too much like an admittance that she feared she would never see her sister again.
“Keep yourself safe,” Bhumika replied. She took her daughter back—and if her hand grasped Priya’s for one moment, gripping her fingers tight, then that was Bhumika’s own business and no one else’s. “I’ll see you in the sangam,” Bhumika said. “Go.”
Priya nodded, her eyes a little shining, a little wet—and then turned her head, and walked away. And that was the end of it. Her sister was gone.
It was no surprise that Bhumika slept badly that night. She woke the next day in the early predawn with a sense of unease.Someone is here, she thought. Khalida, perhaps, bringing Padma to her. But when she blinked open her eyes and sat up, no one was there. A headache clawed sharply at her skull.
She stumbled through her morning, nauseated. She managed to feed Padma, then demurred when Khalida offered to bring her something light to eat. “Kichadi perhaps,” Khalida suggested. But Bhumika winced at the thought of trying to stomach anything and refused.
“Is there nothing I can do to help?”
“If you can find Kritika, tell her I’d like to speak with her in my study,” Bhumika said. She wiped Padma’s face clean, then smoothed back her hair. “I will seeyoulater,” she whispered, and brushed her lips over her daughter’s forehead. Padma made a contented noise.
It was Jeevan, and not Kritika, who came to see her first. He entered with a bow. There was something cupped between his hands.
“Billu sent this for you, my lady,” Jeevan said, keeping his voice low. Khalida had clearly told him Bhumika was not feeling at her best. He placed the cup in front of her. “Tulsi boiled in water,” he clarified, at her questioning look. “Billu assured me it should help.”
She smiled, a little wryly, and lifted the cup. It was warm, a fragrant green scent rising with the steam. “Billu thinks tulsi cures everything,” she said.
“Your sister,” he said, gazing over her shoulder, “is of the opinion that Billu believes hashish cures everything.”
“Jeevan!” She felt her smile deepen. “I didn’t know you liked to gossip. I’m shocked.”
His lip twitched minutely. Then his expression smoothed out into blankness again.
“Kritika is on her way, my lady,” he said. “Shall I remain?”
“No, you have enough to do. Kritika is no trouble.”
Jeevan’s silence was somehow both respectful and deeply skeptical. Bhumika covered her amusement by taking a sip of the tulsi infusion. The warmth was pleasant, soothing. But it did nothing to ease her headache. Perhaps Jeevanshouldhave brought her hashish instead.
“If you need me,” he said.
“I’ll summon you,” Bhumika said. “Of course.”
He bowed again, and then just as swiftly as he’d arrived, he departed.
Kritika arrived soon after. She wore a pale sari, her silver-white hair bound back neatly with beads of wood.
“I’m sorry I’m late, elder,” she said, seating herself across from Bhumika. “I was on the Hirana. Seeing to morning pilgrims.”
Her tone implied, heavily, that Bhumika should have been seeing to pilgrims, as the only true elder left in Ahiranya. There was no point arguing with Kritika. Bhumika had learned, long ago, that there were battles not worth fighting. “I wish I could go more regularly than I do,” Bhumika said. “I’m thankful for your help,” she added, with as much sincerity as she could muster.
Kritika had once been a rebel against Parijatdvipan rule, and fiercely loyal to Ashok. Ever since his death she had dedicated herself to the spiritual care of Ahiranya—and to ensuring that her fellow ex-rebels would have a position of respect in the new city that was being built in the absence of the empire.
“So,” Kritika said. “What need do you have of me?”
“I know you want your people to pass again through the deathless waters,” said Bhumika. “If you have a select few who are willing—Kritika, I believe it is time to try.”
“Of course you’re finally allowing it,” Kritika said. A bad start. She did not sound pleased, as Bhumika had vaguely expected she would. Instead her mouth was thin. “If I may speak freely,” Kritika added.
“You may,” Bhumika replied, inwardly bracing herself.
“We follow you because Ashok made a vow that he would obey you. And we still believe in him, and always shall. But you’re barely clinging on,” Kritika said bluntly. “The city is still in disarray. Peace is tenuous. One disastrous harvest, one full rebellion from the highborn, and you lose everything. You have had need of us to grow in strength for a long time. And you allow us our rights only now, after throwing your sister to the Parijatdvipans?” She took a deep, pointed breath. “It riles me, elder.”
