Page 18 of The Burning Mountain
Dhatri made the final fold of the seven-yard saree, then laying it flat on the table, she pressed on it with a small brass utensil filled with hot water, smoothing out the tiny creases. “I like my life here, though. I certainly have no complaints. I feel lucky.”
Dhatri seemed to have noticed Chandra’s skepticism and gave a short laugh.
“I know. You must think I’d be bitter that my husband died so young, leaving me a widow, with the responsibility of a young girl. But…I’m under no illusion, things could’ve been worse for me. My father-in-law agreed to let me stay here, instead of sending me to my birth home. If I’d gone back, I would’ve had to live with my head bowed down and not speak against my sisters-in-law, whereas here, I am the mistress of my household. And a significant part of the Resistance.”
Chandra’s fingers paused in her folding. Dhatri’s smile took on a sly cast and Chandra realized slowly that this wasn’t an idle conversation. Dhatri had deliberately brought up this topic.
“It may not matter to others,” she continued, “but it brings me a sense of pride that I was the wife of a man who sacrificed his life for the Resistance.”
Done with the folding, she got up and moved to the rear of the house. Fascinated with the conversation, and curious to see where it would lead, Chandra followed her to the well.
“In King Harideva’s time, for women like me, there used to be sanctuaries—places built for the odd traveler, the beggar who was turned away from the temple, and fallen women who were cast away from homes.”
Dhatri dropped a metal bucket into the well—a soft splash indicated that the water level was not too far, courtesy of the frequent rainfall that year.
“These sanctuaries have closed with his passing,” she said. “Drying the already narrow options for women to nothing.” Shehauled the first bucket of water and placed it on the rim of the well, pausing for a minute to catch her breath. “My husband… When he was alive, I never really thought about the importance of what he was doing. As long as he brought home income, I had no complaints.”
As Dhatri spoke, Chandra revised her opinion about the young widow. Although introduced as the judge’s housekeeper and part of the rebellion, she was intelligent and worldly, in a way that Chandra suspected Dhatri’s role to be bigger than what she was led to believe.
“My husband was one of the first accused of treason,” continued Dhatri, her mouth turning down, as if reliving a sad memory. “Because he’d dared to question their claim to the throne. His own father was forced to preside over his trial and sentence him to death over a false crime.” Chandra felt her anger and pain, the devastation she must have experienced. “My father-in-law was heartbroken, and that was his resolve to join the rebellion. He operates in secret to protect us and others who rely on him. I’m glad I have a daughter, for she’ll not bear the weight of my husband’s crime like a son would have. But I still want a better life for her than what I have.
“So yes, I’m glad to lead this life. Glad I can do something that would benefit future generations. Even when doing something as trivial as cooking or keeping house, I’m going to count it as a blessing, since it’s in aid of the rebellion. In this simmering war, every little bit counts, Princess.”
A few days later,one dusky evening, Chandra was still pondering Dhatri’s words when the woman called for her.
“Princess, someone’s here to meet you. He’s waiting for you in the backyard.” Dhatri smiled conspiratorially.
Chandra nodded and hurried out. She found Veer waiting for her, seated on a woven bench near the holy basil planter.
“Have you been waiting long?” asked Chandra, sitting beside him, irrationally happy to see him. She offered him theprasadthey obtained at the temple—they had visited the Goddess Manasi Devi earlier in the day. After that, they’d taken a leisurely tour of the silk workshop. Chandra was fascinated by the silk loom, specifically the art of embroidery on such delicate fabrics.
The people in Thanepur were skilled at working with some of the thinnest threads she had ever seen, and their needlework was beyond compare.
“No,” said Veer as he took theprasad, touching it to his closed eyes before eating it. “I just arrived.”
“How’s everything?” she asked, eyeing his posture. He sat a little hunched, as if some heavy weight sat on his shoulders. She hated to admit it to anyone, but she missed his company.
“We’re not having much success communicating with Namata Devi.” He paused, leaning forward, and then rested his elbows on his knees. “Which brings me to the reason I’m here.”
Chandra waited patiently. She could sense his reticence. Whatever he wanted to say, it was clear he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it.
“We need your help. Namata Devi is in theantahpuram, the harem, where male access is strictly restricted. Billadev has been successful in infiltrating it in disguise, but…”
“But?”
“She refuses to help. Specifically, she refuses to talk to us.” A stem of a nearby fragranttulasinodded in the breeze and Veer plucked a leaf, rolling it idly in his fingers. The stringent scent wrapped around them both.
Chandra’s brows rose. “Even if it’s to help save her nephew’s life?”
Veer let out a breath and finally turned to her. “I don’t know if she’s aware of Aditya’s capture. But then, security is tight around her. None of us, Billadev included, were able to convey the message to her.” He paused, then said slowly, “Shota suggested you might have better luck.”
Chandra wondered at the odd word choice and sensed the reluctance behind his proposal. What did he mean “Shota suggested”? What didhethink?
“And you think I can help change her mind?” she asked.
“Gauri Devi listened to you,” he pointed out reasonably.
“Yes, but—” began Chandra doubtfully.
