“It is no matter, Radnyi Kaikeyi,” she said, speaking more firmly now. Clearly, something was upsetting her, enough so that she risked interrupting me. “Nothing to bother yourself with.”
“I would like to help, for you are a friend of Manthara’s,” I said, trying to imbue my voice with kindness.
Manthara had been quietly observing, but now she said, “You can trust the radnyi. I am sure she will be able to assist.”
The furrow in Riddhi’s forehead deepened. “Nobody can help, unless the gods decide to change the circumstances of my birth.” She sighed. “If you must know, I am… illegitimate. And there are some who dislike that my father found me a position in the palace—the only thing he ever did for me.”
“Your father is a noble?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes. But it is not his fault. After all, he did not decree that illegitimate daughters were unmarriageable.” She was right, of course. It was the sages who had made it so, for an illegitimate daughter was deeply inauspicious and impure—unmarriageable, a terrible curse for a woman. But of course the gods and sages had nothing to say about illegitimate sons, who were still able to quietly inherit both money and power. Suddenly her name took on a much crueler cast.
“That is no matter. It does not mean you should be mistreated,” I said at last.
“I am not being mistreated,” she protested. “But there have been… remarks made to the head cook, and when it comes to me, my father can only do so much. If the head cook decides to throw me out—well, I doubt there will be another chance for me.”
“Who is making these remarks?” I asked. “Perhaps I can talk to them.”
Riddhi shrugged. “I cannot tell you. My father has many rivals in court, and I am sure that is all this is. This is my burden to carry.”
“But—”
“How are your neighbors?” Manthara asked, cutting me off. She shook her head slightly at me. I wanted to ask many more questions, but instead I sat back, half listening as they chatted, my mind spinning. Riddhi was being punished for something entirely beyond her control, but I did not see how I could help her. I had no power to oppose the words of the sages or to change the laws themselves.
I had long thought of Ahalya as the foremost example of how a man might devastate a woman, but as I saw more of the world, I was realizing there were many ways to ruin a person’s life. Most women were not cursed by their husbands, but they suffered all the same. Manthara was right—I had learned something.
And yet, Riddhi did not have to suffer or carry her burden alone. She worked in the palace where I was a radnyi. What good was learning if I did not take action?
That afternoon, I made my way down to the kitchens.
The space was cramped, far more than I would have expected and a strange contrast to Kekaya given that the rest of the palace in Ayodhya felt so much grander. The room was dim with smoke and bustling with movement, the scent of garlic, ginger, and cumin mingling in the air.
“Radnyi Kaikeyi, can I help you?” A stout older woman stood before me, head bent in deference.
She spoke with a slight air of authority. This must be the head cook. “I was hoping to speak to you about Riddhi,” I said, making sure there was no trace of uncertainty in my voice.
“What is it now?” the woman asked with a sigh.
“No complaints,” I said quickly. “I wanted to tell you that if you receive any further complaints about her, you may direct them to me. Unless you believe their grievances are legitimate, of course.”
The head cook squinted at me through the smoke, as if trying to determine whether I was serious. I held still, waiting, until she relaxed and gave me a small smile. “That is a most generous offer, Radnyi, although I doubt when they hear you have favored her, there will be any further complaints. The girl is smart and skilled. I would not have wanted her to leave.”
I had not meant to go so far as to favor her, but by protecting her I supposed I had indeed done just that. Instead, I gave the woman a nod.
“Riddhi!” she called.
Riddhi emerged from the back, bearing a plate of saffron-hued sweets arranged in a many-petaled flower. “It is ready, I am sorry for the delay—oh, Radnyi Kaikeyi.” She bowed, balancing the plate aloft to preserve the design.
“I do not wish to disturb you,” I said. “Only to tell you that you need not worry any longer.”
Her face flitted through emotions quickly—confusion, shock, then happiness. “Truly?” I nodded. After a moment, she smiled broadly, bouncing slightly on her toes as if unable to contain herself. “Thank you, Radnyi.”