I knew of Chedi—it was a small village in the farthest southwest reaches of Kosala. They bred fine sheep and were known for their lovely textile weaving—I had a quilt from Chedi that was as light as a simple sheet and yet as warm as a summer day. But of course, that fact was no use now.
“We have heard a rumor, my lady, that Kosala intends to make war against the southern villages. I was hoping you could tell us… Should our family flee?” She spoke haltingly, tripping over her words so I could barely make out her meaning. I glanced at Manthara, who came to stand beside me. Perhaps an elder servant’s presence would calm the girl.
“Let me make sure I understand.” I took a sip of tea, forcing myself to go slowly. “You and your friend are from Chedi.” A nod from Saralaa. “You heard a rumor that Kosala wants to declare war on Chedi.” Nod. “And your family plans to leave?”
The girl shook her head. “No, my lady. My brother has just arrived, to take up a position in the stables. He’s the one who said that the village elders in Chedi are preparing for a war with Kosala. I just want to make sure my family is safe.”
We had in fact discussed Chedi at last week’s council meeting. Their village council had refused to pay its tax this year, so one of the Minister of Finance’s men would accompany a small group of soldiers there to collect payment.
But to a village like Chedi, on the outskirts of Kosala, that might seem like a declaration of war, a possibility we had not considered.
“King Dasharath does not plan to wage war on Chedi,” I said at last. “He is simply sending a delegation.”
“A what?” Mugdha asked softly. She seemed a few years older than her friend and spoke to her hands instead of to me.
“A… small group of people,” I explained. “Some soldiers, some officials. They have matters to discuss with your elders. I would not worry. I would, however, tell your brother to stop spreading such rumors.” As I spoke, I found the threads of trust between us and added some firmness to my words.
Saralaa grabbed my hand between both of hers and bowed over it. “Oh, thank you, Radnyi! We were so worried.” Her friend elbowed her, and she dropped my hand, a look of horror drawing over her face. “I’m so sorry, Radnyi.”
I reached out and squeezed her fingers. She had spirit, and I did not want her to fear me. “Thank you for trusting me with this matter.”
After they left, I looked at Asha. She seemed a bit too pleased by the exchange. “How strange, that they should come to my door so late,” I said mildly.
“They call us the Women’s Circle,” Asha said, not looking up from the small tunic she was hemming for Bharata.
“Who calls us that?”
“Almost the entire palace,” Sumitra chimed in. She too had picked up her sewing. Sumitra embroidered beautifully and was currently sewing tiny jewels onto small dhotis for each of the boys.
“What does it mean?” I pressed, and wondered, How did I not hear about this?
Perhaps I relied too heavily on the Binding Plane for information. It could never help me answer questions I did not know to ask.
“People know that we gather in the evenings in this manner. Not all of them use the term in a kind way, but I think the women in the palace do.” Asha put aside her work to look at me, leaning forward onto her elbows. “They wish for invitations. Some of the servants ask me for them.”
Like lightning, a revelation coursed through me.
This social gathering had become something more without my even trying. People wanted to come and speak to me, to us, because we had power. Here was my chance to do what I had always wanted, handed to me on a silver platter.
“If you trust them, bring them here,” I said. “It’s our responsibility.”
A few days later, Kaushalya and I sat suffering together through a particularly boring kavita performance. Sumitra had begged off as too tired, and I silently envied her brilliant thinking.
The man was telling the history of a tribe of monkey people to the far south of Bharat. Although they appeared fully like monkeys, they had built a great city among the trees. They were ruled by kings and waged wars just like us, and so it should have been a fascinating recitation. But as the man plucked at his veena and droned on in a nasal tone, all I could think was that this was an insult to that monkey tribe.
After some time, Kaushalya leaned in toward me, pulling her pallu forward to mask her whisper. “What do you think of the Women’s Circle business?” she asked.