I think I am, she had said. Someone who prayed many times a day to many gods was certainly devout, unless—“And do the gods listen?”
She took a step back from me. “What a strange thing to ask.”
I blinked into the Binding Plane, but we had only a slip of silver string between us. That would not work. I smiled at her, a small smile of commiseration. “What you said reminded me of myself when I was your age.” I paused, but something compelled me onward. “The gods have forsaken me as well,” I said gently.
Sita looked around as if worried someone might be spying on us. She took several steps closer, then whispered, “Do you know of the circumstances of my birth?”
I shook my head, mystified.
“My father found me buried in the earth. He was plowing the land, praying for the famine that had befallen Videha to end, when his plow stuck fast. My father began to dig out the plow and found me enfolded beneath the dirt. He said to survive there, I must have been gods-touched. Except it can’t be true. The gods never listen to me, and now I am to be married, and how can I be married if the gods are blind to my existence?” She burst into tears. “The gods must give their blessing to all marriages.”
I stood for a moment, shocked into silence. Buried in the earth? Though I had heard of many improbable wonders, even I had never heard of a child surviving in the ground. But as she continued to cry, she looked so miserable, so lost, that my instincts took over. “Calm down. Breathe.” She took a shallow, shaky breath. “Another. Another.” Finally, she took a deep, even breath and nodded her head.
“I’m sorry. That was unseemly.”
“Do not worry yourself. I understand,” I told her, rubbing her back. “As I said, I felt the same way once.”
“You were buried in the earth too?” she asked, and I pulled away in surprise. Then I noticed her shy smile and gave a small chuckle.
“When I was a girl, my brothers would pray for good aim and then hit a perfect bull’s-eye. My father would pray for rains and they would come the next day. But it seemed that whenever I prayed for something, nearly the opposite would happen.” The words inspired far less pain than I had expected. They were simply a fact now.
Her face crumpled, and I thought she might cry again. But when she said, “That’s exactly what happens to me,” her voice was remarkably steady.
“I have a marriage,” I told her. “A marriage in which I am loved and trusted. Without the help of the gods.” My disinterest in the marital bed and my lack of desire for Dasharath did not matter. I loved him like I would love a dear friend, and he had never caused me pain. For a woman, even in our new world, that was more than plenty.
“But how? If the gods have forsaken me, then how will my marriage be real?”
I sighed. Of all the things I had learned about Sita prior to our arrival, no one had mentioned the girl’s apparently rigid piousness. “You said it is your father who claims you are gods-touched?”
“Yes.”
“The truth about the gods-touched is that they cannot be influenced by the magic of the gods. Their power cannot sway us, for we have a higher purpose.”
“What is my purpose?” Her eyes held a hunger, one I recognized.
“I cannot guess your purpose,” I said. But I had very strong suspicions. If she was gods-touched, then she was probably intended to be Rama’s bride and his queen and, in that way, would serve her purpose. It would be ideal for Rama to have a wife he could not instantly read, to have a wife he could not compel to obey.
“What is yours?” she asked. “Have you completed it yet?”
I shook my head. “That I also do not know.”
Her face fell. “I see.”
“But that does not mean you cannot make your own purpose,” I said quickly, for as a child it would have been a blessing to hear from someone also forsaken by the gods that I could be more. Could aspire to greatness. “I am Raja Dasharath’s saciva.” This time, I smiled with all my teeth, sharp and predatory and not like a proper radnyi at all. She would need a fire in her belly too, if she wanted to thrive as Rama’s wife.
To her credit, Sita met my smile with one of her own. “I have heard that. They say you even rode out into battle once, as the raja’s charioteer.”
“I did,” I said. “Many years ago.”
“My father was impressed by that story,” she said. “When my sister and I were young, he allowed us to take lessons in archery and spear-throwing. He said that your skill had saved your husband’s life.”