Jaul Barundandi
partnered Minh Subredil with a young woman named Rahini and sent
them to work in the Radisha’s own quarters, under the
direction of a woman named Narita, a fat, ugly creature possessed
by an inflated conception of her own importance. Narita complained
to Barundandi, “I need six more women. I’m supposed to
clean the council chamber again after I complete the royal
suite.”
“Then I suggest you pick up a broom yourself. I’ll
be back in a few hours. I expect to see progress. I’ve given
you the best workers available.” Barundandi went elsewhere to
be unpleasant to someone else.
The fat woman took it out on Subredil and Rahini. Subredil did
not know who Narita was. The woman had not worked in the royal
chambers before. As Subredil steered a mop around, she whispered,
“Who is this woman who is so bitter?” She stroked her
Ghanghesha.
Rahini glanced right and left but did not raise her eyes.
“You must understand her. She is Barundandi’s
wife.”
“You two! You aren’t being paid to
gossip.”
“Pardon, ma’am,” Sahra said. “I
didn’t understand what to do and didn’t want to trouble
you.”
The fat woman scowled for a moment but then turned her
displeasure in another direction. Rahini smiled softly, whispered,
“She’s in a good mood today.”
As the hours passed and her knees and hands and muscles began to
ache, Sahra realized that she and Rahini had been delivered to
Barundandi’s wife more for who they were than for the work
they could do. They were not bright and they were not among the
more attractive workers. Barundandi wanted Narita to believe that
these were the kind of women he always employed. Elsewhere, no
doubt, he and his chief assistants would take full advantage of
their bit of power over the unfortunate and the desperate.
It was not a good day for exploring. There was more work than
three women could possibly complete. Sahra got no chance to collect
additional pages from the hidden Annals. Then, not many hours after
the day started, conditions within the Palace became much less
relaxed. The high and the mighty began to show themselves, moving
rapidly here and there. Rumor came, apparently passing right
through stone walls. Another Bhodi disciple had burned himself to
death outside and the Radisha was completely distraught. Narita
herself confided, “She’s very frightened. Many things
are happening over which she has no control. She has gone to the
Anger Chamber. She does so almost every day now.”
“The Anger Chamber?” Sahra murmured. She had not
heard of this before, but till recently she never worked this close
to the heart of the Palace. “What is that,
ma’am?”
“A room set aside where she can tear her hair and clothing
and rage and weep without having her emotions poison surroundings
used for other purposes. She won’t come out until she can
face the world in complete calm.”
Subredil understood: It was a Gunni thing. Only Gunni would come
up with an idea like that. Gunni religion personified everything.
It had a god or goddess or demon, a deva or rakshasa or yaksha or
whatever for everything, usually with several aspects and avatars
and differing names, none of whom were seen much nowadays but who
had been very busy way back when.
Only an extremely wealthy Gunni would come up with a conceit
like an Anger Chamber—a Gunni cursed with a thousand rooms she did
not know how to use.
Later in the day Subredil contrived to be allowed to service the
freshly evacuated Anger Chamber. It was small and contained nothing
but a mat on a polished wooden floor and a small shrine to
ancestors. The smoke was thick and the smell of incense was
overpowering.
Jaul Barundandi
partnered Minh Subredil with a young woman named Rahini and sent
them to work in the Radisha’s own quarters, under the
direction of a woman named Narita, a fat, ugly creature possessed
by an inflated conception of her own importance. Narita complained
to Barundandi, “I need six more women. I’m supposed to
clean the council chamber again after I complete the royal
suite.”
“Then I suggest you pick up a broom yourself. I’ll
be back in a few hours. I expect to see progress. I’ve given
you the best workers available.” Barundandi went elsewhere to
be unpleasant to someone else.
The fat woman took it out on Subredil and Rahini. Subredil did
not know who Narita was. The woman had not worked in the royal
chambers before. As Subredil steered a mop around, she whispered,
“Who is this woman who is so bitter?” She stroked her
Ghanghesha.
Rahini glanced right and left but did not raise her eyes.
“You must understand her. She is Barundandi’s
wife.”
“You two! You aren’t being paid to
gossip.”
“Pardon, ma’am,” Sahra said. “I
didn’t understand what to do and didn’t want to trouble
you.”
The fat woman scowled for a moment but then turned her
displeasure in another direction. Rahini smiled softly, whispered,
“She’s in a good mood today.”
As the hours passed and her knees and hands and muscles began to
ache, Sahra realized that she and Rahini had been delivered to
Barundandi’s wife more for who they were than for the work
they could do. They were not bright and they were not among the
more attractive workers. Barundandi wanted Narita to believe that
these were the kind of women he always employed. Elsewhere, no
doubt, he and his chief assistants would take full advantage of
their bit of power over the unfortunate and the desperate.
It was not a good day for exploring. There was more work than
three women could possibly complete. Sahra got no chance to collect
additional pages from the hidden Annals. Then, not many hours after
the day started, conditions within the Palace became much less
relaxed. The high and the mighty began to show themselves, moving
rapidly here and there. Rumor came, apparently passing right
through stone walls. Another Bhodi disciple had burned himself to
death outside and the Radisha was completely distraught. Narita
herself confided, “She’s very frightened. Many things
are happening over which she has no control. She has gone to the
Anger Chamber. She does so almost every day now.”
“The Anger Chamber?” Sahra murmured. She had not
heard of this before, but till recently she never worked this close
to the heart of the Palace. “What is that,
ma’am?”
“A room set aside where she can tear her hair and clothing
and rage and weep without having her emotions poison surroundings
used for other purposes. She won’t come out until she can
face the world in complete calm.”
Subredil understood: It was a Gunni thing. Only Gunni would come
up with an idea like that. Gunni religion personified everything.
It had a god or goddess or demon, a deva or rakshasa or yaksha or
whatever for everything, usually with several aspects and avatars
and differing names, none of whom were seen much nowadays but who
had been very busy way back when.
Only an extremely wealthy Gunni would come up with a conceit
like an Anger Chamber—a Gunni cursed with a thousand rooms she did
not know how to use.
Later in the day Subredil contrived to be allowed to service the
freshly evacuated Anger Chamber. It was small and contained nothing
but a mat on a polished wooden floor and a small shrine to
ancestors. The smoke was thick and the smell of incense was
overpowering.