offered him raisins and cucumbers, but he refused."
"Yes," she said quietly.
"He took water from the fountain; he would accept nothing more." The steward rubbed his hands in distress, as if he thought he should have done more.
"Yes," she said, as if to soothe him. "I know."
"Shall we ever see him again?" the steward implored.
"If his Lord Buddha wills," she replied, and thought she had better burn incense to Ganesh tonight, and— in case Ganesh was too worldly a god— to Varuna and Vishnu in the morning, in case Lord Buddha should fail Nararavi on his travels.
"What will the Sultan's Deputy say?" the steward exclaimed, plainly with some idea in mind what that might be.
"What can he say? The terms were set out and agreed to four years ago and nothing has changed." She was becoming impatient with the man, and did not want to share his apprehension. "Adri, we will do all that we must, and trust to the gods that my husband will remain safe as he goes about the world."
"But Timur-i—" Adri said, and broke off.
"Timur-i will not bother himself with a lone mendicant Buddhist," said Avasa Dani, hoping it was so.
"He may not," said Adri as if he was certain of catastrophe. "But where Timur-i has been, devastation remains, and there are no alms to be had."
Avasa Devi held up her hand. "Adri: no more. It is beyond any help of mine but prayer. My husband has chosen his path, and we are bound to honor it. You have nothing to fear, for you, and the rest of the household, are provided for. Whether he returns or not, you will not be put out into the streets to beg and you will not have to give up your religion in order to be employed." She pointed to the door. "I am sure everyone is in an uproar. You are to reassure them. And see that is what you do, not raise new fears in their breasts."
"But it is very dreadful—" Adri began.
"You're not to say that. You may think that, but you will keep it to yourself." She stared at him until he looked away from her. "If the household wishes to keep a fast on Nararavi's behalf, they may do so tomorrow. Tell Chol he need not prepare a meal until sundown."
Adri scowled. "Not all will be satisfied, Lady."
"Perhaps not," said Avasa Dani, "but it is enough for now." She started to leave the room, then said, "Sanat Ji Mani has given the Sultan's Deputy enough money to pay all of you your living for more than ten years, in accordance with his agreement with my husband. He has done that for all the household, beyond the monies my husband set aside for all of you; none of you will starve, whether or not my husband returns. Tell them that, and they will be less worried."
"You do not think they are worried because of money, do you?" Adri said with feeling.
"I think it is a good part of your fears, yes," said Avasa Dani calmly. "You would not be provident if you did not think of such things. The world is more filled with beggars, who yearn for the gifts of the world than with mendicants, who have turned away from them."
"It may be so," Adri said, not willing to make a concession on this point. "And some will find it reassuring to know that they have been provided for."
"Very good," said Avasa Dani, feeling suddenly very tired although the night was young. "Now leave me. You have what you came for."
Adri bristled. "I was not merely seeking—"
"I know," she said, cutting him short. "Were my husband here, you would not have to speak to me at all. I have no father or brother or uncle to stand in his place, and Sanat Ji Mani is a foreigner. You had reason to be concerned." She had a sudden, baffling impulse to weep, but she kept her emotions in check; she would not behave so poorly before a servant, not even one she had known as long as Adri.
"The household is… irregular," said Adri, willing to grant that much.
"Yes. And my husband is