“DO not speak such nonsense!” shouted Iḷēhaḥ at Aiṛth. Much fuss was there the next morning, as the priestess adamantly refused anyone to wash in the baths. She had regained some of her strength, but not enough to move about on her own and even less so to clean herself. The servants, Feyūnhaḥ, and Iḷēhaḥ argued with her not long after she had woken, but what irked Iḷēhaḥ the most was that Aiṛth would not allow her to be anywhere near on account of her impurities: she would not have a goddess clean her, seeing it as a grave offense whereas Iḷēhaḥ felt insulted.

At last when the maiden could bear it no longer she bound the priestess’ hands and feet, and to the shock of all there, carried Aiṛth off to the baths—not in all that different of a manner than how she was carried off by Tūmbṃār the first time they had met. A trail of shouts and screams was carried across the halls as the priestess tried her best to set herself free. The sight dismayed and even confounded some servants, who saw it as being very unsightly.

When they reached their destination, of which was filled with steaming water draining from the mouths of lions, lotuses flowing gaily upon its surface, and the vast quantity of it held in place by smooth tiles made of lacquered marble, she said to the ones who were already within, “Would you mind taking your leave?” To which they were no doubt confused.

“Now!” shouted Iḷēhaḥ.

The terrified bathers quickly scrambled into their clothes and ran out the door. Now with the baths empty, she closed the doors, locked them, and sealed the slivers with earth. And when all seemed good to her, she blind folded herself, approached the bath, stripped the priestess (down all three layers of her robes), and dumped her rather forcefully into the waters. The priestess’ cycle, however, had not yet ceased and so trails of light red flowed through the water, exiting through the drain on the far end. The servants would be in uproar but Iḷēhaḥ cared little for this took greater precedence.

With the soiled priestess in the water, no chance of entry of any other, and her anger abated, Iḷēhaḥ sighed and said, “This, at the very least, should prove to your comfort. Will it not Aiṛth?”

Aiṛth hung her head low and tried to cover herself with her hands, but Iḷēhaḥ grabbed them.

“Why do you do this?” Aiṛth asked, on the verge of crying. “No person, let alone a goddess, should have to scrub myself down like this! It is my duty and responsibility—if you had just let me, I could have done this myself!”

Iḷēhaḥ cast aside her raiment and jumped inside. She took Aiṛth’s hand and put it on her chest and said, “You can feel the beating of my chest and the breath that flows through me, can you not?”

Aiṛth nodded.

“Good, because it means I am just as human as you are. But it does not mean I shall abide your ritualistic directives that could put you in greater harm. A person who is ill or weak should be tended to others. Is that not so?”

Aiṛth nodded slowly.

“And for one such as yourself, who was foolish enough to hold in their cycle for nearly two nights with no less their powers, why anyone could see that you could not care for yourself, weakened as you now are.”

Aiṛth hung her head low, unable to reply.

“I know what it is the Servants must do, and I tell you now the Dehaḥṃār care not an ounce for it. Perhaps in the past they did, but now, having abandoned you, no obligation do you have.”

The priestess then lifted her head suddenly wishing to object but just as she opened her mouth, Iḷēhaḥ interrupted, “Yet even so, I know you want to keep steadfast should it anyway please them or me. For me it does not. I say that clearly. I am not of the Dehaḥṃār, Aiṛth,” and softening her voice, but still firm, “I am not of the Dehaḥṃār. I am simply a maiden here and now, sent by them to suffer the same ills and woes that all others must. But at the very least, your obligation concerning this only amounts to sight, so even if you should feel uncomfortable or even cry, I will not stop from doing what I must. Never were you a servant to me: you were and are, foremost, my friend, and never will I fail to aid you whenever it should be; even should you not want it. I hope one day you shall understand and see me likewise as such.”

Aiṛth remained silent as her eyes became watered, and suddenly, she burst into tears and wailed loud; yet not in pain or sorrow, but in happiness. Not once had she expected such a statement to be made to her, for though she said (mostly as jest) to herself to be friends with Iḷēhaḥ, never did she truly mean it. She never saw it as a possibility, regardless what Iḷēhaḥ said. But now she understood, and rubbing her eyes and with a faltered voice she said, “My gratitude to you Iḷēhaḥ! My gratitude to you!”