SHE then spoke at length of the history she had related to Tūmbṃār, going into much greater detail of the causes and events that led to the sacrifice and talking much of the happenings between the children of Kishṭyavā, the Vimādhaḥṃār, and the Daivhaḥhō.

“I did not think such things could have happened in the past,” said Iḷēhaḥ, despondent. “I had always been told that it was the iniquity of the Demons that caused them to be cast from the Heavens and likewise, the jealousy of the Gods that caused the Mānuzhhaḥn to suffer the same fate. I suppose it was a problem that extended far past, but to think it all had to do with the ambrosia and in such a humorous fashion.”

“Much talk was there of this in the Lower Realms,” said Nakthaḥm, brushing his nails, “but though laughable, I suppose this makes more sense than what I have been told.”

“So if there’s a sea of Vaisvyamhaḥ that the Mānuzhhaḥ, Dehaḥṃār, and Yavhaḥṃār were fighting over during the creation of the universe, what happened to it?” asked Sanyhaḥmān. “I’ve been long in journey in search of it, and was told that a place could be found in Ārhmanhaḥ where flowed this liquor in abundance.”

“Ah, yes, you have not yet related why it is you are searching for the Vaisvyamhaḥ,” said Nakthaḥm. “Would you tell us now?”

He mulled over what to say and then looked to the ceiling, sighing. “Well, let’s say it’s so I can attend a banquet; a divine one of sorts.”

Now, this was unusual, for Sanyhaḥmān seemed rather sad and a bit hesitant after saying that. His words made Iḷēhaḥ wonder what he was referring to. She did not have any recollection of a feast or anything of the sort being held anytime soon, though it would happen on occasion, usually once every few years in the time of the Heavens, which in some locations could very well be in the order of thousands of years in the time of the Midworld. But they did not wish to press him further on it and remained silent.

Hvesykhiḥ then spoke, answering:

It should be good for you to know that the divine nectar still floateth about somewhere in the Heavens or, perhaps as you say, in Ārhmanhaḥ, but its location still eludeth both the Dehaḥṃār and Daivhaḥhō, save for Ishvhaḥṃār, who refuseth to dispense of its location. Perhaps it is best that it remaineth hidden, for I can only wonder what more chaos it could cause; no doubt the Yavhaḥṃār might even hasten their plan should it be found, and what to say of the rest of the Ṃārhaḥn were they to come to know of it. Its allure has no bounds in the three worlds and some are said to even obtain immortality upon imbibing it.

Sanyhaḥmān prostrated to Hvesykhiḥ, and said, “Gratitude to you for relating this to me. Perhaps fortune will strike my way and I’ll have at least a glimpse. My purpose isn’t for the nectar itself but to attend the banquet, of which a grand one shall be held should it come into the grasp of all the Ṃārhaḥn. Indeed, I think it should be wonderful were all of us to see and partake of it!”

The snake then laughed and flicked its tongue:

Perhaps monkey! Perhaps!

“While I do not tire of the stories Hvesykhiḥ has to tell, what say we eat and call it a night, friends,” said Yūrmatṛtha laying out some food on the stone floor. “We shall have to start early tomorrow if we wish to make through these halls in the next five days.”

“Yes, let’s eat!” said Feyūnhaḥ, hoping the food would cheer up the others.

And so they started eating and talking with one another for some time. Their chewing and speech echoed through the halls, but they hardly took notice of it. Tūmbṃār, however, saw that Aiṛth was not eating instead sitting in silence silently muttering prayers.

“Aren’t you going to eat, Aiṛth?”

Looking his way, she shook her head. “I am unsure of what day it is, but I know at least every fifth-week that I must fast, and, since our excursion in the desert, I have neglected to observe it.”

She pulled out a small sun-dial from her bag and showed it to Tūmbṃār. There were thirty marks around the edges, representing the days in the month and two rotatable pieces: one to set the day and the other to set the month.

“Those of my order would usually use this to keep track of the time. Alas! it does not seem like we shall see the Sun anytime soon, so I shall have to take care in respecting the festivals and my duties. I hope that the Gods shall forgive it.”

“Oh, I forgot the priests and priestesses did that,” he said with his mouth filled with rice and spiced vegetables.

Iḷēhaḥ, licking her fingers, said, “Worry not over it; the Gods spend little time mulling over such things. Though they do, from time to time, take part in the offerings given to them.”

And Aiṛth clapped her hands in joy and said, “That is good to hear! I had my doubts that the food that was sometimes thrown in the fire was a waste.”

“You are better off sending in only half or perhaps less of the portions,” said Iḷēhaḥ as she cleaned her hands. “They depend no more on it, since their abandonment. Perhaps it would be better to stop the practice all together.”

“Nay!” shouted Aiṛth, startling the others. “I mean no disrespect to you, Iḷēhaḥ, but I am sure they will come to us once more. I am sure! After all, you, the Goddess of Adoration, stay by us. Even you had the choice to forfeit this journey, but you did not. There is still hope that they will come to us again and answer our calls. And I should like to hope that they will not starve there from our lack of sacrifices: is it not the case that such nourishment is what you and the other Dehaḥṃār truly need?”

Iḷēhaḥ remained silent for a while, and then said, “Yes, in some capacity.” She sighed and smiled: “I hope what you say comes true.”