Tmp, p.20
tmp, page 20
All bad things started with love.
142
chapter 16
An Earnest Wish
Dasharatha’s convalescence took longer than he had expected. As he had first noted, his hair was now white or, as Kaikeyi liked to say, silver like the steel of a shining blade. Secretly, however, Dasharatha felt that whatever had turned his hair had invaded his entire body. When he looked in the mirror these days, he saw only an old man who stooped ever so slightly. He kept this knowing private and worked diligently to restore himself to his former prowess. Often he had dreams of a green-hued boy. He had a strong sense now that something crucial was missing from his life and felt the urgency tugging at him from the center of his heart, a child calling for its father.
The monsoon began, and the rain always had a calming effect on land and people alike. Wars seldom happened during this time. Every report came back to Dasharatha with news of peace. Of course, the king of Kashi was up to his usual intrigues, but that was the norm. Ravana and his kind were dormant. The holy ones expressed confidence in their sacred wards. And the kingdom relaxed with a sigh of relief. For now, Dasharatha could rest easy. The rainy season had always made him mellow and pensive.
As rain drenched the city, the citizens were celebrating not with pomp but with a quiet solemnity, each in his or her home. The rain poured, splattering
ch a p ter 16
against mud walls and palace walls alike. The wind blew, making the palm trees dance to the rhythm of the shifting tempest. Although the weather was stormy, no one seemed afraid. Rather, there was joy in the air, a celebration of the first rain of the year. Some children even played outside, their hair and faces dripping with water, like happy tears. Their parents looked on from doorways in amusement and called them inside only when the mud fights began.
The whole kingdom rejoiced in the rain because the monsoons marked the beginning of another year of prosperity and fertility. The rice would be plentiful; the mango trees would bend, heavy with fruit; and the drinking water would become as fresh and as sweet as sugarcane juice. The happy citizens raised their faces toward the sky and thanked the Lord for his benevolence. Next they looked toward the palace, where a sun gilded the flag on the highest dome, and they thanked the king. They knew the king’s piety and firm rule made their empire prosper. Mimicking their parents, the children also turned their mud-streaked faces toward the palace.
Hearing these reports from within his city, King Dasharatha was deeply moved. As he had demonstrated time and time again, he was prepared to sacrifice his life for the prosperity of Ayodhya.
Dasharatha stood on his private balcony watching the rain infuse the land with life and his citizens with contentment. Yet he could not stop dissatisfaction from brewing in his heart. Since the last battle, he felt increasingly restless and even anguished. His body had all but healed, yet he could no longer ignore the enormity of what he lacked. So he joined his citizens by looking toward the Lord above. The king raised his face to the sky in prayer, closing his eyes against the rain. Even as his face streamed with water, tears stung his eyes and wet his cheeks. Suddenly a hand on his shoulder broke his reverie.
“My love, what is the matter?”
That voice had drawn him back from the halls of death. At the sight of Kaikeyi, his tears flowed all the more freely, as if competing with the rain.
“What is troubling you?”
When her quizzical gaze searched his face, he murmured, “Just raindrops.”
Kaikeyi did not press him further, but simply wrapped her arms around him to comfort him. He returned her embrace. He felt the warmth of her graceful body where their bodies merged and the rain could not reach. He had received such miraculous love from this queen, but not the miracle he needed.
“I want a son,” he said.
His heart exploded with the truth of it.
“Is this a revelation to you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “When you brought me back from death, I returned a changed man. I dream of a green-hued boy. I cannot stop thinking of him. All else has grown trivial to me.”
Suddenly nothing but the whole truth would suffice. Dasharatha had not been planning to reveal his crime to anyone. The words were out before he could stop them.
“I committed a great crime once. It chills my soul to remember it.”
144
ch a p ter 16
She stepped away from him. There was no dismissal in this act, only a preparation to bear witness to his confession. Kaikeyi’s eyes were stormy like the clouds above. He trusted her capacity to understand.
“Speak,” she said.
The rain fell steadily around them. He closed his eyes and spoke.
“I was a carefree boy of fifteen, already the crown prince of Ayodhya. My father was greatly pleased with me, for I excelled in all my studies, and the science of archery was my favorite. My father told me I was the greatest archer on Earth. His assessment held great weight, for he was not only a reputed warrior but the emperor of Earth. Father encouraged my skill, saying that hunting would improve my marksmanship.
“I spent many hours alone in the forest, shooting faraway targets and practicing my aim.
I did not consider the pain of the animals I killed. They were moving targets, nothing else, just as my enemies would be on the battlefield. I especially enjoyed nighttime hunting. It obscured my targets and increased the challenge. Maybe if I hadn’t been so rash—if I hadn’t taken such delight in my tricks.”
He opened his eyes. The rest would not be as easy to reveal. Kaikeyi made no effort to shield herself from the rain. Dasharatha felt the storm in his heart gather force.
“The night was moonless,” he said. “I was thrilled by its darkness. Every tree was a menacing blood-drinker, every sound that of the enemy. Through the quiet night, I heard a gur-gling sound ahead. I took it for the noise of an animal drinking water. What an opportunity to practice my skill at hitting an invisible target. Without a moment’s hesitation I grabbed my bow and aimed at the sound. As I released my arrow, I felt satisfaction spread in my heart, sure of my success.
“A cry of agony echoed through the dark. My heart froze in horror. I ran toward the sound as fast as I could, hoping I was wrong. The moaning grew quiet as I reached the stream. I truly could not see anything at first, but a clay pot bobbed on the surface of the stream, confirming my fear. I had hit my mark, all right, killing another human being. I fell on my knees, crawling closer to the curled-up figure. It was a boy.”
Kaikeyi inhaled sharply. “Dead?”
“Dying. I cradled him in my arms. My arrow had gone straight into his heart. The blood spreading out on his chest was black as tar. It clung to my fingers, which would never be clean again.
“His eyes were rolling back in their sockets, but he struggled to speak to me. ‘My parents cannot survive without me. Promise me that you will tell them what happened to me.’
“The hairs on my neck stood up. I was a murderer. That is what I had to confess.
“He spoke again, but his voice was fading. I had to put my ear close to his lips.
“‘They will think I abandoned them,’ he said.
“Even though he was in mortal pain, this boy thought only of his parents.
“‘I will find them and confess,’ I promised. I examined his wound with trembling fingers.
Was there no way to save his life?
146
a n ea r nest w ish
“‘The pain,’ he said, his fingers tugging at the arrow in his heart. ‘Take it away. Please.’
“He pressed his fingers into mine and together we held the shaft that was killing him. I knew if I pulled my arrow out, he would die, but I did it anyway, to end his suffering. There was no way to save him. Blood trickled from his mouth and flowed from his heart. I didn’t even know his name. The dead boy grew heavy in my arms and started slipping from my lap.
I was perspiring from every limb. The smell of my sweat and his blood filled my nostrils. The water pot floated in the place where it had been abandoned. The nameless boy had been filling it at the stream. Taking it for an animal’s thirst, I had murdered an innocent boy.”
“Murder is too harsh a judgment,” her voice was soft. “Your mistake was honest.” She wanted to soften his guilt.
“No. The horror rippling in my body told me my transgression was beyond forgiveness. I stepped over the dead body and splashed my face with water, reaching for the pot. I felt the boy’s final urgency cling to my heart. I had to seek out his parents. They were thirsty and waiting for their son. I cursed my ears as I filled the water pot. I had no choice but to leave the boy at the stream and search for his parents. I found the path that he had pointed to and soon found them—two enfeebled elders sitting in a dimly lit hut. I was afraid to enter the hut and face them. The water pot became a boulder in my hands, as heavy as the murder of the boy. Every word they said is imprinted in my memory.”
“Share them with me,” Kaikeyi said, stepping closer to him. “Let me share the burden of those words.”
Dasharatha clenched his jaw, remembering the feeble parents of the boy.
“I had not yet gathered the courage to confess my crime. I stood outside their cottage, hearing every word. ‘Why is he delaying?’ the mother asked.
“‘Oh, he will come, don’t worry,’ the father replied. ‘Our son is so good. He takes careful care of us two useless creatures, blind and immobile as we are.’
“‘We would die within days,’ the mother agreed, ‘for lack of water and food.’
“It was clear that they lived only for the love of their son. The water pot in my hand began to shake. I wanted to turn and flee. When the old mother once again asked where her son was, I went inside. I meant to fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness. But their expectant faces turned to me. They looked at me with unseeing eyes full of trust and love. I froze, my mouth dry.
“‘Son, is that you?’ the old father asked me. Thinking he knew the answer, he went on.
‘What took you so long? Your mother was worried.’
“‘He is back now,’ she said, a smile lighting up her face. ‘Come, bring the water to your old mother’s lips. I’m so thirsty.’
“Frozen within, I went forward and put the pot to her lips. She drank a little but immediately asked, ‘Why are you silent? This is not like you. Are you angry with us? Have you tired of caring for your old parents?’
“They waited with patient expressions on their faces. They expected me to answer them with loving words. What a son he must have been!
147
ch a p ter 16
“I found some courage and threw myself at their feet. ‘Forgive me! It was a mistake!’
“‘Who are you? Where is our son?’ they asked, drawing together and away from me.
“Their blind eyes turned on me, demanding the truth.
“Finding no other identity to hide behind, I said, ‘I am the killer of your son.’ I told them of my grievous mistake and the promise their son had exacted from me before he died.
“‘Bring us to him,’ they said.
“Though I was the killer of their boy, they accepted my help in escorting them to the stream; I led them carefully, one on each arm. Then I stood by silently, watching them cry like small children. They refused to speak to me. Their silence was more painful than their accusations would have been.
“‘We are helpless without our son,’ the father said at last. ‘Better we die now than wait for slow starvation.’
“I told them I would bring them to Ayodhya and personally care for them.”
“Of course,” Kaikeyi interjected. “I would expect nothing else from you.”
“They rejected my offer. The boy’s mother said, ‘He did not want to live without us. We don’t want to live without him.’
“Though she was blind, her sightless eyes penetrated me to my core. I could see that they had lost all desire to live. Deprived of their child, they withered before my eyes. They asked me to build the boy a funeral pyre and told me that they would give up their lives in the fire.
I was powerless to stop them. Before they entered the blazing fire, the father turned to me.
‘You have deprived two old parents of their only comfort. Just as I now suffer with grief, so shall you end your days grieving for your son.’”
Kaikeyi’s eyes lit up with understanding. “And therefore you have never truly wanted a son!”
“Those were their last words. All these years I have wondered if I will be absolved of the boy’s murder only when their dying words came true. After they cursed me, the scene became entirely surreal. I expected them to scream as the fire consumed their bodies.
Instead, the silence was as vast and dark as the night around me. I stared into the flames until they burned down and were gone. That curse has haunted me ever since.”
Dasharatha searched Kaikeyi’s face. His body felt light, and he shivered in the rain.
“Let it haunt you no more,” Kaikeyi said firmly. “I banish such thoughts from your consciousness.”
“But . . .” Did she not see the gravity of his crime?
She cupped his face in her hands, looking intently into his eyes. “I have borne witness to your crime. And I judge it an honest mistake. You would not have willingly or knowingly killed an innocent boy. That would have been a crime. What you did was a pure mistake.”
“That was no solace to his parents!”
“No more of that! You have lived with this guilt for countless years.”
“Thirty-two years.”
“Thirty-two years, my love. That is long enough. Your remorse washed you clean on the same day that you killed that boy.”
148
a n ea r nest w ish
He sighed deeply and knew that this very confession was a step in that direction.
“What of their curse?” he persisted. “I will die grieving for my son.”
“Not every word spoken in grief or anger is a curse. Surely you must see this, Great King.”
“Perhaps. But in my heart, I felt the resonance of their words. I know it will come to be.”
“You may have many extraordinary skills, my love. But you cannot see into the future.
Or have you kept this secret power from me?”
She was smiling in jest. “Are you ready now to tell me more of the boy you dream of, the son you long for?”
He laughed, rain running into his mouth. “Yes, I’m ready.”
He was delighted by her simple sense of justice, immensely relieved to share his secret with another living soul. He took hold of her hand and led her within.
King and queen were soaked to the skin. Cleansed and renewed. Sensing the change in his mood, Kaikeyi said something else to make him laugh. Dasharatha heart swelled with tenderness. He would let nothing stand in his way now.
149
chapter 17
The Great Sacrifice
The next day, Dasharatha called a special meeting, bringing his eight ministers and Vasishta together. To cement the formality of the meeting he was about to conduct, Dasharatha recognized each one of them in due turn, praising their individual skills and accomplishments. He was pleased to see them exchange glances as he spoke.
“Today we will speak of Ayodhya’s need for an heir,” Dasharatha said.
There was a collective sigh of pleasure and relief. Vasishta’s eyes sparked up.
“This conversation has been long overdue,” Dasharatha began. “Please know that my avoidance was based on my complete trust in all of you, combined with a youth’s foolish notion of immortality. As you can see, I am young no more. Nothing has highlighted this more than my recent near-death encounter. I had only one regret before I lost consciousness: ‘The Sun dynasty ends with me.’ Since then, nothing can rouse me from the urgency of this situation. I need an heir to ensure that my line continues.”
“Hear, hear!” Siddhartha called out.
“Let me speak more candidly than ever before,” Dasharatha said. “I have three worthy queens. None of them have borne me children. I had hoped that
ch a p ter 17
Kaikeyi would be the mother of my sons. That has not happened. Hence, I wish to consult you. What shall we do?”
Vasishta spoke first. “Great King, today our patience has been rewarded. Many a time we have considered forcing our thoughts on you, but it is known that every pressure has an equal and opposite reaction, and so we have waited for you to come to us. Now you approach us with an open heart, and your determination blazes like the sun from your heart. Blessings are upon us. Only time stands between us and the solution.”
Dasharatha verily grew in the warmth of his guru’s words.
“We agree that it is no longer wise to expect any of your queens to bear children,” Vasishta said. “The inability of a king to conceive a son indicates impiety in his rule.”
Dasharatha’s mind immediately went to the killing of the innocent boy. Despite his confession and Kaikeyi’s assurance, he was not free of that night. He didn’t meet Vasishta’s eye.
“None of us feel that this is the case here,” Vasishta assured the king.
A surge of relief washed away the memory.
“Nevertheless, there is a reason that you are unable to naturally produce an heir, and it is time to explore other paths. We have considered several options. You may adopt a worthy child as your own. You may nominate a prince from another kingdom as your heir. There are several worthy contenders. Such paths, however, are known to be fraught with uncertainties. Most human beings seek to elevate their place of origin, and the Sun dynasty may lose its position. Before we take such a final step, therefore, this council proposes a ritual by fire that will cleanse us and turn the tides in our favor. We are calling for a horse sacrifice culminating in the son-bearing ritual. It is an extremely rare and complex ritual, but it can be done, and is designed to give sons to sonless kings. Through it, we will petition the gods for an heir, calling for their intervention. This, we all concur, is the best solution.”
Dasharatha considered their words. He understood from Vasishta’s words that the council had prepared this speech in advance to present it to him at an opportune moment.
142
chapter 16
An Earnest Wish
Dasharatha’s convalescence took longer than he had expected. As he had first noted, his hair was now white or, as Kaikeyi liked to say, silver like the steel of a shining blade. Secretly, however, Dasharatha felt that whatever had turned his hair had invaded his entire body. When he looked in the mirror these days, he saw only an old man who stooped ever so slightly. He kept this knowing private and worked diligently to restore himself to his former prowess. Often he had dreams of a green-hued boy. He had a strong sense now that something crucial was missing from his life and felt the urgency tugging at him from the center of his heart, a child calling for its father.
The monsoon began, and the rain always had a calming effect on land and people alike. Wars seldom happened during this time. Every report came back to Dasharatha with news of peace. Of course, the king of Kashi was up to his usual intrigues, but that was the norm. Ravana and his kind were dormant. The holy ones expressed confidence in their sacred wards. And the kingdom relaxed with a sigh of relief. For now, Dasharatha could rest easy. The rainy season had always made him mellow and pensive.
As rain drenched the city, the citizens were celebrating not with pomp but with a quiet solemnity, each in his or her home. The rain poured, splattering
ch a p ter 16
against mud walls and palace walls alike. The wind blew, making the palm trees dance to the rhythm of the shifting tempest. Although the weather was stormy, no one seemed afraid. Rather, there was joy in the air, a celebration of the first rain of the year. Some children even played outside, their hair and faces dripping with water, like happy tears. Their parents looked on from doorways in amusement and called them inside only when the mud fights began.
The whole kingdom rejoiced in the rain because the monsoons marked the beginning of another year of prosperity and fertility. The rice would be plentiful; the mango trees would bend, heavy with fruit; and the drinking water would become as fresh and as sweet as sugarcane juice. The happy citizens raised their faces toward the sky and thanked the Lord for his benevolence. Next they looked toward the palace, where a sun gilded the flag on the highest dome, and they thanked the king. They knew the king’s piety and firm rule made their empire prosper. Mimicking their parents, the children also turned their mud-streaked faces toward the palace.
Hearing these reports from within his city, King Dasharatha was deeply moved. As he had demonstrated time and time again, he was prepared to sacrifice his life for the prosperity of Ayodhya.
Dasharatha stood on his private balcony watching the rain infuse the land with life and his citizens with contentment. Yet he could not stop dissatisfaction from brewing in his heart. Since the last battle, he felt increasingly restless and even anguished. His body had all but healed, yet he could no longer ignore the enormity of what he lacked. So he joined his citizens by looking toward the Lord above. The king raised his face to the sky in prayer, closing his eyes against the rain. Even as his face streamed with water, tears stung his eyes and wet his cheeks. Suddenly a hand on his shoulder broke his reverie.
“My love, what is the matter?”
That voice had drawn him back from the halls of death. At the sight of Kaikeyi, his tears flowed all the more freely, as if competing with the rain.
“What is troubling you?”
When her quizzical gaze searched his face, he murmured, “Just raindrops.”
Kaikeyi did not press him further, but simply wrapped her arms around him to comfort him. He returned her embrace. He felt the warmth of her graceful body where their bodies merged and the rain could not reach. He had received such miraculous love from this queen, but not the miracle he needed.
“I want a son,” he said.
His heart exploded with the truth of it.
“Is this a revelation to you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “When you brought me back from death, I returned a changed man. I dream of a green-hued boy. I cannot stop thinking of him. All else has grown trivial to me.”
Suddenly nothing but the whole truth would suffice. Dasharatha had not been planning to reveal his crime to anyone. The words were out before he could stop them.
“I committed a great crime once. It chills my soul to remember it.”
144
ch a p ter 16
She stepped away from him. There was no dismissal in this act, only a preparation to bear witness to his confession. Kaikeyi’s eyes were stormy like the clouds above. He trusted her capacity to understand.
“Speak,” she said.
The rain fell steadily around them. He closed his eyes and spoke.
“I was a carefree boy of fifteen, already the crown prince of Ayodhya. My father was greatly pleased with me, for I excelled in all my studies, and the science of archery was my favorite. My father told me I was the greatest archer on Earth. His assessment held great weight, for he was not only a reputed warrior but the emperor of Earth. Father encouraged my skill, saying that hunting would improve my marksmanship.
“I spent many hours alone in the forest, shooting faraway targets and practicing my aim.
I did not consider the pain of the animals I killed. They were moving targets, nothing else, just as my enemies would be on the battlefield. I especially enjoyed nighttime hunting. It obscured my targets and increased the challenge. Maybe if I hadn’t been so rash—if I hadn’t taken such delight in my tricks.”
He opened his eyes. The rest would not be as easy to reveal. Kaikeyi made no effort to shield herself from the rain. Dasharatha felt the storm in his heart gather force.
“The night was moonless,” he said. “I was thrilled by its darkness. Every tree was a menacing blood-drinker, every sound that of the enemy. Through the quiet night, I heard a gur-gling sound ahead. I took it for the noise of an animal drinking water. What an opportunity to practice my skill at hitting an invisible target. Without a moment’s hesitation I grabbed my bow and aimed at the sound. As I released my arrow, I felt satisfaction spread in my heart, sure of my success.
“A cry of agony echoed through the dark. My heart froze in horror. I ran toward the sound as fast as I could, hoping I was wrong. The moaning grew quiet as I reached the stream. I truly could not see anything at first, but a clay pot bobbed on the surface of the stream, confirming my fear. I had hit my mark, all right, killing another human being. I fell on my knees, crawling closer to the curled-up figure. It was a boy.”
Kaikeyi inhaled sharply. “Dead?”
“Dying. I cradled him in my arms. My arrow had gone straight into his heart. The blood spreading out on his chest was black as tar. It clung to my fingers, which would never be clean again.
“His eyes were rolling back in their sockets, but he struggled to speak to me. ‘My parents cannot survive without me. Promise me that you will tell them what happened to me.’
“The hairs on my neck stood up. I was a murderer. That is what I had to confess.
“He spoke again, but his voice was fading. I had to put my ear close to his lips.
“‘They will think I abandoned them,’ he said.
“Even though he was in mortal pain, this boy thought only of his parents.
“‘I will find them and confess,’ I promised. I examined his wound with trembling fingers.
Was there no way to save his life?
146
a n ea r nest w ish
“‘The pain,’ he said, his fingers tugging at the arrow in his heart. ‘Take it away. Please.’
“He pressed his fingers into mine and together we held the shaft that was killing him. I knew if I pulled my arrow out, he would die, but I did it anyway, to end his suffering. There was no way to save him. Blood trickled from his mouth and flowed from his heart. I didn’t even know his name. The dead boy grew heavy in my arms and started slipping from my lap.
I was perspiring from every limb. The smell of my sweat and his blood filled my nostrils. The water pot floated in the place where it had been abandoned. The nameless boy had been filling it at the stream. Taking it for an animal’s thirst, I had murdered an innocent boy.”
“Murder is too harsh a judgment,” her voice was soft. “Your mistake was honest.” She wanted to soften his guilt.
“No. The horror rippling in my body told me my transgression was beyond forgiveness. I stepped over the dead body and splashed my face with water, reaching for the pot. I felt the boy’s final urgency cling to my heart. I had to seek out his parents. They were thirsty and waiting for their son. I cursed my ears as I filled the water pot. I had no choice but to leave the boy at the stream and search for his parents. I found the path that he had pointed to and soon found them—two enfeebled elders sitting in a dimly lit hut. I was afraid to enter the hut and face them. The water pot became a boulder in my hands, as heavy as the murder of the boy. Every word they said is imprinted in my memory.”
“Share them with me,” Kaikeyi said, stepping closer to him. “Let me share the burden of those words.”
Dasharatha clenched his jaw, remembering the feeble parents of the boy.
“I had not yet gathered the courage to confess my crime. I stood outside their cottage, hearing every word. ‘Why is he delaying?’ the mother asked.
“‘Oh, he will come, don’t worry,’ the father replied. ‘Our son is so good. He takes careful care of us two useless creatures, blind and immobile as we are.’
“‘We would die within days,’ the mother agreed, ‘for lack of water and food.’
“It was clear that they lived only for the love of their son. The water pot in my hand began to shake. I wanted to turn and flee. When the old mother once again asked where her son was, I went inside. I meant to fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness. But their expectant faces turned to me. They looked at me with unseeing eyes full of trust and love. I froze, my mouth dry.
“‘Son, is that you?’ the old father asked me. Thinking he knew the answer, he went on.
‘What took you so long? Your mother was worried.’
“‘He is back now,’ she said, a smile lighting up her face. ‘Come, bring the water to your old mother’s lips. I’m so thirsty.’
“Frozen within, I went forward and put the pot to her lips. She drank a little but immediately asked, ‘Why are you silent? This is not like you. Are you angry with us? Have you tired of caring for your old parents?’
“They waited with patient expressions on their faces. They expected me to answer them with loving words. What a son he must have been!
147
ch a p ter 16
“I found some courage and threw myself at their feet. ‘Forgive me! It was a mistake!’
“‘Who are you? Where is our son?’ they asked, drawing together and away from me.
“Their blind eyes turned on me, demanding the truth.
“Finding no other identity to hide behind, I said, ‘I am the killer of your son.’ I told them of my grievous mistake and the promise their son had exacted from me before he died.
“‘Bring us to him,’ they said.
“Though I was the killer of their boy, they accepted my help in escorting them to the stream; I led them carefully, one on each arm. Then I stood by silently, watching them cry like small children. They refused to speak to me. Their silence was more painful than their accusations would have been.
“‘We are helpless without our son,’ the father said at last. ‘Better we die now than wait for slow starvation.’
“I told them I would bring them to Ayodhya and personally care for them.”
“Of course,” Kaikeyi interjected. “I would expect nothing else from you.”
“They rejected my offer. The boy’s mother said, ‘He did not want to live without us. We don’t want to live without him.’
“Though she was blind, her sightless eyes penetrated me to my core. I could see that they had lost all desire to live. Deprived of their child, they withered before my eyes. They asked me to build the boy a funeral pyre and told me that they would give up their lives in the fire.
I was powerless to stop them. Before they entered the blazing fire, the father turned to me.
‘You have deprived two old parents of their only comfort. Just as I now suffer with grief, so shall you end your days grieving for your son.’”
Kaikeyi’s eyes lit up with understanding. “And therefore you have never truly wanted a son!”
“Those were their last words. All these years I have wondered if I will be absolved of the boy’s murder only when their dying words came true. After they cursed me, the scene became entirely surreal. I expected them to scream as the fire consumed their bodies.
Instead, the silence was as vast and dark as the night around me. I stared into the flames until they burned down and were gone. That curse has haunted me ever since.”
Dasharatha searched Kaikeyi’s face. His body felt light, and he shivered in the rain.
“Let it haunt you no more,” Kaikeyi said firmly. “I banish such thoughts from your consciousness.”
“But . . .” Did she not see the gravity of his crime?
She cupped his face in her hands, looking intently into his eyes. “I have borne witness to your crime. And I judge it an honest mistake. You would not have willingly or knowingly killed an innocent boy. That would have been a crime. What you did was a pure mistake.”
“That was no solace to his parents!”
“No more of that! You have lived with this guilt for countless years.”
“Thirty-two years.”
“Thirty-two years, my love. That is long enough. Your remorse washed you clean on the same day that you killed that boy.”
148
a n ea r nest w ish
He sighed deeply and knew that this very confession was a step in that direction.
“What of their curse?” he persisted. “I will die grieving for my son.”
“Not every word spoken in grief or anger is a curse. Surely you must see this, Great King.”
“Perhaps. But in my heart, I felt the resonance of their words. I know it will come to be.”
“You may have many extraordinary skills, my love. But you cannot see into the future.
Or have you kept this secret power from me?”
She was smiling in jest. “Are you ready now to tell me more of the boy you dream of, the son you long for?”
He laughed, rain running into his mouth. “Yes, I’m ready.”
He was delighted by her simple sense of justice, immensely relieved to share his secret with another living soul. He took hold of her hand and led her within.
King and queen were soaked to the skin. Cleansed and renewed. Sensing the change in his mood, Kaikeyi said something else to make him laugh. Dasharatha heart swelled with tenderness. He would let nothing stand in his way now.
149
chapter 17
The Great Sacrifice
The next day, Dasharatha called a special meeting, bringing his eight ministers and Vasishta together. To cement the formality of the meeting he was about to conduct, Dasharatha recognized each one of them in due turn, praising their individual skills and accomplishments. He was pleased to see them exchange glances as he spoke.
“Today we will speak of Ayodhya’s need for an heir,” Dasharatha said.
There was a collective sigh of pleasure and relief. Vasishta’s eyes sparked up.
“This conversation has been long overdue,” Dasharatha began. “Please know that my avoidance was based on my complete trust in all of you, combined with a youth’s foolish notion of immortality. As you can see, I am young no more. Nothing has highlighted this more than my recent near-death encounter. I had only one regret before I lost consciousness: ‘The Sun dynasty ends with me.’ Since then, nothing can rouse me from the urgency of this situation. I need an heir to ensure that my line continues.”
“Hear, hear!” Siddhartha called out.
“Let me speak more candidly than ever before,” Dasharatha said. “I have three worthy queens. None of them have borne me children. I had hoped that
ch a p ter 17
Kaikeyi would be the mother of my sons. That has not happened. Hence, I wish to consult you. What shall we do?”
Vasishta spoke first. “Great King, today our patience has been rewarded. Many a time we have considered forcing our thoughts on you, but it is known that every pressure has an equal and opposite reaction, and so we have waited for you to come to us. Now you approach us with an open heart, and your determination blazes like the sun from your heart. Blessings are upon us. Only time stands between us and the solution.”
Dasharatha verily grew in the warmth of his guru’s words.
“We agree that it is no longer wise to expect any of your queens to bear children,” Vasishta said. “The inability of a king to conceive a son indicates impiety in his rule.”
Dasharatha’s mind immediately went to the killing of the innocent boy. Despite his confession and Kaikeyi’s assurance, he was not free of that night. He didn’t meet Vasishta’s eye.
“None of us feel that this is the case here,” Vasishta assured the king.
A surge of relief washed away the memory.
“Nevertheless, there is a reason that you are unable to naturally produce an heir, and it is time to explore other paths. We have considered several options. You may adopt a worthy child as your own. You may nominate a prince from another kingdom as your heir. There are several worthy contenders. Such paths, however, are known to be fraught with uncertainties. Most human beings seek to elevate their place of origin, and the Sun dynasty may lose its position. Before we take such a final step, therefore, this council proposes a ritual by fire that will cleanse us and turn the tides in our favor. We are calling for a horse sacrifice culminating in the son-bearing ritual. It is an extremely rare and complex ritual, but it can be done, and is designed to give sons to sonless kings. Through it, we will petition the gods for an heir, calling for their intervention. This, we all concur, is the best solution.”
Dasharatha considered their words. He understood from Vasishta’s words that the council had prepared this speech in advance to present it to him at an opportune moment.
