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“Rama, Rama,” Dasharatha mumbled.
Kausalya could not pacify him, for she too wondered where Rama was now. Were his feet bruised by rocky jungle paths? Was his form losing its strength bereft of sustenance? Was his back aching from sleeping on the bare ground? Would she ever see him again? Would she ever see Lakshmana or Sita again?
“Rama, can you ever forgive me?” Dasharatha called out.
Kausalya and Sumitra tried to soothe his ramblings, but he no longer seemed to be aware of them. He spoke only to Rama.
“Your feet must be walking over rocks and thorns. Crush my chest with your feet. My heart must be like a stone, for I allowed this to happen to you. Stay with your old father, Rama . . . Rama . . . Rama . . .”
Kausalya fell asleep with her ear to his chest, soothed by the murmurs of his heart.
Vasishta’s face rose in her consciousness. He stood by her side with his bright hair and his pristine garments. She noticed now what she had not before: his face was serene. His loyalty to the Sun dynasty was beyond dispute, yet he was not devastated by the exile of the prince.
He looked steadily ahead with shining eyes. He joined his palms at his heart. “We bless you with victory.” He lifted his palms, emanating grace.
Kausalya lifted hers too. In the horizon, she saw the sun, glowing with emerald hues. But she could not tell if it was rising or setting.
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chapter 56
Kaikeyi’s Only Hope
Only six days had passed since Rama’s exile. Six days since the messengers left for Kekaya. It seemed like an eternity. Kaikeyi’s heart hammered constantly against her chest. Even on the swiftest horses, it took two weeks to reach Kekaya. She had to wait, wait, wait for her son to return.
Sitting on her throne, Kaikeyi felt the waves of terror and excitement undulate within her body. She had reached out with her own hands and controlled the hands of destiny. She had never been more powerful, never more vulnerable. She could only look forward. She was utterly alone, save for Manthara, and it would be so until Bharata returned.
Over and over, she replayed Dasharatha’s words. Dasharatha had been fixated on Rama. He could see nothing else. His behavior fortified her conviction that she had done the right thing. When it came to her child, a loving mother was capable of anything. She had put Bharata’s future above her own. She had to keep doing that.
Her own desires fought to speak, screaming in her ears so loud that she had a splitting headache. She wanted to take refuge in her husband’s loving arms, but she had cut off those arms. Oh, what had she done, what had she done?
“What are you whispering?” Manthara asked, sneaking up on her. She had constantly been on Kaikeyi’s back, demanding to know every thought Kaikeyi had. It
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kept Kaikeyi on track. She glanced sideways at Manthara and said,
“Nothing.”
She felt nothing. That was it. The clamor in her head was subdued. Yet Kaikeyi resented Manthara’s intrusion; all this was so easy for Manthara, who had never liked Dasharatha or Rama.
Kaikeyi felt the terror rush up her entrails, up, up, into her throat, her eyes. She tightly clasped her hands, digging her thumb into her girdle of Venus mound, massaging it, pushing the emotion down. “Breathe,” she whispered, coaxing herself to calmness. She forced herself to think about Dasharatha’s slumped figure, how he had repeatedly lost consciousness, proving himself weak, not a man of action at all. She did not need the love of such a man!
As she fought with her own thoughts, hiding them from Manthara, one of the king’s servants approached timidly.
“What now?” Kaikeyi demanded, instantly alert.
“Your presence is requested in Kausalya’s quarters.”
To demonstrate her reluctance, Kaikeyi sighed loudly. Her heart drummed against her chest. She stood up, securing her red silks neatly around herself. Dasharatha had been cooped up in Kausalya’s chambers. She had to face them both. It wasn’t the place Kaikeyi would have chosen to face her husband. Nothing good had ever come to her through Kausalya’s hands. Except for Rama. She quickly pushed that thought away. But it came back. Rama’s innocent eyes, probing into her soul, asking her, Why?
“The king has summoned me,” she said to Manthara. “You had better stay here. They will find any excuse to sink their claws into you.”
Manthara eyed Kaikeyi and then agreed, staying in Kaikeyi’s palace. Kaikeyi faced the corridors alone. The guards and attendants who usually followed her had thinned out. A handful of faithful ones remained. Kaikeyi made a note to reward them.
As Kaikeyi approached Kausalya’s quarters, she heard wails from the inner chamber. Unconsciously, she quickened her steps and crossed into Kausalya’s apartment. As she approached the inner chamber, the guards at the door crossed their spears in front of her. The sounds of women crying made shivers run up her legs and arms. Was that Kausalya wailing?
“How dare you!” Kaikeyi demanded, turning on one guard and then the other. “I have been summoned!” Her whole body began to shiver, and she wanted to grab one of the spears and stab the guards with it. They had no authority to stop her. The guards refused to 450
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look at her, but the knuckles on their hands turned ghostly white, clenched around the spears in her path.
“You must wait for Vasishta,” one of them said. “He summoned you. He will meet you here.”
A female servant came up to her. “Please sit down, Queen Kaikeyi,” she said, eyes lowered, indicating the cushioned seats with her hand.
Did they think she would just sit and wait? What would they do if she forced her way in?
Before she had fully formed the thought, she ducked under their spears and rushed into the apartment. She felt their hands restraining her, dragging her back, but not before she saw the body on the bed. Dasharatha, eyes closed, mouth open, pale as a ghost.
The guards pulled her out roughly, her silken garment falling in disarray around her. She glimpsed her two co-wives on either side of the body. Sumitra cried into her hands while Kausalya wept openly. Kaikeyi and Kausalya locked eyes for a moment. There was pure hate in Kausalya’s eyes. And then Kaikeyi was outside, the spears crossed before her. The steel was bright like silver, polished to a smooth surface. The red of her silks reflected in their surface, the color of blood mixed with water. One of the spears had a dent on its surface. She looked up and down the spears, first one and then the other. Dasharatha was dead. The X
blurred in front of her eyes.
Her heart, which had been skipping so fast for days, slowed down, down, down. She reached into her chest. It was cold. Just like the king. She held her icy heart between her hands. It thumped one last time and fell quiet. And so she felt nothing. The dead body on the bed was a stranger. The man she loved was not there. He had disappeared before that body had died. When he turned away from her, when he denied her boons, when he loved Rama more than her. If she would mourn, she would mourn for that death, not the death of his body. Two tears rolled down her cheeks. Those would be her only.
Kaikeyi turned away, the X of the spears imprinted on her eyes. She left her heart on the floor. Every person who exited would trample it now and make a bloody trail to and from the dead body to whom the dead heart belonged. The wails continued, but they evoked nothing in Kaikeyi. Did those women think that men on the battlefield cried when their friends were slaughtered before their eyes?
Kaikeyi wanted to cover her ears and block out the shrieks. As if any of them had ever truly loved Dasharatha. They had not known him the way Kaikeyi had. And Kaikeyi had no more tears for this man, a hypocrite and a liar. His death was for the better. He had made all this painful for her, when he was the one who had promised it to her in the first place. His death made Bharata’s life less complicated. He wouldn’t have to feel torn between two parents who no longer loved one another. The gods were on her side, after all. Bharata’s path to the throne was clearer now. Good. Good.
Kaikeyi’s spine was straight and strong, like a sword. “I have more backbone than anyone here,” she said to herself. She would not sob like those co-wives in there. They should cry. They were not on the winning side, as Kaikeyi was. Kaikeyi sank down on one of the couches. Just for a moment, then she would get up and leave.
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“Queen Kaikeyi.”
Vasishta’s voice. Kaikeyi nodded without looking up. He informed her of the king’s dying decree. Kaikeyi was not allowed near the king’s body nor would she be allowed to attend his funeral rites. He had died as the husband of two queens. If Bharata was complicit in Kaikeyi’s scheme, he would not be allowed to light the funeral pyre and send his father to heaven.
“Scheme?” Kaikeyi said. The word made no sense to her.
She had simply wanted Bharata to be king. That’s all. Ayodhya had turned it into a scheme.
Kaikeyi stood up and escaped. The hallways were deserted. Ayodhya was a place of ghosts and dead bodies. Kausalya’s wails echoed in every corner. Kaikeyi’s legs were unsteady as she walked up the stairs to her palace. Manthara waited, tapping her cane.
“The king is dead,” Kaikeyi said, purposely not saying his name. “Our victory is more complete now.”
“You are relieved that the king has died?” Manthara’s eyes were like hot iron rods.
“Yes,” Kaikeyi said, taking a gulp of air. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Sit down,” Manthara ordered. She called for Sukhi and Dukhi to bring fans.
The cool air wafted against Kaikeyi’s skin. Not so very long ago, she had loved the king with all her heart. She had cared about the boy who was exiled. But like a warrior, like a strategist, like a diplomat, she severed her personal feelings from this completely. It was as Manthara said. This procedure was not personal against Rama. Bharata would see that. Had she been a true enemy, she could have called for Rama’s execution. Because she loved Rama, she had simply made sure he was gone for some years. It was nothing but proper planning.
Manthara was gleeful. “Bharata will be king! Instead of a crown-prince in the shadows of his father, he will be king.”
Her croaking voice was not soothing to Kaikeyi’s ears. Manthara was most likely the only happy one in Ayodhya at this moment. Bent on feeling anything but what she truly felt, Kaikeyi caught the contagion of Manthara’s glee. Bharata would be king! Her son would be the most powerful man on the Earth!
Kaikeyi felt hot, cold, happy, exhausted. If she had to bear the price of her son’s success, so be it. Once the funeral rites were out of the way, Bharata would be Ayodhya’s king. She would not sit idle and wait for her son’s return. Kaikeyi summoned all her remaining servants.
“King Dasharatha is dead,” she said. Their hostility turned to shock. “More than ever, it’s important that you demonstrate loyalty to me and to Bharata. Some of you might be calling me names, but I’m here to tell you that I did this for the welfare of the kingdom, to protect not just my son but Ayodhya’s honor.
“Remember when the king could not have sons, and we went to great lengths to petition the gods? We needed to restore balance and purify Ayodhya. I could not allow that imbal-ance to once again assert itself in our kingdom. If I had simply sat quiet and watched the king dishonor his promise to my father and to me, I fear a great calamity would befall our city. I could not let that happen.”
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convince them of her sincerity. “Any one of you could witness to how truly I’ve loved Rama and served him through the eighteen years of his life. That has not changed. Please don’t think I’m unfeeling or coldhearted. What you must know, however, is that I am a queen and a warrior before anything else. It’s my duty to protect this land and its honor. It was with a heavy heart that I saw Rama leave. If there was a way to spare him, I would. But because of the king’s lack of honor, he put Rama in an unfortunate position. The king knew he acted shamefully by surreptitiously crowning Rama while Bharata was not here. I believe the king’s guilt consumed his life.”
She paused, allowing a few moments for tears to shed. A few them looked at her now as she spoke. “I want each of you to know that Bharata will be a fair and just king. Your loyalty will be amply rewarded, starting now. Manthara.” She gestured to Manthara to bring out her personal jewels. “These are heirlooms from my family treasure. To show how much I value each of you and your service over the years. Until my son arrives, we are standing against the powers of Ayodhya. When he becomes king, the tide will turn in our favor. Don’t wait for that moment to show me your loyalty. It will be too late then.”
Kaikeyi looked at each of them. She was glad to see that some of their hands closed around the jewels they were given. More were the eyes that refused to look into hers, but no one dared return or refuse the gifts. It was a good start.
“Thank you for your time,” she said, dismissing them.
She felt drained and stood up, the blood rushing to her head. She had to think. Or not think. She wasn’t sure which one it was. The king’s dead eyes stared at her. She couldn’t tell what he thought or what he felt. All she saw in his eyes was “nothing.” That was all that was left between them.
Manthara had not left with the other servants. Kaikeyi felt those eyes bore into her.
“Out!” Kaikeyi said, as if Manthara was a dog. “Out of my sight. Now.”
But as Manthara started walking away, Kaikeyi ran after her. “Wait, wait, wait . . .”
Manthara turned to her, for once showing nothing on her old face.
“I—I—” Kaikeyi shook her head, searching for words, searching for herself. Everything came back blank.
Manthara softened and patted Kaikeyi’s cheek. “Don’t worry, my dear girl. I know this isn’t easy for you. You’ve done your part. Everything else will sort itself out now. Bharata will thank you for the rest of his life.”
Kaikeyi felt her tears rise to her eyes again. She wasn’t as sure as Manthara was. But it had to be true. The alternative was unthinkable. She knew the day would come when she would sit down in front of the mirror and, no matter how hard she tried, she wouldn’t be able to see herself. The tears would blur her view. There was no telling who she would see in the mirror once the tears cleared up. Kaikeyi knew that day would come. She held Manthara’s hand to her cheek for a moment, and then let the old woman go. Bharata would be her solace.
Bharata would be to her what Rama was to the others. Her only hope.
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chapter 57
Manthara’s End
harata had returned, but Manthara was uneasy. He had not come to see her.
BSomething was not right. Manthara did not know what was happening in Ayodhya. She had heard nothing about a coronation, nothing about Bharata ascending the throne. Surely with the king dead, they would hurry to crown the new king.
But, no, they were all imbeciles in Ayodhya. This was not new.
After Bharata’s return, Manthara had found Kaikeyi sobbing hysterically. Manthara hadn’t been able to get a sensible word out of her. No one else would tell her what was happening. No one would speak to her. No one. Sukhi and Dukhi, who didn’t count, had muttered that Bharata was in the Great Queen’s quarters. When Manthara pressed them, they said Bharata had bolted out of Kaikeyi’s and run straight for the balcony, as if he meant to throw himself off. Dukhi maintained that Bharata’s eyes had been bloodshot and full of tears. Sukhi said they had not dared approach him, for he had looked at them with toxic fury. None of this was like Bharata at all.
Manthara wasn’t sure Sukhi and Dukhi were to be trusted. But Kaikeyi had been crying since. This concerned Manthara. It looked as if she, as usual, would have to take charge of the situation and insert herself into the vortex of action.
Manthara pushed her hand against her thigh and got up, lumbering to the corner where her canes waited. A dark feeling grew in her heart, but she sharply reminded
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herself that her plans had always unfolded smoothly. She reached for a cane without looking.
Agonizing prickles shot through her hand and up her arm. Yelping, she dropped the cane.
With disbelief, she looked down at the splinters lodged under the skin of her gnarled hand.
Thirty gods! She would have to get Sukhi and Dukhi to remove them. With her other hand, she carefully selected another cane, one with a smooth polished surface, one that would not think to attack the hand that cared for it. The splinters throbbed in her hand even though she held her fingers absolutely still, cradled to her chest.
With her strong hand on the cane, she put on every piece of jewelry she owned. Loyalty could and would be bought. Even before she was out of her room, she stared shouting,
“Sukhi! Dukhi!”
The names echoed down the deserted corridor. No one answered.
“Curse them all!”
Now that Kaikeyi was indulging in her moods, Manthara had all the more to carry. As she shuffled along the corridors, she kept shouting for the twins. She had to have some support. After what felt like ages, the two imps appeared.
“How may we serve you, wise one?” they asked with the exaggerated manner they reserved for Manthara alone. At least that had not changed.
Manthara held out her hand. While Dukhi examined the injury, Sukhi tapped her foot against the ground. Manthara looked at the tap-tap, reminded of her cane. A feeling of stress squeezed Manthara’s heart. She refused to wince as the twins used one of their pins to dislodge the thorns.
At that exact moment, Shatrugna turned the corner. But Manthara, in her agitated state, mistook him for Lakshmana. When the prince saw Manthara, he broke into a run. Manthara gasped and began backing away. The prince’s usual hostility and anger was amplified a thousand fold. Manthara stumbled backward. Had Rama returned? Was everything falling apart?
