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easy trot away. Only then did the rest of Ayodhya’s men mount their horses. They followed their king at a comfortable distance, letting the two kings ride on their own.
As Sandesh fell into a trot, Dasharatha was glad he had taken that moment to introduce himself. He felt the stallion harken to him, accepting his commands. Though Ashvapati had a stern way with men, he was notoriously gentle with animals, naming all his horses. The white stallion, like all Kekaya’s horses, was used to an intuitive master, or perhaps mistress.
Dasharatha was curious about Kekaya’s princess. In Ayodhya, girls were not trained to deal with horses.
The vast green fields and the valley embraced Dasharatha with its expanse. The land was perfectly suited for horse breeding. Ashvapati had made an astute decision, turning the grounds over to the horses that had made Kekaya a stronghold of wealth. Dasharatha observed the demarcations, separating one breed of horse from the other, yet the fenced-in areas were large, allowing the horses to run free. The riders passed a lake that Dasharatha remembered, a huge body of water that went beyond the eye’s reach and was the main water source for the horses. Now, as then, it was full of swans.
“I’ve told them that this is their sanctuary,” Ashvapati said, looking in the direction of the lake alive with swans. “No one will hunt them here. Shooting swans is forbidden in all of Kekaya. If your men are inclined to go hunting, remember to tell them this. Horses and swans are off-limits.”
Dasharatha’s curiosity was awakened; the other man’s love for the birds was clear. Ashvapati did not hide it, as he had during previous visits.
“My daughter tells me that speaking with animals is more productive than talk between our own kind.” Ashvapati laughed, as he always seemed to do when mentioning his daughter.
“Does the princess commune with horses?”
“Only she could answer that.”
The lake’s surface sparkled with the sunshine; some of the birds spread their wings and took flight, trumpeting as they flew up. The white stallion neighed, and Ashvapati’s horse answered. Ashvapati smiled. Dasharatha assumed the other king was privy to something he was not. It was utterly clear that given a choice between a horse and man’s company, Ashvapati would choose the animal.
But Ashvapati’s concern was not only for the land and his horses. For a man who invited so little warmth, Ashvapati had implemented several laws that protected Kekayans with physical handicaps. His court and retinue were full of people who had physical impediments but whose intelligence made them invaluable. The wet nurse Ashvapati had chosen for his own daughter was a hunchbacked woman. She too had made an impression on Dasharatha with her dour face; he was sure, however, that she was a qualified mother figure or the king would not have allowed her near his treasured daughter.
Suddenly Ashvapati stood in his stirrups. He shaded his eyes and looked at the plains ahead, where Dasharatha saw only more fields full of horses.
“Ya!” Ashvapati cried, urging his horse into a gallop, leaving the lake behind.
Dasharatha’s stallion picked up speed when the other horse did. He could hear the 48
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hooves of twenty horses behind him breaking into a run. Even the fenced-in horses started sprinting just for the love of it.
With the wind alive around them, they galloped urgently, though Dasharatha had no inkling why. Something had alerted the other man, and all Dasharatha’s senses came alive.
As they got closer to a collection of horses, Dasharatha recognized them as Kekaya’s best; each one was magnificent. It was not the time, however, to admire the horses in leisure; the horses were skittish, dancing around in circles, with ears flat. While several men on horseback worked hard to keep the horses together, everyone’s attention was trained on the heated argument in the center. Angry voices filled the air, agitating both the horses and their owners.
Ashvapati reined in his horse and signaled to Dasharatha to do the same. The older man stood up in his stirrups again, taking in the scene before them. One man was being restrained but struggled against his captors. A horse was on the ground in the center of the commotion. A girl with long black hair had her arms around the horse.
“Kaikeyi!” Ashvapati shouted.
Then, “Yuddhajit!”
Hearing their names called, the prince and princess looked up. The girl, who had to be Kaikeyi, got on her feet and ran toward her father. As she did so, she whistled to a black horse and threw herself on its back. Dasharatha noticed at once that she was not a girl at all but a woman fully formed. As if pursued by demons, Kaikeyi came at them on her horse, her long hair flying behind her. As she got closer, a powerful energy pushed Dasharatha backward and away. Alarmed, he pressed his thighs against the flanks of the horse to steady himself.
The stallion flattened its ears.
“He killed Surya!” Kaikeyi cried out.
Just as Dasharatha was about to move out of her way, she stopped her horse. Tears streaked her face, but the anger in her eyes made Dasharatha’s neck hairs raise. Her leather vest and her hands were red with blood.
The princess did not even cast a glance at Dasharatha, looking at her father with flared nostrils, spitting out her story. “Dvi killed Surya for no reason. No valid reason at all. Like a true coward, he turned his anger on her; she was defenseless and innocent! It was me that he was angry with, but he killed Surya instead! He does not deserve to live—coward, sneak, shameless, malicious—”
Ashvapati held up a hand, stopping his distraught daughter, but she continued fiercely. “I want his life for hers! Surya had done nothing! You know how many hours I put into training her, and even before that she was my best mare.”
Tears began pouring from the woman’s eyes again and she looked back at the dead horse.
Piecing the story together, Dasharatha gathered that Surya was Kaikeyi’s horse, one she had been very fond of. Dasharatha could not take his eyes off this girl-woman whose anger and sadness were so palpable; he felt his own emotion rise. A young man rode up behind Kaikeyi.
There was no doubt it was Yuddhajit, for brother and sister were as alike as twins, with striking facial features and lanky limbs.
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“She speaks the truth, Father,” Yuddhajit said. “We have restrained Dvi and were discussing what to do.”
“I need to know more,” Ashvapati said. “Who killed Surya, and why?”
“I told you,” Kaikeyi said.
“Let your brother speak,” Ashvapati commanded. “You are not in full command of your reason, my child.”
Kaikeyi swallowed her words and momentarily glanced at Dasharatha, as if noticing him only then. Her eyes were blue, deep like the ocean, and piercing, like the tip of a sword.
Dasharatha drowned in her eyes. His breath left his body for countless seconds and when it returned, heat spread through him like a fire. The stallion, sensing his strong sensations, danced nervously. Dasharatha sought Kaikeyi’s eyes again, but she had forgotten him, nodding her head forcefully with every word her brother was saying.
“I did not realize,” Yuddhajit said, “that Dvi befriended me only to get to Sister. I blame myself for not noticing his attentions earlier, but when he tried to touch her hand, she drew her sword against him, saying no and never, as only she can. In his insolence, he became angry, accusing her of being less than innocent. He turned on Surya, knowing it was Sister’s favorite horse. We were too shocked to intervene in time. Surya is dead, as you can see.”
Though Kaikeyi looked as if she might cry again, she straightened in her seat. Dasharatha noticed the belt around her slender waist, and the swords secured there. She had gained enough composure to remain silent as her brother spoke. Ashvapati had grown rigid on his mount.
“Did he touch you, my daughter?” he asked. “Whichever limb a man uses to touch the king’s daughter without permission will be cut off without question. That is the law.”
“No, Father,” Kaikeyi said. “He would have held my hand, but I was too quick.”
“Still, he dared turn his eyes and hopes onto my daughter,” Ashvapati said, looking with outrage at Dasharatha, who had been unable to stop staring at Kaikeyi. Ashvapati turned his eyes back to her. “Your grievance is well founded, daughter. This man had committed several crimes. And only a foul person would seek revenge the way he did. Still, a man’s life for the life of a horse? I will leave that decision up to you. Be the justice you seek.”
A smile spread itself across the girl-woman’s face. Dasharatha shivered. With manic speed, Kaikeyi turned her horse around and returned to the dead horse, Surya.
The stallion under Dasharatha started following Kaikeyi, but Ashvapati stopped them.
“Stay here. She will have her justice.”
Ashvapati again stood in his stirrups, watching his daughter. Without looking at Dasharatha, he said, “The dead mare was my daughter’s first horse, born during the first foaling that she attended. She has been inseparable from Surya since then, ten years ago.”
After a few moments, Ashvapati sat down, apparently satisfied with what he saw. Dasharatha could not follow his example. He could not relax onto the stallion’s back or take his eyes from the woman and what she did. The princess had returned to her people. Not one among them had acknowledged the emperor as he was due, but Dasharatha recognized that they were in a crisis.
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The accused man called Dvi was released. Yuddhajit handed Dvi his sword, still bright with the horse’s blood. The men moved away, leaving Dvi to face Kaikeyi. The hundred horses that were Kekaya’s best formed a circle around them.
“You will fight to the death,” Yuddhajit declared. “May the best warrior win!”
Dasharatha felt a jolt run through him. They were letting a girl face a grown man!
Dasharatha’s horror overpowered the other sensation that had held him hostage. This would never be allowed in Ayodhya. Equals were meant to face each other, and a woman could not match a man’s power.
With a commanding voice, Dasharatha said, “Stop this.”
Ashvapati simply gave Dasharatha an amused look. “Did I not tell you she is no longer a girl?” When he saw that Dasharatha was not appeased, he added, “Trust our justice, Great King.” He settled in to watch, crossing his fingers in his lap.
Dasharatha prepared to assert his power as emperor when the girl-woman began to roar, sword in hand. The sound was neither human nor animal. The sixteen-year-old girl disappeared and in her place stood a woman who could not be described in words. Only an answering growl, a war cry, would suffice, and Dasharatha felt the sound arise from his throat as if he was no longer a man or a king. The animal thirst for blood was in the air; every hair on Dasharatha’s body stood up. He had felt this only in the midst of the wildest battle, when he lost sense of who he was, facing blood-drinkers on all sides, becoming one with the war. He was one with her now, on her side, forgetting any questions about the justice of the situation.
Kaikeyi’s terrifying sound made her opponent blanch, and the next moment she was on him with her sword. Her terrible cry had frozen him as if he had surrendered. At the last moment, however, he lifted his sword to defend himself against the girl he had wooed.
“When you fall onto the earth begging for mercy,” she snarled, “I will not grant it.”
It was clear that she fought to kill, slashing with a speed that Dasharatha could not deny.
Standing in the stirrups, he was transfixed. Waves of conflicting feelings made his legs weak; he was afraid for her life, stunned by his feelings for her, and impressed by her prowess. Although Yuddhajit and the other guards would surely intervene if she faltered, Kaikeyi did not lean on them. She was sleek and fast, smartly relying on her speed, not her strength.
Dvi, the doomed suitor, would have demolished her otherwise. Dasharatha saw the moment Dvi transformed from helpless suitor to the sneak Kaikeyi claimed he was. He began fighting for his life, which meant he was ready to take hers.
When Dvi smashed his sword down on Kaikeyi’s thigh with all his force, Dasharatha protested loudly. But Kaikeyi spun away, jabbing her sword deep into his side. He yelled and fell to the ground. Kaikeyi landed on his chest, kicking his sword from his hands, and crushed him down. The next second her blade had pinned his sword hand to the ground. She jumped away, pressing on her sword. His face reddened as he cried out, writhing in pain.
Ashvapati raised himself then, calling out in a commanding voice, “Now you must decide, my child, has Surya’s death been avenged? You have defeated him in battle and inflicted wounds that may maim him forever. Has his crime been rectified?”
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With a malicious grimace, Kaikeyi twisted her sword, breaking the bones in his hands.
Sweat broke out on Dasharatha’s skin. The girl’s decision seemed portentous and would tell Dasharatha if she was cruel or just. It suddenly mattered greatly, even though he had known her less than an hour. Dasharatha prayed that Kaikeyi would do the right thing, but he could neither predict her actions nor think clearly enough to conclude what the right course of action was. He shook his head. He had made far more complex adjudications. What was wrong with him?
In answer, his mind descended to the darkness of his soul. There he found no righteousness. His attraction to Kaikeyi was not dependent on her decision. If she killed this man in revenge of her horse, it would be murder. But his desire did not care.
His eyes followed the movement of her heaving chest as she regarded Dvi, his life in her hands. She did not speak until she was calm and he had stopped moaning.
“You will serve in the stables for the entire winter,” the princess said, “cleaning up the horse dung. If you intentionally harm another horse ever again, you will be sentenced to death by horse, without question. If you agree, say so now, or foreswear your citizenship to Kekaya from this day onward.”
Kaikeyi looked toward her father, and Dasharatha felt his throat clog. He approved of her punishment. He approved of her. He was ablaze with her.
“I choose the horse dung,” the man said, to general laughter.
Slowly, smiling sweetly, Kaikeyi pulled her sword from the ground and his hand. This time he made no sound, but curled into a ball, cradling his hand. Dasharatha appreciated his restraint; he knew the excruciating pain of broken bones.
“Justice!” Yuddhajit hailed.
“Justice!” the other men answered.
“Let no man hold this crime against him,” Ashvapati cried. “Kekaya’s justice has been done!”
Kaikeyi grinned and raised her fist in the air. She bowed to her father, who lifted his hand high in the air. Dasharatha realized then that this was not the first time Kaikeyi had acted as Kekaya’s justice. What else had this girl-woman done? How many men had she killed?
No one could acquire the type of battle skill she had demonstrated without killing, without being the survivor of a death struggle. Dasharatha turned to Ashvapati with a concern he could not hide, but Ashvapati’s face showed nothing but pride in the daughter he had trained.
“Look,” Ashvapati said, raising his eyebrows and inviting Dasharatha to behold the spectacle.
In her glee, Kaikeyi had again become the girl she was. Mounting the black horse, she stood on its back as it thundered across the expanse.
Dasharatha was transfixed, seeing her magic, her beauty, and her power. She was not a woman he could compare to any other woman he had known.
As she became a dark spot on the horizon, he felt a clammy feeling take hold of his skin.
When she came closer, returning to him, he felt the warmth of the sun once again. While watching her show off her tricks and skills on horseback, Dasharatha knew only one thing: 53
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he had been hit by Kamadeva’s arrows. The god of love had not shot his arrows with care; Dasharatha was bleeding, it was painful, and he felt sick—but he had never been more alive.
“So,” Ashvapati said to him, “what do you think?” He gestured to the collection of assembled horses.
Using the full force of his authority, Dasharatha turned to Ashvapati. “She is the one I want.”
Ashvapati turned to see Dasharatha’s selection, thinking he had chosen a horse. When his gaze landed on his exuberant daughter, his eyes glazed over. “I did not plan to part with her yet. I rely on her.”
Dasharatha challenged him. “How many more Dvis will there be before you relent?”
They both knew that suitors would line up for Kaikeyi’s hand until she was married; Dasha ratha was not the only one bowled over by her beauty. Dvi had demonstrated that today.
Ashvapati nodded once. “I’m not blind. My daughter must marry.” He turned his stern eyes on Dasharatha. “I only mean that I value her greatly and that I am in no hurry to part with her.”
Dasharatha understood. Ashvapati would name a high price for his daughter. Dasharatha schooled his face to reveal nothing, though perhaps it was too late. He had a sense that Ashvapati would ask for more than Dasharatha could give. But what would he not give for Kaikeyi’s hand?
“I planned to give her in marriage to a man of suitable age,” Ashvapati said, again raising the stakes. Dasharatha was a great deal older, it was true.
His hand went to his sword hilt. “If I must prove my strength, I’m prepared to fight every other suitor for her hand.”
Ashvapati relaxed into his seat, and the two men measured each other.
As emperor, Dasharatha was used to such scrutiny by foe and friend. “Name your price.”
When Ashvapati did, Dasharatha shivered. His ministers would counsel him against it. They would call it unacceptable. Dasharatha’s eyes followed Kaikeyi. Perhaps he was acting foolish. Perhaps he would regret it later. Perhaps the princess did not deserve such an enormous bride-price. Perhaps his decision now would cause political conflicts in the future. Perhaps Kausalya would be outraged. There were many uncertainties but only one truth: Dasharatha needed this woman. He had to claim her. He had never felt so certain about anything.
