“Go, now. I’ll be someone else’s problem soon enough.”
“I do love you,” he said sadly. “You’ll always be my sister.”
As though from far away, I heard myself say those poisoned words: “You are no brother of mine.” Without my conscious thought, the idea passed through our dark blue connection, a black disease speeding its way toward my brother’s chest with the force of a piercing arrow.
My aim struck true. The bond between us shattered, falling in a rain of blue pieces only I could see as Yudhajit fled my room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THERE ARE THOSE WHO would blame Manthara for what I did, claim that she forced me to take her to Ayodhya and manipulated me from there. But my choices were my own, and to pull Manthara’s name down with mine would be quite simply cruel. Because without Manthara’s continued presence by my side, I would never have ridden off to battle or saved the king, and Kosala would have fallen, heirless, into the depths of time.
My first impression of Ayodhya was one of beauty. The sight of the palace and the grounds completely arrested me. A lush expanse of greenery sprawled to the edges of the walls, dotted with gracefully curving paths, framed by a rich profusion of flowers. Their fragrance perfumed the air, rose and jasmine mingling into a gentle and welcoming scent. It was a marked change from the tall grasses and simple, unadorned lawns of Kekaya. Before me, the palace rose upward, constructed out of light gray stone that glinted here and there in the light as though infused with gems. It was crowned by a curved dome that pointed toward the sky, proclaiming Ayodhya’s power for all to see.
And the size—the grounds stretched outward, extending like an unfurled flower. A series of delicate open arches surrounded the interior of the palace, lending the structure depth. I took a few steps closer and was able to make out intricate carvings above the arches, patterns of intertwined stars and moons. Above the arches, I could see large windows covered in paper that must have let in much light during the day. Now I could understand why others had found my old home, with its dull stone and stark decoration, dark and foreboding. Just the sight of this place lightened my spirits.
“Do you like it?” Dasharath asked, smiling at me.
I nodded eagerly. “It’s incredible.”
I followed behind him in a daze, reveling in the tapestry-covered halls. In Kekaya, the fashion had been black figures patterned against a single color, when tapestries were hung at all. But here, it was all I could do not to stop and stare at each of the colorful scenes laid out in the weavings before me.
One was done in such vibrant hues of blue and green that I had to pause to look more closely. It was an image of a great fish pulling a boat, and I recognized the story of Matsya and Manu. Manu was a young man, a chief of a tribe, when he discovered a small fish in his drinking water—Matsya. Manu was a kind man, and when Matsya spoke of his fear of being eaten by bigger fish, Manu offered his protection. When the fish grew large enough to be safe, Manu released Matsya into a river. Before he left, Matsya instructed Manu to build a boat and board it on an appointed day. No sooner had Manu finished the boat and ushered his family onto it than a great flood swept through the land, destroying all in its path. But Matsya returned to Manu, carrying him to the safety of the Indra Mountains until the waters had receded. There, Matsya revealed his true form—for he was no ordinary fish, but an avatar of Lord Vishnu come to earth, and he was rewarding Manu for his kindness. It was fitting to see this tapestry here, for legend tells that when Manu descended from the mountains, he founded the first city of men—Ayodhya.
“It’s one of my favorite stories,” Dasharath said, coming to stand beside me. “The story of our city.”
“I used to love it as a child.” I suddenly wished to tell him about the library cellar, about sitting in the flickering light with my mother and reading through scrolls, but I found myself unable to share this piece of me. Still, our golden bond seemed to sparkle a bit more brightly.
“Are there other stories you enjoyed? We could have a tapestry made for you,” he offered. I shook my head, for I was far too overwhelmed to think up other tales I might want to see. But it was a kind offer, and I was glad for his kindness.
Dasharath walked slowly after that, letting me take in the sights, until we arrived at the left wing of the palace. Fresh garlands of small white mogra hung from the walls, enveloping the whole corridor in sweetness. I wondered if this was how the halls were adorned every day, or if they had made special preparations for my arrival.
My husband threw open the doors of a vast chamber with a great papered window on the opposite wall that let light into all corners. It was a strange living space, though, for I could see no bed. As I hesitated, fumbling for what to say, Dasharath said, “Do you not wish to see the rest?”
“The rest?” I echoed, and he beckoned me inward. I realized only then, stupidly perhaps, that there were carved doors set in the walls on either side of us. The one on the left opened onto another spacious chamber, dominated by a great bed that four people easily could have slept on. A covering of dark red wool warmed the floor, and an exquisite wooden cabinet inlaid with intricate swirls of mother-of-pearl stood against the wall. I touched the decoration with my fingertips, tracing the carved vines and flowers.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“It is beautiful,” I said, unable to wrench my gaze away.
“Not unlike you, then.” His voice was filled with a quality entirely foreign to me. I turned to look at him, but he was already striding past me, through the main room and onto the other side. There he revealed a small chamber mostly taken up by a table and cushioned seating.
“If there is anything you need, you can ask any of our servants.” He sounded—nervous? Or perhaps impatient.
“Thank you, my lord,” I said with a bow. “You honor me. I am sure you have more important matters to attend to.”
“The happiness of my wife is one of the most important matters I can think of.” He gave me a small smile. “I will leave you now, but not for long.”
Manthara was waiting outside of the door, only entering when Dasharath had departed. I went back into the bed chamber, marveling at the space, while she examined every nook and sill. “He has done well,” she said at last. “Now I must find some maidservants to help you prepare. Of course, you will have to choose your own staff eventually…”
Manthara bustled about, talking of preparations, as I sat and pondered what this new life might have to offer.
The next morning, Manthara and I set ourselves to the task of turning my quarters into a living space. My belongings had been moved into the room, and as Manthara unpacked, I cast a critical eye over each item I had brought, having taken in the opulence of Dasharath’s court. All my best outfits appeared frumpy in comparison to the elegant eastern fashions. I tried to recapture my confidence from the day I had been adorned to meet Dasharath—the glimpse of my mother, the assurance to hold my head high—but I could not. I might have been worthy to be a radnyi in Kekaya, but here…
I lifted one blouse, which extended past my waistline. “Not one woman wore a blouse this long,” I said.
“You can get it hemmed,” Manthara answered without looking up from her work. “Or have new ones ordered.”
I picked up one of my favorite saris, a lovely sky blue thing that I secretly had always believed suited me well. “This color is so dull.”
“You have never cared much about such matters before,” Manthara said. “Where is this concern coming from?”