I put my hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. “Plenty of men come to us with their problems, and we help them. We always have guards with us. It’s quite safe.”
Rama’s eyes narrowed, as if I had only confirmed his suspicions.
“What is the matter?” I asked.
“Women are meant for the eyes of their husbands only,” Rama said, as though in recitation. “Aren’t women who invite the attention of other men whores?”
I slapped him.
I had always sworn I would never raise a hand to my children, and I have been ashamed of my actions ever since. Rama cried out and all the servants in the yard turned to look at us. Lakshmana and Shatrugna and Bharata stared with wide, horrified eyes.
Rama drew himself up. For a moment he appeared far larger than ten, far larger than even an adult man.
“How dare you raise your hand to me?” he cried, and it was as though a hundred resounding voices spoke with his tongue. I stumbled back.
His eyes flashed a clear, unnatural blue, and he seemed to loom over me. The air sparked as it would before a storm.
The day of the Yagna flashed in my mind. His presence felt as Agni’s had. Like a god.
But that was impossible. I had been there when he was born, had held Kaushalya’s hand. It was impossible.
Rama collapsed back into himself, a normal child once more. He began crying, his cheeks turning red. I moved immediately to comfort him.
“I’m sorry, I should not have done that,” I said in his ear, holding him tight.
“I’m sorry, Ma, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that, please don’t be angry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he babbled, small body racked with sobs. Sympathy made my own eyes water. He was only ten; of course he did not mean it.
“Shh, shh, don’t cry.” I kissed the top of his head and rocked back and forth to soothe him. “You should not call any woman such a word,” I told him.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” he said. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”
When he was calm again, I surveyed the courtyard. Everyone had studiously averted their gaze, but I was certain that others had seen. But I doubted from their reaction that they had seen Rama’s form as I had.
“Where did you learn to say such things about women?” I asked gently.
“I am sorry,” he whispered again, his fingers clutching at my dress. “I heard some soldiers talking on the field. Our soldiers are good men, are they not? I just said what they said.”
“Our soldiers are very brave,” I agreed softly. “But many of them hold beliefs from a different time. Our kingdom has changed, and as a prince of this city, you should be glad of that. You must not take every word you hear from others as the truth. You must learn to listen and decide for yourself.”
“But I asked my tutor, Sage Vamadeva,” Rama protested. “He told me—he told me women who behave too freely are bad, and that I should not associate myself with them.”
“Did he tell you that your own mothers were such women?” I asked, making a mental note of the name. Dasharath had spoken to me about the man before—he had been excited that the sage had agreed to tutor the boys in their religious studies, for he was renowned for his piety.
Rama shook his head against me. “Then you do not have to worry about us, all right?” I rubbed his back a few more times before releasing him. “I’m so sorry I raised my hand to you.”
Rama shrugged, eyes downcast.
“No matter how badly you behave, I should be better than that.” I said it half to him, half to myself, as a reminder. “I will never do it again, I promise. Now, go play with your brothers?”
He hugged me briefly. Then he ran off, and I stood, a wave of exhaustion sweeping through me. What had come over me? What had come over Rama?
Maybe I had imagined that flash of godliness, my mind trying to teach me a lesson after my body had done something so horrifying.
Maybe there had been something more in the kheer than just rice.
No. We would already know. Wouldn’t we? I distrusted the gods, but I had been with Rama his whole life. No. Rama was just a normal ten-year-old boy. That was all.
Sumitra and Kaushalya were not angry with me for slapping Rama.
“I am surprised you have not raised your hand to any of them yet,” Sumitra said, offering me some tea.
“Did your mother hit you?” I asked, curious. Manthara had been the closest thing I had to a mother, and aside from yanking my hair once or twice while combing it, she had never physically punished me.
“All the time,” Kaushalya said wryly. “It helped me to remember to stand straight, and lower my eyes, and memorize my recitations. Rama said such a foul thing—he deserved it. Nobody will think any less of you. It’s a mother’s prerogative, after all.”
I hummed an acknowledgment, considering the possibility that perhaps Manthara had never hit me because she couldn’t. The fact that she was a servant did not stop her sharp words, but it might have stayed her hand. My mother had never raised a hand to me, but she had been distant through my childhood. I thought of her, suddenly, in faraway Janasthana, living an entirely new life. What might she think of what I had done?
Kaushalya continued on, oblivious to my musings, “With Rama especially, it is important to train this out of him. Imagine otherwise how he might treat his subjects.”
This shook me from my reverie. I stared at her, utterly bewildered. On instinct, I entered the Binding Plane—but our bond lay calm and assured.
Kaushalya believed Rama would be raja.
Had Dasharath never told them? I racked my brain, trying to think if he and I had ever discussed his promise to me in the years since the boys had been born.
We had not.
I excused myself, sending a quick thought through the Binding Plane, She’s still upset about what happened, give her time. But as I walked toward my own rooms, my thoughts were consumed by Dasharath’s promise.
That evening, I went to Dasharath’s bedchambers unannounced after checking that neither Kaushalya nor Sumitra had been summoned. He smiled widely when he saw me, embracing me. For all I did not care for acts in his bed, I had developed a taste for his hugs. It was soothing to be held in his firm arms, to feel the heat of his body warming me.
“It is good to see you,” he said. “I was just reading the most recent report from the governor of Sripura. That is Kaushalya’s birthplace, and I am sure she would be pleased to hear that they are prospering. And for you, it even mentions that he has appointed a woman to oversee their grain reserves.”
I smiled at this, for he knew me so well and shared such tidings because they would bring me joy. “That is indeed good to hear,” I said to him as he set the papers aside. “But I have something else to tell you.” I worried, as I told him what had happened with Rama, that he might grow angry, but he seemed just quietly contemplative.
“Boys need a firm hand, and you are the strictest of my radnyis.” He unclasped my ornate necklace as he spoke.
“He implied we were whores. That’s why I slapped him.”
At this, my husband spun me around to face him. “He really said such a thing?” I nodded. “Why did he believe that?”
“Because we go out in public and hold the Women’s Council.”
Dasharath’s brow furrowed. “Your reaction was warranted. I will need to speak with the children.” It warmed me, that he trusted me enough that he would not even consider my actions to be anything but necessary.
“No, no. He is just a boy. He apologized profusely. Leave him be. Although… he did mention that Sage Vamadeva helped plant the ideas in his head.”
“How so?” Dasharath looked even more concerned at this. “He is a very holy man. He has held the gods’ favor for years. At one point he was able to divert the course of an entire river to prevent a flood—I could think of no better tutor for them in religious morals.”
“Rama asked him about what he overheard the soldiers saying, and Vamadeva warned him of the dangers of impropriety in a woman.”