They held a feast in my honor that evening, a joy-filled occasion where Sumitra, Kaushalya, and I finished an entire carafe of sweet wine, and I drank enough to shed a few tears when Kaushalya presented me with a stunning necklace of emeralds set in gold and arranged like the petals of a flower. For nearly a full day, I believed that Dasharath had created this spectacle solely out of his love for me. But when the next meeting of the Mantri Parishad adjourned, he asked me to stay behind.
“I need to send an emissary to Kekaya,” he said, once we were alone.
I understood immediately. He wanted to send me, former yuvradnyi of the kingdom, to negotiate some favorable conditions on his behalf, and so he had made a public declaration of my virtues in order to bolster my position. All of this… spectacle… was merely a way to convince Kekaya that sending a woman rather than another minister—or attending himself—was not a snub.
“Stop that,” Dasharath ordered.
“What?”
“You think I named you saciva solely so I could send you off to Kekaya.”
It was irritating how well he could read my thoughts. “Did you not?” I retorted.
“Of course not, Kaikeyi. I have been planning this for a long time. I have counted you an advisor for nearly ten years. You have proven yourself to this kingdom and to me many times over. But the incident with Rama and the need for an ambassador forced me to move more quickly. Otherwise, I wanted to throw a parade in your honor.”
I laughed despite myself. What he said made sense. Was this not what I had always wished for? I had wanted Dasharath to value me, to treat me as equal to his male ministers. He already did. And wanting his motives to be pure was ridiculous—a king with pure motives was at best inept and at worst injurious.
“Really, you must believe me. I am your raja.” His tone only made me laugh harder, and his stern glare dissolved into mirth. As it faded away, we both stood there in the comfortable silence.
“Kekaya,” he said at last.
“Yes. Kekaya. Why do you need to send an emissary? Has something happened?”
Dasharath sighed. “Since your brother took the throne two years ago, our traders have reported that Kekaya is providing highly unreasonable terms. Our merchants are returning with only half of what they expect. One trading season I would think it a random chance, but two we must respond to.”
That sounded like Yudhajit. He had always claimed that other kingdoms took advantage of Kekaya, and that when he was raja, he would make them respect his value. I assumed that when the time came, his temper would have calmed, but apparently this had not come to pass.
“I can reason with Yudhajit. I’m sure I can make him understand that this stance will only hurt Kekaya.”
“Thank you,” Dasharath said. “I will, of course, provide you with a carriage and gifts for the court.”
I imagined Yudhajit’s face if I arrived in a carriage. “No, that will not work.”
“Why not?” he asked, but he did not sound angry. He had become accustomed to my mulishness.
“In Kekaya, only those who cannot ride on horseback ride in carriages. To arrive in that way would signal weakness.”
Dasharath raised an eyebrow at me. “I arrived in a carriage when I came to seek your hand.”
“And my father and brother probably interpreted that as eastern foolishness. But I was a yuvradnyi of Kekaya once, and I know better. If I want to show them that I still have their interests at heart, that I might have gone east but my blood is still of the west, then I must arrive on horseback.”
“Very well. What would I do without you, my radnyi?” he asked, drawing me close.
“You would do just fine.” He kissed me, and after a moment I drew away. “May I take Bharata with me? He should see the court of his forefathers.”
“Yes, of course. But he will need company, on the road. Take Rama as well. He should see more of the world.”
“Why not all the boys?” I asked, because I knew Bharata would want Shatrugna to come along, and Rama would miss Lakshmana’s company. “They can ride in a carriage, of course, and I’ll take a few more servants to accompany them. And when we get there, I am sure my brother will treat them as his own children.”
“I do not want all four of them to leave at once,” Dasharath said. “What if something were to happen during the journey?”
He had a point. “Very well. I will take Bharata and Rama with me. When should we leave?”
“In the morning, if you can be ready.”
The first day of our journey, I had the boys ride. I reveled in the feeling of being on horseback again, at the breeze in my hair and the easy rhythm of the horse beneath me. Until the sun reached its peak, the boys did too, enjoying this glimpse at the settlements west of the city. It was refreshing to see a place so uncrowded and unhurried, the yellow straw roofs an exciting novelty for the boys who would never see such a fire risk in the city itself. But as Surya began his lazy arc down the horizon, and the villages surrounding Ayodhya faded into the distance, the complaints began. We were riding through flat plains, a sea of yellow before us and behind us—and I could sense not only boredom but weariness. I did not countenance any of it to their faces, but told Asha to ensure they could have a warm soak that evening.
The next day, I asked if they wanted to move to the carriage. Bharata agreed immediately, but Rama insisted he would continue on horseback. Once he heard this, Bharata quickly changed his mind, eager to be with his brother.
By midday I knew they must be desperately sore—even I was feeling the pain of the ride, despite our relaxed pace—but they bore it bravely.
That evening Bharata limped into my tent and flopped onto my bedroll. He would soon be too old to show such easy affection, and I felt a pang of loss at the idea.
“How did you do it?” he asked.
“Do what?” I gave him a hint of a smile to let him know I was teasing him. “You should be more specific.”
He groaned. “Horseback riding. My legs hurt.”
I knew he must be in quite a bit of pain to admit it so freely. I rubbed his legs, and he gave a deep sigh of contentment. “Practice,” I said. “Where I grew up, I rode almost every day, and I still do it when I can.”
“And we are going to the kingdom you grew up in?”
“Yes. I’m sure my brother would love to give you a riding lesson.”
At this, Bharata sat up. “The raja?” he asked. “Won’t he be busy?”
“For you he would make time,” I said, remembering the escapades of my youth. I wondered if Yudhajit had become more serious since then, if out from the thumb of our father he had come into his own.
Given his recent actions, I doubted it.
“What was it like?” Bharata lay back down, then added very quickly before I could chide him for being too vague, “Kekaya, what was it like?”
“I grew up in a palace, as you and your brothers do,” I said. None of my children had ever asked me this question before, and I found myself at a loss. I certainly could not tell them of my mother and father, absent in different ways. “It is colder there than in Ayodhya, and there were fewer people around. We had many magnificent horses, and the palace was surrounded by huge open fields—perfect for riding. It was good that we had so much space, because I had seven brothers.”
I wondered what would they look like now, as adults. It had been so long since I saw them.
“I wish I had seven brothers,” Bharata said wistfully. “A younger brother would be nice.”
I stroked his hair. “Why do you want a younger brother?”