I looked at him in shock, then looked away, both ashamed of my stubbornness and unwilling to concede. “In that case, we should talk about why I’m here,” I said at last, changing the subject. “We need to discuss our kingdoms’ trade relations.”
Yudhajit rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Would it be terrible if I told you that I only did it to get you to come here?”
“I’m sorry, you… What did you just say?” I blinked, certain I must have misheard.
“I know it was foolish policy. But I couldn’t swallow my pride enough to beg you to come, and I did not think you would come of your own accord after everything that happened between us. I had heard about your Women’s Council and Dasharath’s deep trust of you and knew that he would send you to negotiate in the event of poor relations with Kekaya. My advisors were appalled, of course. It will probably take me a year to undo the damage I’ve done. But I wanted you to come.”
I stood up, knocking my chair back. “Yudhajit! I cannot believe you! You jeopardized trade relations, ruined people’s livelihoods—”
“The kingdom of Kekaya has compensated our traders for its losses, and we will send you home with enough gifted gold to cover whatever deficits you may have experienced.”
I covered my face with my hand. “Would it really have been that difficult to ask?”
Yudhajit shrugged.
“You can’t just do things like this!” I could not believe he had been so careless. “Next time, behave like an adult.” I poured the suggestion into our bond as well, making it as near to a command as I could.
“Next time, I will.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “But I can do whatever I like, Kaikeyi. I am raja, after all.”
I turned away from him and set my chair to rights. He was correct. As raja, he could make whatever decisions he wished, however stupid. Would Dasharath ever behave so foolishly? I wondered. No. I knew he would not.
But it had all worked out in the end, had it not? It was the same luck I had often resented Yudhajit for when we were children. And now Yudhajit would stop his ridiculous charade. Relations between our kingdoms would be fine, with no effort required on my part. I was in Kekaya, sitting beside my brother who loved me. There were worse things in the world. I sighed and shook my head even as I smiled at him. “It was an idiotic decision, Raja Yudhajit,” I said at last. “But I am here now.”
We stayed almost two full moons in Kekaya. Yudhajit and I waited a week before dispatching an emissary to Dasharath, spelling out the new trade terms we had agreed upon, and I sent Dasharath a letter that heavily implied how hard I had pushed for Kosala’s interest. There was no harm in using this to increase my stature, after all.
I also sat with Yudhajit’s Mantri Parishad to help rehabilitate him in the eyes of his advisors. I strengthened the weakest threads among them until I could leave confident in the knowledge that Yudhajit had not lost anything on my account.
Just once, I snuck out of my rooms at night and made my way to the library cellar. It was as I remembered it—as though time had not touched this room.
I breathed in the scent of paper and dust. It was like stepping into a memory, as though if I rounded the corner I would find myself squatting next to my mother, squinting to make out the geography of Kekaya on a faded scroll. Would she be proud of what I had done? I touched the shelf where I had found her note to me, scrawled on the story of Ahalya. I still had it, hidden in a chest in my rooms in Ayodhya. She had been right—I had proven myself strong, capable.
I stayed in the room for a long time. But in the end, I took nothing, shutting the teak door firmly and leaving the cellar to guard its secrets.
I spent the rest of the trip showing the children around Kekaya, riding with them across the hills, and traveling to meet the rest of my brothers.
After the first moon, Rama seemed to have little interest in repeating treks we had already made, instead preferring to train with Kekaya’s warriors. He was quite skilled, and he would find no such instruction for Kekayan weapons in Ayodhya, so I allowed him to continue what clearly brought him joy. But Yudhajit and Bharata and I would ride out for short picnics in the cool forest where I had spent many youthful evenings. Yudhajit would set up a target and teach Bharata how to shoot two or three arrows at once, a trick that delighted my son to no end. Other times they would wrestle in the dirt and proudly present themselves to me covered head to toe in mud, both so similar in their delight that I could only laugh.
The afternoon before our going-away feast, Yudhajit and Bharata took one final ride together, returning after an hour with red eyes. I would not use the Plane on Bharata, but I did not need to—their love and affection were clear, and I knew our departure would be difficult for them both.
So it was that by the time we left, hearts and bellies full, I had almost forgotten what had happened on our journey here.
But as we approached the Sarasvati River, I could think of nothing else. It was evident by the murmurs around me that nobody else in our party could either.
I called for us to make camp early that evening, not wanting to cross the river in the dark, and lay down in my bedroll without eating. I stared up at the canvas of the tent, a single candle casting eerie shadows around me, and came to a conclusion. There was only one thing I could do to protect my son. And so, even though I was unaccustomed to it, I clasped my hands upon my chest and tried to pray to Sarasvati. I am sorry for my son. Please let us pass safely. I repeated it over and over again, my eyelids falling shut, and then—
I was standing on the banks of the river. Mist rose from the waters. How did I get here? I turned to look behind me, but there were no footprints in the damp earth. “What—” I began to ask, but a gust of wind whipped through the clearing, carrying the rest of my words away. The river surged up until it was almost to my knees. I tried to take a step backward, to flee to safer ground, but my feet had sunk into the earth. I was rooted fast.
“Sri Sarasvati,” I whispered. Ice ran through my veins. Was this real?
The water rippled, and I felt her presence all around me, my shoulders bowing with the weight.
“Please,” I called out. “Spare my son. I am begging you.”
He is in no danger. She spoke with a thousand voices, both in my head and from outside, as though I was pressed between two great forces. My teeth rung with the force of it. He needed to be reminded.
“Reminded of what?” I asked.
The mortal world corrupts, but he will be stronger than you. He was sent to this world for a reason.
As the echo of her words faded, I turned them over in my head. “He… he is a god?” There was only silence, as if to reproach my asking a question I already knew the answer to. “Why was Rama sent here?” I asked instead.
To cleanse your world of injustice.
A singularly unhelpful answer. I opened my mouth to ask another question, but the river before me was dissolving into shining blue wisps of mist. Cross without fear. The voice was still in my head and yet sounded distant, as if she was speaking from the heavens. The water receded and I felt myself falling back and back—
I startled awake in my bedroll, breathing hard in the darkness. The candle had been extinguished.
I blinked, heart pounding wildly. Had that truly been Sri Sarasvati, speaking to me in a dream? Or had I been so preoccupied with my fears about Rama and the river that I had imagined it?
No. Something about it had felt divine, her presence unknowable. I could not have invented that myself.
He will be stronger than you, she had said.
She likely had meant mortals generally. She probably meant to cast aspersions on human vice.
But… she was a goddess. And not just any goddess, but the goddess of scholars, of the wise, of intelligence and knowledge.
And she had chosen to say you.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE