“Have you spoken recently to the sages of the city temple?”
Whatever I had expected, it was not this. In truth, I avoided the sages as much as I could, both because of my discomfort with worshipping the gods and because I knew they disliked me. “I have not. Have you?”
Rama nodded. “Please do not be angry.”
“Why would I be angry?” I asked, still confused. “You can tell me anything.”
“I have been seeing the sages, to further my religious studies. Our tutor on the subject—well, he is not perfect.” I could hear, running below Rama’s words, some hint of years-old annoyance that Sage Vamadeva had been dismissed. The prince’s new tutor was not a sage, but rather a low-ranking noble who was very studied in the religious texts.
But I could not fault Rama for wishing to learn more about this—about who he was. “Of course I would not be angry. It is admirable to seek out more knowledge, so long as you form your own opinions.”
Rama’s posture loosened slightly in relief. “I have been speaking to them, and I think they are unhappy, and I thought—you help everyone. You could help them. They do not wish to be a burden to the palace, for they are separated from our affairs, but they have told me some of what they fear, and I would like to help them if I can.”
“Why have they come to you? You know they can go to your father if they need assistance,” I reminded him, uneasy at the idea that these men would put responsibility on the shoulders of such a young man.
“I suppose they feel a special connection to me,” Rama said. “Perhaps because they believe me gods-touched, although I am not. They care so much for the gods and their will—for me, although they do not know it—that I wish to repay them. But I have found it to be a difficult problem.”
“I do not understand,” I said. “Are the temples struggling for donations?”
He shook his head. “It is difficult to explain. Perhaps I could show you, though? I would value your thoughts.”
“Of course,” I said. I did not particularly want to visit the temples or talk to the sages. But I cared about one god, my son standing before me, who had come to me for help. If it would ease his mind then I could swallow my discomfort for a few hours.
We agreed to go the next morning, just after sunrise when the sages would have completed their morning rituals but before the city’s inhabitants would arrive for their daily prayers. The palace had its own temple, with an impressive marble floor that was always cool underfoot. In the center of the room stood impassive murtis, gracefully carved from granite, and the air was fragrant with cinnamon and sage incense. Many members of the palace went here to pray and complete pradakshina around the unseeing stone. But while I attended public rituals and observances as a radnyi must, I had only ever been to this more private place a handful of times, and had never exchanged more than a few words with the sages who attended it.
I had never been to the city’s main temple, though I had seen it in passing before, a building of smooth red stone laid so precisely it was impossible to see where one stone met the next. The main chamber stood open and exposed to the elements on three sides, and the roads leading up to the temple were lined with trees. The roof was held up by pillars of the same red stone, carved with depictions of the gods’ triumphs in battle. It was Sumitra who had once told me that a different artisan had decorated each pillar, so that the temple had the craftsmanship of Ayodhya itself imbued within it.
Rama and I took a palanquin there, upon his insistence, and he offered me his arm as we made our way up the temple steps. It was a beautiful, cool morning, the sky streaked with pink and gold, and I shivered slightly when I slipped off my sandals at the entryway. The foliage muffled the sounds of the city, giving the temple an air of calm, although I felt anything but.
“We should pray first,” Rama whispered, approaching the statue of Shiva on the farthest right and kneeling. I made to follow him, but he twisted around and inclined his head toward my left. “Women pray on that side.” I looked down at the floor and saw a faint white chalk line dividing the room in half.
The temple was nearly deserted, with only a few attendants sweeping or making other preparations for the day, replacing the old flowers with crimson and amber blooms and filling the small brass lamps with golden oil. Slowly, I moved to the other side of the line, faced the statues of the gods that lined the back wall, and bowed my head.
After some time, I heard Rama’s soft footfalls approaching and rose to my feet. “They have their private chamber, where we can talk to them,” he said, gesturing toward the back wall.
It was unnerving that he knew so much of this place. I had followed the boys’ lessons less closely as they had grown older, once I had ascertained that none of their other tutors were of Sage Vamadeva’s ilk. But surely someone should have told me if Rama was regularly leaving the palace to take lessons at the temple?
Together, we entered a large room with a curved dome ceiling. It reminded me of a smaller version of the palace. Great paper windows, as tall as a man, took up two walls, letting in streams of morning light. Still, the sages had lit several small lamps on the tables—perhaps so they could more easily read some of the texts that lined the other two walls of the place. Wooden shelves ran from floor to ceiling, filled to bursting with scrolls. Some part of me wanted to approach the nearest stack, dig through it, and lose myself in the knowledge held here. It was, in truth, a beautiful room, one designed for reading and learning. If only it wasn’t set in a temple, for this place had been built for the gods.
The sages—evident by their saffron robes—grew silent upon our entrance. I pushed away the part of me that longed to know what they were saying, to participate myself. This was not the time and certainly not the place.
One sage stood, inclining his head to Rama. “Welcome, Yuvraja.” Rama did not share my surprise at the title, inclining his head to the sage. But then again, he did not know that the title belonged to Bharata. For the first time, I wondered how Rama would feel when he learned of his father’s vow. He clearly cared deeply about the people of the city and thought himself heir. Would it hurt him, to learn he would not be Kosala’s raja? “I see you brought a guest today? Welcome, Radnyi Kaikeyi.” The man’s tone was distant rather than welcoming, but I ignored it. I knew nothing about him. Perhaps he was simply forbidding to all strangers.
I bowed my head, hands clasped together in greeting. “Thank you for allowing me to come here,” I said.
“We did not allow anything,” he replied. “Your son did not tell us he was bringing you. We do not permit women in this area of the temple, but for Yuvraja Rama I suppose an exception can be made.”
Rama stepped forward. “You have my apologies. I did not realize that was the case. We can go—”
“No need,” the man cut him off. “Today is not your lesson day. Can we assist you or the radnyi?”
“I was telling my mother of your concerns about the future of this temple, and she wished to speak to you herself, to see how she might assist.”
A flicker of surprise rippled across the man’s face before he schooled it back into sternness. “You wish to assist?” he asked me.
“Should I not?” I smiled, but his expression remained stony. “If it is in my power to aid any member of this kingdom, I would like to.”