“You have told me of your concerns that people no longer respect the temples or worship the gods or respect their will as devoutly as they should. I am sure if my mother was to hear more, she would try to help,” Rama said.
“There is not much more to say,” the sage said slowly, as if he was trying to stall for time to decide how best to respond. I slipped into the Binding Plane, worried that he might attempt to spin some type of falsehood. Unlike Rama, the sage was present in the gray world, but there was not even a wisp of connection between us. “It is simply that many in the city no longer hold the temples in as high a regard.”
“Has attendance fallen?” I asked, wondering how he was measuring regard.
“I suppose,” he said. “But we do not count day to day; such things are not our concern. We worry that even the people who attend are falling further from the teachings of the gods.”
I chanced a glance at Rama, who was frowning in concern and nodding along. But I could not fathom what this man was talking about. “And what have they done to make you so worried?”
“All of us here have devoted our lives to ensuring our kingdom retains the blessings of divine favor, but people no longer come to us seeking guidance,” he explained, growing more animated. “Our teachings are meant to ensure that people live good lives—pious lives—but now so many in the city think they know better. It is a dangerous path.”
“What teachings would these be?” I asked, glancing at the walls of scrolls. For the first time, I considered that they might not be full of the kinds of knowledge Kekaya’s cellar had held. Perhaps instead they held page after page about the rules of the gods, and their interpretations. Even though the room had brightened as the sun rose, it felt far less inviting now.
“I think you know,” he said.
“I do not believe so,” I replied coolly.
“Are you certain? You interfere with the natural order, the gods-given order. The women who come to your council are the same ones who step out of their homes, leaving their husbands and children to fill roles they should not have to.”
I had not expected him to say such a thing directly to me. Sages were not obligated to show deference to their rulers; they did not fall under the purview of the traditional hierarchy. But blatant disrespect was another thing altogether—it had gotten Sage Vamadeva removed from the palace, as these men surely knew. “Who is to say that is the natural order?” I asked him. “The Women’s Council has improved many people’s lives. Including those of men and children.”
“Perhaps it has improved their material station, but at the expense of spiritual poverty,” he countered. “We are the keepers of the gods’ wisdom, and it falls to us to interpret their desires. We study for years to do this. It is a sacred calling. And yet somehow you think you know better?”
I glanced at Rama. He had a hand on his chin, and his eyes were distant. “I do not understand. If your temple is still fully attended, receiving faithful worshippers and donations, how does it harm you if women in this city have some small say in their lives? I have seen no sign the gods themselves are displeased.”
The man shook his head, nose crinkling in disgust, and turned to Rama. “Why would you bring her? She has shown herself uncaring of our plight. She is, in some ways, the cause of it.”
“She only wishes to help,” Rama said, and I felt a flash of warmth for my son. “She is wise and capable.”
“You are always welcome, Yuvraja,” said the man. “But I do not think she should be here any longer.”
“How dare you?” I demanded. “I have done nothing but help the people of Ayodhya—”
“You may have your own ways at the palace, but we are not beholden to you.” The man took a step away from me, a clear dismissal. “You will keep your peace and leave.”
“You cannot—”
“Ma, let us go,” Rama murmured in my ear.
Part of me wished to stay, to argue with these pompous men who believed they knew better because they had surrounded themselves with scrolls and shut themselves off from progress. But I had fought these kinds of battles many times before, and I knew I could not shout them down, nor could I stoop to their level. Instead, I let my son guide me away, out through the now-bustling main chamber of the temple and into our waiting palanquin, and reassured myself that the fact that the sages had needed to ask for help proved that I had already won.
“Do you see?” I asked him, sinking against the cushion behind me. My face felt hot. “They are fine. They are merely unhappy at the thought of change, any change.”
Rama’s handsome face was clouded. “They treated you quite rudely, and I am displeased about it. But perhaps I should not have brought you into their space at all. That is my fault. I simply thought—we are meant to serve all members of this city, are we not?”
“We are,” I replied. “But we do not have to agree with all of them.”
He nodded. “I am sorry that went so poorly,” he said. “I just wanted you to understand their view. I believed you could help.”
“There was nothing to understand,” I said. “The sages must learn to accept what they do not like, just as we all must.”
Rama looked down at his hands, mouth twisting. “I want all people of this kingdom to be happy, for I am here to help them.”
“Are not the women who wish for more members of this kingdom?” I asked him. “Their happiness matters equally. Why should the sages decide the course of their lives?”
“They have devoted their lives to worship, a noble pursuit,” Rama said. “But you make a good point that I must also consider.”
To me, that was tantamount to agreement. “He never told me his name,” I said after a moment of silence, a peace offering.
“He really was unkind to you,” he agreed, shaking his head in irritation.
We talked of other things the rest of the way home.
We did not speak of the visit to the temple again, for less than a week later, as I sat with Dasharath on our favorite divan in his rooms, sipping cardamom tea, he asked without warning, “Were any of your brothers sent away to train when you were children?”
I put down my cup to stare at him. “No, although Ashvin traveled to learn from healers in other cities after I left. What prompted this?”
“I am considering sending Rama, and perhaps one of his brothers, to an ashram, to continue his martial training. I wondered what you thought of the idea.”
“We live in one of the largest, most celebrated cities that history has known. What could the boys learn in a secluded religious community that they could not learn here?” I countered. I was not necessarily opposed to it. But I also did not want to part with any of my sons.
“I was sent away for two years when I was their age, and it helped me to see the world more clearly, away from the immediacy of the city,” Dasharath explained, taking my hand in his. “I have been assured that Sage Vishvamitra himself will be there to supervise their training.”
Sage Vishvamitra was legendary. Before Dasharath was born, he had been a warlord and feared warrior in the eastern part of Kosala. He had coveted the prosperity of a nearby ashram and amassed several talented soldiers to storm the hermitage. But their weapons turned to dust in their hands. Upon seeing this, Vishvamitra renounced his rulership and turned to a life of penance and devotion to the gods. He had become one of the most powerful and pious men in the land, a wanderer and a scholar who rarely took pupils. Some of the greatest kings of Bharat had studied under him.
“Why Rama?” I asked, suddenly realizing how strange this arrangement was. “Shouldn’t it be Bharata who goes, if any of them must?”
Dasharath lowered his eyes.
I stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment. Then the traitorous part of my mind asked, How could Bharata compete with a god?
Blood pounded in my ears as though my body was bracing for a fight. But there was no fight. “Why Rama?” I asked again, more quietly. I needed to hear him say it.