“Kaikeyi, I am sorry,” Dasharath said.
“You made a promise.” My voice was cold. For the first time in weeks, in moons, I entered the Binding Plane in the presence of my husband. The gold cord that connected Dasharath and me still had prominence, but to my eyes it looked slightly thinner, duller, where before it had seemed luminous. I went to touch the cord, then stopped. Dasharath had broken his wedding vow and betrayed my trust. Perhaps it was this broken promise that had thinned our bond. But he was raja. He had the power—the right—to name his own heir.
“Rama is the most gifted in his studies, the most dedicated,” Dasharath said. “He is a superb warrior. He will make a fine ruler.”
“I accepted your proposal only after you made your vow. This marriage is—” built on a lie, I wanted to say, but with difficulty I swallowed the phrase down.
Dasharath sighed. He reached out to touch me, then seemed to think better of it. “And I am very sorry. But I do not think Bharata has any interest in ruling the kingdom. Kosala is vast. I will make certain Bharata governs one of our most important territories. He will be powerful, and a brilliant asset to Rama.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“You will always be the first of my radnyis, Kaikeyi. Kaushalya and Sumitra know it, and they love you more for it. When you asked me to vow that your son would be heir, you were about to be my third radnyi, and the youngest besides. You needed power, am I right?”
I nodded slowly.
“You don’t need that anymore. And I must think of what’s best for the future of Kosala. I love all my sons, but I also love my kingdom. I cannot deny that Rama is what is best for its future. And I think, in your heart, neither can you.”
This felt like a betrayal. Dasharath had asked me about the ashram knowing I would realize that Rama was to become heir. He must have been thinking about this for some time and kept it from me. This deceit had diminished our bond, and it filled me with anger to think about it.
And yet—Dasharath believed in the truth of what he said, and upon evaluation, he had a strong argument. Rama’s kingship would not hurt my position in court. Kaushalya might become Queen Mother, but I would still preside over the Women’s Council. It was a part of the fabric of Kosala now, and no line of succession could take that away from me. I would still be saciva to Dasharath. I would have the loyalty of the palace staff, the loyalty of the women in the kingdom. I would still be loved in Kekaya. Kosala was my home now. I should want the best for it.
I forced myself to take several deep breaths, and with each moment, calm returned. It was true that Rama was preparing for the responsibility. The visit to the temple had made that clear. And I knew, deep in my heart, that Dasharath’s decision would not hurt Bharata, who did not seem to share this same interest in the burden of rule.
“Very well,” I said, despite my sorrow at the breaking of my husband’s promise and the loss of a future I had long imagined. “I too want what’s best for Kosala.” I released my self-pity as best I could. “The opportunity to train with Sage Vishvamitra is one he must take. You ought to send Lakshmana with him. They are close companions.”
Dasharath did reach for me now, stroking my hand with his thumb. “Thank you, Kaikeyi.” His love for me was clear in his eyes, unchanged despite our bond.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE PALACE FELT EMPTIER without Rama and Lakshmana. For a time, even Bharata and Shatrugna seemed quieter, as though they were lost without their constant companions. But as with all things, we adjusted to their departure, for despite their absence most things in Ayodhya remained much the same.
And then, a year after they had left, rumors about Rama began reaching the city, each more astonishing than the last.
We heard he had brought forth water from a well dried for decades. We heard he had shot a meteor from the sky with a simple wooden bow. And then we heard that Rama had single-handedly slain a rakshasa threatening the ashram. The story spread like wildfire in whispers throughout the palace, and I heard rumors in snatches of conversation.
“The rakshasa was taller than two men, and still the yuvraja faced him—”
“I heard the yuvraja slew it in just one blow—”
“The gods have truly smiled—”
“Do you think it is true?” Dasharath asked me as I sat on the edge of his bed watching him prepare for sleep.
I remembered watching Rama’s presence grow, seeing his godhood within him. “Yes,” I said. “I could believe it.”
“He truly has a gift.” Dasharath’s expression was filled with wonder. “Just imagine what he will do as raja.”
“I hope he will be more sedate by then,” I said. “A king should not risk himself.”
“Are you accusing me of being boring?”
“I did not use the word boring,” I said archly, and he pretended to lunge toward me, even as he laughed.
Less than one moon later, news reached us that Rama and Lakshmana had embarked with Vishvamitra on a journey through several northern kingdoms. The official messenger provided us no other information, but throughout the palace it seemed everyone knew something about our sons.
“My sister lives on the border of Videha, and she said the princes passed through last week, hunting rakshasas,” one serving girl whispered to another in the corridor outside my room. The door wasn’t fully closed, and I stood on the other side of it, fear freezing me in place. “Some sort of beast has been slaughtering their cows, and when the yuvraja heard, he went toward the mountains in pursuit.”
“He’s so brave,” the other girl said, a hushed awe tinging her voice. “We are fortunate indeed.”
They moved down the hall and away from my perception. They are just rumors, I told myself. And I might have believed it, if the very next day Kaushalya hadn’t told us her distant cousin sent her a missive repeating the same story.
“Why is he putting himself in such danger?” I asked, my heart in my throat. Our children were so far away, so far from our protection.
“He is gods-touched,” Sumitra said, her voice bright. Confident. “And he is sharing his blessing.”
I could hardly breathe, living with the fear day in and day out. Sometimes it would lie dormant, half-forgotten, but never for long, for the whole city was consumed with stories about Rama, each more far-fetched than the last. He had ridden on a white elephant. He had healed all the sick of a village. He had defeated a six-armed asura with one perfect shot to the heart.
Only when a messenger came to us directly from Rama and Lakshmana to tell us that they were safe did the knot in my chest loosen. They wrote that they had indeed tracked down and slain two rakshasas in combat, an incredible feat, and were now safe in a small city. I could scarcely comprehend how my two boys had done such a thing. I thought of them fighting their father with wooden swords, thinking only of fun and games. But they were grown now, and knowing they were safe was a gift.
The next day, Dasharath summoned us to his rooms.
“We have all heard of Rama’s and Lakshmana’s triumphs,” he said proudly. “It has reminded me that the boys are almost seventeen, and well accomplished. It is time for them to marry.”
The last time he had called all of us to his chambers, we’d sat on the ground by his feet as he bid us sacrifice our bodies to his quest for an heir. This time we sat on cushioned benches in Dasharath’s study, meeting one another as equals.