I focused instead on Manthara’s strand and imagined plucking it like the string on a veena. It leapt up, vibrating as though I had touched it.
Excitement thrummed through me. I got out of bed, lit a small lamp, and pulled the Binding Plane scroll from beneath my cot. “Seek out the threads that connect you,” it said. I pondered this. Perhaps from those words, thread and connect, I had convinced myself that this mantra showed me the connections between myself and others?
Suddenly, the door swung open. The strings disappeared and I dropped the scroll, nudging it behind me as Manthara hurried in. “Are you okay?” she asked.
I hastily snuffed the candle. “Yes?” I ventured after a moment. “Are you?”
Manthara had never come into my room this late at night before, but now she stood before me in a simple shift, her hair in a long braid down her back, breathing hard. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I was lying in my room when suddenly I grew so worried about you. I just had to check—” She seemed to notice then that I was out of bed with a lamp in my hand. “What were you doing up?” she asked suspiciously.
I stayed silent for a moment, considering her words. A few minutes ago, I had pulled on the rope that I imagined connected me to Manthara, and now she was here before me. Could it be that these threads were not made up at all—that I had somehow summoned her here?
I thought the mantra to myself and gave the red rope a light brush with my mind.
Manthara took two steps forward and wrapped her arms around me. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she whispered in my hair. She smelled of mint leaves and crisp cotton, warm and comforting.
I hugged her back. “Yes, of course,” I said. But my mind was reeling. My hands were shaking, so I clasped them together, pulling back from her. “I was only looking for some sweets,” I lied. I resolved in that moment to never tell Manthara the truth of whatever I had discovered. She would think me mad, and I could not lose her.
Even in the darkness, Manthara’s squint was evident. “You had the lamp lit. Were you trying to sneak out?”
“No!” I protested, casting about for some explanation that wouldn’t involve admitting to the stolen scrolls. Nothing came to mind. “I really was just hungry.”
In the Binding Plane, the thread between us jumped of its own accord. Did it know I was lying? Or was this due to Manthara’s skepticism? I reached out with my mind to calm it. Please let her believe me. And somehow, as if by magic, the thread quieted.
Why had I done that? Had I harmed her? It had happened so instinctively.
I studied her anxiously, but she appeared to be fine. She merely sighed and said, “I suppose you must not have had an appetite at dinner, with all that has happened. But you need to rest. I will sit here until you fall asleep.”
I did not think I could possibly sleep, knowing these threads existed—that I had somehow brought them into existence with my words and my mind. But I hadn’t anticipated the power of Manthara’s hand stroking my hair, smoothing away the emotional turmoil of the day, and the heartsick ache that filled me when I thought of my mother. Sleep pulled me under before I could stop it.
CHAPTER THREE
YUDHAJIT CAME EARLY TO my room the next morning, hoping to pull me into a rematch of hide and catch. But I was tired and irritable, and by the time I joined him outside, I didn’t want to run around. The day was beautiful, the sky cloudless and a vivid blue. I settled myself on the grass and grabbed a pebble instead, hoping to play a contest where we threw it up into the air and tried to clap as many times as possible instead.
Yudhajit groaned. “No, Kaikeyi. That is such a boring game.”
“Well, I think your game is boring,” I argued. He remained standing stubbornly before me, arms crossed.
I frowned in return. Normally, he would complain until he got his way. But today, I thought of the previous night and how I had summoned Manthara.
I silently repeated the words from the scroll and found myself gazing at a deep sapphire bond, thicker even than my connection to Manthara.
“Come on,” he whined. “Let’s go.” As he spoke, I poked at the bond with my mind, thinking, Can we play my game instead?
Out loud, I said, “Please, Yudhajit?” The ripple from my touch moved down the bond until it reached my brother’s chest.
He groaned again. But to my astonishment, he sat down, reaching for the pebble. “Fine, fine. We will play your game first.”
I beamed at him as he threw the stone into the air.
Once might have been random, but twice? I knew better than to think so.
I watched him carefully for any sign that he knew what I had done, but he clapped his hands happily enough and then tossed the stone to me, a smile on his face. “Six! I bet you can’t get seven.”
I could get seven, and in fact, I had practiced this game alone just so I could beat Yudhajit. But now, watching him, and distracted by the feeling inside of me—magic! I had power—I only managed four claps before fumbling the stone and nearly dropping it. Yudhajit laughed at me, and after a few seconds I laughed with him. I had lost, but by making him play the game I had won. I could hardly believe it.
When we were done playing and Yudhajit had gone to his archery lessons, I spent hours wandering the palace, following different strings to discover my ties with others.
My bonds with my brothers stood out, bold and strong, while other servants and people in the palace had varying degrees of connection to me. I had so many bonds tying me to others, and seeing them all laid out this way caused tears to prick at my eyes. I often felt lonely, with only my mother’s quiet coolness and brothers who could not fully understand me for company. But here was proof that I was not alone. I tried, at one point, to figure out which one was my mother’s. Perhaps I could send her a message. After all, I had been trying to bring her back when I had discovered this magic. But among the tangle of strings, I could not ascertain which would lead me to her.
By the time the sun set, my muscles were aching, and I limped on trembling legs back to my room, the strain of using the Binding Plane taking its toll on my body. But my mind still thrummed, even after I lay in bed.
On ordinary nights, I would pray to Nidra, goddess of sleep, for restful slumber and pleasant dreams. She was one of my favorite gods—Manthara had told me her story on many nights when I wished to stay up instead of sleep. Once, Vishnu fell into a deep, mysterious sleep and could not be roused by any of the gods. While he slept, two asuras were born from Vishnu’s own ears, and they found Brahma defenseless. They conspired to steal Brahma’s powers, and Brahma was unable to withstand their might. He tried with all his power to wake Vishnu, but Vishnu would not wake. Desperate, Brahma called upon Nidra, the goddess of sleep. She slipped into Vishnu’s conscience and roused him from within. And so Nidra saved the gods from the asuras.
But despite this, I knew of no rites for Nidra, no prayers or festivals for her. She was forgotten, as I was. And she was my favorite for another reason—sometimes, if my dreams were soothing or my sleep deep and restful, I could wake pretending that she had favored me.
The thought struck me then—perhaps I was favored. The gods had ignored me for years, but was this not a great gift indeed? Could this power be from the gods? They may have bestowed this upon me for my patience. My cheeks flushed with excitement at the possibility. I would have to search in the cellar to see if any scrolls said more about this strange magic. But for now, I clasped my hands together and whispered a prayer for Nidra.