WE TOLD THE REST of the palace that we were going away on a ceremonial trip to replenish our offerings at a small shrine in the Riksha Mountains so as not to cause panic. Our real destination, Sripura, was a large town in Southern Kosala. Kaushalya hailed from there—she had been yuvradnyi of the region before her marriage with Dasharath. If we had disclosed our true purpose, news of our arrival might have preceded us. I could not even tell Manthara or Asha.
Lakshmana remained ignorant too, out of fear he might reveal the truth to his brothers.
We snuck away the night before our announced departure so that we could take up our guise of mere travelers, and not until the following morning did Lakshmana ask me any questions.
“Where are we really going, Ma?” His voice was so quiet I almost thought I had imagined it.
“Sripura,” I said.
He did not respond, so I turned to see his reaction. He was frowning as he mouthed the name to himself. “Your mother, Radnyi Kaushalya, is from there,” I added.
“I know. It is just past the Riksha Mountains on the banks of the Mahanadi River.”
I pulled up my horse in surprise, watching his back as he continued on for a few paces before also stopping. He twisted around. “Is something the matter?”
“How do you know that?” I demanded. “Did you hear about our true destination and study the maps before we left?”
Lakshmana narrowed his eyes. “No, of course not. Why would I ask where we’re going otherwise? We were instructed in the geography of Bharat at the ashram.”
I spurred my horse back into motion. “I did not mean to accuse you of lying, Lakshmana. You have my apology. It’s just—your memory is quite impressive.”
“Oh,” he said, almost sadly.
“Is something the matter?”
“Do you really think it’s impressive?” he asked.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He held himself rigid, gaze fixed straight ahead. “Very. I have met only one other person with such recall.”
“I don’t understand.” He sounded lost, much younger than his years.
“Has nobody told you so before? Surely your tutors have had reason to observe your memory.”
“No,” he said simply. “I have always taken my lessons with Rama, and he is far smarter than I. At the ashram, Sage Vamadeva said that being second to a man such as Rama is nothing to be ashamed of.”
I nearly toppled off my horse. “Did you say Sage Vamadeva?”
Lakshmana did not seem to pick up on my unease. “I did. He was our tutor for a year, long ago—you may not remember. He left to meditate at the ashram.”
My head spun. Sage Vamadeva had spent two years with my children, with Rama, without my knowing. And on top of my old grievance with the man, I was filled with new ire at his words to Lakshmana. Calm, quiet, patient Lakshmana would never begrudge his brothers anything, this I knew. For while Rama was highly charismatic and gifted with weapons, he had been attending the Mantri Parishad meetings since his return, and I knew he had little head for sums or maps or city planning. But his godly presence spilled into every corner of every room he walked into, convincing all—almost all—that they witnessed greatness.
“Rama cannot do what you can do,” I said after a moment, for I did not wish to get into the topic of Sage Vamadeva right away.
“Rama is brilliant,” he said, an edge I had never heard before in his voice.
I stared at him, confused. Clearly something was happening under the surface to distress him. If we were to travel together, if I was to know him and help him recognize his value, perhaps I would have to break my own rules. With some reluctance, I entered the Binding Plane.
We had a dark yellow thread of acquaintanceship between us, attenuated—I assumed—by our years apart. Respectable, but not strong enough to provide the answers I wanted.
My eyes flicked up to Lakshmana’s face, and that was when I saw it, extending from his neck—a blue cord, so bright it almost hurt to look at. I had never seen such a thing before, but…
It came to me in the next moment, what this must be: Rama. They had spent two years with only each other, and in that time Rama’s godliness must have ensnared Lakshmana.
“Ma? Are you well?” Lakshmana’s words brought me back into myself.
“Yes,” I managed to say. “I am merely thinking.”
“I am sorry for getting sharp with you,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me. Please do not be angry, Ma.”
“Have I ever been angry with you?”
He shrugged, exaggerated enough for me to see. Even now he was considerate. “When I go along with Bharata’s plans.”
I laughed. “They’re Bharata’s plans?”
“You didn’t know?” he asked, all anger seemingly forgotten. “Bharata comes up with the ideas, and he claims the riskiest parts for himself. Shatrugna does all the rest.”
“Shatrugna does the smartest tasks,” I corrected teasingly. “That’s why I thought he came up with all their nonsense.”
“We always thought you only pretended not to know. Because Bharata is your son.” Once again, his voice was matter-of-fact.
“What?” I asked, shocked. “No. You are all my sons.”
“You believe that?” When I met his gaze, his light eyes were dark with emotion. He looked so much like Dasharath had the first time I met him in my father’s palace.
“Yes. Because it’s true.”
“I see,” he said, and his voice trembled ever so slightly.
“I’m not angry with you, Lakshmana. I promise. I’m angry at myself for letting you think that.”
“It’s not that important,” he said.
“I get to decide what I find important,” I told him. “And I think that you are important, you and all your brothers equally.”
He snorted, amused. “Rama is yuvraja. He is the most important. There’s no need to hide that truth. We are happy for him.”
It was a noble sentiment, if misguided, and I needed to respond with care. “My brother, your uncle Yudhajit, was the crown prince of Kekaya. I loved him and was happy for him. But that did not mean that I thought he was better than me at everything we tried, or that I deferred to him in every matter. And back then I was just a girl, considered a burden on my family.”
Lakshmana sighed, loud enough that I could hear it over the horses and the wind. “Rama is… something more than us. I cannot explain it, but I know it is my duty to support him, to follow him. I have no problem with this,” he added hastily.
“Don’t say such things about yourself,” I insisted, knowing he would not heed my words.
It did not matter, though, for I had nearly half a year of time away from home to forge a stronger connection with my son and try to change his perspective.
“Why are we going to Sripura?” Lakshmana asked the next day. I enjoyed riding with him—he was quiet enough that I could concentrate on the feel of horseback, the rhythm that reminded me of my childhood, but willing to talk when the hours felt long and the scenery grew dull.
“I have heard rumors of new forces at work past the borders of Southern Kosala, whispers about some sort of beast interfering with our trade caravans. I volunteered to go alone, but your father thought it best I have protection. And I knew I could trust you.” There was no need for him to know that I had first suggested Rama as a companion, and even less reason for him to know that his father and I thought these threats quite serious.
“Rama would have been the better choice. My skills with a bow and a sword are acceptable, but he would have protected you far better. I was there when he slew the rakshasas.”
I wanted to reach out and shake him, jolt this inferiority out of his skull, for it sounded to my estimation that Lakshmana had done plenty. But horseback and propriety prevented me from doing so.
“I trust you. You will not give up our secrets for any reason, you will be reliable and loyal, and I have seen your work on the training field. You are more than capable of protecting yourself, and me should it come to that.”