We sat in silence for a moment. “Stay with us until he returns. I insist.” My mother took my hand in hers, and I marveled at my near-healed skin. “I have a husband, and a daughter and son.”
So, she had replaced Yudhajit and me. My other brothers had not been as old, or as affected by her departure, but we had struggled in her absence. I remembered Manthara’s admonishment that my mother had no choice in the matter, that she could not have come back to us. But this news hurt much more deeply than logic could repair.
I pulled my hand away, and my mother added, “They would love to meet you. Of course they have heard of you.”
“Of me?” I asked.
“Tales of your work in Ayodhya have reached us. You are greatly admired here. My daughter Meena looks up to you.” She spoke earnestly, happily, words that cut sharp as knives. The could-have-beens and what-ifs swelled up inside me.
“I am very proud of everything you have accomplished. You have become an incredible woman, despite me. I never thought I would see you again.” Her voice shook. “I have not stopped thanking the gods since you appeared. They granted me a wish I did not deserve.”
The gods had nothing to do with this. I swallowed. “I am thankful to see you again as well, Ma.”
She gave me a small smile and took my hand again. I let her.
Then Lakshmana came rushing into the room, and the moment was broken.
I have had ample time to turn those weeks with my mother over and over in my head. The temptation to put some of the fault on my mother for the debacle of my life has remained strong over the years, but the chain of responsibility has to stop somewhere.
Besides, though I could not help but search for it, I never found an instance of devious behavior from my mother during our time together. She had remade herself remarkably well, away from the shadow of my father. She put me in a room overlooking her gardens, with a window made out of glass instead of paper. I had never fathomed such a thing before—up north, glass was fashioned into beads and trinkets, but never such large, clear panels.
“Ravana’s invention,” she told me when I stopped to marvel at it. “He has put his mind to advancement. The salve used to soothe your burns is also of his invention—he has devoted much time to the study of healing.”
I pressed my face up against the window, hardly believing that I could see right through it. Our paper windows back home let in light—but this was something else entirely.
“You know him,” my mother said. She did not phrase it like a question.
I turned to face her. “Yes. Our paths have crossed on several occasions.”
The corners of her mouth turned up, but tears pooled in her eyes. “He gave me the first news I had of you in years. A precious gift. He told me you were strong and smart and determined.” A teardrop rolled down her face.
“When was this?” I asked. After our last meeting, I could imagine him saying nothing of the sort.
“Seven or eight years ago, it must have been. He passed through Janasthana on his return from a pilgrimage. He lost his daughter, you know, and I had lost a daughter in a way, and we were able to speak openly to each other. He said if his daughter were still alive, he would be hungry for any word of her, so he was happy to do that for me.”
I hardly knew how to take her words. Had Ravana been spying on me for my mother that first trip? And yet, he had not even mentioned her to me—a cruelty I thought him incapable of.
The question must have been evident on my face, for my mother said immediately, “He did not know when he met you that you were my daughter. I had not told anyone outside of my family—my family here, that is—of my past, or that my daughter was a radnyi of Ayodhya. But when he came here, he guessed that you were my blood. He said there was a strong resemblance.”
I looked at my mother and then down at myself. My mother was taller than I was, with a full figure and clear bronze eyes. I was of middling height, broad-shouldered but flat-chested, with eyes that were often described as obsidian.
My mother laughed. “A resemblance in personality.”
As she spoke, she reached out a hand to cup my face. I instinctively shied away from the touch, then took a deep breath and allowed it. She caressed my cheek.
“I know I have said this already, but I am so very proud of you. You have exceeded my wildest dreams for you. Even Ravana has been influenced by you.”
I made a skeptical sound.
“I mean it. He said he was inspired by your example and wished to include women on his own Mantri Parishad. That is how I became Minister of Finance.”
“I did not know that,” I admitted. It was certainly meaningful that Ravana would place her not only on the Mantri Parishad, but within his inner council.
“I am sure he will be glad to see you again,” she said, patting my cheek.
After scrubbing the dust of the road and battle from my skin, I went looking for Lakshmana. I did not search long. He was lying on his bed, dressed in a cream-colored dhoti embellished with navy embroidery that reminded me of my mother’s robes. Perhaps it was a family color. Despite the unfamiliar attire, though, Lakshmana looked relaxed and comfortable.
“Enjoying yourself?” I asked, tousling his hair.
“Very much.” He rolled out of reach and onto the floor. This seemed hilariously funny to me, and I sat on the edge of his bed, laughing until I gasped for breath.
His head peeked out over the top of the bed. “Ma, are you all right? Have you hurt yourself again?”
I put my hands on my knees and took a few deep breaths. “No, no, I’m fine. I am just very happy to see you.”
“Are you sure? We don’t have to go to dinner. I could have a relapse of fever, and you could stay here with me.”
“What? Why would you say that?”
“This must be difficult for you. All of this, all so sudden.” He came around to me and rested his head in my lap. My eyes burned, happy yet wistful. “If it makes you sad, we don’t have to go.”
I stroked his hair. “It does make me sad. But being here also makes me happy. I will take the good with the bad.”
We sat for a few moments longer, watching the sun descend as I massaged his scalp just as Manthara used to do for me.
When he got to his feet, he offered me his arm. “I know you don’t want to worry your mother about your own health, but I meant what I said. I can have a relapse of fever whenever you need me to.”
“My little boy, protecting me!” I pressed a hand to my heart, then pretended to wipe tears from my eyes, and he grinned.
But the sincerity of Lakshmana’s words comforted me, and as we walked toward the hall, I felt none of the dread that had consumed me as we first approached the house.
A servant directed us toward a side room, and just as we were about to enter, a young woman appeared.
“Radnyi Kaikeyi!” She pressed her hands together and dropped into a bow, before throwing her arms around me.
Unsure how to respond, I released Lakshmana’s arm and awkwardly patted her back.
“I’m… so sorry, I am afraid I don’t know who you are,” I said, pitching my voice low so as not to embarrass her.
She released me and held me at arm’s length, eyes traveling up and down my face. “I’m Meena, your sister. Well, half sister. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Meena, let her breathe.” My mother emerged from the dining room.
“It is nice to meet you,” I offered after a moment. “Forgive my confusion.”
“I suppose this is all very new for you,” Meena said. An understatement, to be sure. Lakshmana stepped up behind me, and her eyes lit up. She began chattering to him, quickly forgetting me.
My mother smiled kindly. “Meena is very enthusiastic, but she means well. She has a promising career ahead of her in healing.”
“Healing? Really?” She was the exact opposite of the stolid healers I knew. Even quiet Ashvin was a bit too exuberant for the mold. And of course, she was a woman.
My mother nodded. “She has a great talent for the discipline. She and Lakshmana have been talking of it.”