Sure enough, a glance over at the pair showed Meena miming what must have been some sort of bandaging technique as Lakshmana looked on with a serious expression.
“Ashvin is an excellent healer,” I said. I had not yet decided if my mother deserved to know about my brothers, but this small morsel was a kindness in return for hospitality.
Her face lit up. “Is he? That’s wonderful.”
“Yes. He had a painful illness as a child that made other pursuits difficult for him, so I arranged to have him apprenticed with the court healers,” I explained, watching as grief shaded her initial joy.
“Is he still in pain?” she asked. The vindictive part of me wanted to respond, Would you care?
But Manthara had counseled compassion when we spoke of my mother all those years ago, and her advice had not led me astray yet.
“No. He eventually recovered. He is the tallest of all—my brothers now.” Somehow, the words your sons would not move past my throat.
“That is good. Good.” She gestured me through an archway and indicated we should sit on the array of cushions placed on the ground. “And how is Yudhajit?”
“Fine,” I said. “He rules Kekaya now.”
Her face was inscrutable. “Ashwapati is dead?” she asked.
“He is alive. But he passed the throne to my brother and went away to the mountains. I have not seen him in seventeen years.”
Lakshmana and Meena came to join us, and the food was laid out on a low table.
“My husband and my son are traveling to Matanga for business. But do not let his absence fool you. He is a far better husband than Ashwapati ever was.”
“That is a low standard to hold a husband to,” I said.
My mother paused in the midst of a bite, straightening up to give me a shocked look.
“Did someone tell you what happened?”
“Manthara told me that Father sent you away. She defended you, when I grew angry with your abandonment.”
My mother’s cheeks flushed. “I would like to tell you my side of it. If you wish to hear it.”
We were speaking quietly, and Meena and Lakshmana were still absorbed in their own conversation. I had no desire for my son to hear about this sordid affair, but I could not say honestly that I would be upset if he heard. My burning curiosity was too strong. I had convinced myself over the years that I did not need to know exactly what had happened, or that I already knew the truth of it, but now, given the opportunity—I needed to know.
“Your father… never liked me,” she began, a bit haltingly. “Our marriage was arranged when I was born, and I became his bride at sixteen. I had you and Yudhajit only a year later. Ashwapati was ten years older than I was and found me at the same time frivolous and withholding. He looked down on me.”
I could not help but nod. I had been enormously lucky to have Dasharath as my partner, but I could still understand well the loneliness she was describing.
“We had eight children—seven pregnancies in all for me. He did not like me, but neither did he hate me. We remained indifferent to each other, each managing our own spheres. And then I became pregnant for the eighth time, and I lost the child soon after. Such things happen. I had been extraordinarily lucky to have seven healthy pregnancies. But he did not think so. I still do not know how he got the notion in his head, but he became convinced that I had been unfaithful to him, and then purposely lost the baby in order to hide it.”
“What?” I interrupted her. “Why would he think that?”
“Because around that time, a childhood friend had arrived at court and we spent a great deal of time together. I enjoyed hearing stories from home, and I suppose I must have seemed more open around him, happier. Ashwapati had not allowed me to visit my ancestral palace or my parents, and so I sought to spend as much time with this man as possible. But there was nothing between us.
“After the death of the baby, Ashwapati became consumed by jealousy. He sent the man away from court. One day, he told me to walk with him in the gardens. He had shown no interest in my company for many weeks, but I thought at last we were putting this behind us. He instructed me to sit beside him near the stream where the swans would play.
“All of a sudden, as he was gazing at me, he burst into laughter. I thought perhaps he had thought of an interesting anecdote to tell me, or that there was something humorous about my appearance. He had kept his eyes on me the whole time, so I had no reason to believe…” She shook herself and looked up at me. “It must seem so stupid to you, that I am trying to justify myself, when he was the one who erred.”
Her story had won some sympathy from me. “Not at all.”
“So I asked him, ‘Why do you laugh?’ and he jumped to his feet and towered over me. I could see the real rage that he had been hiding, and I was very, very afraid. ‘I was right! You are trying to kill me!’ he shouted. I immediately fell to my knees at his feet and said, ‘I do not know of what you speak. Please, forgive me. I am sorry.’
“I said this over and over again, pleading with him as he seethed, until he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to my feet. ‘You will be exiled for this,’ he said. ‘I will not kill you only because you are the mother of my children. If only you would extend the same courtesy to me.’ I began crying out of sheer bewilderment and the vain hope that my tears might move him. They did not, but he spoke again. ‘You know if I ever disclose what I hear, I will die. Did you think you could trick me?’
“And finally, I understood. He had trapped me. He was so convinced that I was evil, scheming against him, that he gave me an impossible test just to convince himself he was right. I will never know if he was looking for a reason to exile me, or if this really was some twisted ‘proof.’ But he wanted me gone, and no amount of pleading or begging or promising would change his mind. So, I left.”
I had never liked my father, but hearing of his explicit maliciousness disturbed me deeply. I put down the bite I held in my hand, nauseated.
“I thought about all of you every day,” she added. “But I knew he would take care of you. My staying would have only stained you by proximity.”
“I am so sorry,” I said at last. For what else could I say? There had been no other option for my mother, as I well knew. She had been without support in my father’s court, without friends to rely on. How lonely that must have been.
“Why would you be sorry?” My mother folded her hands and looked right at me. “None of this was your fault, or Yudhajit’s, or the rest of your brothers’. Do you understand? The fault is with your father for sending me away and myself for not fighting for you. I have learned my lesson, and the gods have brought you back to me.”
“Yes, they have.” I pushed my plate away from me, signaling to the servants that I was done.
My mother ran her hand over my shoulder and down my arm to my hand. To say I did not enjoy it would have been a lie, but I felt ashamed of my enjoyment all the same. In a strange way, it felt like a betrayal of Manthara, who had filled my mother’s role all these years.
“Thank you,” my mother whispered. “Thank you for coming here. Thank you for listening to my story. That is all I have wished for these past years. For my children to listen, and to understand.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
RAVANA ARRIVED IN THE city without pomp or ceremony, and we presented ourselves to him the next day. We had no time to waste on formal invitations.
“Kaikeyi, it is good to see you,” he said, bowing his head. “I hoped you would come. I wish to apologize for my behavior when last we met.”
“It is I who should apologize. I should not have invaded your rooms in that way.”