A LETTER FROM DASHARATH waited for me with the Chief of Sripura, reassuring me that I had made the right decision in going on to Janasthana and filled with platitudes about how much he had missed me and how eagerly he looked to my return. For the remainder of the journey, I tried and failed to put my finger on exactly what about the missive raised alarm, but I could not decipher it. Perhaps my fear at my mother’s revelation was clouding all else, for I should have been happy that Dasharath bore me no ill will for my flagrant disobedience of his orders, and that Bhandasura’s supposed master had failed to take Ayodhya in my absence. Instead, I pushed us ever harder through the Riksha Mountains and barely waited for the feast they threw us in Kasi to conclude before moving on once again.
“Why the great rush?” Lakshmana asked me near Kusavati, when we were almost through the plains. I did not answer, signaling to him that we would take the right fork to circumvent the city. I intended to reach Ayodhya by nightfall. In this we were successful, and riders were sent off at Ayodhya’s city gate to alert the palace to our arrival.
Dasharath met us at the stables looking as though he had aged in reverse by five or ten years. The persistent lines on his forehead had smoothed, and the invisible weight that pulled down his shoulders appeared to have eased. And still, dread sat heavy on my heart.
“You look well,” I said, allowing him to help me off my horse. He did not release me, and instead pulled me closer, embracing me tightly right in front of Lakshmana, who blushed slightly and turned away.
I slipped into the Binding Plane, and my stomach turned leaden. My bond with my husband, that vibrant golden cord, had decreased to half its former size. Foreboding, already itching under my skin, expanded until my limbs felt swollen with it. We had spun that thread over a throne room and a battlefield, over trust and years of friendship. Our connection had been the core of my life in Ayodhya for so long. It should not have melted so easily.
Something had happened, something I was not aware of yet. It was the only explanation. “Is everything all right?” I asked, pulling back from his embrace slightly so that I could look at him. I was afraid of what his answer would be.
“I have decided to abdicate,” he said. “I already informed Kaushalya and Sumitra, and the court.” Dasharath spoke a bit like a drunk man, his words almost slurred with happiness—or something else.
“Rama is to be king?” Lakshmana asked, and only then did the words sink in. There had been nothing of Dasharath’s jesting manner in his words, or I might have thought them a trick.
“Yes,” Dasharath said, just as I cried, “Abdicate?”
“Yes, Kaikeyi. While you were gone, I realized that I did not want the throne anymore. And Rama is ready.”
“Why?” I asked, unable to stop myself. After what I had learned, after seeing our bond, I knew no good could come of this. I felt ill.
“It just seemed like the right time,” he said. “I knew it in my soul.”
“You knew it in your soul,” I repeated blankly. “Did you consult anyone at all about this?”
“Rama. We discussed it in great depth. He will make a great leader; do you not think so?”
Lakshmana squeezed my arm, and I stopped myself from pointing out that it was in Rama’s self-interest to encourage this transfer of power.
“We can talk about this later,” I said at last. “It has been a long journey, and I am sure that Lakshmana would like to rest.”
“Yes, of course.” Dasharath led the way back toward the palace. “I was so excited by this decision that I needed to tell you at once.”
“And I am glad you did,” I said. “You must be eager to hear of our trip to Janasthana as well.”
He blinked, as though this had only just occurred to him. “Oh, yes. Yes. I trust your journey was pleasant?”
“Pleasant?” I repeated, and Dasharath beamed.
“Wonderful! I will leave you both to bathe and rest.”
The moment I was out of his sight, I all but ran, Lakshmana on my heels.
“Why would Rama do such a thing?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Not Rama. It is not Rama.”
Manthara sat on the edge of my bed, waiting for me. “Welcome home, Radnyi. You have been gone a long time.”
“How could this have happened?” I asked without preamble, shedding my dirty riding attire. I was speaking of the abdication, but in the back of my mind the memory of my bond with Dasharath lingered. I was unmoored, my anchor weakened and frayed.
Manthara set a tub of water on the floor of my bedroom, and I gratefully sank into it, glad to shed the dust and grime of our long journey from my skin. Normally, I would not bathe here in my rooms, but I wanted to speak freely with her.
In the Plane, our bond shone, still thick and proud. The relief of it almost sent me slipping under the water. It seemed Rama’s powers had not touched her, nor Asha, who had gone to fetch me some tea. Perhaps his subconscious had realized that they were lost causes, too loyal to me. Or perhaps Manthara’s natural suspicion and stubbornness had warded him off. Her unwavering presence beside me was a gift, one that I did not deserve.
“It happened so quickly,” she said. “Perhaps two moons after you left.”
I brought two wet hands up to cover my eyes. “Why is he doing this now? Why does he need to take the throne? He is so young, and he has so much time ahead of him.”
“It was smart.” She took the soap from the edge of the tub and, despite her years, knelt down and scrubbed my back. “To consolidate power while you were away.”
A knock from the outer door interrupted our conversation, and I gestured for Manthara to answer it while I hastily rinsed my body and donned a robe.
“Sita!” Manthara exclaimed loudly.
I entered the main room, knowing Sita would not be offended by my attire. “Sita, it is good to see you. Apologies for my appearance. I was in the middle of a bath.”
“No need to apologize, I am the one who is out of turn.” If possible, she looked lovelier than ever, her delicate features luminous even in the dim room. And yet, when she twisted her ghagra, her fingers trembled faintly. “You have heard the news?”
“Yes. Congratulations are in order. You will soon be radnyi.”
She turned away from me and toward the window. It felt peculiar, after my time spent in Janasthana, to see paper windows again. “I am not ready,” she whispered.
A pang went through me at the sadness in her voice. “Sita, what is it?”
She rotated slowly back toward me. “I tried my hardest to be like you. I took your place on the Women’s Council in your absence, and I had ideas for projects that I took to Raja Dasharath. I even helped a female servant obtain a new home in the city. I know that Rama cares about his people, so I thought by helping them he might be proud of me. But his attitude toward me has not changed.”
“Sita, I—”
“And when Rama is on the throne, I doubt he will care more for me. Even now he does not confide in me, so how can I fulfill my duties as radnyi? How can I fulfill my purpose?” She finally paused, and I took my chance.
“Sita, I am sure Rama cares for you.” I could not imagine Rama not caring about any member of his family or his city. “But when it comes to matters of the heart—”
“I am not asking for you to make him love me,” Sita interrupted. “It is painful, to be sure, that I might feel more for him than he feels for me. But I would at least like to be a part of his life. If I am not the radnyi he needs, he will hate me. I am sure of it.”
“No,” I protested. “He will not hate you, Sita.”
“Rama is a god, and a powerful one. If one day I did not meet his standards, I know he could easily punish me.”
“But he would not,” I said.
Sita looked at me. “And what if I were to tell you that at night, he talks to me about how easily he can convince people to do his bidding? That he knows exactly what to say to someone to convince them to be a part of his work and sees how to weave people together?”
She was describing my own powers quite well.
“Sita, I know that may seem scary. But think. Rama has not actually done anything to hurt anyone. What he does, he does for the good of others.” Even as I spoke, I thought about Dasharath. Was his decision not likely a result of manipulation, even if unconscious? “Has he done something to worry you?”