“He wishes to rule, and now his perfectly healthy father is abdicating. I do not believe that was Raja Dasharath’s decision.” It was as though she had seen my fears and given them voice.
“Rama loves his father,” I said, maternal instinct pushing me to defend my son. But I doubted. For I knew much less about Rama than I thought. He had hidden Sage Vamadeva from me, despite knowing the man’s beliefs. I wanted to blame another man for everything, but Rama was his own person. An adult. I believed his actions were unconscious, but could I really know that about him?
“I know that he does, but…” She sighed. “I do not know how to explain it better than this. You are always so wise, and I thought perhaps you would have an answer.”
“What would you have me do?” I asked.
“Do you not see? You are the only person who can stand up to him. He has no power over you, but he still cares for you and your opinion, does he not?”
Maybe that had once been true. I did not know any longer.
A wave of exhaustion swept over me. This was all too much. “I need to think. Thank you for coming to me with your concerns,” I said to Sita. “Let us talk further tomorrow.”
Her face fell, but she bowed her head and left.
Manthara had departed on some errand while we spoke, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The walls felt unfamiliar after moons away, just another piece of my home that was now foreign to me. I shivered under my robe. I was exposed, vulnerable, in a way I had not been for many years. This Ayodhya wasn’t quite mine anymore.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN I arrived at the Mantri Parishad, I was surprised to find several new faces. I recognized the children of some older ministers, young men who were not much older than Rama. They looked at him as though he was already wearing the crown. Until now, I had imagined Rama perhaps wreaking this havoc without understanding his own actions. But this was real and deliberate, not unconscious magic.
I stepped into the Binding Plane. To my shock, I was greeted not by a riot of color, but the sight of thin, sickly strings that nearly blended into the gray of the world around me. My connection to almost every advisor was failing. And the moment I was seated, bright blue threads flared into existence, connected not to me, but to my son. The weakness of my bond to Dasharath still lay heavy in my heart, and seeing this, my life’s work, gone in mere months… I felt empty. The absence, in a way, was worse than pain. I could not bring myself to even try to reinvigorate those threads. And every time Rama spoke during the meeting, his bonds shone as if set aflame.
After the council, Rama sought me out. “Ma, it is good to see you again.” His smile was sincere, his warm manner unchanged. This was no incomprehensible stranger, no conniving disciple. He was my son—my son.
“You as well,” I said, finding a smile of my own. Even so, my voice sounded uncertain to my ears, and his face fell a fraction. I responded as his mother, on instinct, my arms reaching out and hugging him, rubbing his back to soothe away his sadness. He relaxed against me, as he always had. But between my body and my mind lay a gap of suspicions, the distance between us clear.
“How was your journey?” he asked. “What did you learn of the asura?”
His words unsettled me in the same way Dasharath’s missive had. But why? “Janasthana is safe for our traders now,” I said slowly.
“I imagine you had something to do with that,” Rama said, still smiling. “And I—”
“How did you know there was an asura?” I asked, realization flooding me.
Rama took a step back from me, brow furrowing. “Father told me.”
“I have not yet had the chance to tell him what I encountered.” Every rumor had named the evil a rakshasa. My heart beat so loudly I thought he might hear it. He knew. He knew. How did he know?
Rama pressed his lips together. “Perhaps I—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
He sighed, and we stared at each other in charged silence. “I do not want you to be angry with me, Ma. You must understand, I only wanted to show you the frightening truth of this world.”
“No,” I whispered. The stone walls of the room were closing in on me. “You… You sent Shishir and Bhandasura. To frighten me? They could have killed me.” I wanted to turn away so I could not see his face. My fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms. He had betrayed me. Betrayed his brother. “They could have killed us,” I said again.
“I did not intend for you to ever learn this,” Rama said, his voice sorrowful. His sadness was meaningless. He had done the unthinkable. And for what? “But you have a way of finding the truth. I did ask Lord Shishir to assist me by showing you the seriousness of the situation. The asura was already there. His kind have become a plague in the south, and I needed you to see it.”
“Lord Shishir injured your brother quite badly. And I almost died.” My words came out quietly. I felt nearly dizzy with anger.
At this, Rama’s expression flitted first to shock, then to concern. He glanced over me. “Are you all right now? Do you need to sit? How has Lakshmana recovered? That was never—never supposed to happen. I am so sorry, Ma.”
His sincerity shone through in his torrent of words, but I was still furious. “An apology is not enough for putting us in such danger!”
“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, then lowered himself to his knees before me. “Please, Ma. Please. I promise that was not my intention.” His voice trembled, and at this, I felt some of my own anger loosen. His contrition, at least, was honest.
“I know you did not mean to hurt me,” I said, and he looked up at me, hope in his eyes. “But even if that wasn’t the intention, how could you risk such a thing?”
Rama rose slowly but lowered his gaze to my feet. “This will sound foolish now. But a wise friend pointed out to me that you only believe what you see directly. And I have watched you. I know that is true. You focus on your own goals, on what is in front of you that needs fixing. I hoped that once you saw the true threat facing this world, you might be able to better understand my purpose.”
In the revelation that Rama had thrown me into danger, I had almost forgotten about Rama’s erstwhile tutor.
“I knew you would be fine,” he continued. “I trusted you, because you are strong, and I want you to be my ally in this. You have always asked what my path is, and now I will tell you. It is my divine duty to rid this earth of the asuras and rakshasas that threaten to overtake it, that creep northward toward civilization day by day. And to do so, I will need the armies and men of Kosala beside me. But that does not mean there is no place for you.”
“Oh, Rama,” I said, swallowing past a lump in my throat. “I was just as threatened by the god that you sent as by any rakshasa or asura. That does not mean we should wage war against the gods. So why do you wish to do so for the asuras?”
“What of your supposed friend, Ravana?” Rama asked, frustration creeping into his tone. “Do you not find it most convenient that the asura appeared just in time for Ravana to come save Janasthana? He himself is an asura!”
If I had not been so filled with sadness and anger, I might have gasped. It was clear to me Rama was not lying about this, and yet the idea that Ravana had been Bhandasura’s master was laughable. “Think about it. He expands his kingdom every day, through trickery and fear. His ancestral lands lie far to the south in Lanka, and yet he prowls toward us.”
“Ravana saved that city. The people welcomed him as their savior, regardless of his identity.”
Rama blew out a breath. “He was right! You only see what you wish to see.”