At the next meeting of the Mantri Parishad, Rama and I found ourselves at odds. At our eastern border with Videha, a village had happened upon a seam of gold while digging the foundation of a new temple. Some had been sent to Ayodhya, and Dasharath wished for suggestions on what to do with the unexpected windfall. I immediately suggested we build another granary, remembering what had happened just this past season. We would not have had the funds for such a construction otherwise, and it was the prudent thing to do.
But as soon as I was done speaking, one of the new advisors cleared his throat. “That is an excellent suggestion, Radnyi, but it seems to me that the past season’s problems were due to a rakshasa. If we wish to prevent such occurrences again, perhaps this gift would be better spent on new weapons for the army.”
This was such a silly idea that I almost felt bad for the boy. Demons outside our borders cared little about the strength of Kosala’s armies. But before I could explain the folly of such a plan, Rama said, “The gods gifted this gold to us, in exchange for our kingdom’s piety in building a new temple. It would be fitting, then, to use it to strengthen our army on their behalf, and to defend ourselves from their enemies. We may find ourselves at war sooner than we expect.”
I saw Rama’s bonds brighten around the advisors. “We haven’t been to war in years,” I protested. “Most of you haven’t seen a battlefield. But some of us have, and we know the pain of it. It is not something to aspire to. A granary will help our people, and it will do so without stealing our kingdom’s children.” I looked around, hoping one of the senior ministers, those who had been around when Kosala faced border skirmishes year after year, might agree. But nobody else spoke. When Dasharath asked for a vote, only a third of the council was with me.
“I will consider both proposals,” Dasharath said.
Could I think of the last time he had expressly contradicted the will of the Mantri Parishad? My heart sank.
I waited until after the meeting was over to approach my husband. “Kaikeyi, I must allow Rama to start making decisions,” he said, already knowing why I sought to speak to him.
“But do you agree?” I pressed him. “You have always worked for peace. Stability. The granary will help on both counts.”
“I see the merits of both ideas,” he said. In the Binding Plane, the blue cord lay steady above his shoulders. “So in this instance, I will follow Rama’s will.”
“And the will of the Mantri Parishad,” I reminded him.
“Yes, of course.”
“You truly wish to see Kosala’s armies strengthened for war?”
“Rama has told me of his travels, of the dangers he has seen.” Dasharath’s expression was earnest, but I wondered how much of this was truly what he felt, and how much was what Rama had impressed upon him. “If he believes this to be the right path, then I trust him.”
I could not remember the last time my counsel had been so deftly set aside by Dasharath. I had worked so hard for his respect, for the respect of the Mantri Parishad, and now—
Rama needed to be told what power he held, so he could keep it in check. I had to speak to him directly, not get wrapped up in my own emotions. I pushed aside the hurt and caught up to Rama in the hallway.
“Are you upset?” he asked immediately. “Your idea was a good one, but the necessity of preparation—”
I raised a hand to stop the flow of words. “Do you realize why the rest of the Mantri Parishad agrees with you so readily?” I asked.
He frowned. “Because my ideas are sound, and they respect me.”
“That may be true,” I said, thinking back to what Sita had told me about Rama’s sway over others. “But you also try to move them, do you not? With some innate part of you?”
Rama considered these words, one finger on his cheek in such a boyish gesture that for a moment I had the urge to send him to his room. “I have always been able to see people’s souls,” he said finally. “And perhaps I have used that knowledge, but who wouldn’t? That does not mean I am forcing them into anything.”
“Aren’t you?” I asked. “You are extremely powerful. When you seek to sway someone, have you not considered you might be controlling them instead?”
“I—I don’t know.” Rama turned to face a tapestry spun from dark, shadowy hues. Vishnu’s third avatar, Varaha, stood in the cosmic ocean, his blue-black body half-submerged in the water. On his tusks sat the earth, woven in delicate floss of emerald and sapphire. Varaha had rescued the earth after she had been captured by an asura bent on destroying her. “I suppose… I have never been able to see your soul, and I have always had a hard time persuading you. And the same is true of Sita.”
I considered what to say next. Revealing my true nature to Rama might be the best way to prove to him what he was doing, but I wondered what he would think if he knew what I was. Would he look upon me with suspicion?
No. I was his mother. He loved me, just as I loved him—despite all my other doubts, I was sure of this. “You cannot see my soul because I am different. Because I too can see some of people’s souls. And when I look at them, I can see your influence. Your control. You may not have realized it, but it is there.”
Rama swallowed. The colors of the tapestry devoured the light, leaving shadows on his face. He reached out a hand to touch the flank of the boar, almost reverently. Did he think himself Vishnu, rescuing the earth? “I do not like to know I did such a thing unwittingly, Ma. But—it’s not bad, right? This influence? People want to obey the gods. It must be my gift, this ability to reach people.”
I wanted to shake him. “You are forcing people to do your bidding!” I said. “I am the only one speaking to you clearly, without influence.”
“Or,” Rama said slowly, turning back to me, “whatever places you outside my influence makes it harder for you to see the good in what I’m doing.”
He was right, in a way, and I hated it. Being gods-touched, and godsforsaken, had made me far more skeptical of the gods. And now, my own child. “Your father is not choosing to abdicate,” I said instead. “It is far too soon for him to be stepping down. He has many years left to rule, and yet, you are making him give up the throne. Does that not disturb you? The kingdom is strong, prosperous—”
“Which is why it must be now, before Kosala weakens, before the asuras’ power spreads.” He threw up his hands in frustration. “Why do you mistrust me so? I respect my father, and I always heed his counsel. With his blessing, I am doing what is best for the kingdom.”
“How do you know?” I asked him. “How do you know what is best for the kingdom?”
“Because I am a god!” he said. I could see it again, that great shadow he cast, and hear the ringing in his voice.
But it did not frighten me anymore. Instead, I was filled with a deep sorrow. He was convincing himself of his righteousness with every word he spoke, blinded to the truth. “You are still so young,” I told him. “And you have grown used to getting your way. But that does not make your way right. Wait to take the throne. I promise it can wait.” In my voice was a plea I hoped he would hear. This was as close as I could get to begging my son for something.
Instead, Rama shook his head and began striding toward the end of the corridor. “I do not have time to keep talking in circles with you, Ma. I wish you would just listen to me.”
“And I wish you would listen to me,” I said softly. But he did not hear. He stepped through the door and was gone.