Although Rama and I were still in our uneasy truce, he trying to recruit me while I tried to talk him down, I knew there were others in the court—the young men who would become advisors or those who had simply never liked me—who saw our split in the council and Rama’s impending coronation as an opportunity. In small ways, they began their work, spreading rumors about the Women’s Council or snubbing me during court events and social gatherings. I tried to pay them no mind. But one moon after my return to Ayodhya, they became impossible to ignore.
“Did you hear about the incident with the serving maids?” Sumitra asked me as we walked arm in arm through the gardens—a routine that remained a sanctuary for me.
“No, I did not. What happened?” Today, petals of flowers carpeted the path. They released a fragrant odor as we crushed them underfoot, but beneath that was the faintest scent of rot.
“How did you not hear of this?” Kaushalya chimed in, a strange note in her voice. I glanced at her and saw that her elegant brows were drawn together.
“Kaushalya feels sorry for the girls,” Sumitra confided. “But I would not. They made their own beds.” She gave a little giggle as though making some joke.
Kaushalya pursed her lips in disapproval. “I do feel sorry for them. Several of the women in our employ, it seems, were rumored to also be working in a brothel. The accusation was made anonymously, and the head of staff immediately dismissed them, despite not knowing whether the gossip was even true.”
“What?” I asked, struggling to catch up. “Were they new?”
“No. Some of them have worked here for years. They’re quite old for the brothel too. You might remember Saralaa or Mugdha—they were the first to seek audience with us, back when we had only a women’s circle.”
I felt hot and cold at the same time. “Yes, I remember them,” I whispered. “The accusation was anonymous?”
“I do not think you should worry overmuch about that,” Sumitra said. “After all, those beyond reproach would never have such things said about them in the first place.”
“Of course,” I muttered, for there was nothing I could do now, after the fact. Kaushalya gave me an odd look, lips downturned, and I glanced away.
Rama’s head might have been preoccupied with demons, but those who saw him as an opportunity to gain power had much more material concerns. If the goal was to purge my influence from the palace even at the lowest levels, they were succeeding. I was relieved that Riddhi had left to care for her aging mother and had been spared such an indignity.
The more I thought about it, though, the more I wondered whether perhaps this was what I could bring to Rama to show him the dangers of his influence, of his disrupting the balance of power in Kosala before he was ready. Surely he would not wish for innocent women to be dismissed from the palace?
But that evening, before I could make my way to my son, I received a summons to Dasharath’s chambers.
The moment I saw my husband’s drawn and weary face, all thoughts of Rama vanished.
I went to his side immediately. “What is it?” I asked.
“I do not know, but I cannot imagine it is pleasant news. A messenger just arrived from your brother, nearly dead on his feet, with an urgent missive for you.”
“Yudhajit?” I took the still-sealed papers from Dasharath and tore them open.
Kaikeyi, Father has returned, and he is dying. The healers give him one more moon, maybe less. He is asking for you, and your son. And there are matters we must discuss. Hurry back, sister.
“Kaikeyi? What does it say?” Dasharath’s face looked lined with worry, the peace of abdication gone in his concern for me. I might have been touched, relieved that he still cared so for me, had the news not been so dire.
“My father is close to death,” I whispered. My voice shook, not out of any emotion for him, but because I could not fathom having to leave Ayodhya now. “He wishes to see me, and to see Bharata, before it happens.”
Dasharath took my free hand in his, mistaking my nerves for sorrow. “I am so sorry. We will make preparations for you to leave at once.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“DO YOU THINK WE will make it in time?” Bharata asked as we made camp the first evening of our journey. It was the most time I had spent with him in some time, for I had only seen him at meals or passed him in the halls in the tumult since my arrival. “Before Grandfather dies?”
The uncertainty in his voice pierced through my fog of thoughts. I realized with my mind on Rama I had hardly comprehended the fact that Ashwapati—that my father was near death, or how much this might hurt Bharata.
“I do not know,” I said honestly. Bharata’s face reminded me of Yudhajit’s when we had been young, with his narrow nose and dark eyes.
“Uncle Yudhajit said that Grandfather was getting better.”
“When did he say that?”
“In his letter, a few months ago. He tells me how all our family in the kingdom is.”
I imagined Yudhajit painstakingly writing out the status of each of our brothers and their wives for Bharata, and I almost laughed. Even I did not want all that information if nothing was amiss. “That is very kind of him,” I said. Bharata leaned his head on my shoulder and I gently stroked his hair. “Do you remember when we first visited? My father was very sick then, and that is why he was away. He recovered enough to live a few more years. But now his turn has come, as every person’s must.”
“I don’t know him, and yet I feel sad.”
Bharata had never experienced death before, I realized. None of my sons had. Not on the battlefield, not in the loss of the oldest generation of family. They had been blessed in many ways. “It is always sad when any life is lost. And especially because, even if you have never met him, he is your grandfather.”
“You and Uncle Yudhajit will be sad,” Bharata said in a small voice. “I do not want that. I could not imagine how I would feel if Father died.”
“My father has been sick for a long time. Yours is healthy, vital. And you are strong. When that time comes, many years from now, you will be prepared.” I longed to embrace him, but something stayed my limbs.
“Are you prepared?” he asked.
It had been so long since I had seen my father, and longer still since I liked him. And now that I had met my mother, and learned how he had driven her away, I found it difficult to muster up any strong emotion. I was prepared—by virtue of not caring very much. But that is not the answer I wanted to offer my son. “Yes,” I said. “I have not lived there for some time. And you are much closer to your father than I ever was to mine.”
“But it will be very hard for Uncle.” Bharata’s voice was thoughtful. “He has told me so many stories about your childhood.”
“He has?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. We send letters all the time, you know. He has a lot of interesting stories about you. But… I suppose you’re not in the ones with Grandfather that much. You must have been busy with your other duties.”
That was a tactful way of framing his shrewd observation. “That is probably what happened,” I agreed.
Before I knew it, we were crossing the Sarasvati River.
“Do you remember what happened here, with Rama?” he asked as we passed by. “I always knew he was special, but I had never realized that he was blessed until that moment.”
“I remember,” I said quietly.
Bharata seemed content to continue rambling. “I hope we return in time for coronation. It will be a splendid occasion.”
“What do you want to do, when Rama becomes the king?” I asked.