“Look at me,” I instructed him. He slowly raised his eyes to meet mine. “Kosala is not your kingdom. This has nothing to do with you.”
“Kaikeyi, the appropriate response for such flagrant oath breaking is war.” An overwhelming sorrow permeated our bond. Was it from Ashwapati’s death, I wondered, or the fact that he was threatening his sister’s kingdom?
“I can try to ensure that Dasharath holds the throne for several more years,” I offered instead. “I have his ear and his confidence. Would that give you the time you needed to calm the court?” I had not tried approaching Dasharath directly, because Rama’s hold over him was so strong and I had not wished to compromise our own bond. But it was worth the risk to try to stop this madness, and such a delay would be good for Kosala too.
Yudhajit gave me an incredulous look. “We have diplomats in your court, and they have sent word of Dasharath’s firm intention to step down. And even if he didn’t, it would merely be a delay of the inevitable. His choice of heir is clear, and so is the insult.”
“What are you saying?” I demanded.
“I swore an oath,” Yudhajit said. “I am sorry to hurt you, but I have a duty to listen to my advisors and ensure my kingdom is respected. If Bharata does not take the throne, there will be war.”
I could not believe what he was saying. War, so that a young man who did not want the throne of a kingdom could fulfill the wishes of another. “The promise Dasharath made was to me. It was extracted by me.” But even as I spoke up in protest, I knew it would not matter. If my father and the kingdom wanted Yudhajit to do this, and if he himself agreed with them, there was nothing I could say to stop it.
“I will not have Kekaya be seen as weak.”
“You could change people’s minds,” I insisted.
“Kaikeyi, how can you find it acceptable for your husband to break the first promise he ever made you? You, of all people!”
“Yudhajit, he did not break his promise. I agreed to release him from it, after careful consideration. It was not done on a whim. Please, I am begging you. Think of the toll to our kingdoms if you do this.”
“Protecting our line is more important,” Yudhajit retorted.
I stared at him in shock for a moment as our bond thrummed with his conviction.
I had once felt that way. But I had inserted myself deeply into the lives of Kosala’s people and, in doing so, had long left that view behind. Perhaps Yudhajit had never experienced such a thing, as aloof a raja from his people as our father had been. But he was still a king, bound to his subjects, and he should have been better than this. “Our people matter. How could you say such a thing?”
“Kaikeyi, there is a difference between you and some person on the street. Of course every person has value to me, but you are my sister. I will always love you more and seek to protect you first.”
I groped for a response, any response that might move him, but we were at an impasse. Once our passions had caused a storm, but it seemed that his dispassion would be what truly destroyed us. “Please, Yudhajit. Hear me when I say you are not protecting me.” I looked into my brother’s eyes and willed him to understand.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, and perhaps he truly was. “But there is no other choice. Even if you cannot see it is right, I know what I must do.”
“So that’s it, then? Bharata takes the throne, or we go to war?”
“Yes,” he said, clearly so there was no mistaking him. “That’s it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I MADE THE RIDE back to Ayodhya in a daze. Once, I awoke in the night and turned over to look at my son, his face so peaceful and open in sleep that I nearly wept. I opened my mouth to ask him, Do you want to be the raja, instead of your brother? but came to my senses and instead just ran my fingers through his hair. His face, already childlike, melted into a sleepy smile. For a moment, the wall that I was trying to erect around my heart shook dangerously, but then I turned away and the feeling passed.
We arrived in the city only two days before the coronation, but I hardly cared. If I succeeded in changing Dasharath’s mind, I would become the most hated woman in the kingdom. Bharata would hate me too, and the people would hate him for taking the throne. And then there was the matter of convincing Dasharath at all. I knew that it was very possible that I would snap our bond, destroy our relationship, and still fail to put Bharata on the throne.
But there was one person who could change Dasharath’s mind, one person who might be able to stop this catastrophe.
I found Rama, in a rare moment, in his rooms. They were spare and clean, containing only the furniture he needed to live. As soon as he saw me, he came to embrace me. “I am so sorry,” he said. “So very sorry about your father. How is Bharata?”
His question gave me hope. “He is unhappy, of course. But he was not close with my father, and his grief will fade with time.”
“You seem very sad indeed,” Rama said. “Do you want anything? Water? It must have been a long journey.”
I shook my head. “Rama, I need to speak with you about something. About the throne.”
It was as if I had thrown a spark onto oil. His entire demeanor shifted, hardening. “You have scarcely returned from the death of your father and already you are talking about this?”
“Listen to me,” I said, pushing every bit of fire I had left in me into the words. Rama stilled, then nodded for me to continue. “Long ago, your father made my father a promise. That any son I bore would become king.”
Rama opened his mouth at that, but I pressed on. “I relinquished that promise years ago. I was happy for you, my son, to become king. What I did not know was that my father remembered this promise, and that he intended to hold your father to it.” My voice wavered as I spoke, and Rama put a hand on my shoulder. This small act warmed me. I covered his hand with my own.
“Before his death, my father forced my brother, the raja of Kekaya, to make a vow. A promise to the gods that he would see your father’s promise fulfilled. See Bharata become king.” Rama’s hand tightened on me, but he did not let go. I looked him in the eyes. “If Dasharath does not follow through on his promise, Kekaya will march to war against us. Rama, I would rather it be any other way than this. But you must let Bharata take the throne.”
Rama bent his head. It was a heavy thing to ask, and I could see the pain of it in the set of his jaw. I let myself imagine what might happen next. We would go to Dasharath together. He would surely be shocked, and dismayed, but he would accept it if it came from Rama. And then—
“No.” His eyes met mine, blazing. His hand dropped away. “I am sorry, Ma, but I cannot do that.”
My stomach plummeted, the fragile hope I had built crumbling away. He had barely even considered it. “Rama, we are talking of war. Not with rakshasas or asuras, but with other people. Innocent people, who worship the same gods we do.”
I could hear my heartbeat in my ears as I waited for his response. “It would not be right,” Rama said after a long moment. “The people of Kosala want me to become king. I cannot bow to the whims of another kingdom. We are not so weak.”
“It is not weak to avoid war,” I said, and my voice broke. Tears pricked at my eyes, and I let them. “It is the strongest thing you could do, to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”
“Please do not cry, Ma,” Rama said softly. But now he did not move to comfort me. He took a step back, as if to avoid getting caught in my emotion. “I do not do this to hurt you. Perhaps it will be useful for Ayodhya to clash with another kingdom first. To learn its own strength. You have to understand, there is a divine purpose at work. Nothing can compromise it.”