“What could be more divine than preventing death and destruction?” I asked him, a pleading note in my voice. I clasped my hands together in front of me, stretching them out like a supplicant. “I have breathed the stench of the battlefield, Rama. I have watched men die. I have taken lives. It has convinced me that saving them is the better course.”
“War may cause destruction, but it is also glorious. You know that,” Rama said, shaking his head slightly. He was calm, aloof, as though this did not affect him. Seeing it was more painful than standing in the searing heat of Bhandasura’s flames. I had believed him immature, unready, but this willingness to jeopardize his entire kingdom for his own ascension was something new. It was a failure—my failure. And for it, both the kingdoms I loved would go to war.
The destruction that two large kingdoms might bring to each other was immense. If he had seen what I had on the battlefield, watched his father nearly die, perhaps he would not be so eager—
And then it came to me in a flash. On that day so many years ago, I had saved Dasharath’s life.
In return he had granted me two boons.
Rama was continuing to talk, to try to convince me of the glory of battle. But there was no time to dwell on it, this unholy ambition of my son. I held up my hand, and the torrent of words stopped. “I am sorry I asked you,” I said. “I see that you cannot be swayed. Forgive me.” I left him without a backward glance.
Manthara waited for me in my rooms, and when I saw her familiar form, clad in her usual soft cotton sari and smelling faintly of mint, I crumbled. The story of what had happened with Yudhajit came pouring out of me, as did my conversation with Rama.
“But I can use a boon to put Bharata on the throne. I will not let this war come to pass,” I finished. Even as I said it, I felt the rightness of the decision. I still had some power.
Manthara considered what I had said for several long moments. “This is a good plan,” she said at last. “But you must ask for your second boon from Dasharath immediately after your first. Ask for Bharata’s crowning, and then ask that Dasharath keep the reason secret from all others. Nobody will know, so nobody will blame you.” Manthara’s allegiance had always been to me and not to Kosala, and normally I drew great comfort from that. But doing what was best for me would hurt my husband too deeply.
“It would pain Dasharath to not say why he snubs Rama in this way,” I protested. “I could not.”
“You can and you will,” Manthara said. “If you want to maintain any power in this kingdom. If you want your son to take the throne smoothly.”
“I do not wish to—” I began. But the words I might’ve said remained lodged in my throat. I do not wish to hurt my husband. I loved Dasharath. He was a dear friend, and I would never wish to cause him pain. But if I used my boon to ask this of him, it would hurt him regardless. Now that Manthara had pointed out the need for secrecy, I could imagine what might happen if it became known that I had forced Dasharath to place Bharata on the throne. I would become a pariah, and the Women’s Council would fall by association. Those opportunists who circled Rama would swoop in at the crumbling of my reputation.
And so, as relieved as I was to know that I could avoid this war, I also knew claiming my boon would tear apart my family. I worried about Dasharath, but I worried too about Rama. I could not tell him in advance, for he would try to stop me. A part of me felt guilty for taking this away from him.
That night, I slipped through the corridors of the palace until I reached Sita’s chambers.
Her rooms were quiet, a breeze flowing in through the open veranda door. I found her sitting there, her back to me. Before her was a glow so bright I had to shut my eyes against it. Even through my eyelids the brightness burned, and I knew I was standing before divinity. I had felt this inscrutable force before.
After a few moments, the weight of the presence lifted. I opened my eyes, blinking against spots of darkness in my vision, to find only Sita. She had rotated on her stool to face me. “I was sorry to hear about your father,” she said.
“Thank you.” I took a step toward her. “I hope I did not interrupt.”
“I asked them to stay,” Sita said. “I suggested that they might speak to you, but… they refused.”
“Well, that is nothing new.” I tried to smile, but I could barely manage a quirk of my lips. Sita was gods-touched too, and yet they openly spoke to her.
“It is not like that.” Sita rose to her feet, her eyes beseeching. “They are merely trying to help me.”
“So am I,” I said. “You do not have to pretend. They have never wanted anything to do with me.”
She looked away. “It is not that they dislike you. They say there is no point in them talking to you because you will not listen to them. That you are concerned with only that which is before you, and that you cannot change what is to come.”
It was true that I cared little for the gods, yet I still smarted at the idea that they would both ignore and insult me. But I had come here for a reason, and it was not to hear the goddesses’ belittling remarks. “How have you fared in my absence?” I asked instead.
Now Sita looked away. “I wish to be a good wife,” she said at last. “But I think I will never be enough for Rama. I was crying, just now—that’s why they came to me. They really are kinder than they might seem.”
My heart fell. Trying to put Bharata on the throne would upend Sita’s life too, and if things had not yet improved between her and Rama… “What happened?”
Sita’s mouth twisted. “He has become consumed with preparing to fight the asuras, to the exclusion of all other affairs of the kingdom. Sometimes at night I find him pacing, unable to sleep for his dreams are filled with demons. I told him that there are no asuras or rakshasas here and he said to me, ‘Other men do not ask for the support of their wives, they simply command it. Perhaps it is time I learn how.’ I thought it in jest. But he said a wise man taught him that disagreement with the gods was sympathy for evil, and that he would not allow such a thing among those closest to him.” The words came pouring out of her. “I want to help him rid this world of evil if I can. But I worry he does not see that.”
At any other time, the thought that my sweet, gentle son had grown into a man who would treat his wife so would have driven me to distraction. But I had a war to avert, and I could not give in to the weight of my emotions. “Do you think it would be better if he waited to take the throne? Until he was more ready?” I asked at last. “Perhaps I could find a way to ensure that.”
This was the wrong thing to say. Her mouth pressed in a line. “Radnyi Kaikeyi, I appreciate what you are trying to do for me. But I do not wish to anger him further. It is up to me to convince him, to love him enough for him to listen to me. The goddesses are right in this at least. You cannot help me.”
Early the next morning, as I stretched my body to prepare for the day to come, a knock sounded on the door.
I found Sita on the other side, her eyes bright with tears.
“What is it?” I asked, ushering her in. The moment the door slid shut behind her, the tears began slipping down her cheeks.