“He was angry,” she said, her voice steadying as she spoke. “He was explaining to me how you had come to see him asking him to give up the throne two days before his coronation. I told him that you must have been tired, that perhaps you misspoke and… and he could not believe I had seen you, that I was defending you.” She stood up, twisting the end of her braid in her fingers. “He said a friend had told him that if he did not use a firm hand with me, I would never listen to him. That he hadn’t thought it good advice at that time, but perhaps he had been mistaken.”
This was a nightmare. It had to be. Rama was single-minded, and perhaps gullible, but he had never once shown himself to be this kind of man. A firm hand. It did not take much imagination to uncover what this might mean. I wanted to cry, even though it had happened to Sita. “What can I do?” My voice trembled. I did not want to believe that any man would consider hitting a woman, let alone a god. But perhaps she was just a mortal to Rama, someone who was getting in his way. And perhaps he was more man than god in some ways. How had so much changed in the span of one night?
Sita took my hand in hers. “You seemed… I mean… last night.” She kept trailing off and restarting, and I squeezed her fingers.
“You can say anything you want to me, Sita.”
“Can you really do something to help him? Stop him from actually doing this?”
I could not imagine how putting Bharata on the throne would help Sita. No. I would have to do something more. A thought sprang into my mind—I could send Rama away, far away from the pressures that had consumed him. That had turned him from a kind boy into a person willing to sacrifice his subjects in order to take the throne. It was difficult to imagine doing it, forcing him away for years, and yet perhaps there he could safely pursue his divine war without harming anyone else. And when he had worn himself out on this fool’s quest, he could return as the man Kosala needed him to be.
“I will see what I can do,” I told her.
She left with a small, hopeful smile, but when she did I let myself sink to the floor and give in to heartbreak. I had raised a son who would threaten a woman. Who would insinuate violence toward her. It was a grief beyond tears to contemplate, the totality of my failure. I sat crouched against the door until my thighs cramped and went numb. Only when Asha came through the door and nearly hit me did I rise on unsteady feet and set out to try to mend what I still could.
Some instinct directed me to the training fields.
Rama stood alone, his back to me and a bow in his hands, loosing arrow after arrow at a target.
“Ma,” he said without turning. “Would you love me if I did something terrible?”
“Of course,” I said, knowing where this was going. “But I might still be angry with you.”
He turned around. His eyes were red, as though he had been crying, and despite everything, I wanted to gather him in my arms. But the moment passed, for he was not the baby I had sung to sleep nor the child I had chased around the yard, as much as I wanted him to be. “You know, then. What I said to Sita.”
“Yes.” I wanted to comfort him, but he did not deserve it. I clasped my hands behind my back. “I am disappointed in you, Rama.”
“I wasn’t thinking,” he whispered. “I don’t know what came over me. I just—I feel so burdened. The pressure of my purpose is unbearable. And I wanted your help, so after we talked, and I realized you did not believe in me, I just… snapped. I am so sorry for what I did. For what I said.”
He hung his head in shame, the picture of contriteness, but it was too little, and it came too late. For I saw it then, the pattern. Under stress, Rama lashed out. He put people in danger. He had done it to me, to his brother, and now to Sita.
“Please, Ma,” Rama was saying. “You have to believe me.” But he was speaking from a distance. I had heard husbands speak like this before. I had heard it for years, since the inception of the Women’s Council.
“I believe that you are sorry, Rama,” I said. “But you have been sorry many times, and yet this is not the first time you have behaved this way. You threaten people because you feel a lack of control. It’s not right.”
“I know.” We stood there in silence for a few moments, and then he raised his head. “It will be better when I am raja. When I can actually carry out my purpose.”
“No.” His expression became confused, but I shook my head. “Your responsibilities will only intensify when you are king. You cannot treat your family this way, not for any purpose. Do you not see that?”
His brows drew together, and I could sense his annoyance building. “I understand what I did was wrong. Of course I do. But you are overreacting. This is more important. And I do not understand why you move so quickly to defend Sita, but not to defend the entire world, which I am telling you will suffer under the coming onslaught. Why do you not care for those countless others?”
“You are wrong, Rama. And I am sad you cannot see it.”
“Are you?” Rama demanded. “Or are you only seeing what you wish to see, so that you can keep your life comfortable? I feel as though you are abandoning me, Ma.” His voice cracked ever so slightly on that word, and I had to remind myself to harden my heart.
“Don’t turn this on me,” I said. “You committed the sin, not I.” As I said it, though, I remembered slapping him long ago. Had I been the one to teach him to use violence? No. It was not my fault alone.
“And what sin is it to turn your back on your son? My tutor told me you were blinded, that you cared not for the will of the gods, but I’ve never had reason to believe it until now.”
“This again?” I demanded. “Did you know Sage Vamadeva cursed his innocent wife? Consigned her to a life as a stone statue?”
“What are you talking about? Sage Vamadeva’s wife betrayed him with another man. She lied to him. He showed mercy not striking her dead.”
“How can you believe that?” I demanded. I had thought that perhaps when Rama heard the truth, he would reconsider. But even here, Vamadeva had reached Rama before me. “Do you think a woman should be killed for infidelity?”
“You might be different, Ma. But surely you know that most women introduce weakness into the world.” It was as though I had been hit in the chest by a horse, a blow that hurt so badly my fingers and toes tingled with the pain. It was finished. Rama was beyond my reach.
His quest had been given to him by a madman. I had to protect him from himself, protect others from him. I needed to take this responsibility from him and give him space to realize the error of his ways. And he needed to do this somewhere he could not harm anyone else.
I had to exile Rama.
As the sun began its descent, I found Dasharath in his suite of rooms, at his desk composing letters. The sight of him was a dagger. I knew this was what I must do, but even so the loss of Dasharath’s friendship would be an enormous blow. He had been a steadfast presence in my life for years, able to lighten my heart despite the heavy crown he wore. And now I would crush him. I knew when I did this, I would never again hear his laugh, experience his delightful mirth, or be wrapped in his comforting arms—and yet I would see him every day, and live with what I had done.
“Kaikeyi, I am so sorry,” he said the moment I entered. In this moment, his kindness was a curse. “I have been so busy today, I meant to send for you. Our entire kingdom grieves for your family.”
“Thank you.” I held myself stiff as he embraced me. I could not let myself have even this small pleasure, or I might have lost my nerve.
“Is something the matter?” he asked. Genuine concern thrummed across our diminished bond, and for a moment grief at what I had to do overwhelmed me. I took a deep breath and found my resolve.
“I have come to claim my boons.”
Dasharath’s brow furrowed in confusion then cleared. “Oh, yes, your boons. I granted you two for your service in the battle against Sambarasura.”
“Yes, my raja.”
“Well there is no need to use those,” he told me. “Whatever you wish I will give. Surely you know this by now, Kaikeyi.”
“I do,” I said. “But not this.”
He studied my face for a moment, then stepped back. “What is this about?”
I swallowed. “It is about Rama. He is not ready to take the throne.”