Horror etched itself in the planes of Dasharath’s face, and the thickest blue chain I had ever seen choked him in the Binding Plane. “No, Kaikeyi. He is ready, and he will receive the crown tomorrow.”
“Somebody who treats his citizens as though they are expendable should not become king.” I wished, not for the first time, that I could tell him of everything else, of Rama’s magic and my own, and of Ravana’s confession besides. I wonder, if I had never kept it from Dasharath, might things have been different? But I had no reason to tell him now, for I had seen firsthand what happened if I tried to insinuate anything at all about Rama’s control. Rama’s influence on Dasharath superseded mine.
“Please, I beg of you, postpone the ceremony.” I poured everything I had into our bond.
“I will not.” He held himself like a soldier, although he had not been to battle in over ten years. His body hardened into sharp lines, and he stared at me as though I was the enemy.
“Then, Raja Dasharath, I ask these two boons of you. First, you must exile Rama beyond our borders for ten years.”
He stared at me blankly as though he could not believe my words. I felt as though I stood outside of my body, watching the hurt begin to creep over his face as he realized this was truly happening. Bleakly, I thought about taking it back, about pretending I had jested. But I said nothing, and we tumbled together over the precipice.
“No, no, I cannot, no,” Dasharath said, repeating these words over and over like a prayer.
“And second, you must place Bharata on the throne for these years. These boons I ask of you.”
“No!” he shouted, and I startled. But even then I was not afraid of him. I trusted him. I loved him. Even if I had managed to burn that all away, the impression of all we had shared would not be so easily erased.
He grabbed the collar of my blouse and hung his head. “Please, Kaikeyi. You are wrong. Please do not ask this of me.” His body shook with the force of his weeping, and still he clutched me.
Tears came to my eyes as well. “Dasharath, understand. He is unready. I would not ask this otherwise. When he has spent some time alone, improving himself, then he can come back and rule.” I kept my voice admirably steady as I tore out my husband’s heart.
“Kaikeyi, you do not know what you ask. I cannot go through with this.” He gasped out each word as though it physically pained him.
“Give me one reason why Rama must become raja now,” I said. “A single legitimate reason, and I will gladly withdraw my request.”
Dasharath at last lifted his red-rimmed eyes to my own, and I saw the despair there. “I have a feeling, deep in my chest, that it is the right thing to do. You would not ask me to contradict my sincerest beliefs, would you?” I could see that feeling, wrapped around him, controlling his every moment.
“I would,” I whispered. “You have already broken one such promise to me. Kekaya remembers. My brother remembers. He threatens war upon you for it, unless you make things right. Surely you would not bring war upon your people for breaking your sworn oath?”
Dasharath shook his head as though he had not heard my words, and any hope I had that my husband, at least, might see reason, was extinguished. “Please,” he begged, and I felt the tears slipping silently down my face. But I could not back down now.
“Dasharath, I am talking of war. You made an oath to my family. You made oaths to the gods. Your word cannot be broken.”
A knock sounded on the door, but Dasharath, nearly insensible, merely cradled his head in his hands. I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. On the second attempt, I managed to croak, “Who is it?”
“Kaikeyi?” came Kaushalya’s voice. She appeared in the doorway, and as she took in my tears and Dasharath’s posture, she swept forward and grasped my hands. “What is happening?” she asked. “Kaikeyi, is this about your father?”
I shook my head, unable to tell her what I had just done. Dasharath glanced at Kaushalya. “Long ago, I promised this treacherous woman that I would grant her two boons at any time. And now she has come to redeem them.”
Treacherous? Kaushalya mouthed at me, baffled and even a bit amused.
“She has demanded as her first boon that Rama be exiled for ten years. And as her second that Bharata become king in Rama’s stead.”
However I thought Kaushalya would react, this was not it: head tipped back in laughter, howls of mirth, tears of hilarity spilling from her eyes.
“It is true,” I said quietly.
Her laughter died as she took in my face. “What?”
I merely nodded my head.
“Kaikeyi. No. Why?”
“I am so sorry, Kaushalya.” I reached out a hand, but she backed away from me until she had pressed herself against the wall.
“Why?” she repeated. “Have you been so jealous of me all this time? This is your way of taking revenge?”
“It has nothing to do with jealousy.” I managed to keep my voice steady, despite the sharp sting of pain. Deep in my heart, in a place I could hardly admit to myself, I had imagined that Dasharath and Kaushalya might still come around. Imagined that our bonds were strong and true, and could resist the divine influence of our son. “He is not ready.”
“You are a faithless woman,” Dasharath proclaimed, rising to his feet. “Your oaths to the gods are meaningless. They forsook you long ago. I cannot believe you so fooled me, that I took you into my confidence. Rama was right. I never should have given a woman so much power.”
“What?” Kaushalya asked, but we paid her no mind.
“You swore to me and to the gods,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “Now say it in front of Kaushalya as your witness. Will you fulfill your boons to me, Raja Dasharath?” I lifted my chin and composed my face into as haughty an image as I could muster. If they wished me to be a jealous, faithless, prideful woman, I would give them what they wanted. That was what it would take to see this task through. I gave the golden string a final push.
Our bond, that great construction that had carried us through my father’s hall to the palace of Ayodhya, from the battlefield to the council room to the building of a revolutionary kingdom—that golden thread that had been so vital, so precious—snapped in two.
Dasharath fell to his knees, and the impact ricocheted through my body. It felt as though if I were to exit the Binding Plane, the world would remain grayed. Fragments of gold fell to the shrouded floor and vanished like the last fragments of a dream.
A piece of my soul dissolved with them.
And Dasharath, broken and tired and suddenly much older than his years, whispered, “I will.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
MY HUSBAND COLLAPSED.
You did this, Kaushalya’s expression seemed to say as she rushed to his side and tried to rouse him. Or perhaps that was simply my own mind. I thought my heart would burst from the agony of it.
Dasharath did not wake.
Undeterred, Kaushalya hooked her arms under his, trying to move him.
At last, my limbs loosened, and I helped her to lift him onto his great bed. We did not speak as we went about our task, and each time our hands brushed, one of us jerked away.
At last, she broke the silence. “Should we call a healer?”
I pressed my fingers under his chin. “Yes. But his heart holds steady.” I turned away so I would not have to see her expression.
“Kaikeyi,” she said. I did not turn around. “Kaikeyi,” she repeated, and placed a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off, unable to face her.
“I will say my piece. I am incredibly angry at you. I am so very angry, I could slap you, claw at your eyes.”
“I know.” I hung my head, unable to face her disappointment.
She sighed. “You know nothing, you monumental idiot. I am furious because you did not tell me of any of this. You never mentioned a thing. I want Rama to take the throne, and one day he will be a great ruler. But I agree with you. He is unready. I could not do anything about it, I can barely open my mouth in his presence, but you have always been stronger—and for that I am grateful.”
I spun around. “What?”