“A boon is an oath that cannot be ignored. An oath witnessed by the gods. If this is what my father orders, then of course I will obey,” Rama said, lifting his arms. He paused. “Sita and I will depart Ayodhya tomorrow.”
My gaze shot to hers, and I saw her still. We all knew that she would have no choice but to go along with it. The whole court had heard Rama’s proclamation, and they were under his thrall besides.
“I too will go with them,” Lakshmana proclaimed, rising to his feet. “My brother will not be without protection.” At this, my mouth dropped, my entire mask falling away. Of course Lakshmana would do this. And sacrifice ten years of his life in the process.
I heard Sumitra whisper No, felt her hand clutch my arm. She must have not fully comprehended that all of this was my doing, or she would not be touching me now.
“Thank you, brother.” Rama embraced Lakshmana, and over Rama’s shoulder, Lakshmana mouthed a single word at me. I shook my head, uncomprehending, and he mouthed it again.
Panchavati, it looked like he was saying. Panchavati? I searched myself for any reference to that name, but none came to mind. Lakshmana’s memory was too good, how was I to know what he meant—
And then I knew. Panchavati was a forest to the south of the Vindhya range. At its eastern border lay Janasthana.
I raised my chin. “Lakshmana, you are so good to accompany your brother and his wife to Panchavati Forest.” I projected my voice over the hubbub in a slow, unhurried manner.
“Panchavati Forest?” Rama turned to me now, his expression unreadable.
“Yes. That is the place I have selected for you to pass your exile,” I said.
“How dare you?” somebody shouted from the amassed audience. Threads in the Binding Plane frayed and snapped, but I paid them no mind even as their loss ricocheted in my stomach. I do not need the court to like me any longer, I told myself, but the strange blankness of the Binding Plane without connections turned my stomach. It was exactly the same as the real world but leached of color. Hollow.
“How dare I?” I asked, turning my head toward the crowd with practiced slowness. Even if they were under Rama’s influence, I could still command their attention for this moment. “My boons were earned, and mine to do with as I wished.”
“Traitor!” someone else called. Others shouted far less kind words.
Rama lifted a hand for silence. “My mother speaks truly,” he said. “We cannot fault her for what we perceive to be failures in judgment. Please, do not act too harshly toward her.”
“They are not harsh enough,” a voice interjected.
My heart stuttered. It was Bharata.
I stood. “Bharata,” I began, all affectations dropping away. “Bharata, please do not be angry with me.” My plans to claim my boons had been formed in a rush, all at once, and I had not stopped to consult Bharata. But this was about him too, and it had been wrong of me not to at least warn him. I bowed my head.
“How could you, Ma?” he demanded. “I thought you loved us. All of us.”
“I do. And I love this kingdom. That is why I did this,” I said, and I broke my vow to never influence him. I pushed everything I dared into our fragile, pulsating bond, every bit of love I had for him.
“You do not love us, or this kingdom.” Bharata spoke softly, but everyone quieted to hear him. “You love only power.”
“Bharata, that is not true.” I spared a glance for Dasharath, but he sat quiet in his throne, oblivious to all around him.
Shatrugna placed a hand on Bharata’s shoulder. “You cannot reason with her,” Shatrugna said, throwing me a look of undisguised loathing.
“Please—” I tried one last time.
The bond between Bharata and me shattered quietly.
As the pieces fell around me in a dreadful rain, Bharata turned away from me and said to the court at large, “You are no mother of mine.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“MY LADY?” CAME A muffled voice from the front room.
You are no mother of mine.
I was lying in my bed, repeating Bharata’s words over and over again to myself. How had anybody gotten into my rooms? Manthara and Asha had left, or so I thought.
Then Asha walked into my bedroom, and I realized she must have only pretended to leave, in order to keep watch over me. I did not deserve friends like this. “Urmila and Lakshmana have come to say goodbye.”
I waved a hand at her, and Asha interpreted it according to her own will. She walked away and returned a moment later, Urmila and Lakshmana in tow. I did not get up.
“Ma,” Lakshmana murmured, kneeling beside my bed. “Ma, I am so sorry.”
I wanted to turn away from him but could not muster the energy to do so.
“I brought him here,” Urmila said. “He did not wish to disturb you, but he should not leave without saying goodbye.”
“I did not wish to be disturbed,” I whispered, my lips barely moving.
Lakshmana’s hand found my own. “I am so sorry, Ma. You truly are the best of us.”
“Ha.” The sound came straight from my belly. I made it again, because I could. “Ha.”
He remained undeterred. “I promise I will not let you down. I will not let Sita leave my sight.”
“When you sleep, Rama can do as he pleases,” I said. “It matters not. Stay in Ayodhya if you wish.”
“You cannot possibly want that.” He rose to his feet. “I will not sleep if that is what it requires.”
“Lakshmana,” Urmila said fiercely, “do not kill yourself for Sita’s sake. I will not lose both my sister and my husband to this idiocy.”
“I can do it,” he insisted. With great determination, I focused my eyes on him and caught an intense glint in his expression. “I swear it. I will protect Sita with my life, I swear this to the gods.”
“The gods are not listening,” I said. Even though I knew that much of Rama’s sins lay at the feet of a man, not the gods, they had done nothing to stop him, just as they had done nothing to help me. But Lakshmana and Urmila were paying me no mind—they had turned away from me. Of course, I had summoned all my remaining vigor for words nobody would listen to.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows, just as Lakshmana dropped to his knees. What in the world? I blinked a few times, watching as the shadow in the corner of my bedroom moved, coalescing into the shape of a woman, swathed in a cloak of deep, glimmering black.
The shadow woman approached me, but my eyes had difficulty grasping onto anything but her face. Her form remained shrouded in slippery darkness.
“I am Nidra,” she said, and each word reverberated within the walls, within the cage of my ribs.
I tipped my head back and laughed. I felt halfway out of my body, uncontrolled, hysterical. Nidra had been my favorite goddess to pray to as a child. Every night, when dreams eluded me in my stone room in Kekaya, I sent a prayer to the goddess of sleep. And every night, I learned anew that the goodwill of the gods did not extend to me.
“I hope you do not expect me to bow, my lady.”
Sorrow passed over her features. “I heard every one of your prayers,” she said. “And each time, I hoped to respond.”
“Hope is useless,” I bit out. “I was a child.”
“It is, is it not? You achieved greatness without us. Imagine what you might have done with us.”
“I would rather not.” This conversation stung like thousands of grains of salt pressed into a hundred bleeding wounds. Of course, now the gods would choose to talk to me, to approve of my worst actions.
“Oh, Kaikeyi,” Nidra breathed, and she passed a hand over the top of my head. As she did, tension and exhaustion melted out of me. The pain and the despair remained, but I felt calmer, like a ship that had just weathered river rapids to arrive bruised and beaten at a dock.
Then my mind caught up. “I thought you gods could do nothing for me. Gods-touched, forsaken.”
She gave a slight smile. “I suppose, but I have found my way around the rules before. Your dreams have not been wholly barren. And I awoke your son when Bhandasura first attacked you. I sent him the location of a scroll in a dream.”