YUDHAJIT AND I PASSED the first months of our mother’s departure in this way, straddling that strange space that precedes adulthood. I was trying to prove to the women of the court that I was a woman myself, even though I did not feel or act like one, and Yudhajit was trying to earn his way into our father’s confidence, although he had little idea what the men of the palace really did when they were not out fighting.
One evening, about a year after my mother left, my father announced to us that a week hence we would travel to the Sarasvati River to pay tribute. There had been rumors of a rakshasa hiding in the northern foothills, where sparse herding villages dotted the rocky outcroppings. Each tale brought to our court was more fanciful than the last—that the rakshasa lived in a village and raided their neighbors, that the villagers worshipped the rakshasa for his protection, that some of the humans had begun drinking the blood of the rakshasa’s victims just as the rakshasa did. But it was indisputable that one of my father’s own scouts had seen the demonic ugliness of the rakshasa, and that any rakshasa walking our land was a threat.
Rakshasas were demons, though not as powerful as asuras. They satisfied the evil in their hearts by stalking humans rather than gods. I had only heard about them from scrolls and in Manthara’s tales—rakshasas ate misbehaving children, slaughtered those abandoned by the gods—but we all knew they still walked the outskirts of civilization. And so, my father thought it best to obtain the blessing of a goddess before facing the monster.
The Sarasvati was the source of many blessings for our people—women went there to pray and nine months later were gifted with sons. Warriors who stood in the Sarasvati and asked for strength returned from battles where greater men died. But most of all, the river was known for granting visions to the most learned of sages, who used their knowledge of things to come to avert disasters. They would see a rising flood and pray to the gods to change its course or foretell a poor crop and pray for better harvest. When their visions did not come to pass, the kingdom was grateful for their work.
Sarasvati prized intelligence above all else, and for this reason I had prayed to her daily as a young girl. It was due to this river that Kekaya was the powerful kingdom it was. Our sages had used the knowledge granted by the goddess to ensure our people remained holy—and in return we had her favor.
It had been some years since we had last visited the river, for with a royal retinue the trip could take several weeks there and back. My brothers and I greeted the announcement with great enthusiasm—while traveling, we all got to ride and play and sleep together in tents with no lessons or other responsibilities.
But the last time we had visited the Sarasvati, my mother had still been with us, and as I thought of traveling without her, a strange loneliness came over me. Manthara would not be attending, for she did not like to ride, and so one evening when Neeti came to my quarters, a small silver platter of sugared almonds and pistachios in her hands and a story ready on her lips, I asked her, “Will you come with me to the river?”
Her face fell instantly. “I’m sorry, Yuvradnyi. I have not been asked to go.”
“That is quite all right. I could arrange for it,” I said confidently.
She shook her head. “Even if you could, I would not wish to go.”
“It will be fun,” I wheedled, slipping into the Binding Plane as I did. Our orange cord had about the thickness of a thumb, and I sent the simple message through it in a slow, steady pulse. “We will travel with a whole retinue.”
Despite my work in the Binding Plane, though, Neeti shook her head. “I really am sorry, Yuvradnyi. Perhaps someone else can accompany you? I know a girl, Shruti, in the kitchens. You would like her.”
Frustrated, I gave another tug on the cord. It started to move up and down more quickly, gathering speed as I said, “Neeti, I am asking you for this. Please.” Now that I had the idea in my head, I would not be so easily dissuaded.
“I really do want to come,” she said quietly, and I assumed victory was near. After all, with the Binding Plane on my side, I could not fail. Then Neeti shook her head. “But I can’t.”
In the Binding Plane, the cord between us was just a blur of orange movement. I was sure that soon she would acquiesce. “I am asking as your yuvradnyi that you attend to me.”
Neeti’s expression hardened from regret into anger.
And then, in an instant, the cord reached its highest peak and snapped.
I stumbled back, forgetting for a moment that the bond was not in the real world. Around us, the shattered remnants of the cord drifted like orange ash, and my heart hammered in my throat. What had just happened? Neeti took a step toward me and hissed, “My mother is very sick. Just because your mother left you does not mean everyone else’s world is the same.” And then she upturned the plate of sweets onto me, her kind eyes sharp with fury, and disappeared out the door.
I stood there unable to believe what had happened, repeating the events in my head over and over. I had seen hatred in her eyes as she left. In my mind’s eye, I could see her face clouding over with ugly anger, directed at me. My stomach churned, and I reentered the Binding Plane, hoping to find this had all been a silly nightmare. But our orange bond was nowhere to be seen. A tear slipped down my face, my vision blurring as the Plane disappeared, but I brushed it away. It was stupid to cry over a servant who would turn on me so readily. But she had been more than that. She had been my friend, one of the few I’d had. And this was my own fault.
For it had been a normal enough request, and even if she had not wished to listen, that would not have ordinarily warranted such a reaction. The only thing out of the ordinary was that I had used the Binding Plane. Rather than merely annoying her, it appeared as though I had broken our connection. Did this mean, then, that my friendship with Neeti was over forever? That there was nothing connecting us anymore? Surely the effects of overusing the Plane would not be so severe—and yet, at potentially great consequence to herself, she had whispered those hateful words to me. Years of friendship gone in an instant, and over something so unimportant.
I had to be exceedingly careful about using the Plane on those I cared about. What if I had accidentally done this with my father… or Manthara, or Yudhajit? Just the idea brought the taste of acid to my mouth. My hands shook.
How could I have been so foolish? I should have known better than to use this power without thought, without knowing its full extent.
I would have to go to the Sarasvati alone. It was what I deserved.
For the first few days of our ride, I was subdued. Yudhajit tried to pull me into mischief, but all I could think about was Neeti. Every day I checked for our bond, but found nothing. But eventually the shock of it faded, and I joined Yudhajit, Shantanu, and Mohan racing through the camp in the evenings, chasing one another and shrieking with laughter. I reveled in the freedom I was afforded, for my opportunities to play with my brothers were becoming more and more scarce. We ran in and out of the forests near our camps, the air under the leaves cool and refreshing after a sweaty day of riding. We tried to catch small creatures, squirrels and little gray rabbits, and climbed up the branches of the smaller trees.
The day before we were due to arrive at the river, Yudhajit snuck into my tent and shook me awake. As the only royal girl, I slept alone with a guard posted outside the front of my tent—but clearly nobody had thought to protect the back flap. I had been in the throes of a nightmare that was already slipping away, and perhaps it was the adrenaline already coursing through me that made me hear him out instead of going back to sleep.
“The soldiers said that an elephant was seen in these forests not too long ago,” he whispered. “I want to go find it. Come with me?”
Yudhajit knew as well as I that elephants did not live in our kingdom. They lived in the south of Bharat, far from our cooler climates. “They must have been joking.”