I personally did not think such things simply happened or were so easily forgivable, but I no longer had any standing to judge others.
“No, they do not,” Dasharath told her, and longing ran through me for our years of partnership, of perfect coordination. “His parents, with their dying strength, cursed me. They said that just as they had lost the light of their life, their beautiful and generous Shravan, I too would one day experience that same grief. I too would lose the son I cherished most. And they hoped it would kill me.
“When Kaikeyi opened her mouth and demanded those boons, I could see it was not her, but the curse itself coming for me. I am being punished for my sins.”
“You are hardly being punished in the same way. Rama will return in ten years, and you simply have to live to greet him again at the gates,” Kaushalya said. “Your son is alive and well.”
“I am being punished,” Dasharath insisted, and he gave a great rasping cough. It was too painful for me to hear, and I peeled myself from the door to lean against the wall instead, studying the tiled floor with bleary eyes.
After what seemed like an eternity, Kaushalya emerged from the room. “He is unconscious,” she said. “You can go see him.”
Unsteady and heartsick, I went up to his bed and brushed my hand against his forehead. His face radiated heat, and my fingers felt as though they had been burned. I had witnessed a fever this intense only once before, with Lakshmana.
It seemed as though he pushed up into my touch, but perhaps it was only my imagination. I rested my whole palm against his forehead, hoping the coolness would provide some relief. Too soon, too soon, Kaushalya rested a hand on my shoulder. “It is time for us to go,” she said. “Say farewell.”
I brushed my lips against his cheek.
“Goodbye,” I murmured in his ear. “I am so sorry, and I love you. May you suffer no longer.” I knew there was no point in hoping anymore that he might wake up again to forgive me. I had heard his deathbed confession and recognized it for what it was.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
DASHARATH OF AYODHYA, THE greatest ruler Kosala had known, died the next night. I heard the cries before a messenger reached me with the news, and by the time he arrived at my door I was already on my knees, tearing at my clothes and beating my chest in pure grief. However difficult our last week together might have been, he had been a dear friend to me. He had given me everything. I had lost a confidante, an ally, a partner.
I stood silent, wrapped in a thin white sari that made me feel like a ghost, while they burned him. As the flames leapt up to claim my husband’s body, I considered joining him on the pyre.
It was not unheard of for women in the depths of grief to fling themselves into the fire after their husbands, though it rarely happened in such civilized and progressive societies as our own. And yet, I thought about it. The release of death might be preferable to the life that stretched before me now.
I spared a glance for Bharata and Shatrugna, standing with their backs stiff at the edges of their father’s bier, and I knew that if I were to die, they would immediately reverse their father’s last judgment. As I watched, Shatrugna placed an arm around Bharata’s shoulders. I wished desperately I could have done that myself, and this longing kept me planted where I stood.
That night, Kaushalya came by my rooms, to inform me that Bharata had ridden out, postponing his coronation by a month so that he could find Rama on the road and beg him to return home. She would be ruling Ayodhya in Bharata’s absence. Despite my fear that Yudhajit might hear of this, and march to war, the news brought me a small smile. In previous eras, Shatrugna would have taken the throne, or one of the senior members of the Mantri Parishad. But times had changed, actually changed, and this was proof. This is what I had fought to preserve, and for a sweet moment it was worth it.
Bharata returned to the palace alone.
Kaushalya came to find me soon after, her elegant features twisted in confusion. “Bharata said that he arrived in their camp in the middle of the night and found Lakshmana standing awake by the horses. He spoke with Lakshmana for an hour, he claims, and in the end, his brother convinced him that his first act as raja could not be to undo his father’s last.”
“Smart boy,” I said, and Kaushalya ignored me.
“Lakshmana said it was shameful for Bharata to be there, and that Rama would feel the same way if he knew about this midnight conversation. He said that Rama wanted to honor his father’s wishes and would gladly spend his years in the forest to do so. He said that Rama would be angry to learn that Bharata had visited at all. Bharata did not want to offend Rama, so he asked for Rama’s chapals.”
“His chapals?” I repeated, confused.
She sighed. “I do not understand either. Lakshmana slipped Rama’s sandals off his sleeping form and gave them to Bharata. Bharata departed immediately and brought the shoes here, to Ayodhya. And he says his coronation will be tomorrow, with no fanfare. He has told me he feels this is a tragedy, not a celebration.”
The next morning, I armored myself in my finest sari, a blue and gold heavy silk embroidered so finely that it shimmered like water, and made my way to court. I ignored the whispers of the nobles around me as I made my way across the hall, focused only on my son.
Bharata sat on the ground near the throne, cross-legged. The low pressure of murmurs built, no longer just about me. Has he gone mad? I am sure they wondered. The tension swelled, filling the entire chamber, until Bharata rose to his feet.
“People of Ayodhya,” he proclaimed, his voice stronger than I’d ever heard it, ringing out across the room. “We have lost in a short time our great raja and our beloved yuvraja. I mourn them just as you do. My father and my brother were meant to rule this kingdom, and they were torn from us. I am not worthy of taking this throne in their stead. So, while Rama is in exile, I will not.”
He lifted his hands, and I realized he held a pair of shoes. “These are my brother’s chapals. They will remain on the throne for these ten years, to remind us that he will return to his rightful place in time. I will spend these years in penance, praying and atoning for the sins of the woman who bore me.”
No, I thought. No, this cannot be happening. The heat rose in my cheeks as all eyes turned to me. I wanted to cry, to scream, to run up to Bharata and shake him, but instead I stood paralyzed, stomach churning. Bharata’s gaze found me, and he walked toward me with slow, deliberate steps. Sumitra and Kaushalya each took a rustling step back, so that he and I faced each other alone on the dais.
“Hear me now,” he said, as though sentencing a common criminal. “I curse you for your sins.”
Curse me? My own son? “Bharata, please.” My voice shook despite my best efforts. “I have tried to tell you, you know not what you are doing. You would risk the whole kingdom for this?” I took a step toward him, but Shatrugna was there, blocking my path, forcing me away from my other son, my blood.
“I heard everything you told me,” Bharata said, and at this, the last shred of hope I carried in my heart vanished. If he had truly listened, then he knew what his actions would unleash. And to look at him, he did not care. “You have been a plague on this kingdom, an awful, godsforsaken woman. But it shall stop with you. You, Kaikeyi of Kekaya, will be the last of your name.” Each word rang as he spoke it, and I felt the sentence come down with finality. It would have hurt to hear anybody say such a thing, but coming from my own son, I knew it in my very bones: I was cursed.
How appropriate, that I should be the first of my name and the last. How fitting, that now, at last, I knew what that threat meant.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT