Kaikeyi

“I am so sorry,” she said the moment my eyes opened. “Kaikeyi. I am so very sorry.”

I opened my mouth but only a croak came out, and Kaushalya brought me a steel cup filled with water.

“Yudhajit still loved me,” I said, for that was my first thought upon waking. He had tried to save me. “I tried to save him.”

“You could not have done anything more.” She took my cold hand with her warm one. “I should have stopped them. I tried—”

“You did your best,” I told her. “I know you did.” I let the shroud of gray fall over the world so I could reassure her in the Binding Plane too, then tumbled out of it when the memory of the washed-out tent resurfaced. The night before was coming back in flashes, along with the raw edges of the grief-pain. “Did the whole camp burn down? Or did Bharata send someone back for the… for the…?” I couldn’t force the word body out of my mouth.

Kaushalya shook her head. “You’ll have to ask him, but I don’t think so. I’m so sorry.”

My mind repeated the facts to me, numb. Yudhajit was dead. The Kekayan army was slaughtered. Bharata had watched his uncle die, and in the harsh reality of the morning probably blamed my presence there for what had happened.

I recalled my promise that I would never interfere again and wished I had taken such a vow sooner.

“Thank you for sitting with me,” I whispered. “But I would like to be alone.”

Kaushalya smoothed my hair back with her fingers. “All right. There are some clothes in the corner when you are ready to rise,” she said. “If you need something, ask any of the guards. I will see you soon.”

My eyes pricked with tears at this kindness, for I did not deserve it. Did she not understand that I was the architect of all this misery? I watched her leave and then let my body go limp in the pallet, imagining Yudhajit’s final moments. He had seemed at peace, but it was a brutal, early, unnecessary end. And even when I had known what was coming, I failed to stop it. I wondered, when the story reached whichever brother of mine was set to assume the throne, whether any survivor would mention my name. Radnyi Kaikeyi was there, they might say. An omen of death and destruction.

Or perhaps they would just blame Bharata. After all, it was his unwillingness to assume the throne that had led to this pain. Now he was truly without family. His father was dead, two of his brothers gone, and his third brother had murdered his beloved uncle.

I realized, with a sudden panic, that here in this tent Bharata could find me. I could not face him, not after everything that had happened. I could not receive his condemnation again, for it would break what little was left of me. This fear gave me the energy I needed to lift myself up and change my clothes. There was likely a guard posted at the front of my tent, so I slipped out through the back.

I had not thought through my next steps, only that I could not face my child, but now my path seemed evident. I crept along the woods that bordered the tent, searching for what I needed, until finally I spotted a horse tied to a tree. It was unbelievably good luck, but I did not stop to question it. A bit of fortune after an eternity of poor luck left little impression. A stupid soldier had evidently left his mount unattended, and that was all. I untied it and slowly led it several steps into the trees so that no one could startle at my sudden movements.

Then I mounted the animal and began to ride. I would go home, where Asha and Manthara would draw me a bath and I could lie in bed undisturbed for the rest of my days. Only secluded was I no longer a danger to everyone I loved.

But even riding could not erase the images from my head.

Yudhajit, eyes staring at the top of the tent, unmoving.

Shatrugna, knocked to the floor by his own brother.

Bharata, tears streaking down his face.

Lakshmana, pale with fever.

Sita, sleepless shadows under her eyes.

Rama, just after I had slapped him all those years ago.

Everyone I cared for, I hurt. Every time I tried to help, I made things worse. Why had I bothered to seek out Yudhajit? There had been a moment, lying in bed, when I had thought to stay in Ayodhya. By going, all I had done was to make his final moments more worried, more frenzied. Perhaps without the distraction of my presence, Yudhajit would have been able to fight back more effectively. He was the better, more experienced warrior. It must have been me who killed him.

After only a few hours of riding, my body was close to giving out. My limbs ached, my throat burned with every breath, and I struggled to keep my eyes open. But out here on the road, if I stopped, I might never start going again. That was too easy for me. I needed to suffer for what I had done. I stayed slumped over on my horse, but it kept moving, until I saw through my half-closed eyes a collection of dilapidated huts that looked the way I felt.

The horse halted in the dusty center of the group, and I sat there, my fingers still clutching the reins. I did not move, even as several women came to see who I was. They murmured among themselves, and I expected them to leave me or drive me away. Instead, one reached up and pried my fingers off the reins, then helped me down. My knees buckled when my feet met the ground, and I felt an arm wrap around my waist, holding me up.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my words coming out slurred.

“She needs water,” someone said. “And a meal.”

Hands guided me to a stone seat, and someone pressed a ladle of water into my hand. I drank it, the coolness jolting me awake, as another woman handed me a bowl of rice.

“I cannot pay,” I explained, ashamed, and the woman laughed.

“Radnyi Kaikeyi, it is an honor.” I wondered how they knew who I was, but did not care enough to ask.

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

“I came to the Women’s Council once,” the woman who had helped me from my horse said as I ate. “My husband was dead, and I had no family, and the men of the village thought I brought misfortune. The other women managed to send me to the city to see you, and you gave me several chickens to make my own living with. You wrote me a letter saying my work and person should be respected. It changed my life.”

“I am glad to hear it,” I said, although her words were barely reaching me. I shoveled the rice and lentils into my mouth, the food giving me new energy. “This is delicious, thank you.”

“The men are all gone to war,” another woman said. “We have room, so surely you can stay a night?”

“Yes, Radnyi, it would be no trouble to give you a place to stay before you ride for the city.”

I shook my head. “I must keep going. I need to reach Ayodhya as soon as possible.” The women all nodded, solemn, as though they believed I had some greater purpose. I could have laughed at the irony—for once in my life, I was trying to escape to dullness—but I could not muster the will.

“Take this,” one of the women said, handing me several mangoes.

Another woman gave me some hard biscuits, and a third passed me dried sweets. Soon I had enough food to last me several days’ travels. “You need this more than I,” I argued. A bit of my old passion rose up in me. “Please, do not be offended, but I could not possibly do this to you.”

An older woman shook her head. “It would be an honor to know that we helped you. It is the least we can do,” she said. “Safe travels.”

As I rode away, I pondered the strange reception. They had given me what little they had, knowing full well what I had done to the kingdom. The story of Rama’s exile would have reached them some time ago. Perhaps they had not realized how disfavored I was and feared for their lives if they did not show deference. Yes, that was it.

By nightfall, any concerns over their treatment of me had faded as I stared up at the sky. I did not deserve Nidra’s blessing and the peace of mind that came with it. Instead, I fought to keep my eyes open, and when they closed, I watched Yudhajit die behind my lids again and again. This was my legacy.