The door was open when I reached my room, and I entered warily, wondering if some servant had left it open or something worse was afoot.
“Ma,” Bharata said from inside. I startled. I had not thought to hear my son’s voice again. He sounded choked. “I’m glad you are here. I worried when we couldn’t find you, but eventually we received word from the palace and I came as fast as I—” He took a deep breath, slowing the torrent of confusing words. “Can I speak with you?”
I stepped inside and closed the door. Bharata stood differently, his shoulders back and his posture confident. There was something in his bearing of his father, and of his uncle, even though the two men had looked nothing alike. I did not know what to say, and the lump in my throat grew painful.
“I am going to take the throne, Ma,” Bharata said after several moments of silence. “I know it may sound sudden after my insistence I would not, but I’ve realized the folly in what I did. Kosala needs peace, and stability. It needs what Father brought to the kingdom, with you by his side. I am so sorry it took this… Uncle’s… this tragedy for me to realize that.” He took another steadying breath. “But I am here, and I will listen to you now.”
I could not understand his words. I took two unsteady steps to a stool and sat down, the toy dangling from my numb fingers. Bharata’s eyes alighted on the little horse. “I had something like that, didn’t I? When I was young?” I nodded numbly. The reminder of who he had once been forced me to confront that this was real. I was not imagining this, and he was not making some terrible joke. He was standing before me saying these words with purpose.
I had assumed Rama’s control would be with him forever. But now, in the colorless world of the Plane, I found no trace of that bright blue. Could it be?
“Rama had one of these too,” I said. But no blue bond appeared. Bharata had somehow freed himself, all on his own. My heart stretched, beating fast, bursting with pride. But my head ached too, for if Bharata had only decided this a fortnight ago, my brother would still be alive. And yet it had taken my brother’s death for Bharata to realize his folly.
My thoughts circled in this way, until Bharata asked, uncertainly, “Ma?”
I shook myself from my stupor and found myself smiling, despite everything. The women of Kosala were strong. I could be too. “Do you really mean that?” I asked.
Bharata ducked his head. Gone was my mischievous, troublemaking child, and in his place was a young man who stood on his own. “I have said some horrible things to you. Things you did not deserve. I am ashamed, and I hope that one day you can forgive me. It was like I was a different person. But watching Uncle Yudhajit die, something in me just snapped.”
I remembered then what he had done. “Is Shatrugna—”
“The healers say Shatrugna will recover, but I hurt him badly.”
I wanted to tell him, You did the right thing, but what I really meant was that half of me wanted Shatrugna to pay the ultimate price for what he had done and part of me couldn’t bear to see him hurt at all, and in the end, Bharata’s punishment seemed just. “And all of a sudden you have realized the error of your ways?” I asked, trying to infuse some kindness into the harsh words.
“Yes. I am so sorry.” The Binding Plane pulsed with the sincerity of his words.
By never using the Binding Plane around my sons, I had missed the signs of Rama’s godhood. That mistake had cost me Rama. Lakshmana had been taken from me too. In every step, trying to protect my children, I had failed them. But now, in the Binding Plane, I had one son back. My throat swelled with the knowledge that Bharata was really here, talking to me. He loved me. “I regret what I did. I know you may never forgive me, but—”
“Of course I forgive you,” I interrupted.
“How—”
“I am your mother,” I said simply. “All I ever want is what is best for you and the kingdom. It seemed that you were the one unwilling to forgive me for what I had done. But I did it to protect you, to protect us all.”
“You wanted to avoid this,” Bharata said softly.
“Yes.”
“I know I can’t fix what has happened. But I want to be the ruler you meant for me to be. I have been up all night thinking, preparing. In a few days’ time, we will perform the rites to bless my reign, for I want to take all the correct steps. The gods have not smiled on Kosala for some time now.”
I did not dispute that at all. Kosala had become a pawn of the gods. But now, I thought the gods might leave us alone, busy following Rama’s adventures instead. And that would be far better than their blessing. “That is a good idea,” I said. “I did not think anything would change your mind.”
“I should have listened to you,” Bharata said again. “It was a mistake not to before, but I am going to fix that. I am going to fix the rift in our kingdom. And I cannot do it without you. Will you help me?”
In front of me stretched the years of Bharata’s reign. The people of Kosala, standing together, powerful and safe. Their paths forever altered, stretching toward a future of peace. I could even advise Bharata, but that power mattered little to me. Kaushalya could do it just as well. What truly warmed my heart was the idea that if I spoke, Bharata would listen to me. I would have my people back. I could not help Rama, I could not even stop him, but I could do this. I could have this. “Of course,” I said. “Whatever you need.”
Bharata smiled then, tired but genuine, and leaned in to embrace me. Everything else faded away as I held my child in my arms. “Everything will be better now,” he said in my ear, and I believed him. “I promise I will make you proud.”
EPILOGUE
SOME YEARS LATER, I stand alone at the banks of the Sarasvati River.
I am returning to Ayodhya after nearly three moons in Kekaya. Bharata and I traveled here together, but he departed before me to attend to his duties, while I lingered with my living brothers.
On our journey to Kekaya, he and I crossed the river without fanfare. But now, alone, something compels me to stop several paces downstream of the bridge. I remove my shoes and roll up my comfortable riding breeches to wade into the shallows. The current washes over my feet, a pleasant change from hours of riding. A refreshing breeze blows across the river, almost welcoming. Perhaps Sarasvati is watching me.
“I suppose you are right,” I say. “In the end, I have always been concerned with mortal affairs. But the fact that they were mortal did not make them small. Nor did it make me wrong.”
Behind me, birds chirp in the forest. The river continues down its course, unceasing.
Have I ever been happy here before? I felt alone, abandoned when I came as a child. When I crossed it for the first time as a new bride, I was devastated at the loss of my brother’s friendship. But I had been hopeful then too. I stood on the banks with Rama, fear penetrating my core so deeply that I could hardly breathe. And when Bharata and I made our desperate dash to my father’s bedside, my thoughts were consumed with what I left behind in Ayodhya. Even when I knew I was forsaken, even when the gods helped to tear my family apart, I wanted the comfort of her approval, and she had always disappointed.
But now I stand at the banks of the Sarasvati River, at peace without her. The years have blunted the loss of Yudhajit and Dasharath, so that it is no longer all-consuming. Yudhajit made his choices. I played a hand in his death, but it was not my fault. If not for his pride, he might have convinced his people that war was not necessary. He might have showed his sister more trust and respect.