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Kaikeyi’s mother had gone from being the queen to being nobody, all because her father said so. Until that moment, she had thought of her father as all good and her mother as the evil one. The truth, however, was that Kaikeyi was a powerless girl, like her mother had been.
She even looked like her mother. Would she too fall into disfavor one day and cease to exist?
Until then, she had thought herself fearless. She had been fast and deadly with her sword.
She only had a few scars on her body from her many fights. From then onward, she had known that her fear hid from her, a skillful sneak that she could neither capture nor exile.
But she knew that she did not want to end up like her mother. Exiled. Banished. Rejected.
So many years later, she could still feel that amorphous fear sneaking around in her heart.
A soft horse muzzle tickled her neck.
“You are daydreaming, Mother.” Rama smiled down at her from his white mare.
All four boys were on horseback, surrounding her. She had again been lost in her mind.
She mounted the mare they had brought for her.
She turned to Bharata, looking at his horse. “Is that the one that threw you?”
“No.” He looked suddenly worried. “Should I have chosen the same one?”
“It’s important to master an aggressive horse. We will work with that horse another day.
Now, if any of you want to be like me, you will need to listen not to me but to the horse you are sitting on. We will be silent for a minute. You will listen to your horse. Then we will talk about anything you noticed. Start now.”
Kaikeyi listened to her breaths, counting them in seconds. She noticed that Rama was the first to close his eyes. Perhaps following his lead, the others did too. Sixty breaths later, only Rama’s eyes were still closed. Kaikeyi was impressed. It wasn’t like the horses stood perfectly still, but Rama’s eyelids had not even fluttered.
“What did you notice?” she asked of them all.
“He is warm,” Shatrugna said. “His sides feel warm against my legs.”
“My legs became like part of his flanks,” Lakshmana said, continuing his twin’s train of thought.
“Good,” Kaikeyi encouraged. “What else?”
“She misses the fields where she used to run free,” Rama said.
Kaikeyi felt her stomach contract. Rama’s white mare came from Kekaya. Was Rama merely guessing? To hide her confusion, she turned to Bharata. “What did your horse tell you?”
Bharata blinked and frowned. “I think he is tired. Or maybe I am. I’m not sure.”
“Don’t worry,” she assured. “You are still shaken from your fall. Even though you are unhurt, your body will be quite sore tomorrow.”
“Repeat this exercise three times,” she instructed, “and discuss your findings with each 225
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other, like we just did. It’s important that the horses learn to heed your stillness as much as your call to action. Understand?”
“Yes,” they chanted.
“Rama, come with me,” she said, surprising herself. His words had awoken a deep longing in her, not only for Kekaya’s lands, but for a time when she had felt that she knew every word and thought her horse had. “We will ride without saddle or reins,” she said, dismounting.
Rama followed. She had to help him take off the saddle; he was not tall or strong enough to do it on his own, and yet she sensed that his wisdom dwarfed hers.
“Rama,” she said, feeling giddy, “today I will follow you!”
When Rama threw himself onto the horse’s back, entwining his fingers into her mane, Kaikeyi did the same. They rode away wildly, fulfilling the white mare’s desire to run free.
They galloped, letting the horses jump the fence, then on and on, until Kaikeyi felt like her daydream had come alive. She was free and flying.
When they returned, Kaikeyi was full of life. She was inspired to her core by Rama’s intuition with his horse. She recognized a natural master in him. How had he ever gotten thrown off a single horse? As they trotted back, more calmly now, she asked him this. To her surprise, he fidgeted and hedged. Kaikeyi felt certain then that no horse would ever throw Rama off its back. He had let himself be thrown off, for the sake of his brothers. What a brother he was!
In her delight of Rama’s talent, she had neglected to engage the other princes. They had long since finished the three rounds of “listening” that she had assigned and were aimlessly trotting around the training grounds. When Kaikeyi and Rama returned over the fence, the other princes came to them at once, eager to share their findings and continue their training.
But Manthara was livid.
“Kaikeyi!” she called, in that voice that Kaikeyi had learned not to ignore.
She quickly gave her sons another round of instructions and rode over to Manthara.
“Get down from that horse,” Manthara commanded.
Kaikeyi sighed, yet did as she was told. It was more painless to simply do what Manthara said.
“What on earth are you doing?” Manthara demanded.
“I don’t understand. You can see for yourself what I’m doing here.” Kaikeyi motioned to the princes diligently doing their assigned activity in the middle of the training grounds.
“I see. You are such a fool that you yourself do not even know what you are doing.”
Kaikeyi clenched her jaw and waited.
“You are supposed to teach Bharata,” Manthara said angrily. “Instead, you are blatantly favoring Rama!”
Kaikeyi was shocked by Manthara’s observation. At no time had she consciously tried to do anything of the sort.
“They both need to know how to ride,” Kaikeyi said in protest.
“Yes, but why are you favoring Rama?”
“I’m not favoring him. They are equal to me,” Kaikeyi said, realizing it was true. She made no distinction between Rama and Bharata. Yes, Bharata was the son of her body. She 226
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doted on him. But at no time had she considered training Bharata to the exclusion of the other boys.
“Rama is not your son. Don’t forget that,” Manthara said, and turned away so that Kaikeyi could say no more.
Kaikeyi found that she had no retort. She had never forgotten whose son Rama was.
But she knew now that it made no difference to her. She loved Rama just as much as she loved Bharata. This realization flooded Kaikeyi’s heart, washing out Manthara’s insistence that Bharata had to be king. What did it matter who was king, as long as everyone loved each other?
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chapter 27
The Summit of Fifty Kings
The Summit of Fifty Kings was upon them again. Held every ten years, it was without a doubt Ayodhya’s most important function. The fifty acknowledged kings traveled from all corners of the Earth, some of them journeying for many months, to assemble outside Ayodhya, near the river Sarayu. Rama and his brothers were well into their seventh year when the time for the summit came. Dasharatha was very excited. It would be the first time the tributary kings would meet his sons.
The summit would take place in the arena built for the Great Sacrifice that had given him these sons. The subordinate kings would see for themselves that Dasharatha had heirs; the Sun dynasty would continue with undiminished brilliance. All the arrangements were made, and Dasharatha personally briefed his sons on what to expect. The kings came to the summit to match their strength with one another.
That had always been the primary reason for the summit. This was the opportunity for the subordinate kings to establish hierarchies among themselves without going to war.
On the day of the departure, Dasharatha formally took farewell of his queens. No woman—a queen or a courtesan—was allowed at the summit, for a man’s weakness had ever been his beloved. The only thing Dasharatha had not prepared for was the farewell between the mothers and their sons. The queens had
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never gone a day without their children. When the young princes did not emerge from the palace at the appointed time and the procession and large retinue stood ready, Dasharatha returned to the place where the queens were. He had left the princes there, satisfied that they were decorated with sandalwood and the auspicious red mark on the forehead.
In his absence, however, the scene had turned from formal into emotional. The mothers, even Kausalya, were smothering the boys with kisses and affection. Kaikeyi clung to Bharata as if her life depended on it.
“Neither land nor sea can part you from me,” she repeated through her tears.
“It’s only a matter of ten days,” Dasharatha reminded them. “The princes will never be in danger. We have doubled the guards, and our sons will be vigilantly protected.”
He might as well have said nothing. Kaikeyi held Bharata even closer, and the twins clung to Sumitra. Kausalya was whispering into Rama’s ear, stroking his cheek.
Dasharatha’s attention settled on Kaikeyi, as it always did. Her words struck a deep chord; there was some kind of binding sadness under the words, something that made him want to hold her and never let go. He went to Kaikeyi’s side and put a soothing hand on her.
“Come, Bharata,” he said. “It’s time.” He straightened, with Bharata’s hand in his. “Boys.
Princes of Ayodhya. It’s time.”
The mothers reluctantly let go.
“We will see you in no time,” Dasharatha said.
The princes were ushered along by attendants, and Dasharatha walked forward swiftly, leading his sons by example.
As they walked down the steps toward their awaiting chariots, Dasharatha heard Rama ask, “Bharata, what did Mother’s words mean, ‘Neither land nor sea can part you from me.’”
“It means Mother loves me,” Bharata said. “More than anything. Forever.”
Dasharatha turned at the bottom of the steps, looking up at his sons.
“What we really are cannot die,” he said. “I think that’s what your mother means. That even if we are parted prematurely by death or man-made events, the soul will never cease to love.”
The boys descended. “Can we ride with you, Father?”
Rama was the spokesperson, but the other three nodded eagerly.
“Your own chariots are ready, see?” Dasharatha motioned to the two empty chariots behind his.
“We want to ride with you, Father,” Rama repeated.
“Very well. As you wish.”
The king’s chariot was sturdy, drawn by four steeds, and suitable for several grown men.
The four princes would cause no undue burden to the horses. As the princes clambered onto the chariot, all traces of sadness vanished, and they bumped into each other to stand at the front. Dasharatha waved away the two extra chariots and ascended to join his waiting sons.
The exuberance of the young princes would turn the entire summit into an adventure.
As they rode out of the city and toward the Sarayu, the princes pointed to all the flags and chariots visible in the distance. Each of the fifty kings was accompanied by at least 230
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one hundred attendants, so the summit promised to be eventful. Sumantra met them on the road, reporting that all fifty kings had arrived and were assembled in the main hall.
Refreshments had been served, and they were especially eager to see the young princes. As they arrived, attendants ran forward to care for the horses and chariots. The conch shells blew, flower petals were scattered at their feet, and the curtains of the assembly were parted in welcome.
Along with the seven ministers, Sumantra stood at the opening and declared, “All stand for Dasharatha, king of Ayodhya, emperor of the Earth, son of Aja, descendant of the first man, descendant of the sun god, undefeated chariot master, servant of the thirty gods, proud father of four sons!”
The assembled crowd hushed. As Dasharatha entered the arena, he had two sons on each side: Rama and Lakshmana on one and Bharata and Shatrugna on the other. The royal musicians played enthusiastically with their drums, cymbals, and voices, heading toward a crescendo as the emperor walked across the assembly space and ascended to the royal throne. Four seats had been made adjacent to him for the princes. The music grew soft and melodious as Dasharatha settled into his seat.
“Now the kings will each introduce themselves and offer gifts,” Dasharatha told his sons. He kept the boys engaged by allowing them to receive the gifts, each in turn.
As each king stood, his title was announced, and he formally pledged his loyalty to Dasharatha before sharing a brief report of his kingdom. Dasharatha scanned the assembly, his eyes naturally pausing on faces he knew well. First, his eyes settled on Ashvapati, his terse father-in-law who did not even blink his eyes in greeting. He had never quite forgiven Dasharatha for compromising Kaikeyi’s bride-price, even though he sanctioned the compromise. Dasharatha clenched his jaw. Behind Ashvapati, Kaikeyi’s handsome brother, Yuddhajit, towered, looking out across the assembly with a winning smile. Privately Dasharatha felt it was time for Ashvapati to step down and allow Yuddha to rule. That’s what Dasharatha would do as soon as his sons were grown.
Dasharatha glanced at his sons to see if they were following the complexity of all that was happening. Lakshmana and Shatrugna were both dangling their feet and swinging them back and forth. But Rama’s eyes were rapt on the proceedings. He whispered to his brothers, noticing things that Dasharatha no longer did: the splendorous attire of the kings, how each of them was surrounded by bare-chested men whose muscles bulged. Dasharatha leaned toward Rama and quietly told him that those were the kings’ prized fighters who would later participate in the challenges.
When Janaka of Videha stood up, Dasharatha’s attention heightened. Rama noticed this and straightened in his seat too. He had not yet outgrown his endearing habit of mimicking his father. Yet the young prince did not know the reason for Dasharatha’s interest.
Dasharatha knew Janaka would not speak of his daughter Sita publicly, but Dasharatha planned to confront him. The reports he had received over the years from Shatananda were vague and unsatisfactory. Vasishta proclaimed to be satisfied by them and called the case closed. Sita was a perfect little princess. But Dasharatha was not emperor for nothing. He 231
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could sense a conspiracy from leagues away. When Vasishta permitted Shatananda to per-manently settle in Videha, Dasharatha’s suspicion had cemented. He would get to the bottom of it here.
As the introductions came to a close, Dasharatha called for sugarcane juice and water with lime and salt. There was one more topic he wanted to address, mainly for the benefit of his sons. He stood up, thanking the kings for the generous gifts.
“Blessings upon this assembly of kings, representing the finest warriors and upholders of justice. I salute you for standing with me in maintaining a prosperous Earth for all our people. Since the time of King Anaranya, who died for this cause, we have worked ruthlessly to rid the Earth of blood-drinkers, and thanks to each of you and your illustrious forefathers we have succeeded in exterminating this threat to mankind.”
A large smatter of applause greeted this speech.
“We know, however, that Ravana remains a threat to all realms. The tragic abduction ten years ago of over one hundred treasured women demonstrated the power of the blood-drinker king. We may not have the strength to engage in battle with him directly, but we have been successful in destroying the presence of his servants. Now, it is rare to hear of a blood-drinker venturing into the daylight and most civilized nations have not encountered them. To demonstrate this, may I ask how many here have personally faced a blood-drinker in battle?”
He could feel his sons straighten in their seats. Like all other children, they were fascinated by the monsters in their stories. Dasharatha raised his hand, and so did many of Ayodhya’s men, brave ones who had fought beside their king. These battles had all, with the exception of the slaying of Shambara, taken place outside Earth, in the realms of the gods. Therefore, Dasharatha was satisfied to see that the kings of Earth did not count blood-drinkers among their enemies. Most of the other kings fought each other, claiming pieces of the great land, while Dasharatha fought for the entire Earth.
Dasharatha looked at the two kings who had raised their hands: Kashi, the newly consecrated king of Kashi, and Jayasena, the king of Hastinapur. Dasharatha himself had appointed Jayasena to rule over Hastinapur after he proved his caliber in a fierce battle in the twilight realms. Dasharatha nodded to both of them, indicating that they could lower their hands. Kashi did so, very slowly, an insolent smirk on his face, holding Dasharatha’s eyes all the while. Dasharatha’s eyes narrowed. This was Kashi’s first summit as king, and Dasharatha had only received unfavorable reports of his kingship thus far.
“I know Jayasena’s story well, as I’m certain we all do,” Dasharatha said. “It was in the last summit, here in your presence, that he was appointed king in honor of his great deeds. I do not believe that Kashi has honored us by sharing his victory. Shall we hear it?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” the crowd called, the enthused seven-year-old voices loudest of all.
Dasharatha held up his hand to silence the assembly and pointed toward Kashi. “Kashi, king of Kashi, please tell us of your victory against the blood-drinkers.”
Kashi stood and began to tell a gruesome tale. He had relentlessly pursued rumors of blood-drinkers roaming on Earth, finding them finally deep within the borderland where 232
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no man desiring life would go: the jungles of Dandaka. There he had slain countless blood-drinkers, and Kashi was delighted to describe in detail each encounter.
As he spoke, a strange revulsion rose in Dasharatha’s heart. As many reports had indicated, Kashi’s alliance to mankind seemed questionable. He was clearly in awe of the supernatural powers the drinkers displayed. Kashi even had the look of a blood-drinker, with traces of bronze in his black hair.
