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“And you insisted that I keep them for later,” she said, still speaking in a monotone.
“Now that time has come.”
“Is that all, my love?” he said with evident relief. “You did not have to conjure the past like this. Have I not always fulfilled your desires? I will give you anything.”
“Anything?” she asked, with the first quiver of feeling.
“On the love I have for my eldest son, Rama,” he answered, solemnly, “I promise to give you anything you ask for.”
The words echoed ominously inside him. The solitary chambers were oppressive, haunted.
Kaikeyi’s face lit up, but not in her usual beautiful and loving way. She sat up, unsmiling, and he perceived that there were yet miles to cover before she was reconciled to him. She stood to regain some of her majesty before proceeding. He also stood and, for the first time, she faced him squarely.
“King Dasharatha of the Sun dynasty, originating from the sun god,” she said, formally.
“You come from a line of kings renowned for keeping their word.”
“Kaikeyi, what’s the need for all this?”
“Do you promise me on the strength of your ancestral line to redeem the two boons you gave me?”
Dasharatha started perspiring. There could only be one answer, yet he found that he was afraid. His voice shook, but he renewed his promise.
Kaikeyi spoke. “First, I want you to honor your promise that my son, Bharata, will be king. This is my first wish. Second, I want you to exile Rama, banishing him from Ayodhya and every other kingdom on Earth, for fourteen years.”
Dasharatha felt like laughing. Exile Rama? An overwhelming fear and hysteria overcame him. Everything became dim while Rama’s beautiful features glowed like a fire before him. He sank down to the floor, unable to speak or think.
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chapter 50
Broken Hearts
aikeyi grew worried when she saw Dasharatha’s shock. His eyes were glazed Kover, and he made no response when she kneeled by his side. The hard shell around her heart made her stand up and move away from him. She refused to feel sympathy for the slumped figure of her husband. If it was true what Manthara had said—that he didn’t truly love her but only loved Rama—then he deserved no sympathy.
She took shelter in her early warrior training, thinking only of her goal and never about how many she must kill to achieve it. Patiently, she sat down to wait for him to recover. If he said her name while coming to, it would be a sign of her victory.
Exhausted by her own emotional upheaval, she soon fell into a light sleep, lying on the floor, her mind waiting for the first syllables from his mouth.
“Rama,” he mumbled.
Kaikeyi opened her eyes at once and knew that no compromise would be possible in this war. The moment consciousness again descended upon Dasharatha, he sprang up like an arrow and had to steady himself against a pillar for a second.
“Kai—,” he tried, but choked on her name.
“Don’t tell me you are becoming weak in your old age,” she said, anger rising.
“I’m asking you to part with only one of your sons. You have three more, although
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you seem to care little for them by comparison. I’m not asking you to kill Rama! He can return after fourteen years, once Bharata’s rule is established.”
She could have demanded that Rama be exiled forever, as her own mother had been.
Dasharatha’s eyes brimmed with tears; he did not see the benevolence in her terms. Kaikeyi sat up, the curve of her hip more pronounced as she leaned on one arm. Her thick hair fell over her face so that only one eye looked up at the king. She did not feel quite like herself. But she had to be strong to see this through.
Dasharatha slowly approached her and knelt in front of her. He pushed her hair behind her ear and cupped her face gently with both hands. “My love, my queen, my sweet wife,”
he said. Tears streamed through his words. “Don’t do this. You love Rama. Rama is a tiger among men, who advises and cares for all beings with a clear mind. He has captivated each and every one in the kingdom with his kind actions. He is endowed with honesty and is as splendorous as a sage. You have praised him yourself countless times. You have said that Rama’s happiness is your happiness.”
She grew hard as a stone. His words could not touch her.
“You have said that he is just like your own son.”
“But he is not my son.”
His hands tightened around her face.
For a second, she feared he would crush her skull. His hot breath moistened the curls around her face. She stared at him without blinking, her enmity toward him cementing. Her heart throbbed wildly and angrily with the knowledge that Rama meant so much more to the king than she did. Everything he said only made her more certain of his foul play. His love was not real.
She wanted to slap him and shout, but instead she whispered, hissing like a cobra, “What kind of man are you? You are obsessed with this one son of yours. We lived here happily without Rama before he was born.”
“Remember the day Rama was born,” Dasharatha begged. “You said you loved him instantly. What has our son done to deserve this sudden change of heart from you?”
“Bharata is my son. I want him to rule the world. Rama must live like a recluse with matted hair, wearing only deerskins, barred from entering any kingdom.”
“Nothing makes sense anymore,” he said, looking very tired. “You consider Rama and Bharata on an equal level. I know that because you have told me so many times. The words you are saying are not yours. This is Manthara’s scheme. You are a puppet in her hands.”
“What is the use of this talk, King? Are you going to fulfill your boons? Or are they as empty as the bride-price you promised my father?”
The king, who ruled the entire Earth with an iron hand, stooped in front of his wife.
Thousands of valorous men had kissed his feet during his lifetime, and now he touched the feet of his wife, weeping piteously, begging. “Have pity on an old man. If not for your husband, who loves you, have mercy on a man at the end of his life. When I see Rama, supreme delight enters my heart. My very consciousness is lost if I don’t see Rama. The world can 422
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exist without the sun, crops without water, but life cannot continue in my body without Rama. I beg you to let me die with my son at my side. Let me die in peace.”
“How can you die in peace when you have not kept your word?”
Dasharatha clutched at his chest and cried louder. “I will give you the entire Earth,” he said. “I agree to make Bharata king. I will gladly appoint him as my successor. But I will not banish Rama. He is faultless and has never hurt anyone. When Rama treats you as his own mother, why are you bent on harming him? What kind of wicked heart do you possess, wishing harm on one so pure, who is kind to every being? Has he ever said a single word that displeased you?”
“We are not here to discuss the qualities of your darling son, King. Stop temporizing and agree, as you must, to both of my wishes.”
“Do you really think Bharata will accept this kingdom? He is devoted to Rama . . . or was. But he is, after all, your son. Maybe his greed will be like yours. How could I have been so blind to your defects? Where has all this hate come from? You are jealous of an innocent child who loves you. You have changed from my beloved wife into a fanged serpent.”
For a few moments, Kaikeyi’s determination evaporated. Couldn’t her husband understand how badly she needed assurance? Couldn’t he see how she ached for him to say the right words, to assure her that he loved her above all else, that he could live without Rama, that he had not meant to go behind her back with the sudden consecration, that he would protect her for all time.
Kaikeyi longed to hear words of assurance, to end up in his arms again. But he said nothing of the sort, obsessed only with Rama’s exile. Her heart wrenched painfully as years of love transformed into something foul and nameless. The pain wracked her entire body, and it toughened her, like an actual wound did when it healed.
She forced a smile onto her lips. “I will have my boons.”
“But at what cost?” he shouted. “I will die. You gave my life back so many years ago, it’s true, but do you now wish me to die a broken man? This world will curse you, and my poor Rama will be exiled from a kingdom that is rightfully his. I see him wandering in a cold jungle, searching for something to eat, starving, my little prince, my boy. How can I let this happen to him? I will never agree to your evil plan. Never! Cruel woman of wicked nature, you are bent on exterminating my dynasty. What wrong have I or Rama done to you?”
Kaikeyi’s heart was ice cold. All she felt was disgust for this old man who had promised so many sweet things in the solitude of her bedchambers, but when she finally asked something of him, he denied her desires. He was not a man of honor; he was not the man she had loved.
“Manthara was right,” she said bitterly. “Other women who spoke to me about men’s deception, they were right. Men are always promising, promising, but never giving what actually matters. I rejected those words as the bitter prattle of the unloved, but now I know they were true. All your love has been a joke, an illusion. The truth is that you have never 423
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loved me or my son. Only Rama matters to you. How could I ever have believed myself safe in Ayodhya?”
Dasharatha sat frozen, barely blinking.
As if thrashing a horse with a whip, Kaikeyi pressed her demands on Dasharatha again and again. He refused and she insisted. She knew that she would get her way. She always had. Two hearts, once one, separated that night.
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chapter 51
The Honorable Son
ama and Sita, dressed in the finest silks and jewelry, sat together in their private chamber, waiting for the auspicious day to begin. Rama played with a lotus flower that Sita had brought him. His other hand rested on Sita’s knee. With her by his side, he felt like a king already. Sita’s grace emphasized his feeling of power.
Sita looked at him with admiration; she had told him that his boyish slenderness had given way to a physique that reflected his maturation. He had grown into a man.
The definition of his muscles and the calluses on his hands testified to his skill and dedication as a warrior.
“I am going to train all our children to become warriors,” Rama said.
“Even the girls?”
“Even the girls. My mother, Kaikeyi, proves that women can fight just as skillfully as men. We never really dared ask her how many men she has killed.”
“I cannot imagine killing anyone,” Sita said.
“It gets easier over time.” He had told Sita about Tataka. How remorseful he had felt, even though she was a giant monster. When he killed Kashi, he felt only triumph.
“Until we have children,” Sita said, “I want to invite lots of animals to live in our gardens.”
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“We will have children soon,” Rama said confidently. “Many kings in Sun dynasty had hundreds of children.”
“Rama! Those kings also had many wives, each wife bearing them ten children.”
“Alright, then we will have ten,” Rama jested.
Sita sighed with a smile.
Just then, Sumantra approached. Rama and Sita both stood up respectfully, greeting the king’s closest advisor.
“King Dasharatha wishes to see you privately, Rama.” Sumantra said. “He waits in Queen Kaikeyi’s quarters.”
Sumantra kept his expression neutral, but Rama knew Sumantra so well, he heard the tone of anxiety in the minister’s voice. Rama had not expected the summons. He turned to Sita. “Father and Kaikeyi must want to bless me personally before the ceremony begins. I will come back for you soon.”
When Rama emerged from his palace, he was greeted by hundreds of cheering Ayodhyans. The previous night had not been an idle one for the citizens, who had decorated the city.
Flower garlands were wrapped around every pillar, and colorful flags fluttered in the breeze.
The fragrance of burning aloe wood enhanced the auspicious atmosphere. Rama noticed that they were dressed beautifully, equaling the sun in splendor. The uniformed soldiers lining the steps to the entrance looked fit to serve the gods.
Lakshmana stood at the outer gate with folded hands. Today really was a day of formalities. Rama hurried to his brother, greeting him with heightened affection. A chariot drawn by four horses stood waiting for Rama. Waving to the people who surrounded it, Rama mounted the chariot. Lakshmana jumped on behind as they sped off toward the king’s palace. Driving through the clean streets, Rama saw how expectant the people were. When they saw him, the people shouted words of praise or shed tears of joy. The lionhearted roared their approval. Women adorned like queens sprinkled flowers from their balconies as he passed. Their love for him was as enormous as the ocean.
Glowing with their love, Rama entered Kaikeyi’s chambers, followed by Sumantra.
Since Lakshmana had not been summoned, he remained outside. Seeing Father and Kaikeyi, Rama smiled broadly and went forward toward them. His father’s eyes were shut, but it was evident that he was not asleep.
“You called for me, Father?” Rama asked.
He bowed low, touching Father’s feet respectfully and then Kaikeyi’s. Kaikeyi was in an unusual state of disarray, hair loose and makeup smudged. Rama had not seen her like this before. Father opened his eyes and looked into Rama’s, but instantly averted them, as they began to brim with tears. Rama felt a sharp alarm rise, as tears streamed down his father’s cheeks. He had never seen his father like this. Rama turned to Kaikeyi.
“When seeing me, Father’s face filled with anguish. Have I done something to displease him?”
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balance. She cleared her throat and blinked rapidly. She was not herself either, and she refused to look him in the eye as she spoke.
“Your father is not ill. He wants something from you but is afraid to tell you. He fears it will hurt you.”
“Afraid?” Rama smiled in surprise. “I have never seen Father afraid. And when have I ever neglected to follow his orders in any way? If he does not speak, then you, Mother, must tell me on his behalf.”
Kaikeyi smiled Manthara’s smile, and Rama’s heart went cold. “Your father has made several promises to me,” she said, “promises he now wishes to forget and ignore. As you well know, your father agreed to a bride-price when he married me, which your father did not honor.” Rama’s eyes went back and forth between his silent father and his cold mother.
“As if that was not enough,” Kaikeyi continued, “he gave me two boons to redeem at any time. Now that time has come. But because of his unmanly weakness, your father has taken refuge in silence. You, Rama, must heed your father’s words.”
Rama clenched his jaw. He did not like hearing his father criticized. “Father’s promise is my promise,” he said. “I will sacrifice my life for him. Please speak freely about what he has promised. I will carry out his wishes impeccably. You have my word.”
Only then did Kaikeyi look into Rama’s eyes. Rama started understanding the nature of Father’s silence. Rama turned into a prince instead of a son, shielding his heart. He needed that distance to bear the way Kaikeyi looked at him.
“First, my son, Bharata, will be consecrated as prince regent, taking his rightful place on Ayodhya’s throne.” Kaikeyi spoke to him as if he was a stranger. “Second, you will be exiled to the forest for fourteen years, living as a recluse, banned from entering any kingdom or civilization. These are my two desires.”
Rama looked at her steadily as she spoke and his demeanor did not change. But he heard Sumantra inhale sharply behind him, revealing the minister’s shock. He had not known the depth of the king’s predicament. Rama’s heart hammered against his chest; he kept looking at the silent figure of his father. Would Father say nothing?
The king’s agony was clear, but Rama did not yet comprehend his father’s silence or his mother’s sudden enmity. Was Father merely afraid to hurt Rama’s feelings, as Kaikeyi had suggested? Perhaps Father wished for Bharata to become the crown prince. Rama would not question his change of heart. Rama kept his face neutral but his eyes were alert.
“Send messengers for Bharata,” Rama said, “so that he may take my place at the consecration. I will leave Ayodhya at once.”
A moan escaped Father’s lips.
Suddenly animated, Kaikeyi exclaimed, “Yes! Send messengers on the swiftest horses to bring my son home. Rama, don’t waste your time on farewells. Go at once. Your exile is effective immediately.”
Rama’s manner became formal. “Queen, be delighted, for I will without a doubt do as you say. However, do not become indignant if I stay for a moment by my father’s side.
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My heart aches because my father has not personally told me his wishes. Why is he gazing steadily at the floor? Why are tears flowing from his eyes?”
“It is because he is a coward and a hypocrite,” Kaikeyi said, turning to the king.
“Aren’t you?”
How could she speak to Father like this! Rama wanted to protest, but Dasharatha did not defend himself.
He opened his eyes, black bottomless pits. His eyes were on Kaikeyi and he said in a deflated voice, “This is my punishment for loving you.”
“How can you violate your pledge to me?” she demanded. “You are still alive because of me, and this is how you thank me!”
“Like a woman perverted by an evil spirit, you are not ashamed of speaking like this, making worthless things seem worthwhile.”
“I agree that saving your life did not amount to much.”
“How can you insist on righteousness when what you ask for is abominable?”
“How is putting Bharata, your own son, on the throne abominable?”
