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Dasharatha found himself smiling. He liked the idea of a little girl who was wild and did as she pleased. Wasn’t that the way of all children? But if Janaka’s observations were 214
Great King Dasharatha,
My hand trembles as I write this. I begin therefore by beseeching your protection for my daughter, a princess of Mithila, even if her bloodline may be unknown. Although you are aware of her unusual birth, I must remind you that she is not just a foundling that I chose to adopt. In the most miraculous event of my life, the ground cracked open at my feet, and this child was pushed up through the furrow, invisible hands handing her into my care. My heart swel ed with the knowing that a miracle had taken place. I named her Sita, “Furrow,” to remind me always of that moment.
Before my hand is stayed by doubts, let me make my confession: When Sita cries, it rains in Mithila. When her brow furrows in confusion, storm clouds gather above the palace. When she gets angry, though not often, the fires come alive and blaze furiously. Once, the Earth started trembling, cracks appeared in the ground. Instinctively I reached for her. The moment I brought her into my arms the rumbling stopped. She babbles to the water-ponds causing ripples and waves, even on the most windless day. Animals of all kinds gather in the royal gardens and wait for her day and night. She persists in sleeping outside amongst them, on the bare ground. She is happiest when smeared with dirt, consorting with the creatures in the garden.
I have started and stopped writing similar letters to you a number of times.
Forgive any errors that may be present in this hasty missive. I’m determined this time to send it to you, Great King.
I wish only to find an answer to these questions that plague me about this daughter of mine. If these phenomena persist into her womanhood, I fear for her future, and the future of our world itself. Imagine a girl who can make the Earth tremble and the skies open. I assure you that I careful y monitor the child and keep her at peace so that her strange behaviors may not be noticed by one and al .
To your knowledge or Vasishta’s, have there been other children like my Sita?
Your faithful servant,
Janaka, King of Mithila
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true—that the girl’s outbursts were tied to the elements—then she certainly was not an ordinary child. Far from it. Dasharatha’s first impulse was to dismiss Janaka’s observations. He wouldn’t be the first parent with grandiose and misinformed notions of his child.
It was highly common for parents to elevate their children to a status far surpassing any realistic notions. Dasharatha himself was hypervigilant against doing this with his sons, though he secretly knew that Rama in particular was extraordinary. But the nature of Janaka’s claim was so unusual and so fascinating that Dasharatha had to consult with Vasishta.
Since Vasishta’s name was mentioned in the letter, it was no breach in confidence to consult the preceptor.
Vasishta answered Dasharatha’s summons, appearing fresh from his evening bath in the Sarayu. As the preceptor read Janaka’s letter, a rare smile blossomed on his face, and he touched the parchment to his forehead. He also held on to the missive longer than necessary.
“Indeed,” Vasishta said. “This is most unusual. I do not think there ever has been such a child. Not to my knowledge.”
Dasharatha considered this and then said, “I want to believe it because it delights me somehow. And yet it is unbelievable. The ramifications of a child possessing such powers . . .”
“It could be a blessing or a curse, depending on the temperament of the girl. I think it would be wise to send Shatananda, one of my pupils, to Videha to observe the princess.”
“Shatananda? He is just a boy.”
“Older than you by a few hundred years, Great King. Shatananda is the son of the venerable Gautama and Ahalya, and he is vastly knowledgeable about the universe and its workings.”
The king agreed and carefully rolled the letter into a scroll and held it in his hand. He would place it in his private collection of noteworthy artifacts.
“We must handle this with utmost discretion,” Vasishta said.
“Yes. Instruct Shatananda to assure King Janaka that only the three of us have been initiated into this secret. There is no reason to involve the ministers in this. Not until we have found something of note. If we do.”
“I will inform Shatananda to depart at the earliest, with your permission, Great King. I expect that the arrangements will take several days, since he will be required to stay several months. If the child has a gentle disposition, as Janaka indicates, it may even take years. I will suggest that he also be engaged in their rituals, for that is another area of his expertise.”
Dasharatha nodded, yet there was one more avenue to explore.
“I am not sure why I was reminded of it,” he said. “Is there any connection between Princess Sita and the curse pronounced on Ravana?”
Vasishta smiled. “That dark soul has incurred many curses throughout his long life.”
“The curse uttered by the brave women he abducted nearly ten years ago.”
“Ah,” Vasishta said. “The ‘powerless woman’ who will cause his final death.”
“Hm, yes. But then Janaka describes Sita as the opposite of powerless. It couldn’t be Sita.
I don’t know why I drew this connection.”
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“Your higher self knows more than you could ever imagine,” Vasishta said.
“How could a powerless woman be the cause of Ravana’s downfall?” Dasharatha inquired. “I never quite understood.”
“It means that the noose grows tighter around Ravana’s neck. And the death blow will come when he least expects it.”
The hair raised on Dasharatha’s neck. Was that a threat from the peaceful preceptor?
“No. A promise, Great King,” Vasishta said, folding his hands at his chest.
As he departed, Dasharatha followed the holy one with his eyes. His long white hair reached down his back, and now that dusk was upon them, his radiance was clearly discernible.
Could Vasishta always read thoughts? Dasharatha had not vocalized that Vasishta’s words had been threatening. And yet the preceptor had known. Dasharatha would never know the parameters of Vasishta’s powers. That was why his counsel was so important in delicate matters like this.
Even though there really was no urgency around the matter, Dasharatha composed his answer to Janaka before leaving his duties for the evening. The well-being of the girl was the foremost concern, and it was too soon to draw conclusions. The sweetest child could grow up to be a menace, and the reverse was true. There was still every possibility that Sita would grow up to be an ordinary princess.
Dasharatha dispatched the letter with Videha’s messenger, instructing him to wait for Shatananda’s departure. Dasharatha understood that the entire process would take quite some time but looked forward to eventually hearing Shatananda’s unbiased opinion. As he left the council room, he wished he could tell his boys about the unusual princess, but it was now a state secret.
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chapter 26
Kaikeyi’s Favorite
ince the inception of the princes’ training when they were five years old, their Sdays were full of lessons. Kaikeyi was in charge of all their equestrian training, and shortly after the princes’ seventh birthday, Kaikeyi insisted on doubling their hours on horseback. All of Ayodhya was preparing for the Summit of Fifty Kings to be held in the coming months, and the four princes would be presented for the first time. Dasharatha was eager to display the prowess of his four sons. Kaikeyi agreed and was very involved in the princes’ training with weapons and on horse.
Kausalya continued to domineer the palace as “the Great Queen,” and Kaikeyi had retreated to her own sphere. She was not displeased with the arrangement, for she ruled her horses, her weapons, and her beloved. She was Dasharatha’s chosen, and every day she put her mind to keeping it that way. She was attuned to his desires and kept herself immaculate for his pleasure.
How Kaikeyi appeared in the royal stables was another matter, for here she was both king and queen. When the princes came for their daily lesson, she directed them to their horses with a sharp voice and sent them out into the field. At seven years of age, they could ride competently and get their horses warmed up on their own. Here, she was the expert, and she had earned the respect of her sons and the stable hands.
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The balancing act was like leading a double life. Almost daily, Kaikeyi transformed from a malodorous Kekayan horseman into a queen who wore colorful silks, smelled of jasmine, and adorned herself with vast arrays of jewels. She had to be scrubbed clean and have her hair washed every day, for the smell of horse clung to her. In the stables, she embraced rank odors and manners and wore men’s clothes, including her beloved leather vest. It fit her as well as it had when she was sixteen. Leather, unlike human bodies, only got better with age.
“Isn’t that right?” she asked of Dharma, the gelding on which she had ridden into Ayodhya. That had been over ten years ago. Dharma was becoming an old grouch. She rubbed him down with firm circular motions, touching even the tickly spots by his ribs. Kaikeyi was two years shy of thirty, practically an old woman herself.
“Isn’t that right, Dharma darling?” In response, he nuzzled her neck, in the exact area where he knew she was ticklish. In horse talk, this meant he found her just as pleasing as ever.
Kaikeyi marveled at the movement of time. She was no longer the one caring for the horses’ daily upkeep; those employed in the stables did the work, while Kaikeyi’s duty was only to show affection to her equestrians. As was her duty to her husband. Dasharatha was close to sixty, though he was as strong and vigorous as a man half his age. His steel hair and the deep furrows on his face gave him dignity. Kaikeyi loved those lines and the thick wiri-ness of his hair.
Dharma blew through his nose, enjoying the rubdown Kaikeyi was giving him. She took a deep breath of the horsey smell of the stables. She looked over Dharma’s flanks, to see the line of horses extend beyond her vision. But the royal stables were so well kept that the natural smell of horses, including their dung, was not as strong as in a Kekayan stable.
Kaikeyi brought her forehead to Dharma’s, leaning in to her old friend. He started chew-ing on one of her gemstone necklaces, the green one, Expeller of Poisons. She wore this one thanks to Manthara. Chewing on the gem would probably not cause Dharma any harm, but she didn’t want to risk it, and she tucked it safely into her vest again. For a second, she was aware of the lightness that came from being unadorned. Jewels had a certain power, which Kaikeyi keenly felt when she wore them. It had not taken her long to understand why kings and queens across the ages were known for their jewelry. She had many jewels now, and a few of them remained on her person at all times. The Expeller of Poisons was one among those that Kaikeyi never removed, not even when she slept or bathed. It was the custom of Ayodhya, and it had become hers.
Suddenly Kaikeyi compared herself to Dharma, whose body remained muscled, whose skin remained taut, whose eyes were clear and deep, and would remain so until the day that his legs could not hold him up anymore. Dharma was at least sixty in horse years. If not ever young like a horse, why couldn’t she be the free rider she had been, riding across the plains of Kekaya with the wind in her hair? There, she had not known anything but that she was flying across the world. The price of being queen was too heavy at times. As her hands brushed 220
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Dharma’s flanks, her mind took the form of a majestic mare; she grew wings and flew into the sky, up and away.
The clouds were scattered by the stable hand’s voice: “Your Majesty!”
Kaikeyi woke up with a start. The brush she held clattered against the floor. How long had she been daydreaming?
“Prince Bharata was thrown off his horse. He is calling for you.”
Kaikeyi moved at once. “Is he injured?”
Without waiting for an answer, she left Dharma’s stall with big strides. “Is he hurt?” she asked again, throwing the question over her shoulder.
“It did not look like he broke any bones,” the man answered. “But I do not know for sure.
I was sent to fetch you right away, and the king’s physician was also summoned.”
Don’t let him be crippled, Kaikeyi prayed, anxiety rushing into her heart. She had mothered Bharata attentively for seven years, making him the best prince he could be. It could not end today with a fatal injury. She quickened her steps until she was running.
“Bharata!” There was panic in her voice. She felt like her son was an infant she had to rescue. Even though it was already too late. She cursed herself for sending them out on their own while she stood in leisure thinking foolish thoughts.
As she ran into the training grounds, she felt a moment’s relief. Manthara was there hunched over Bharata. He was on the ground with legs splayed; he was pale but whole. He was sitting upright and there were no sharp protrusions visible. In her youth, Kaikeyi had broken seven ribs and both arms, and she had seen all sorts of destroyed bodies in Kekaya.
She sent a prayer of thanks to the gods. Bharata was spared.
Manthara prodded Bharata less than gently, repeatedly asking, “Here? Does it hurt here?
What about here?”
“Mother!” Bharata said, avoiding Manthara’s bony fingers and getting on his feet with a wince.
Kaikeyi wanted to engulf her son in her arms, but didn’t want to exacerbate his pain. “Sit down,” she commanded, touching him carefully.
Bharata leaned toward her, resting his head by her heart.
“He is fine,” Manthara assured her. “The king’s physician just took a look at him. He mostly got shocked when he found himself on the ground. It could have happened to anyone,” she added, turning to Bharata.
Manthara was hopelessly fond of Bharata. In her books, he did not have a single flaw.
Kaikeyi had to admit that she too would be hard-pressed to name a flaw in her son. Still, Kaikeyi noted that the other princes were happily riding their horses. That was strange. She would have expected them to stay with Bharata when he was hurt.
Manthara began muttering something about Rama’s selfishness.
Kaikeyi ignored that and turned to Bharata, holding his shoulder and looking into his eyes. “How do you feel, my son? Do you want Manthara to take you back to your rooms?”
“No! I want to stay with Rama. I’m fine.”
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“Come, then,” Kaikeyi said, holding out her hand to her son. She recognized that willpower and didn’t want to discourage it by forcing him to rest. “But you must tell me the moment you feel fatigued. Today I will teach you how to tune your mind to the horse you are riding. Then you will never get thrown again.”
“Father says you are the best rider he has ever seen,” Bharata said.
Kaikeyi smiled. Bharata was a kind boy, always seeking ways to appreciate others.
“It’s true,” she answered. She’d never seen the point of false humility. “And if you listen attentively to me, you can be the second best.”
Rama came riding up with Lakshmana and Shatrugna behind him. Rama had chosen a white steed, probably because it was the type of horse Dasharatha rode. The twins had chosen identical brown horses, no doubt to further confuse others. They still enjoyed that game.
“Bharata sent us to the other side of the field,” Rama said, with a winning smile. “He didn’t want us to see his tears, although he has seen ours so many times.”
Manthara did not smile, but Bharata did, looking sheepish. “I’m fine now,” he said. “Next time, I won’t even get scared.”
“I got frightened even the second time,” Rama warned him, with a serious look. “But you are welcome to beat my record.”
All the boys smiled.
“Finally I can beat you!” Bharata exclaimed, jumping into the air. His left leg faltered when he landed.
“Bharata!” Kaikeyi called out, reaching to steady him. Children ignored their injuries too soon. Bharata straightened and resumed talking, as though he had not just fallen off a horse.
The boys were forever competing. So far, none of them had beaten Rama’s records in any areas, even though Bharata was often a close second. Kaikeyi knew this. As the boys spoke, she watched the way Rama handled his horse with ease. All Rama’s attention was focused on Bharata. He was extremely attuned to all his brothers. Being such a young rider, Rama would need to keep some attention on his horse too. He didn’t. With a thrill of recognition, Kaikeyi understood that Rama had already mastered the horse.
“Well,” Kaikeyi said, interrupting her boys, and raising her eyebrows, “I have ridden over two thousand horses, both trained and wild. And I have only been thrown once.”
They gaped at her with wide eyes. She laughed out loud. She had to boast more often. She enjoyed their unabashed admiration.
“Were you frightened?” Bharata asked.
“No,” she said, though it was only partially true. The act itself had not scared her. But it had produced an unknown realization. The memory surfaced now more forcefully than she expected. To get a moment to herself, she sent the boys to fetch a horse for her and for Bharata. The stable hands had already returned the horse that had thrown the prince.
The one time Kaikeyi had been thrown off her horse, she had been alone on the plains of Kekaya. She had been almost fifteen years old, more dedicated to her horses than anything else. Her most trusted steed had bucked and thrown her off. As she hit the ground, landing 224
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painfully on her back, something had dislodged within her. Though the pain was tolerable, she had been overcome with a flood of tears so forceful that the horse had spooked and kept his distance. There was no one present but her and the horse, and Keyi cried into her hands, curling up on the ground. The fall had opened a hidden door, and out came a vision of her long-lost mother. A broken, ugly women who was too frail to even walk erect.
