PRINCE IN EXILE (19 page)

Yudhajit paused to wait for an attendant to hold up a spittoon for him to dispense a mouthful of blood-red tobacco juice. ‘My father and brothers are about that work even as we speak.’ He indicated his own metal-reinforced leather apparel. ‘I came directly when I got the news. 

He paused to spit again, glancing briefly into the spittoon to see the result of his emission. Turning back to Sumantra, he put his arm over the prime minister’s shoulder. ‘My father wishes that Bharat and his bride join us at Kaikeya, that the family may meet her too and see the bearer of our future heirs with our own eyes.’ He added, ‘With Aja-putra’s leave, of course.’ 

The Kaikeyans referred to Dasaratha as Aja-putra, literally ‘Aja’s son’, because it was at the then Maharaja Aja’s insistence that the match with Kaikeyi had been made. In fact, the Kaikeyans always maintained that their daughter was by rights the first wife of Dasaratha. It was only Kaikeya’s remote geographical location, and the continued skirmishes with stray asura gangs, that kept them from coming east to complete the formalities. It was in those years that Dasaratha had taken Kausalya for his first wife, and only later, when the Kaikeyans had pressed his father’s assigned match upon him, had he conceded and taken Kaikeyi for his bride as well, allotting her the second title, a fact that had always rankled with the proud Kaikeyans. 

Now, Sita detected the underlying rancour in Yudhajit’s tone as he pretended coarse familiarity with Pradhanmantri Sumantra. A tactic which clearly wasn’t working, judging from Sumantra’s clear discomfort. The prime minister moved away to speak to one of the vaids exiting the maharaja’s chambers, making it necessary for Yudhajit to release his hold on him. 

When Sumantra returned his attention to Yudhajit, the prime minister had a studied absence of expression on his lined features. ‘It is quite unorthodox to take the boy on his wedding night, Lord Yudhajit,’ he said. ‘The Ayodhyan tradition places great emphasis on the first nine nights after the wedding vows.’ He smiled. ‘But you know this already.’ 

Yudhajit paused to empty his mouth for the umpteenth time since stuffing his cheek with the paan. His first word was lost in the action of spitting. ‘—the Ayodhyan way. We have our own traditions in Kaikeya. It’s considered inauspicious for a son of Kaikeya to bed his new bride before the elders of the family and the royal preceptor have examined her first.’ 

‘Examined her?’ 

Yudhajit’s face darkened, mottling with spots of colour that spoke eloquently of a temper thinly checked. ‘Met her. You know what I speak of, Sumantra. Besides, why are we bickering like merchants at a village bazaar, haggling over the price of gobi or bhindi? Bharat has already expressed his keenness to ride home tonight. We could be there in a few hours, time enough to complete the formality of showing her to the elders and then consummating the wedding before sunrise. He will still be under his own roof, in a manner of speaking, and your Ayodhyan tradition will not be too badly botched. All I need is the maharaja’s formal consent. If you are unable to help me—’ 

‘Calm down, my lord,’ Sumantra said quietly. ‘There is no need to raise your voice here. Nobody is trying to stop you from taking Bharat home. He is as much your son as ours. If he has already agreed, then there is nothing further to be debated. As you yourself said, there is only the formal question of getting the maharaja’s consent. Unfortunately, the vaids have just told me that he is napping after taking his medicine and should not be disturbed for another few hours.’ 

Yudhajit slapped his thigh with the shortwhip he carried everywhere, another arrogant affectation that the Kaikeyans favoured, showing off their pride in their nomadic roots, ‘a country on horseback’ as they liked to call their equestrian nation. ‘Another few hours? By then it will be too late for either Ayodhyan traditions or Kaikeyan! You might as well just say nay, and deny me the right to take my own sister’s son home to meet his grandparents!’ 

‘I say no such thing,’ Sumantra replied calmly. ‘But there is one thing I can do. In the absence of his majesty, I can take the leave of Rani Kausalya. If she will allow it, you and Bharat may saddle and ride for Kaikeya at once without further ado.’ 

At the mention of Kausalya’s name, Yudhajit’s face darkened again. Two brights spots of colour danced high on his protruding cheekbones. Yudhajit had been present in the palace foyer when the scene between the queens had unfolded. 

With an obvious effort, he said in a choked voice, ‘If we need to ask Rani Kausalya—’ 

‘You do not need to ask me anything,’ Kausalya said from behind Yudhajit. Sita had seen the rani emerging from the maharaja’s chamber and was hoping beyond hope that the Kaikeyan would say something stupid before she spoke up and was noticed. But Kausalya was not the kind of woman who stood even a moment eavesdropping. ‘I could not but help hearing Sumantra’s last words as I approached,’ she said, gazing steadily at her husband’s brother-in-law. ‘If it is permission you seek, you have it. Bharat has already spoken to me of your desire to have him spend the nights of fertility under your roof. So be it. The maharaja has no objection.’ 

Yudhajit seemed vaguely suspicious. He looked at Kausalya closely. ‘I thought the maharaja was unconscious yet?’ 

‘He is. As First Queen, I speak on his behalf. I think you should be aware of that by now, Yudhajit. I’ve been First Queen for sixteen years, if you’ll recall. Do you object to that?’ 

‘Object?’ Yudhajit was staring blankly, taken aback by Kausalya’s directness and her icy formality. 

‘To my speaking for the maharaja,’ Kausalya said, watching as Yudhajit’s mind caught up finally with his ears. ‘No? In that case, you may do as Sumantra said. Saddle up and ride. It’s a difficult ride through the pass at night. Go safely and with the blessings of the Devi our Mother Sri.’ 

At the mention of the Devi, Yudhajit looked flustered again. The Kaikeyans favoured the theory that the original creator was a male entity, and to enforce their belief they conferred the title Sri upon all males, instead of using it as the name of the Mother-Goddess Creator which it originally represented. 

He retorted gruffly, under his breath, ‘And may the devas protect you as well.’ 

Bharat came forward with Mandavi, Shatrugan and Shrutakirti close behind. Bharat bent to touch Kausalya’s feet. 

‘Maa,’ he said. 

Kausalya caught his shoulders and raised him up. A lock of his hair fell forward on to his forehead and she pushed it back. There was more motherly caring in that small, seemingly insignificant action than in all of Kaikeyi’s blustering arrogance at the welcome ceremony. And yet Kausalya was but a clan-mother to Bharat, while Kaikeyi was his birth-mother. 

‘My son,’ she responded. ‘Go with the Devi’s grace. Care for your wife. Remember that you are no longer a youthful brahmacharya! Act and speak accordingly.’ 

Bharat’s hands remained folded in a namaskar still. ‘Maa,’ he said softly, ‘is it all right, my leaving Father at such a time?’ 

Kausalya glanced back over her shoulder instinctively. 

The vaids had all departed the maharaja’s chambers a few moments ago while the First Queen and Yudhajit had been speaking. She took a moment to respond, her eloquent deep brown eyes - exactly Rama’s eyes, Sita noted - softening visibly. 

‘Life must go on, son,’ she said. ‘That is the way of the world. Your father would want you to go as well, since that is your desire. These past few days have been taxing in the extreme, but now the stormclouds have passed, he will rest and recover his strength. He will be here when you return.’ 

Bharat nodded uncertainly. ‘I am yet in two minds, Maa. On one hand, I want Grandfather and Grandmother to meet Mandavi, and yet … ‘ He gestured generally. 

‘I understand, son, but such is always the way. Life pulling us five different ways at once. There are always choices, sometimes impossible ones. That is why we have been given the laws of dharma, to help us choose.’ 

‘Then tell me, Mother, what would dharma prescribe in this situation?’ 

She paused, as if that was the last question she had expected him to ask. ‘You have changed much, Bharat. That is a very good question. But we have already answered that. You must do what you feel is right. Follow your own heart.’ 

Bharat looked back, at his impatiently waiting uncle, his brothers clustered around expectantly, then returned his gaze to Kausalya. ‘My heart tells me different things. I cannot decide which is the right course to follow.’ 

Kausalya turned her gaze upon Bharat’s bride. ‘Then ask your wife to help you. She is now your partner in dharma. For both your destinies are joined hereafter.’ 

Mandavi seemed taken aback at the suggestion. She blushed immediately, lowering her plump face. ‘Great mother,’ she said through her flower-veil, ‘what can I say? It is not my place to speak before my husband and his clan-mother.’ 

‘Nonsense.’ Kausalya placed her hands on Mandavi’s rounded shoulders, straightening them. ‘Let no one tell you so. You are a daughter of Vaideha and a bride of Kosala. Bahu of the Suryavansha line, and wife of Kaikeyi-putra Bharat. You have the right to speak your mind freely and act just as independently as Bharat himself! We of Ayodhya do not brook this modern notion of women tiptoeing and sitting silently around their menfolk. Do you follow me?’ 

Mandavi’s eyes were large and wide in her round face. Sita almost felt sorry for her sister, but at the same time her heart surged with gladness: she hoped her cousins were taking notice too. If they didn’t heed Father’s sermons on the same topic, perhaps they would pay attention to Rani Kausalya at least. 

Behind the group of princes and brides, Yudhajit spat angrily and messily into the spittoon. Kausalya went on, ignoring the Kaikeyan. 

‘Let all of you pay heed to that. Woman or man, you are Arya. Our forebears fought and died and paid a price of blood and pain to wrest us this patch of middle-world on which we dwell. The Great Mother Sri did not differentiate between males and females when she created the world, so why must we? Stand by your husbands as equals, partners in dharma and karma. I bless you all with long life and happiness. Ayushmaanbhav.’ 

They all paid her respect with namaskars once more, thanking her for her words of advice. Yudhajit, looking like he needed to spit out more than any ten spittoons could contain, called out harshly to Bharat. 

‘Putra, are you coming, or should I ride back home alone? It is a moonless night as it is and Ravana’s stragglers will be looking for easy pickings on the passes.’ 

‘Just a moment, mama-shri,’ Bharat said politely, pointedly addressing Yudhajit by the formal title of ‘revered uncle’. He gestured to Shatrugan, who came forward with Shrutakirti. 

‘Mother, Shatrugan wishes to accompany us. With his wife, of course. Will you give him your permission as well?’ 

‘Please, Maa,’ Shatrugan asked earnestly, his biceps flexing as he raised his hands in a pleading gesture. ‘I would ask my mother but she has locked herself into her chamber and left word not to be disturbed for the next hour. If I wait, it will be too late to travel.’ 

Kausalya sighed softly. ‘Your mother has had a difficult week, young Shatrugan. I sympathise with her need for a little time to herself. Of course, I am sure her doors are never barred to you. Or to your wife, Kirti.’ 

‘Even so, Kausalya-maa, I do not wish to disturb her. She is already upset enough tonight, as you yourself admit. If you can give me your blessings to leave, it would be most gracious … ‘ 

Kausalya lowered her head, thinking. ‘I cannot imagine that she will find any objection. After all, ever since you were able to stand and hold a finger, it was Bharat’s finger you held on to, even if he dragged you all over the playground!’ 

Smiles erupted at the comment. Sita couldn’t imagine Bharat dragging equally well-muscled Shatrugan by the finger even a yard, but she had already noticed how closely the two stuck together, almost in parallel to Rama and Lakshman’s own brotherly bond. 

‘Go with grace, both of you,’ Kausalya said. ‘And do not tarry so long that you return as fathers rather than sons!’ 

A round of laughter met that comment. Except from Yudhajit, who grimaced instinctively and spat yet again -
why doesn’t he simply hang a spittoon from a chain round his neck
? 

– before frowning and slowly, almost reluctantly, breaking into a smirking smile. Sita guessed that the Kaikeyan had belatedly realised that Kausalya had actually paid tribute to his nephews’ virility. One last round of tearful yet smiling goodbyes between the sisters and cousins, and then the two brothers and their brides were swept away excitedly by their uncle, all disappearing down the corridor in a wave of rustling silks and swishing saris. Finally, only Rama and Lakshman and their wives were left with Rani Kausalya. 

‘And as for you lot,’ she said, addressing the rajkumars but including Sita and Urmila in her look as well, ‘don’t you have better things to do than stand around here all night chattering with your old mother? In case you’ve forgotten, it is your suhaag raat! Go on, get to your apartments and spend some time pampering yourselves and your new brides. Go on now.’ 

She added softly, ‘You’ve more than earned the right.’ 

FOURTEEN 

Dasaratha was sitting up in bed talking to Sumantra when Kausalya returned. They stopped the minute she entered. She smiled as she took her seat beside the bed. 

‘Was it that enjoyable?’ 

The maharaja managed to sketch a mock-frown through his weariness. ‘Was what?’ 

‘Eavesdropping on my talk with your sons.’ She gestured at Sumantra, who was sitting on the far side of the maharaja’s bed. The pradhan-mantri smiled gently, unoffended by her implication. 

‘Oh, that,’ Dasaratha said dismissively, trying to wave his hand but managing only to wiggle a finger or two. ‘What good would a king be if he didn’t use his spasas to keep an eye on his kingdom?’ 

‘Spasas?’ Kausalya raised her eyebrows at Sumantra. ‘You hear that, Sumantra. Now you’re a spasa. A common spy!’ 

The prime minister shrugged good-naturedly. ‘If the sandal fits, I’ll wear it … I do confess, though, rani-maa, I was quite impressed by the way you handled that arrogant ass.’ He coughed quickly. ‘Pardon my commonspeak.’ 

‘No apology necessary,’ Dasaratha said hoarsely. ‘He
is
an ass.’ 

‘Dasa!’ Kausalya’s eyes twinkled. ‘You must really be feeling better!’ 

The maharaja raised a hand, attempting to rake his fingers nonchalantly through his thinning hair. ‘As if there was anything ever wrong with me in the first place.’ The gesture didn’t quite come off, his hand much too weak to reach its destination. He settled for turning the action into a shrug, but the shocking tremble in his right side undercut the attempt at humour. He glanced down irritably at the shaking hand and tried to still it without success. 

Kausalya sat on the bed beside him, clasping the offending limb tightly between her own hands, massaging it gently. ‘Dasa, your sons did you proud today. You should have seen them, so handsome and strong, and their wives so beautiful and proud beside them. It made my heart burst with pride and joy.’ 

He coughed once, violently. She put a napkin to his mouth, bringing it away bloody. A glance passed between her and Sumantra. The lines on the prime minister’s face deepened. 

Dasaratha said hoarsely, ‘I did see them. I was there, remember? Or did you think I was an asura in disguise as well?’ 

Kausalya sighed. ‘Are you still angry about that? It was an honest mistake. Even I saw Kaikeyi running beside the procession and thought—’ She shrugged. ‘In any case, it’s no use belabouring it now. I just don’t want you to be angry any more. It’s not good for you.’ 

‘You think I enjoy being angry?’ Dasaratha shook his head, or it shook involuntarily—it was getting hard to tell now, as the maharaja’s condition deteriorated further. ‘Well I don’t. No more than I enjoy being humiliated before the entire aristocracy of Ayodhya. What were you two thinking, Kausalya? And what got into Sumitra today? I thought she was too meek and mild to boo a cow!’ 

‘That tells you how provoked she must have been, to burst out in public that way. But it wasn’t her intention, nor mine, to humiliate you or cause you any discomfort. We were only trying to—’ 

‘What? What were you trying to do?’ Another succession of coughs, another napkin stained with bright red lung blood. ‘All because I was too weak to protest loudly enough and put an end to the farce? I expected better of you, Kausalya.’ 

Kausalya took a deep breath. She really didn’t want to have this argument at all. Best to end it quickly. She used her most contrite and conciliatory tone. ‘I’m genuinely sorry about it, Dasa. It was not meant to happen. Can we please put it behind us now? I don’t know how—’ 

‘I know how,’ he said sharply. ‘Sumitra and you have been harbouring far too much hatred against Kaikeyi. It had to come out sooner or later.’ 

Kausalya sat back, releasing her hold on Dasaratha’s arm. ‘Dasa, my king, how can you say that? You know—’ 

He rode over her words. ‘I know that I spent far too many valuable years with Kaikeyi when I should have been sharing my attention equally between the three of you, and if I could but turn back the samay chakra I would do it in an instant, trembling palsy or no. But I cannot change what happened. And neither can you. So let it go now, Kausalya. Let bygones be bygones, or this poison will seep into all our lives and taint them forever.’ 

She placed her hands firmly in her lap, resisting the urge to knot them into fists. ‘This poison, as you call it, has already tainted all our lives forever. I wanted to forget as much as you do. Otherwise I would not have taken you back when you came to me on Holi feast day.’ She glanced up at him sharply. ‘You do recall that you came to me, do you not?’ 

‘Yes,’ he said shortly, then rasped in a long, harsh breath. ‘I hope I do not have cause to regret it now.’ 

She stared at him, filled with an urge to shake him. Across the bed, Sumantra rose nervously. 

‘I should go now,’ the prime minister began. 

‘Sit down,’ Dasaratha said harshly, coughing once. 

Sumantra looked at Kausalya uncertainly, then resumed his seat. 

‘Dasa,’ she said softly, picking her words very carefully. ‘I have forgiven you a long time ago. I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Rama. For if I had retained the hatred and the bile all these years, it would indeed have poisoned me, tainted my very soul. Hate and love are good housekeepers; once let in the door, they tend to become masters of the house. I did not want my son to grow up under the blight of his mother’s hatred for his father’s other wife. I have seen sons like that. They do not grow into good men, let alone good kings. So I let the anger go. I turned hatred out of my doors. And I locked my heart away, never believing that it would ever be called into use again by you. Yet you were the one who came calling one day without warning or preamble. You knocked upon my heart’s door, and when I opened, you asked me for shelter. For forgiveness.’ She reached out and touched his hand lightly. ‘For love even.’ 

Dasaratha turned his face away, his expression inscrutable, his eyes shiny with some undefinable emotion. His jowls shook with the continuing tremors of his condition. Kausalya went on. 

‘And I gave you what you asked from me, as best as I was able.’ Her voice sharpened despite her effort to control it. The steel crept back into it, hardening her tone. ‘But that does not mean I gave you an empty scroll upon which you could scribe anything you pleased. Our reconciliation does not give you the right to assume that you know me so well as yet. You can never know the Kausalya of all those lost years. That Kausalya is forever barred from you, locked in an abandoned prison of your own design. But this Kausalya,’ she looked down at her own hands now, seeking to control the emotions warring within her, ‘this Kausalya is yours. She belongs to you entirely. She lives only to serve you and to see her son rise above the downturns of her own past misfortunes. I think, if nothing else, I have proved that much to you at least. Do not question my loyalty ever again. Not even by mistake. For that is a mistake I cannot forgive.’ 

There was a long, heavy moment of silence after she had ended. The prime minister had taken to staring at the floor mutely, trying desperately to make himself invisible. But after Kausalya finished speaking, his eyes flickered to her face, then to Dasaratha’s sweating pale features. He seemed to want to say something, then thought better of it. He sighed a long, deep, unhappy sigh and clasped his hands together, staring down once more. A serving maid, no doubt waiting for a pause in the conversation, crept in quickly, picked up a pile of bowls that had been used to towel-wash the maharaja before he changed and took to his bed, and scurried out quickly as a mouse, never once raising her head to look at any of the three. 

After the maid had come and gone, Dasaratha spoke quietly into the ensuing silence. He kept his face turned towards the far wall, his chin trembling as he attempted to form words and phrases without slurring them. 

‘I did not question your loyalty. That has never been an issue between us. I only questioned the propriety of your adding your own voice and weight to Sumitra when she had that hysterical outburst. Bad enough that she should succumb to whatever nervous imaginings that have been plaguing her of late. But I was shocked that you should give credence to them as well.’ He added more tenderly, ‘That was all I meant to say. I intended no insult or injury to you, dear one. If I sounded like I did, then forgive me that trespass as well.’ 

He leaned back against his bolsters. Kausalya looked up and saw that his face was all but dripping sweat. She took up a fresh napkin to wipe him clean, then offered him a jal-bartan of cool water. He bent forward to sip it desultorily, then lay back again. 

‘When does the fighting stop, Kausalya? When do these endless conflicts end and peace truly begin? Not just for our nation, or even for our family. I mean for our hearts. When will these wretched organs ever find lasting peace?’ 

Only in the grave. For that is the only time we finally travel beyond reach of mortal errors, beyond regret and reproach, sins of commission and of omission, free, if only briefly, between our countless physical lives and their inevitable conflicts of karma and dharma
. 

But of course she couldn’t say that aloud. Instead she said, ‘You should be at peace. You have earned the right.’ 

He looked at her, his chest rising and falling irregularly, breath wheezing raggedly from his partly open mouth. ‘You think so? I have earned the right to a little space to rest? A small season of peace and recovery?’ 

‘Indeed,’ she said, stroking his brow gently upwards, pressing back his sweat-oiled hair. ‘As much rest as you need. I did not understand it earlier when you told me. But now I do. You were right in your decision to announce Rama’s succession. He will lift the burden of kingship from your shoulders. That much at least he can do.’ 

But not the burden of husbandhood or fatherhood. Those will weigh you down until your very last breath, and nobody can help that, my love
. 

‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘You are right. It is time. I have already spoken with Sumantra. All the arrangements are ready. The council has already passed a formal motion accepting Rama as my heir-successor. Tomorrow I will pass on my crown to him at the sabha and step down from the sunwood throne.’ 

He paused, reaching up to grasp her hand. She could feel the shaking in his fingers. It took all her strength to keep her own steady as well as his. 

‘Kausalya, I don’t understand all that has happened these past days. I have no conception of sorcery and the evil it can wreak. It has always been beyond my comprehension. I am a man of the flesh, of the earth, of the elements. But this much I know: you have raised a great man. You have moulded him into a person like few others that have ever walked this earth. That credit is all yours.’ 

She thought for a moment he was speaking of himself; then, with a warm flood of pleasure, she realised he was talking of Rama. She bowed her head, kissing his hand. ‘He is your son as well, my lord. He carries your blood, and your great heritage. It takes a lion to father a lion cub.’ 

‘Perhaps,’ Dasaratha rasped, his lungs clouding over again audibly. ‘But it takes a lioness to raise him like a lion.’ 

She accepted that gracefully. Across the bed, Sumantra released yet another long sigh. This one sounded less unhappy, more relieved. Kausalya looked up to see the lines on the prime minister’s face a little lighter. ‘If you will permit me, then, my liege and my lady, we have a few minor matters of formality to discuss concerning tomorrow’s coronation.’