Prince of Dharma (87 page)

Behind her, Kausalya said cautiously: ‘We spoke to all the palace staff, Sumitra. There’s nobody else to corroborate your story. And the guruji himself met with Kaikeyi. He says she’s so thin and weakened from her nine days of fasting, she couldn’t possibly have done all you said she did. Even if she did somehow pull it off, she certainly wasn’t hissing or lunging about like a serpent. He says she was barely conscious. He ended up trying to convince her to take some nourishment.’ 

Sumitra turned back to Kausalya, her eyes flashing. ‘So what does that mean? That I made up the whole story? Kausalya, when you found me lying unconscious on the floor of the sick-chamber and revived me, I told you and the guruji everything that had happened. Why would I make up a story like that?’ 

Kausalya began folding the bedclothes with a slow, deliberate manner that made Sumitra’s heart sink. ‘Sumitra, nobody’s saying you made up the story. It’s just that we can’t find any proof to support your version. Please, don’t get upset again. I know you must have been through a terrible experience. But the guruji feels—’ 

‘What? What does he feel?’ Sumitra realised how angry and resentful she sounded and felt instantly ashamed. Harsh words and angry looks didn’t come easily to her. They were Kaikeyi’s weapons. But she couldn’t believe that the nightmare scene she had witnessed in the maharaja’s sick-chamber was being dismissed as … as what exactly? 

Kausalya stood and came to her. She took Sumitra’s wrists in her hands, massaging the pulse points gently, trying to soothe her. ‘There was a stain on the maharaja’s ang-vastra. The guru identified it. I saw it too. In the exact spot you said it would be found.’ 

Kausalya pointed to a spot on her own midriff, just below her ribs. ‘There.’ 

A surge of hope leapt in Sumitra’s heart. ‘Then you have proof! The venom from her fangs, it dripped and fell on to his ang-vastra. There’s no way that venom could have come there except if what I saw is true! You have proof!’ 

Kausalya looked at her silently, continuing to stroke Sumitra’s wrists. ‘That’s what I thought too when I saw the spot. But then the guru identified the cause of the stain.’ She stopped stroking and touched Sumitra’s cheek gently. ‘It was the fruit punch you had prepared for him, Sumitra. A drop spilt on his ang-vastra, that’s all.’ 

Sumitra wanted to scream again. The nightmare had been more bearable than this reality. At least she could wake up from the nightmare. What did all this mean? That her senses had tricked her? That she had slipped and fallen and struck her head and imagined the whole bizarre scenario? Or that Kaikeyi was behind this too, manipulating everything to cover her tracks? 

Sumitra pictured Guru Vashishta’s grim face and changed her mind immediately. Whatever the extent of Kaikeyi’s witchery, she couldn’t possibly have come face to face with the sage and deceived him as well. That was simply impossible. 

But then what was the truth? What had really happened in that sick-chamber? 

Sumitra took a deep breath. ‘Kausalya, at least tell me this much. If the whole thing was just some kind of nightmare hallucination, then Dasa must be well, mustn’t he? Nothing happened to him because, as you say, nothing happened at all.’ 

‘Bhagini,’ Kausalya said, using the affectionate term the two queens shared, meaning literally she-with-whom-I-share-all. ‘There’s something else I have to tell you. Come sit here for a minute.’ 

They sat on the edge of the bed again, this time on the side facing the window. The afternoon sunshine leaked through the cracks and crevices in the drapes, creating a peculiar sense of being neither wholly indoors nor outdoors. Like a prison cell with a large barred window, Sumitra thought. Now, why did I think such a thing? 

Kausalya said softly, ‘Guru Vashishta smelled a strange odour in the fruit punch spilled on the floor and in the stain on the maharaja’s ang-vastra.’ 

Her deep brown eyes watched Sumitra closely, searching for a reaction. ‘He recognised it at once as the juice of the vinaashe root.’ 

‘Poisonroot?’ Sumitra said, not understanding at first. ‘But that’s impossible! Why would anyone put poisonroot in Dasa’s punch?’ She clapped her hands to her face, horrified. ‘Devi! If he drank vinaashe root, then—’ 

Kausalya shook her head reassuringly. ‘The maharaja is going to be all right. Guru Vashishta and I entered the sick-chamber not an instant too soon. The guru sent for the antidote right away. We were able to revive the maharaja. Fortunately, he didn’t imbibe too much of the drug. The vaids say that given his condition, the drug might well have put him into a permanent coma. Or worse.’ 

She added slowly: ‘If we had arrived even a few minutes later, the maharaja might not be with us today.’ 

Sumitra stared up at the woman who was not just her senior in the family hierarchy but also her dearest friend. At that instant, despite her dishevelled and distraught state, Sumitra herself still looked more like a young girl than the mother of two fifteenyear-old sons. Her large light-brown eyes glistened wetly in her delicately shaped face. Her innocent mind struggled to comprehend the implications of Kausalya’s shocking revelation. 

‘But how could the vinaashe root have got into his punch, Kausalya? I made it myself with my own hands. I know how poisonroot smells—how it stinks! I would have known at once if it was mixed with the other herbs. Besides, if you and Guru Vashishta say that Kaikeyi wasn’t in the sick-chamber, then nobody else was there either. There was only the maharaja and myself.’ 

Kausalya looked down at her silently, still holding Sumitra’s hands. Her beautiful almond-shaped eyes brimmed with an emotion that was part sympathy and part sorrow. Sumitra stared at her, suddenly understanding the full significance of Kausalya’s words. 

‘Devi spare us,’ Sumitra said, choking on the realisation. ‘You believe that I put the poisonroot in his punch? That I tried to poison him?’ 

Kausalya shook her head. ‘No, Sumitra. I know how much you love Dasaratha. You would give your life for him. Why, after he deserted me for Kaikeyi, I turned bitter and angry. It was all I could manage to keep from actually wishing him ill. I wanted to curse him, Sumitra! I hated him for what he had done to me.’ 

The First Queen shook her head, trying to banish those bitter years of neglect and betrayal. ‘But you, Sumitra? He neglected you as much as he did me. Yet I saw how you took it. I used to cry on your lap, you remember? You used to comfort me like a little mother! You couldn’t bring yourself to hate him even then. I know you can’t hate him now, when he’s weak and ailing and so full of regret.’ 

Kausalya paused to wipe the tears from her cheeks. 

Sumitra waited, knowing there was more. 

After a short pause, Kausalya went on, ‘But as I’ve said already, the guards confirm that nobody else went in or out of the sick-chamber between the time that I left to go see the guru and the time that the guru and I returned together. You admitted it yourself, only you and Dasaratha were there together. Alone.’ 

And a giant anthropomorphic serpent with Kaikeyi’s face, Sumitra thought silently. But I can’t prove that. Just as I can’t prove that I didn’t do what everybody thinks I did in that chamber, even though I know I didn’t do it. 

Kausalya went on, her hesitation making it clear that she didn’t enjoy saying what she was about to say, but that it had to be said anyway. ‘The guru thinks that perhaps you were distraught with anxiety for Dasaratha’s condition. That perhaps the maharaja, in one of his sudden fits of delirium, begged you to give him something to sleep peacefully and make the transition to the afterlife without further suffering. We all know how you can’t bear to watch another person suffering, Sumitra. So maybe … and I don’t believe this myself, mind you … but perhaps it’s possible that you ground up some vinaashe root with your herbs and you mixed it into his fruit punch and then gave him a sip. And as you watched him fall unconscious, you were overcome with guilt and shock at what you’d done, and fainted dead away.’ 

Kausalya stopped, her face reflecting her pain at saying these things. She searched Sumitra’s face for some confirmation or denial of what she’d just said. 

Sumitra finished for her: ‘And then my mind, unable to accept what I had just done, conjured up a wildly fanciful tale of Kaikeyi turning into a giant serpent and stinging the maharaja into his coma.’ 

Kausalya’s eyes widened. She started to say something, then stopped as Sumitra motioned her to wait. 

Sumitra’s voice was low but steady. She was over her upheaval and fear now. Not a woman given easily to anger, she was beyond that hot state of fury. She was cold as Himalayan ice. ‘Because it’s easier for me to believe that Kaikeyi turned into a snake and attacked Dasaratha than to accept that I poisoned him.’ 

Kausalya stared at her silently, uncertain whether to speak yet or wait. 

Sumitra said, ‘That is what you believe, isn’t it, Kausalya? That’s the explanation that you and the guru came up with after reviewing all the facts of the situation. That half-delirious, agonised Dasaratha cajoled and convinced docile little Sumitra into drugging his punch. And now her fragile feminine mind can’t deal with the monstrosity of such a deed. That more or less sums it up, doesn’t it?’ 

Kausalya nodded unhappily. ‘Something like that. But Sumitra, we understand, we know you didn’t mean to do it. We’ve all been under a great strain of late.’ 

Suddenly Sumitra felt very tired, as if she hadn’t slept in weeks. In a way that was partly true: since Holi she had napped only a few hours each day, spending all her time in the maharaja’s sickroom tending to his needs. Shouldn’t have bothered, she thought bitterly. Should have just mixed up a good batch of poisonroot fruit punch and poured it down his throat nine days ago, would have saved us all a lot of grief and heartache. 

She giggled at the absurdity of the thought. 

Kausalya looked at her with new concern. 

Sumitra shook her head. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not turning hysterical. It’s just so bizarre, it’s almost funny.’ But once she had said it, she didn’t feel like laughing. 

A thought occurred to her. ‘Tell me, Kausalya, this scenario you and the guru came up with to explain this morning’s events, does Dasaratha corroborate your version?’ 

Kausalya shook her head slowly. ‘He doesn’t remember anything. Only that you offered to make him some of your famous fruit punch and he tried to convince you to give him something else, but he can’t remember what that other thing was exactly.’ 

She hesitated before adding: ‘He doesn’t know about our theory, of course. It would only make him feel worse.’ Her tone had a plea in it. 

‘Of course,’ Sumitra agreed without rancour. ‘I won’t say a word to him. How is he now?’ 

‘He’s all right, just a little shaken. He had only just begun to recover this morning, you know. This incident—’ 

‘Yes, I understand.’ Sumitra stood up. ‘What do you and the guru mean to do now? Arrest me? Imprison me in my chambers? Throw me into the dungeons?’ 

Kausalya looked horrified. ‘Never! We love you, Sumitra. You know that. I never said that I believe this is what actually happened. It’s just—’ 

‘The only explanation that fits all the facts,’ Sumitra finished wearily. ‘Yes, I know. In that case, Kausalya, if you don’t mind, I’d like to bathe and change my clothes and say my prayers. I would have done it in the morning, but somehow in all themelee, I just don’t seem to have found the time. If you’ll excuse me.’ 

Kausalya stood up. ‘Of course. I’ll be with the maharaja. Maybe, after you’ve finished, you should rest a while longer. You look like you need it. You’ve been under a great deal of strain these past nine days.’ 

Sumitra nodded and added silently: I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot more strain in the days to come. 

Kausalya went to the doorway. ‘If there’s anything you need … if you need to talk about this some more … ‘ 

‘I’ll come to you. Of course. Good day, Kausalya.’ 

Kausalya paused a moment longer at the threshold. Their eyes met for an instant and something passed between the two women. Something that was part regret and part confusion. And all sadness. 

The First Queen turned and made her way down the corridor. Sumitra watched her go, feeling as if she had just lost her best friend in the whole wide world. 

She shut the door, latched it, leaned her head against the softly scented pinewood, and began to cry. 

SEVENTEEN 

They ran into trouble in the late afternoon. 

The sun was behind them now, beating relentlessly down on their backs, searing the nape of Rama’s neck. From the cool touch of the rig against his bare back, he knew that the leather was soaked through with sweat. So was his ang-vastra, reduced now to a limp rope-like garland hanging around his neck and wound around his arms to keep it out of the way. They had been travelling for over eight hours without pause, he estimated. A little after noon, the brahmarishi had exhorted them to eat some fruit and salt and drink some water, but Vishwamitra himself had not taken a morsel. In fact, Rama realised, in the nine days they had been together, he couldn’t recall ever seeing the seer-mage eat a full meal. Small wonder then that not a single one of the three-hundred-strong Brahmin procession had uttered a word of protest at either the relentless pace, the searing heat, or the lack of a rest. Old and young alike, the Brahmins and brahmacharyas of Siddh-ashrama had followed their guru stoically. There was no more chanting or recitation–there wasn’t enough energy for that–but the entourage had trudged on without protest or complaint for the better part of the day.