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“There was only ever one person who didn’t laugh at me,” she said, leaning toward him, unable to check her adoration.
“You have to accompany Kaikeyi to Ayodhya,” Ashvapati said. “She will need every ally she can get.” Then he added, almost to himself, “Only a fool would turn down the bride-price the emperor is willing to pay.”
Manthara agreed with that. Fate had dealt Kaikeyi a mighty hand. It had its flaws, but they were not insurmountable.
“I’m going with her,” Manthara said.
She didn’t have to say the obvious: that she had invested too much into Kaikeyi already, that she had no life without the princess. Ashvapati might have smiled, but it was hard to tell with the fire flickering across his face. He was not prone to show emotion.
“I’m glad that you sought me, Manthara. Your apprehension confirms what I was pon-dering as you entered. The minds of men are fickle. Political climates shift constantly. My daughter will be the third queen, usually a place of limited power and repute.”
“I warned her of this too,” Manthara said.
“You know the ways of women,” he said, as though Manthara was not one. “They are cunning and selfish. They are sweet until they get what they want. Those other queens will try to undermine Kaikeyi and put her in her place.” He turned to Manthara, his eyes black like coals. “My daughter is not entering this agreement as a mere third wife. Dasharatha promises to revere her as his foremost consort. She will be the queen mother. Her son will sit on the throne. She will rule as the foremost queen. The kingdom will be hers. Do not let her forget this.”
Manthara stared at Ashvapati, moved by his unexpected vehemence. There was a fanatic devotion there that reason could not deter. He had a vision for his daughter, and he wanted Manthara to safeguard it. Manthara’s heart swelled.
“Manthara, you must be my eyes and ears in Ayodhya. You must be vigilant against the politics of the capital. In fact, I have something for you.”
He stood and retrieved something from his desk and handed it to Manthara. Manthara received the heavy book and tilted it toward the fire, peering at the title. The Laws of Manu, written by Manu, the first man. It described in detail the laws for all mankind.
Copies of this work were extremely rare, for the sacred laws and scriptures were memorized and handed down by word of mouth. From man to man. Priest to priest.
“This is forbidden for women to read,” she whispered in awe. Ashvapati said no more. He gave Manthara one of his penetrating, almost appraising looks, as though she would need every bit of aid to accomplish the task ahead of her. Then he turned his gaze back to the fire.
Manthara nodded and stood up, understanding that the audience was over. Clutching The Laws of Manu to her chest, she hobbled out on her cane. The Lord knew she would need many weapons to emerge victorious in Ayodhya. Thankfully, this book was not her only source of 71
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knowledge. She had taken poisons and survived, and she still counted two Vishakanyas as her dearest friends. Manthara would not disappoint her king, who had done so much for her, who had given her a place in the world and a child to love. She would not let anyone in Ayodhya forget Kaikeyi’s worth.
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chapter 8
The Flags on the Chariots
ausalya never took it for granted that Dasharatha would return from one of K his journeys. She had counted the days since her husband had left, as she always did. And now Dasharatha was on his way home. This time it had been only weeks, not years. Thirty-seven days had passed, and she was content; he had not lingered in Kekaya longer than necessary. Two of his riders had arrived the night before, promising that the king would arrive the following day with, they said, “a prize he had not expected to find.” Kausalya looked forward to seeing the king’s latest treasure. Not a day had passed without a prayer for his and Ayodhya’s welfare.
That morning, she lit the fire lamps at the golden altars for him. Usually she did not pray for the fulfillment of her own desires, trusting the lord within to guide her thoughts and actions. On this day, she prayed that her husband would return with a plan for Ayodhya’s future. Kausalya closed her eyes as the smoke from the incense began to swirl around her. The attending priests chanted the morning mantras, and Kausalya softly sang along. When she opened her eyes, the altar before her gleamed with gold and cleanliness. There were fresh flowers in vases and garlands wrapped around the pillars. It was the most pleasing sight, all in the honor of the thirty gods. Kausalya made her offering into the fire that burned day and night, then bowed to the deity of Vishnu and left the altar room.
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Dawn brightened the palace as Kausalya went to Dasharatha’s private chambers. Though she trusted her servants, it felt right to personally make sure all was in order there. She had arranged for his favorite foods to be prepared, and she would stand in attendance herself.
These were the small efforts she made for him, to show him that even though she was queen, he was her first priority.
When Kausalya stepped into the king’s chamber, she was pleased to see that her servants had meticulously followed her instructions: the champak flowers were fresh, and every cloth item in the room had been replaced with fresh ones. As Kausalya’s gaze swept across the new canopy, the linen on the bed, the curtains, and the hangings on the wall, she commented on all she saw. The servants with her would send the praise on to the others. But when Kausalya walked to the alcove adjacent to Dasharatha’s large balcony, the servants remained at a distance. Kausalya was careful not to touch or move anything. It was here that he kept his personal mementos: arrows from battles, scrolls, books, and certain gems that he prized. He had kept several of his boyhood bows, and they were hung on the wall. Kausalya carefully dusted the surfaces with a rose-scented towel. The king would know she had been here. In the early years of their marriage, Kausalya had often left a small gift for him here: a rainbow-hued gem, a white peacock feather, a portrait of him that she had drawn.
Satisfied, Kausalya went on to inspect the eating area. The tables were ready with golden plates and vessels. Here, the champak flowers floated in water bowls, and Kausalya took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of citrus. Now the queen called for a fire lamp, ignited the camphor she had brought, and walked around the large chamber waving the fragrant smoke into every corner.
When all this was done, the sun was high in the sky. The king would be here soon. With a slight twinge of nervousness, Kausalya departed from her usual duties and hurried to her chamber. Would her appearance please Dasharatha? She had dressed with extra care, knowing that he would be home. He liked her to wear sky blue. She glanced at herself in the mirror and confirmed that the light blue silks suited her. She called to a maidservant, asking her to twine a garland of flowers into her hair. As the maid released Kausalya’s hair from its braid, it bounded up around her head and shoulders with a life of its own. Her hair was thick and black, despite her years. Kausalya inquired about the maid’s family and her well-being. Kausalya always maintained cordial and close relationships with all of them.
With expert fingers, the maid tamed Kausalya’s hair, entwining the garland and arranging it on the top of her head.
Kausalya dabbed some sandalwood oil onto her fingers and lightly massaged her temples. There had been a time when seeing her husband had twisted her stomach into knots.
Those were the hard years, when they realized that their union would be unfruitful. She had felt barren and unattractive, the opposite of a fertile woman. Kausalya had always felt that he was not completely open with her on this topic. He avoided it, almost like a child, hoping it will go away.
The maids secured Kausalya’s crown against her hair. Though Kausalya harbored no vanity, she was pleased with the woman she saw in the looking glass. She had been told 74
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her eyes were large and pleasant, and she saw the kindness in them today. Left to her own devices, she might not have been so aware of what she looked like. But as she was the queen, every woman in Ayodhya looked up to her. Women’s eyes were often critical, and there were high expectations on Kausalya to look and dress like a queen, as if acting like one was not task enough. She was glad to be considered a typical Ayodhyan beauty, neither striking nor plain but pleasant, with light skin, large eyes, and shapely cheekbones.
Kausalya turned to the head maid at the entrance. “Divya, please go to the treasury and ask to see Daksha, the head accountant. Inform him that I will be unable to come today. The king’s welcome may take most of my day. Tell Daksha that I promise to bring a report of the expenses incurred in Kekaya.”
Divya bowed and left.
“We are absorbed in our preparation to welcome our king,” Kausalya said to the other servants. “But Daksha and the experts in other departments continue their work diligently.
Whether the king is here or not, arriving or departing, Daksha keeps immaculate accounts of our expenditure and income.”
It was easy to consider oneself the center of the universe, while in fact a multitude of important activities were always taking place.
“Yet you, Great Queen,” the maid servant said, “must welcome the king and keep track of the expenditures.”
It was true. Daksha and the other treasures were invaluable assets, but Kausalya alone knew the extent of Ayodhya’s wealth. “I went to sleep too late,” she muttered to herself with a sigh.
“You are the first to rise and the last to sleep,” the other maid noted. “We do not know how you do it.”
In a moment of self-critique, Kausalya noted how tired the tender skin under her eyes was. Quickly she turned her attention to the garland of fragrant flowers in her hair. It complemented her delicate diamond crown and the blue silk gown. Dasharatha would be pleased. He would arrive any moment now. Kausalya signaled to her maids that she needed no more attention. She stood and picked up the hem of her dress and hurried out, followed as always by a host of servants and guards, and ascended to the high towers. The attendants waiting there informed her that the king was fast approaching the northern gates. Kausalya had waited hardly a few minutes before she lifted her hand in the signal.
The conch shells blew and the northern gate opened. Since the king’s entourage was small this time, Kausalya did not wait but immediately descended from the tower.
At the bottom, she met Sumitra, who was dressed in summer yellow, with a sparkling, transparent veil.
“Well chosen, Sumitra,” Kausalya said, admiring her co-wife.
Kausalya quickly embraced the other queen. There was so much innocence in Sumitra’s being; one adored her as one did a child. Kausalya had come to love her wholeheartedly.
Together they reached the courtyard just in time. The king was here!
“He will notice you wearing the color he prefers,” Sumitra said.
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It was such a trivial matter, really, yet it did please Kausalya that he noticed. “You made an excellent color choice too, Sumitra. If I know him at all, he will compare you to a pleasing sunrise.”
“It is you he seeks,” Sumitra said simply, in her way of saying just the thing that would warm Kausalya.
Kausalya squeezed Sumitra’s hand, as if they were young girls. She began to search for her husband’s chariot with its sun-gilded flag. Once she found it, she kept her eyes on the chariot, waiting for the moment she could look upon her king’s beloved face. When his chariot got closer, she saw Sumantra acting as charioteer, but the chariot was empty. Quickly, she thought back on what the messengers had said: “The king will return with a prize he had not expected to find.” A sudden anxiety gripped her heart. The homecoming ritual had been disrupted. It was the first time in all these years that he had not been where she expected him to be.
In the grip of this emotion, Kausalya saw an unusual sight: a girl on horseback. She wore her hair loose, she dressed in leathers, and she carried herself with an ease Kausalya had seen only on a man. She was extremely beautiful, the bloom of womanhood upon her.
Kausalya knew this age well. She had arranged many marriages for girls this age, between thirteen and sixteen. Although to a man, the girl on the horse would look like a grown woman, Kausalya knew differently. But who was she? Certainly someone of importance, for she did not ride alone. Four guards formed a protective square around her. Their horses were bright white with shiny black manes and tails, an unusual and expensive breed.
Just then, Dasharatha rode up to the girl. Kausalya’s heart skipped a beat. The girl tossed her hair and smiled at the king. Kausalya completely froze. Every cell in her being knew. But it could not be true. Dasharatha and the horse-riding girl were lovers.
“She is young enough to be my daughter,” Kausalya whispered.
Sumitra leaned toward her, thinking Kausalya had spoken to her. Sumitra’s face was unchanged. She had not noticed anything awry.
Kausalya closed her eyes, just for a moment. When she opened them, she was who she had been: Ayodhya’s queen, Dasharatha’s first wife, and a worthy woman who held her own.
Nothing could change this, not even the words she heard next.
“Welcome Ayodhya’s new queen!” Dasharatha called out.
He had joined hands with the girl and now raised their clasped hands into the air. Their horses danced together, hers black and his white. The king’s exuberance was contagious; heartfelt greetings filled the air. Kausalya took this news more calmly. She did not join the celebration, but she would greet the new queen as befitted her station. Kausalya would reflect on her personal feelings at a later time. She reached for Sumitra’s hand again, seeking comfort in the known. Dasharatha rode up to them as they stood there hand in hand. He dismounted from his horse, landing in front of Kausalya, his presence hitting her like a strong wind. She looked deep into those eyes that she loved and felt relief wash through her; he was still the same Dasharatha. Yet as he spoke, there was a quiver of excitement in his voice that Kausalya had never heard before.
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“Her name is Kaikeyi,” he said softly. “She is King Ashvapati’s daughter and now my wife.” The pleasure in his voice was clear.
Kausalya nodded. “I will welcome her as befits a queen of Ayodhya.”
“I hope she will do the same,” he said. “You deserve the highest honor. But Kaikeyi does not know our customs, and she is young. Be patient with her.” He smiled at Sumitra and briefly touched their hands.
Mounting his horse, he called Kaikeyi forward. “Meet my other queens.”
He exchanged a few private words with the girl and then rode away, the king’s men following him. Kausalya knew how many responsibilities waited for him. But he had not commented on her dress or Sumitra’s as he usually would have. He had not promised to seek her out later. He had not asked if she would be in his quarters later on. It wasn’t just the duties of a king that preoccupied his mind. As Kausalya turned to face the new queen, she thought again, Kaikeyi could be my daughter, and then, I will take her under my wing.
Long experience with people had taught her that kindness and forbearance was the best course. Kausalya turned to the girl. “I will make all the arrangements for you and your people.”
A princess never came into a marriage alone. Kaikeyi’s retinue began to grow around her, but it was smaller than Kausalya expected of a princess. Kekaya was reputed to be a wealthy kingdom, but perhaps its wealth was bound up in their horses. Kausalya’s gaze swept over them, beginning her thoughts on where to house the newcomers. Two servant girls of Kaikeyi’s age who appeared to be twins were looking around curiously. An elderly woman with a hunched back lumbered down from a carriage and stood next to the new queen, the contrast between them striking. Kaikeyi was tall, with a proud, erect back. Her beautiful features hid all her feelings. The hunchback was half the girl’s height, painfully bent over. But she did nothing to hide her displeasure. She stared at Kausalya, looking her up and down. And there they stood, nobody moving. The young girl did not move to greet Kausalya in any way.
According to Ayodhya’s customs, she should have touched Kausalya’s feet, but even a smile would have sufficed.
Following her own heart, Kausalya went forward and embraced Kaikeyi. Nothing good would come from alienating the new queen. She hugged Kaikeyi to her heart, but the girl in her arms did not yield an inch. She stood stiff as a pillar.
“You are not going to be friends,” the hunchback said behind Kaikeyi, and Kaikeyi’s stiff-ness became unbearable.
Kausalya’s arms lost their strength and dropped to her sides.
“You are rivals,” the old woman hissed, looking at the young queen.
Kausalya blinked rapidly, unable to hide her shock.
Kaikeyi looked rather shocked too. “My rival?” she said, and looked more closely at Kausalya. “But she is old.”
Kausalya’s forty-one years claimed her face and her body. She had not felt them before.
Compared to the girl in front of her, she was not just a woman, but an old woman. It was true. But Kausalya couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The two in front of her came from 77
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a world that she did not understand; they spoke and behaved in a way that was unacceptable. Kaikeyi seemed to have no respect for her elders and no premonition that age would claim her too one day. Kausalya took a deep breath. She was determined to be kind to this misguided girl. The young queen would, after all, be residing in Ayodhya now, a place that Kausalya knew like her own heart. She knew the name of every servant and was a close friend with the eight ministers and their wives. These were just a few sites of her power.
Kausalya was not a queen in name alone. Kausalya had also noted that the newcomers had offered no respect to Sumitra, treating her as though she was no one of import. Kausalya turned her eyes on Kaikeyi, ignoring the malevolent hunchback.
“Is it wise to alienate me so soon?” she asked. “Give me a chance to be your friend.
