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“I am favorable to your suggestion,” he said. “Speak to me in more detail of this fire ritual.”
Dasharatha knew the importance of fire and its pure force. Vasishta and the other high priest regularly conducted cleansing sacrifices on the king’s behalf. The fire ritual Vasishta was now speaking of sounded like a more advanced undertaking.
Sumantra stood up and received the king’s permission to speak.
“Great King, fire sacrifices are a common practice among kings, as you well know. The sacrifice of the white stallion is the lengthiest and the most costly. To perform this sacrifice, a white stallion will be released into the kingdom and beyond, followed closely by the king’s army. The horse will roam at will from state to state, informing the subject kings of the emperor’s intention to perform a sacrifice. A message embossed in gold, placed around the horse’s neck, will explain the details of the sacrifice. All subordinate kings must submit tribute. This is the time for any rebellious king to declare insubordination by seizing the horse. Whoever seizes the horse challenges the emperor to war. The winner will take possession of the horse and thereby the entire empire. If no one challenges the horse, it will return 152
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home, the fire pits will be ignited, and the stallion will be sacrificed into the fire and released to its next life.”
Dasharatha considered the procedure and its cost to the kingdom.
“The release of the horse is a mere formality, Great King,” Vasishta said. “We have no reason to believe that anyone on Earth will object.”
“If you believe this ritual will yield results, then I have no objection,” the king answered, giving his assent. “Let us begin the preparations at once.”
“The stallion can be released at an auspicious time,” Vasishta said. “I will consult the planetary constellations. Usually the stallion will return within one year. This gives us the necessary time to prepare the details for the elaborate ritual.”
“What shall I do?” Dasharatha asked.
“First, the queens must be informed, particularly Queen Kausalya, since she is the gatekeeper to Ayodhya’s wealth. She alone will know how much Ayodhya’s treasury can spare.”
“I will seek her as soon as this meeting adjourns,” Dasharatha promised.
“Second, the fertility ceremony at the culmination of this great sacrifice cannot be conducted by just anyone,” Vasishta cautioned. “We need to find a qualified priest to preside over this crucial ritual. Only someone truly extraordinary has the powers to conduct the son-bearing ceremony. And there is only one. His name is Rishyashringa, ‘the horned one.’
Although in every way he appears like a man, he has a horn in the center of his forehead.”
The king had seen stranger sights, so he only nodded. Sumantra told the council of Rishyashringa’s remarkable birth and life. Rishyashringa was conceived in a most strange way by a doe and then raised by his father Vibhandaka in complete ignorance of the female gender.
Until his adolescence, he did not know that women existed at all, having lived secluded deep in the jungle. Fate conspired to change his innocence in a most unusual manner, when a king named Romapada needed the touch of Rishyashringa’s pure feet to end the drought of his land. A group of courtesans were sent to beguile the young boy to Romapada’s kingdom.
How could the boy resist when he did not even know what he was resisting? The moment Rishyashringa’s feet touched the parched land, showers of rain blessed the kingdom. Such was the innate power of the horned sage.
Rishyashringa was still living in the kingdom of Romapada, who was a dear friend to Dasharatha. Truly, the stars were aligning for the fire ceremony to take place. Dasharatha felt the tug of satisfaction that comes when complex factors align effortlessly.
As the meeting adjourned, Vasishta placed his hand on Dasharatha’s shoulder. “A word, Great King.”
At once, Dasharatha became grave. If Vasishta wanted a word in private, it was sure to be serious. Still he wasn’t prepared for Vasishta’s question: “Who will be the mother of your son?”
Vasishta’s penetrating gaze told the king he knew all. There could be no hedging or skirt-ing the topic. It was as if his three wives stood behind Vasishta, waiting for Dasharatha’s answer. Vasishta’s look informed the king that Vasishta knew Kaikeyi was his chosen one. By now, all of Ayodhya knew Kaikeyi’s bride-price.
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“I made a promise to Kaikeyi’s father and to her,” Dasharatha said. “She must be my first choice. I know this is unfair to Kausalya, who has been by my side since the beginning. But I must honor my word. There is no other way.”
He would spend the rest of his life atoning for his choice, no matter whom he chose.
“Great King,” Vasishta said, and there was compassion in his voice, “I must inform you that the ancient ceremonial laws require that wives be honored according to their rank.
Kausalya will be called first. Kaikeyi last. In this, she will not be first or second but third, as is her rank.”
Dasharatha felt a sudden weight on his shoulders. Kaikeyi would be publicly put in her place. It was not the place that King Ashvapati had envisioned for his prized daughter. Kaikeyi would not like it.
“I cannot break my oath,” Dasharatha emphasized.
“She has not borne you natural sons. If she had, we would not be forced to this recourse.
The costly and elaborate ceremony would not be necessary. Surely her father will agree. He would be foolish not to. The terms of your vow have expired or, at the least, changed. This is my opinion. But of course, you have the political mind, not I.”
Dasharatha considered this, seeing the truth in it. “What will this hierarchy mean for the results of the ceremony?”
“We are wandering here into a realm that departs from human logic and reason,”
Vasishta said. “To those who cannot see the inner workings, the ritual has elements of magic to it. The fertility nectar will be divided among your wives according to their rank. Kausalya is entitled to the largest share and Sumitra to the second largest. But even a drop of the nectar is said to produce sons. Kaikeyi will not be excluded. If the sacrifice is successful, one or all of your queens will bear you a son. It’s up to the gods. If we, however, neglect the injunc-tions and call a junior queen first, the entire son-bearing ritual will be compromised.”
There was little more to say. Dasharatha and Vasishta went in separate directions. At the appropriate time, the white stallion would be released. In a year’s time, when it returned, the fires would be lit. By that time, Dasharatha had to reconcile Kaikeyi to the fact that she would not receive the highest honor. King Ashvapati had to be informed. The warrior in Dasharatha fought the shackles that now bound his hands. The father in him rejoiced at the future ahead. Kaikeyi’s firm dismissal kept the curse at bay.
Torn by opposing thoughts, Dasharatha returned to his private balcony overlooking the city. It was one of the few places where he felt completely alone, his favorite place to think.
His thoughts needed the expansive space to roam free and take their shape.
Gazing over his beloved city still obscured by rain, he thought of Kaikeyi’s father, the stern Ashvapati. Dasharatha knew all too well what their agreement was: Kaikeyi’s son would be king. By this promise, Kaikeyi was entitled to the lion’s share of the nectar. But Vasishta had been clear: Kaikeyi had not borne him natural sons. If he was to have sons at all, he had to carefully follow Vasishta’s instructions. Ashvapati’s stern eyes held no compassion.
Dasharatha decided to summon Kaikeyi first among the queens to inform her what was to happen. While he waited, he began formulating his letter to Ashvapati. When Kaikeyi 155
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appeared, she looked up at him with those eyes. That she belonged to him was one of the miracles of his existence. He never failed to notice how beautiful and appealing she was.
He could not predict how she would react. It thrilled and terrified him. It was not easy to appease an angry woman, at least not an angry Kaikeyi. His other wives had never truly been angry with him.
“Here we are again,” he said lightly. The rain still fell, but the sun shone through.
As Dasharatha spoke, Kaikeyi listened with unusual gravity. She understood what was at stake. The previous night’s confession had been impressed upon her.
“I never married you,” she said, “for the sake of your kingdom. That was my father’s wish.”
Dasharatha had thought so, but it was gratifying to hear.
“But I loathe the idea of a horse sacrifice,” Kaikeyi said.
Of course she did, considering her deep love for the animals.
“But you understand that it is our only avenue?” he asked.
She nodded, gazing into his eyes.
“Will your father be as understanding?”
“I doubt it. His aspirations for me have no limits. He wishes me to be a man and a woman.
A queen and a king. I don’t think it’s possible to please him.”
Dasharatha had to smile. He had never understood the complex nature of his father-in-law.
“But what choice does he have?” Kaikeyi said. “I have not borne you any children. I could not give you what you needed the most.”
“I did not marry you for that,” Dasharatha said. A smile spread across her face. “You give me what I need the most.”
Her whole countenance changed, and Dasharatha felt the response in his body. He had to remind himself that it was midday. He could not abandon his duties now to cavort with Kaikeyi.
“I will see you in the evening,” he promised. “I must write this letter to your father.”
“Send him my respect,” she said, and turned away.
“I always do.”
He watched her leave, his passion for her ignited. He carefully breathed the rain-filled air. The letter to his father-in-law would write itself now that Kaikeyi was on his side. Still, when Dasharatha sat down, he crafted his words, desiring Ashvapati’s approval while also conveying that there really was no other choice.
As he handed the letter to an envoy, he felt an unexpected satisfaction.
In his personal life, he favored Kaikeyi, but Kausalya deserved more than she was getting. Sumitra had never claimed his love and time the way the other two women did. Sumitra was acceptance personified. He was pleased that all three of his wives would take part in the ceremony. Ashvapati had to understand that Dasharatha had no choice. He would do anything for a son now. Even face the retribution of Kaikeyi’s father or fate.
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chapter 18
Poisoned Minds
Half a year passed. All anyone could talk about was the horse sacrifice at the end of the year. Manthara, however, had other things on her mind—the fact, for example, that she would not be welcome there because she was a person of inauspicious and ill-omened appearance. She was not overly crushed by this fact.
She would indeed have been surprised if a ritual in Ayodhya welcomed one such as her. She had her doubts about the success of the whole procedure. She bided her time, keeping Kaikeyi on her toes with pointed questions: What if Kaikeyi remained childless anyway?
What if the sacrifice was meant to exclude Kaikeyi and favor Kausalya?
What if one of the other queens tried to kill Kaikeyi?
What if Manthara was poisoned? What would Kaikeyi do then?
Manthara felt it was necessary to remind Kaikeyi of the hostile situation they lived in. She made it a point to come up with new possible scenarios of their ruin, and she was in the middle of describing her latest suspicion while Kaikeyi rubbed an ointment on her back. It contained drops of lily of the valley, Manthara’s all-time favorite poisonous flower. It had grown naturally in Kekaya, but here Manthara carefully grew a few plants herself, loving the innocent look of the teardrop
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flowers. In small amounts, the distilled oil also made you gentle, sweet, and secure. Manthara made sure that Kaikeyi also used the oil.
Kaikeyi’s firm movements across Manthara’s back were interrupted by the loud noise of trumpeting swans. The fountain in Kaikeyi’s courtyard always had a team of swans. Someone was dashing through the courtyard with such speed that the swans flew away in alarm.
Kaikeyi’s attention turned toward the entrance, and Manthara stopped talking. The thundering sound of a chariot stopped and then footsteps echoed up the stairway.
Kaikeyi stood up. She was dressed elaborately, like a queen attending a function. Manthara was pleased by her immaculate appearance. Dasharatha appeared. He was angry; that was obvious by his erratic entry and the way he barely greeted his beloved.
He turned on Manthara at once. She wasn’t prepared for the accusation she saw in his eyes.
“What is it?” Kaikeyi asked, placing her hand on his chest. “What has happened? Your heart is racing.”
Dasharatha took a deep breath, straightened his back as if he wasn’t already double Manthara’s height. He did not look at Kaikeyi, but held Manthara’s eyes.
She did not flinch, but her knuckles tightened around her cane. We can do this, it confirmed, solid in her hand.
The king steadied his breath and stepped away from Kaikeyi and toward Manthara. The names she called him in private surfaced in her mind. As she met his stare, she could see that he hoarded names for her too.
“You,” he said, as if uttering a curse. “You are no longer welcome in Ayodhya.”
“What?” Kaikeyi cried out. “What are you saying?”
Kaikeyi immediately sided with Manthara, and Manthara felt her fingers relax around her cane. Dasharatha changed tactics, focusing on Kaikeyi instead of Manthara.
“Manthara has shown her true colors,” Dasharatha said. “She has been plotting against Kausalya and Sumitra, seeking a way to kill them by poison. As the time for our sacrifice nears, she wishes to eliminate the other queens. Perhaps to elevate your position.”
Dasharatha’s eyes were now intent on Kaikeyi. What would the king do if his darling wife was complicit in the plot?
Kaikeyi’s arm slid off Manthara’s back. She smiled. “This is not true. Manthara, tell him.
You would never do such a thing.”
“There is no use denying it,” Dasharatha warned. “I know what happens in my own kingdom, Manthara. Your sly questioning has not gone unnoticed. I can call on several witnesses who will testify to the fact that you have been asking what poisons are used in Ayodhya. Your questions have circled around Kausalya and Sumitra’s habits and foods, asking whether they have servants who taste their food, whether they wear gems that expel poisons, which antidotes they keep nearby. You have been thorough but not subtle. Because you have served Kaikeyi since her birth, I will spare you corporal punishment. But you will leave Ayodhya at once. I never want to see you in my kingdom again.”
Manthara spat out, “Why would I go for subterfuge when I’m innocent? Believe me, if I wanted those two dead, they already would be.”
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Dasharatha’s hands moved toward Manthara as if he meant to drag her out this very minute.
Kaikeyi stepped in his way, holding up a warning hand. With one hand on Manthara and one on Dasharatha, she said, “Let us speak calmly.”
“No,” Dasharatha said. “You may trust what she says, but I do not. I do not put faith in a single word that comes from that mouth. In fact, I distrust it, knowing that she does not have my best interest at heart.”
“What of my best interest?” Kaikeyi asked, and there was a plea in her voice. She was smart not to challenge him in return, for his anger was at its very edge. Kaikeyi’s arms were now protectively around Manthara again. “Manthara would never harm me.”
The king looked from one to the other; only now it began to dawn on him that Kaikeyi had chosen Manthara over him.
“Very well,” Dasharatha said, “since you do not trust my judgment or honor my authority”—the ice in his voice was a king’s—“I will see you, Manthara, in my court tomorrow.
There you will answer to this charge.”
“I will not let her face you and all your ministers alone!” Kaikeyi protested. “She is an elderly woman, and you have not even given her a chance to speak.”
“She will be heard tomorrow in my court. Stay out of this, Kaikeyi.”
He took her hand and pulled her away from Manthara. He glared at Manthara as though he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as her. That didn’t discourage Manthara, though, as she quietly followed them, hiding behind one of the curtains to overhear.
“Kaikeyi, this is not a minor offense,” he said urgently. “Do not side with her. She has a poisoned mind. This has escalated beyond personal likes and dislikes. She stands accused of harboring murderous intentions. We cannot shelter such a person within Ayodhya. The Laws of Manu are clear on this. As a king, I would be a fool to allow such a person in our inner circles. She is not the well-meaning mother figure you take her to be. You need to see how far from such a figure she—”
“She couldn’t be worse than my real mother,” Kaikeyi muttered.
“She is!” Dasharatha said in a loud voice. “Your mother was open and outspoken regarding her desires. She bore the consequences of it. Manthara, on the other hand, is sly and manipulative. She will say anything to serve her own purpose. And I don’t think, my dear, that your best interest is her first priority.”
“You are wrong,” she said in that soft way, as if she felt bad for his error in judgment.
“Manthara is here in Ayodhya because I am here. She has been at my side long before you were. Even if I wanted to, I could not turn away from her.”
“You trust her more than you trust me?” Dasharatha said.
Although Manthara could not see his face through the thick curtain, she smirked at the tone of his voice. He was sad now, the poor king. What a spineless fool he was, Manthara thought with a hushed cackle. He had bound all his hopes and desires into Kaikeyi, giving her such power. Good. Kaikeyi was Manthara’s weapon.
