I felt it then—that strange sense of foreboding that had passed through me so long ago, playing with my children. That I might stand on the jagged cliff face of loss. But the feeling passed quickly, washed away as Rama selected a golden arrow, then half turned to look at the spectators. He spotted Sumitra and Kaushalya and smiled slightly. Then he locked eyes with me and gave a single nod. I nodded back and tried to pretend I had not spied the halo around his head, tried to pretend his divinity was not throwing diamond sparks against his jet-black hair, tried to pretend that a young man of sixteen wasn’t casting a shadow twenty feet long.
In a motion as fluid and beautiful as a dancer, Rama faced the target, nocked the arrow, and took aim.
The arrow ripped through the center of the target, and the splintering echoed in the absolute silence. Even I took a second to comprehend the sheer effortlessness of it. In the next moment, we were all on our feet cheering. Even the other suitors were shouting their approval of his feat.
I turned to look at Sita. She was gazing at Rama with a small smile on her face, and he was staring back at her. After a moment, she stood and climbed down from the dais, a white lotus garland in hand.
As she walked toward the center of the field, the celebrations quieted. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Sita would take Rama as her husband. And yet we all knew we were witnessing something holy. Marriage was common, but the joining of two kingdoms—of a yuvradnyi born of the earth and a yuvraja who had performed an impossible feat—felt different.
As Sita approached, Rama walked toward her, smiling. He looked every bit a yuvraja, and every bit a god. He came to a stop before her and bowed his head, pressing his hands together. “Yuvradnyi,” he said, voice ringing for all to hear. “I have completed the tasks you set for me. I have lifted the bow, and strung it, and hit the target besides. If I have performed to your satisfaction, I ask for the honor of your hand in marriage.” He kept his eyes fixed on Sita as he spoke.
Sita met Rama’s gaze, her hands steady around the flowers. She looped the garland around his neck, and her demure smile blossomed into a grin. “Yuvraja Rama, I choose you as my husband.”
Kaushalya grabbed my elbow. “Our son, wed,” she whispered in my ear. “Only yesterday he was born.”
I leaned my head against her shoulder. “Congratulations, Queen Mother.”
Afterward, I went to find Ravana, hoping a friendly face would help temper his humiliation. There was also the distinct possibility my presence would rub salt in the wound, but our bond looked strong and I decided to risk it.
“Hello?” I called into his chambers. The door had been left slightly open, but no servants appeared to be present.
From inside came a soft sound of movement. The hall was deserted, so I entered his rooms and closed the door behind me. “Ravana?” I called. “It’s me, Kaikeyi.”
I moved past the antechamber and found him leaning against a casement in his bedroom, arms crossed. Tears glinted on his cheeks. He did not even look at me.
“Mandodari died,” he said, startling me.
“I had heard. I am so sorry.” I came to stand beside him.
“I waited years to find another bride, and now… this.” Despite the tears, his voice was remarkably even. Emotionless.
I rested a hand lightly on his arm. “You were the only other who even managed to lift the bow. That is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I am not ashamed!” he bellowed. I jerked my hand away in alarm. “Did you hear her laugh?”
“She is young, naive—she meant no harm by it.”
“It was the most beautiful sound. She sounded so like Mandodari.” He heaved a great breath. One hand reached up to wipe the wetness from his face. “Your son Rama won the contest, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a good boy? Will he treat her well?” So he was smitten with her. I had not expected this turn of events.
“He is the best of boys,” I said. “Please, Ravana, do not despair. There will be other women, of course—”
“How dare you?” He snarled, rage transforming his features into ugliness. I stumbled back several steps. Ravana looked dangerous—demonic. “How dare you? Leave me!”
I ran from his quarters, only slowing when I reached my own chambers.
I did not see Ravana again and did not have the time to ponder his strange turn of behavior, for all the boys were wed on the trip. Bharata and Shatrugna were joined with Sita’s cousins, Mandavi and Shrutakirti, both happy, vivacious girls who seemed well matched for the boys. Lakshmana married Sita’s younger sister, Urmila, their quiet temperaments beautifully suited.