“A party of two?” She pursed her lips.
“It is a long journey. I did not wish to take others from their homes unnecessarily. And I did not realize the severity of the problems when we left. Clearly.”
She crossed her arms, radiating skepticism. “As you say. Well, it will be difficult for you to speak with the governor.”
“Why is that?” I asked, pushing myself upright.
“He won’t be arriving from Lanka for another week.”
“Lanka?” I asked, completely bewildered. Surely she could not be referring to—
“Ravana is the governor of Janasthana,” my mother said with a tight smile.
“When did he become governor?” This news had not reached Ayodhya.
“Not long ago. He was on his way here when he heard tell of the evil lurking in our forest. Raja Danda and his son were killed in a fire shortly before his arrival, and we were trapped in the city, besieged by all manner of foul creatures. His soldiers helped drive them away and build a wall, and he decided to stay. To protect us.”
The magnitude of our ignorance in Ayodhya astounded me. Shishir had truly duped us. But I still did not understand why the asura had tried to take a city, or set his sights on Ayodhya. “And how will Ravana return so quickly?” I asked. The journey from Lanka to Janasthana took moons, not weeks.
“He has a flying chariot,” my mother said. “It sounds fantastical, but the man is nothing if not brilliant, and he has somehow managed it.”
“I knew he would.” I couldn’t help but smile slightly. He had needed inspiration when we last talked about it, a lifetime ago. Perhaps his grief had fueled him toward this greatness.
We sat in silence for a moment. “Stay with us until he returns. I insist.” My mother took my hand in hers, and I marveled at my near-healed skin. “I have a husband, and a daughter and son.”
So, she had replaced Yudhajit and me. My other brothers had not been as old, or as affected by her departure, but we had struggled in her absence. I remembered Manthara’s admonishment that my mother had no choice in the matter, that she could not have come back to us. But this news hurt much more deeply than logic could repair.
I pulled my hand away, and my mother added, “They would love to meet you. Of course they have heard of you.”
“Of me?” I asked.
“Tales of your work in Ayodhya have reached us. You are greatly admired here. My daughter Meena looks up to you.” She spoke earnestly, happily, words that cut sharp as knives. The could-have-beens and what-ifs swelled up inside me.
“I am very proud of everything you have accomplished. You have become an incredible woman, despite me. I never thought I would see you again.” Her voice shook. “I have not stopped thanking the gods since you appeared. They granted me a wish I did not deserve.”
The gods had nothing to do with this. I swallowed. “I am thankful to see you again as well, Ma.”
She gave me a small smile and took my hand again. I let her.
Then Lakshmana came rushing into the room, and the moment was broken.
I have had ample time to turn those weeks with my mother over and over in my head. The temptation to put some of the fault on my mother for the debacle of my life has remained strong over the years, but the chain of responsibility has to stop somewhere.
Besides, though I could not help but search for it, I never found an instance of devious behavior from my mother during our time together. She had remade herself remarkably well, away from the shadow of my father. She put me in a room overlooking her gardens, with a window made out of glass instead of paper. I had never fathomed such a thing before—up north, glass was fashioned into beads and trinkets, but never such large, clear panels.
“Ravana’s invention,” she told me when I stopped to marvel at it. “He has put his mind to advancement. The salve used to soothe your burns is also of his invention—he has devoted much time to the study of healing.”
I pressed my face up against the window, hardly believing that I could see right through it. Our paper windows back home let in light—but this was something else entirely.
“You know him,” my mother said. She did not phrase it like a question.
I turned to face her. “Yes. Our paths have crossed on several occasions.”
The corners of her mouth turned up, but tears pooled in her eyes. “He gave me the first news I had of you in years. A precious gift. He told me you were strong and smart and determined.” A teardrop rolled down her face.
“When was this?” I asked. After our last meeting, I could imagine him saying nothing of the sort.