“Seven or eight years ago, it must have been. He passed through Janasthana on his return from a pilgrimage. He lost his daughter, you know, and I had lost a daughter in a way, and we were able to speak openly to each other. He said if his daughter were still alive, he would be hungry for any word of her, so he was happy to do that for me.”
I hardly knew how to take her words. Had Ravana been spying on me for my mother that first trip? And yet, he had not even mentioned her to me—a cruelty I thought him incapable of.
The question must have been evident on my face, for my mother said immediately, “He did not know when he met you that you were my daughter. I had not told anyone outside of my family—my family here, that is—of my past, or that my daughter was a radnyi of Ayodhya. But when he came here, he guessed that you were my blood. He said there was a strong resemblance.”
I looked at my mother and then down at myself. My mother was taller than I was, with a full figure and clear bronze eyes. I was of middling height, broad-shouldered but flat-chested, with eyes that were often described as obsidian.
My mother laughed. “A resemblance in personality.”
As she spoke, she reached out a hand to cup my face. I instinctively shied away from the touch, then took a deep breath and allowed it. She caressed my cheek.
“I know I have said this already, but I am so very proud of you. You have exceeded my wildest dreams for you. Even Ravana has been influenced by you.”
I made a skeptical sound.
“I mean it. He said he was inspired by your example and wished to include women on his own Mantri Parishad. That is how I became Minister of Finance.”
“I did not know that,” I admitted. It was certainly meaningful that Ravana would place her not only on the Mantri Parishad, but within his inner council.
“I am sure he will be glad to see you again,” she said, patting my cheek.
After scrubbing the dust of the road and battle from my skin, I went looking for Lakshmana. I did not search long. He was lying on his bed, dressed in a cream-colored dhoti embellished with navy embroidery that reminded me of my mother’s robes. Perhaps it was a family color. Despite the unfamiliar attire, though, Lakshmana looked relaxed and comfortable.
“Enjoying yourself?” I asked, tousling his hair.
“Very much.” He rolled out of reach and onto the floor. This seemed hilariously funny to me, and I sat on the edge of his bed, laughing until I gasped for breath.
His head peeked out over the top of the bed. “Ma, are you all right? Have you hurt yourself again?”
I put my hands on my knees and took a few deep breaths. “No, no, I’m fine. I am just very happy to see you.”
“Are you sure? We don’t have to go to dinner. I could have a relapse of fever, and you could stay here with me.”
“What? Why would you say that?”
“This must be difficult for you. All of this, all so sudden.” He came around to me and rested his head in my lap. My eyes burned, happy yet wistful. “If it makes you sad, we don’t have to go.”
I stroked his hair. “It does make me sad. But being here also makes me happy. I will take the good with the bad.”
We sat for a few moments longer, watching the sun descend as I massaged his scalp just as Manthara used to do for me.
When he got to his feet, he offered me his arm. “I know you don’t want to worry your mother about your own health, but I meant what I said. I can have a relapse of fever whenever you need me to.”
“My little boy, protecting me!” I pressed a hand to my heart, then pretended to wipe tears from my eyes, and he grinned.
But the sincerity of Lakshmana’s words comforted me, and as we walked toward the hall, I felt none of the dread that had consumed me as we first approached the house.
A servant directed us toward a side room, and just as we were about to enter, a young woman appeared.
“Radnyi Kaikeyi!” She pressed her hands together and dropped into a bow, before throwing her arms around me.
Unsure how to respond, I released Lakshmana’s arm and awkwardly patted her back.
“I’m… so sorry, I am afraid I don’t know who you are,” I said, pitching my voice low so as not to embarrass her.
She released me and held me at arm’s length, eyes traveling up and down my face. “I’m Meena, your sister. Well, half sister. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Meena, let her breathe.” My mother emerged from the dining room.
“It is nice to meet you,” I offered after a moment. “Forgive my confusion.”