“I suppose this is all very new for you,” Meena said. An understatement, to be sure. Lakshmana stepped up behind me, and her eyes lit up. She began chattering to him, quickly forgetting me.
My mother smiled kindly. “Meena is very enthusiastic, but she means well. She has a promising career ahead of her in healing.”
“Healing? Really?” She was the exact opposite of the stolid healers I knew. Even quiet Ashvin was a bit too exuberant for the mold. And of course, she was a woman.
My mother nodded. “She has a great talent for the discipline. She and Lakshmana have been talking of it.”
Sure enough, a glance over at the pair showed Meena miming what must have been some sort of bandaging technique as Lakshmana looked on with a serious expression.
“Ashvin is an excellent healer,” I said. I had not yet decided if my mother deserved to know about my brothers, but this small morsel was a kindness in return for hospitality.
Her face lit up. “Is he? That’s wonderful.”
“Yes. He had a painful illness as a child that made other pursuits difficult for him, so I arranged to have him apprenticed with the court healers,” I explained, watching as grief shaded her initial joy.
“Is he still in pain?” she asked. The vindictive part of me wanted to respond, Would you care?
But Manthara had counseled compassion when we spoke of my mother all those years ago, and her advice had not led me astray yet.
“No. He eventually recovered. He is the tallest of all—my brothers now.” Somehow, the words your sons would not move past my throat.
“That is good. Good.” She gestured me through an archway and indicated we should sit on the array of cushions placed on the ground. “And how is Yudhajit?”
“Fine,” I said. “He rules Kekaya now.”
Her face was inscrutable. “Ashwapati is dead?” she asked.
“He is alive. But he passed the throne to my brother and went away to the mountains. I have not seen him in seventeen years.”
Lakshmana and Meena came to join us, and the food was laid out on a low table.
“My husband and my son are traveling to Matanga for business. But do not let his absence fool you. He is a far better husband than Ashwapati ever was.”
“That is a low standard to hold a husband to,” I said.
My mother paused in the midst of a bite, straightening up to give me a shocked look.
“Did someone tell you what happened?”
“Manthara told me that Father sent you away. She defended you, when I grew angry with your abandonment.”
My mother’s cheeks flushed. “I would like to tell you my side of it. If you wish to hear it.”
We were speaking quietly, and Meena and Lakshmana were still absorbed in their own conversation. I had no desire for my son to hear about this sordid affair, but I could not say honestly that I would be upset if he heard. My burning curiosity was too strong. I had convinced myself over the years that I did not need to know exactly what had happened, or that I already knew the truth of it, but now, given the opportunity—I needed to know.
“Your father… never liked me,” she began, a bit haltingly. “Our marriage was arranged when I was born, and I became his bride at sixteen. I had you and Yudhajit only a year later. Ashwapati was ten years older than I was and found me at the same time frivolous and withholding. He looked down on me.”
I could not help but nod. I had been enormously lucky to have Dasharath as my partner, but I could still understand well the loneliness she was describing.
“We had eight children—seven pregnancies in all for me. He did not like me, but neither did he hate me. We remained indifferent to each other, each managing our own spheres. And then I became pregnant for the eighth time, and I lost the child soon after. Such things happen. I had been extraordinarily lucky to have seven healthy pregnancies. But he did not think so. I still do not know how he got the notion in his head, but he became convinced that I had been unfaithful to him, and then purposely lost the baby in order to hide it.”
“What?” I interrupted her. “Why would he think that?”
“Because around that time, a childhood friend had arrived at court and we spent a great deal of time together. I enjoyed hearing stories from home, and I suppose I must have seemed more open around him, happier. Ashwapati had not allowed me to visit my ancestral palace or my parents, and so I sought to spend as much time with this man as possible. But there was nothing between us.
“After the death of the baby, Ashwapati became consumed by jealousy. He sent the man away from court. One day, he told me to walk with him in the gardens. He had shown no interest in my company for many weeks, but I thought at last we were putting this behind us. He instructed me to sit beside him near the stream where the swans would play.