“Listen to me,” I said, pushing every bit of fire I had left in me into the words. Rama stilled, then nodded for me to continue. “Long ago, your father made my father a promise. That any son I bore would become king.”
Rama opened his mouth at that, but I pressed on. “I relinquished that promise years ago. I was happy for you, my son, to become king. What I did not know was that my father remembered this promise, and that he intended to hold your father to it.” My voice wavered as I spoke, and Rama put a hand on my shoulder. This small act warmed me. I covered his hand with my own.
“Before his death, my father forced my brother, the raja of Kekaya, to make a vow. A promise to the gods that he would see your father’s promise fulfilled. See Bharata become king.” Rama’s hand tightened on me, but he did not let go. I looked him in the eyes. “If Dasharath does not follow through on his promise, Kekaya will march to war against us. Rama, I would rather it be any other way than this. But you must let Bharata take the throne.”
Rama bent his head. It was a heavy thing to ask, and I could see the pain of it in the set of his jaw. I let myself imagine what might happen next. We would go to Dasharath together. He would surely be shocked, and dismayed, but he would accept it if it came from Rama. And then—
“No.” His eyes met mine, blazing. His hand dropped away. “I am sorry, Ma, but I cannot do that.”
My stomach plummeted, the fragile hope I had built crumbling away. He had barely even considered it. “Rama, we are talking of war. Not with rakshasas or asuras, but with other people. Innocent people, who worship the same gods we do.”
I could hear my heartbeat in my ears as I waited for his response. “It would not be right,” Rama said after a long moment. “The people of Kosala want me to become king. I cannot bow to the whims of another kingdom. We are not so weak.”
“It is not weak to avoid war,” I said, and my voice broke. Tears pricked at my eyes, and I let them. “It is the strongest thing you could do, to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”
“Please do not cry, Ma,” Rama said softly. But now he did not move to comfort me. He took a step back, as if to avoid getting caught in my emotion. “I do not do this to hurt you. Perhaps it will be useful for Ayodhya to clash with another kingdom first. To learn its own strength. You have to understand, there is a divine purpose at work. Nothing can compromise it.”
“What could be more divine than preventing death and destruction?” I asked him, a pleading note in my voice. I clasped my hands together in front of me, stretching them out like a supplicant. “I have breathed the stench of the battlefield, Rama. I have watched men die. I have taken lives. It has convinced me that saving them is the better course.”
“War may cause destruction, but it is also glorious. You know that,” Rama said, shaking his head slightly. He was calm, aloof, as though this did not affect him. Seeing it was more painful than standing in the searing heat of Bhandasura’s flames. I had believed him immature, unready, but this willingness to jeopardize his entire kingdom for his own ascension was something new. It was a failure—my failure. And for it, both the kingdoms I loved would go to war.
The destruction that two large kingdoms might bring to each other was immense. If he had seen what I had on the battlefield, watched his father nearly die, perhaps he would not be so eager—
And then it came to me in a flash. On that day so many years ago, I had saved Dasharath’s life.
In return he had granted me two boons.
Rama was continuing to talk, to try to convince me of the glory of battle. But there was no time to dwell on it, this unholy ambition of my son. I held up my hand, and the torrent of words stopped. “I am sorry I asked you,” I said. “I see that you cannot be swayed. Forgive me.” I left him without a backward glance.
Manthara waited for me in my rooms, and when I saw her familiar form, clad in her usual soft cotton sari and smelling faintly of mint, I crumbled. The story of what had happened with Yudhajit came pouring out of me, as did my conversation with Rama.
“But I can use a boon to put Bharata on the throne. I will not let this war come to pass,” I finished. Even as I said it, I felt the rightness of the decision. I still had some power.
Manthara considered what I had said for several long moments. “This is a good plan,” she said at last. “But you must ask for your second boon from Dasharath immediately after your first. Ask for Bharata’s crowning, and then ask that Dasharath keep the reason secret from all others. Nobody will know, so nobody will blame you.” Manthara’s allegiance had always been to me and not to Kosala, and normally I drew great comfort from that. But doing what was best for me would hurt my husband too deeply.