So while Kaushalya prepared, I stayed secluded in my chambers. In the Binding Plane my few strong connections stood in bleak contrast to the gossamer webs that were all I had left. It was an empty, colorless place. I had once been lord of the Binding Plane, but now I merely floated through it, unmoored.
It became harder to get out of bed. In the mornings, Manthara would try to cajole me to get dressed as though I was a small child. But the idea of lifting my limbs out of the soft nest of blankets, of having to hold up my own body and my own head, was overwhelming. Only when the need to eat or relieve myself became too strong would I emerge. Asha and Manthara tried to coax me into taking short walks in the garden, but I let their words drift over me just as Kaushalya’s did when she visited me in the evenings, for speech was just air.
One evening, she brought me a letter addressed to her. I recognized the hand immediately.
Yudhajit was giving Kaushalya one week to fulfill the promise made to Kekaya.
“Has anyone else seen it?” I asked her. My voice was hoarse with disuse. “People may no longer believe such a promise was ever made. They will be even angrier that it concerns me.”
Kaushalya sat beside me, weariness in every angle of her body. “I will tell them I have heard from a spy that Kekaya intends to strike us while we are weak. Your home will come off poorly for it, but at least there will be no equivocation.”
“You should ask Bharata one more—”
“I already showed him the letter,” Kaushalya said, shaking her head. “He did not seem bothered by the prospect of war on his behalf. He told me it is what Rama would have wanted.” The sorrow in her expression was evident, and I took her hand. We sat there for some time, mourning what was to come.
Perhaps this is why the mood in the capital over the next few days struck me as so odd. While people had been solemn and despondent with Rama’s departure, they turned practically ebullient with the tidings of war. I could hear the enthusiasm from my balcony, and Manthara and Asha told me stories from the marketplace. The last time Dasharath had ridden to war, an eerie shroud of quiet had fallen over the city, for people knew many sons would not return. Yet now men answered the call to arms with enthusiasm, talking of glory and righteousness.
Kaushalya had asked me not to attend meetings of the Women’s Council, and I obeyed her as my radnyi. But the day before her departure to the border, she told me of their last meeting. A group of women had begged Kaushalya to sue for peace, and Shatrugna had stepped up to dismiss them, accusing them of disloyalty. In the face of his fervor and Sumitra’s silence, Kaushalya had been unable to do anything.
“He will be leading the men into battle, and he seems almost gleeful about it,” she confessed. “But maybe he is trying to hide his nervousness.”
Kaushalya knew nothing of magic, or Rama’s true nature, and I did not have the time to explain it to her now. I simply agreed with her, glad that she was accompanying Shatrugna at least as far as the last camp and could perhaps temper any reckless tendencies. But on the morning Kosala’s soldiers were to march out, I forced myself out of bed, curiosity overpowering the shroud in my mind. I dressed myself in coarse cotton and made my way through the city streets until I slipped into the camp at the outskirts of the city to witness the strangeness for myself. The men laughed and joked as they made preparations to leave for the border, swinging their weaponry with something approaching delight, and only then did I fully comprehend Kaushalya’s meaning.
Entering the Binding Plane filled me with dread, but I did it all the same and found myself in a sea of blue strings. Rama’s blue. His influence had not waned in the two months he had been gone. Was it Rama’s influence causing these boys to run headlong into war? He had wanted to take the men of the kingdom to war against evil, but perhaps the seeds of belligerence he had planted were flowering in this way instead. I could not know.
Worst of all, I was powerless to diminish his sway at all.
I returned to my rooms and watched from the palace as Kosala’s army left and wished with everything in me that I had the strength to intervene in some way. But my presence among the soldiers would only incite them to further violence, of that I was sure.
And then, that evening, a bird from Ravana arrived.
My dear Kaikeyi,
You have my sincerest apologies for my failure to respond. At first, I was enraged at what you had done and did not wish to write you a letter for fear I might declare war on your kingdom within its pages. How dare you send my daughter into exile?