It struck me then, with the force of a Pushpaka Vimana to the chest.
Rama had told me all along who he thought the threat was, and I had failed to understand. But Ravana was not evil, could not be evil. He had saved Janasthana—or perhaps had manipulated its takeover. He cared deeply for his daughter—or perhaps he looked for a reason to make war on Kosala.
No. Ravana had helped me, done me a great service, and asked for nothing in return, while Rama had turned on me at the first sign of disagreement. And now Rama would carry a fight to his doorstep. I had read stories about what happened when the gods waged open war in the mortal realm. The world burned.
“What Rama intends to do, tell me—can I stop it?”
She shook her head. “You have both done what you had to do, for your kingdom and for the world. What is left now is for the good of all, can you not see that?” She passed a hand over my head, and my eyes began to close. “You do not have to worry anymore, Kaikeyi. Be at peace.”
I stood in the forests of Panchavati, outside a small house. Morning sun filtered down into the clearing. Lakshmana and Rama walked out of the house, laughing to each other as they plunged into the trees. Intrigued, I followed them for a few minutes or maybe a few hours as they half-heartedly hunted and played. I could not help but smile as they roughhoused and threw leaves at each other. They seemed happy, like the children they still were. Though I was standing right next to them, their words came to me unintelligibly, as if through a ring of cotton around my head, but I longed to hear their laughter just once.
Time bled past, blurring my surroundings. The sun was directly overhead when Rama suddenly grew still, his face grim as he held up a hand and wordlessly led Lakshmana back toward the house. They were tiptoeing now, truly silent, until they reached a conveniently hidden gap in the trees and peered through.
There, on the steps of the forest house, stood Ravana.
He was dressed in the robes of a traveling monk, but his bearing was unmistakable. Sita leaned in the doorway, a smile on her face but wariness in her eyes. I didn’t know how I could tell from this distance, but her expression was sharp and clear as her gaze scanned the tree line.
“There,” Rama whispered to Lakshmana. I could hear his every word now as though he was speaking in my ear. “Already he thinks to steal from me.”
“Rama, there is only a monk talking to Sita.”
“No.” Rama’s eyes blazed. “He is an asura, here to continue his conquest.”
A ring of light spilled forth from him, consuming everything in its path until the woods faded and only my son remained. “I will cleanse the world of his kind.”
After speaking to Nidra, it was obvious, painfully so, that Rama’s detour into mortal politics had been a product of his mortal form from the start. He would not need the men or armies of Kosala for his campaign—he had only believed that to be the case.
The ground gave way beneath me. I closed my eyes to brace for the inevitable impact and opened them to find myself in a camp of war. I knew immediately it was Kosala’s.
“What is your plan?” I heard Kaushalya ask, the words ringing in my head, and I entered the large tent in front of me.
“We will attack them in the night,” Shatrugna said. “Burn their tents to the ground. Slaughter them before they have the chance to fight back.” I could see sparks of Rama’s light reflected in his eyes.
Kaushalya stared at him in horror. “That is against the laws of the gods! Surely you know that.”
“Perhaps if we were fighting against equal opponents. But the kingdom we fight is ungodly. They have done us a great dishonor and we must crush them.”
“They are not ungodly,” Kaushalya protested. “Their men have done nothing wrong.” She turned toward Bharata, who stood with his arms crossed and a small frown on his face. His eyes flicked up to her, then back to the ground.
“I am the leader of these warriors. Not you. I will not allow further dissent.” Shatrugna raised his voice, but Kaushalya did not flinch.
“I am your mother and your radnyi,” Kaushalya insisted.
Shatrugna shook his head. “Maybe so. But these men answer to me.”
I fought to come awake.
My body was bathed in sweat. I tasted blood in my mouth, and the inside of my cheek stung fiercely. Half of me wanted to move, to take action and do something to stop this carnage. But the other half of me, the one that had kept me lying in my bed unmoving until noon, paralyzed me. What use was action? My actions had been meaningless. All I had done was hasten Rama toward his destiny. I had failed to protect Sita and consigned Lakshmana to ten years of sleeplessness, and Urmila to ten years of dreams. Ravana’s fate was sealed. I had destroyed my relationships with my brother and my sons, and now they were about to go to war.