“Yes. I am so sorry.” The Binding Plane pulsed with the sincerity of his words.
By never using the Binding Plane around my sons, I had missed the signs of Rama’s godhood. That mistake had cost me Rama. Lakshmana had been taken from me too. In every step, trying to protect my children, I had failed them. But now, in the Binding Plane, I had one son back. My throat swelled with the knowledge that Bharata was really here, talking to me. He loved me. “I regret what I did. I know you may never forgive me, but—”
“Of course I forgive you,” I interrupted.
“How—”
“I am your mother,” I said simply. “All I ever want is what is best for you and the kingdom. It seemed that you were the one unwilling to forgive me for what I had done. But I did it to protect you, to protect us all.”
“You wanted to avoid this,” Bharata said softly.
“Yes.”
“I know I can’t fix what has happened. But I want to be the ruler you meant for me to be. I have been up all night thinking, preparing. In a few days’ time, we will perform the rites to bless my reign, for I want to take all the correct steps. The gods have not smiled on Kosala for some time now.”
I did not dispute that at all. Kosala had become a pawn of the gods. But now, I thought the gods might leave us alone, busy following Rama’s adventures instead. And that would be far better than their blessing. “That is a good idea,” I said. “I did not think anything would change your mind.”
“I should have listened to you,” Bharata said again. “It was a mistake not to before, but I am going to fix that. I am going to fix the rift in our kingdom. And I cannot do it without you. Will you help me?”
In front of me stretched the years of Bharata’s reign. The people of Kosala, standing together, powerful and safe. Their paths forever altered, stretching toward a future of peace. I could even advise Bharata, but that power mattered little to me. Kaushalya could do it just as well. What truly warmed my heart was the idea that if I spoke, Bharata would listen to me. I would have my people back. I could not help Rama, I could not even stop him, but I could do this. I could have this. “Of course,” I said. “Whatever you need.”
Bharata smiled then, tired but genuine, and leaned in to embrace me. Everything else faded away as I held my child in my arms. “Everything will be better now,” he said in my ear, and I believed him. “I promise I will make you proud.”
EPILOGUE
SOME YEARS LATER, I stand alone at the banks of the Sarasvati River.
I am returning to Ayodhya after nearly three moons in Kekaya. Bharata and I traveled here together, but he departed before me to attend to his duties, while I lingered with my living brothers.
On our journey to Kekaya, he and I crossed the river without fanfare. But now, alone, something compels me to stop several paces downstream of the bridge. I remove my shoes and roll up my comfortable riding breeches to wade into the shallows. The current washes over my feet, a pleasant change from hours of riding. A refreshing breeze blows across the river, almost welcoming. Perhaps Sarasvati is watching me.
“I suppose you are right,” I say. “In the end, I have always been concerned with mortal affairs. But the fact that they were mortal did not make them small. Nor did it make me wrong.”
Behind me, birds chirp in the forest. The river continues down its course, unceasing.
Have I ever been happy here before? I felt alone, abandoned when I came as a child. When I crossed it for the first time as a new bride, I was devastated at the loss of my brother’s friendship. But I had been hopeful then too. I stood on the banks with Rama, fear penetrating my core so deeply that I could hardly breathe. And when Bharata and I made our desperate dash to my father’s bedside, my thoughts were consumed with what I left behind in Ayodhya. Even when I knew I was forsaken, even when the gods helped to tear my family apart, I wanted the comfort of her approval, and she had always disappointed.
But now I stand at the banks of the Sarasvati River, at peace without her. The years have blunted the loss of Yudhajit and Dasharath, so that it is no longer all-consuming. Yudhajit made his choices. I played a hand in his death, but it was not my fault. If not for his pride, he might have convinced his people that war was not necessary. He might have showed his sister more trust and respect.
Rama too made his own choices, to trust the voices of strangers, of a poisonous madman, over that of his mother. He sought my counsel, then discarded it when I did not say what he wished to hear. No words of mine would have made a difference.