My father extolled the accomplishments of the fair-haired king, speaking not to me but to the assembled court. I barely paid attention to his words.
My conversation with Yudhajit had made clear one thing. If I wanted power, I would have to take it. And after spending half the night tossing sleeplessly, I thought I knew how.
Raja Dasharath was childless, and he needed me to give him a child.
“And, if you are amenable,” my father concluded, “I will provide my blessing for the marriage and you will be wed in a fortnight.”
If you are amenable. I knew the words he expected me to say, the expressions of gratitude and the praises of Dasharath, the acceptance of the marriage.
All I had to do now was make one simple request. One simple, improper request.
I turned to the man in question and asked, “You would have me as your third wife?”
If he was surprised at my forthrightness, it did not show on his face. But in the Binding Plane, a golden bond spun into existence between us.
“Yes, my lady.” His reaction gave me the confidence to continue.
“And you are thus far without child?” I asked.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, but his calm expression gave nothing away. “Yes, my lady.”
“I would accept your proposal of marriage, but on one condition.” I kept my gaze on his, my shoulders back, my chin high. I could not take back the words now.
“I will consider it,” he said. Was that a smile playing on his lips?
I took a deep, steadying breath. “If I should bear you a son, he will be named your heir, regardless of any other sons you may have in the future. I may be your third wife, but my child will be first.” As I spoke, I fed the idea into our golden connection as well.
My eyes stayed fixed on Dasharath, for I was too afraid to look at my father and see his rage and disappointment. There was every chance that Dasharath would refuse, and that I had made a fool of our entire kingdom. I could not even fathom what would become of me then.
My clasped hands grew damp with sweat and I clutched them tightly together so they would not shake. Each beat of my heart sounded in my ears. As the seconds went by, I regretted my decision.
“Done, my lady,” Raja Dasharath said suddenly, rising and descending the steps.
I gave a small gasp, and then, as elation swept through me, I smiled. It was wide—too wide for court—but I could not hide my relief, my happiness. He smiled in return, the corners of his eyes crinkling. In that moment, he looked exceedingly kind.
“Then I am yours.”
Whatever my father had initially thought of my foolhardy scheme, he had only words of praise once the decision was made.
“Our bloodlines will rule and unite two great kingdoms,” he told Ashvin. “She has done well,” he told Shantanu. It was the most genuine praise I had ever received from my father, albeit indirectly, and it was some consolation to know that I would be thought well of in Kekaya after my departure.
Manthara too seemed inordinately pleased at my maneuverings and gave me a crushing hug when she heard the story of my engagement. I knew that Manthara would always act in my best interests. She was the only person in my life I could truly rely on. And so, as the wedding preparations began and I readied myself to leave for the palace in Ayodhya, the capital city of Kosala, I insisted upon bringing her with me. Dasharath easily agreed. He must have been quite desperate for a son.
The only obstacle to my happiness, then, was Yudhajit. We studiously avoided each other, except regarding preparations for the various ceremonies. As the eldest of my brothers, he had duties to perform at the wedding. I did not want to bring dishonor upon the court by requesting that Shantanu act in his stead. Sometimes, in these moments, I thought I saw Yudhajit staring at me out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned toward him, he was never looking my way.
This time passed in a haze. I selected my wedding sari, a dark yellow silk creation with crimson embroidery and precious stones winking in swirls along the blouse. I conspired with the head cook over the menu, the two of us ensuring there were as many desserts as courses. I said my goodbyes to the palace staff and spent precious moments with my brothers.
On the day before my wedding, I walked through the halls, committing them to memory. And then, I made a special, final pilgrimage to the library cellar.
The scant light and strange stone shadows had made the room seem immense to me as a child, but now I could cross the room in twenty paces. I spent a full hour wandering there, running my hands down the rows of scrolls, trying to embed the most important place in the palace into my mind. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the feel of sitting next to my mother in the quiet corner. Her message to me, Ahalya’s story, remained safely tucked among the few possessions I would bring to Ayodhya.