After what felt like an hour of standing at the entrance, I gave up. Slowly, I turned toward my rooms. Absorbed in my shame, I rounded the corner—and ran right into the women I had been waiting for.
“Where are you going?” Kaushalya asked from behind Sumitra as I scrambled to maintain my balance.
“I thought I had missed you,” I hedged, hoping that would be an adequate answer.
Both women were wearing light, plain kurtas and simple sandals. I felt mortifyingly overdressed in comparison. Manthara had suggested something less formal, but I had insisted I knew better, donning the elaborate skirt of a mint green ghagra. The stiff silk was heavy against my legs as I walked, and the embroidered hem dragged against the ground if I was not careful.
Kaushalya walked past me toward the garden’s entrance and gestured toward the sundial in the center of the courtyard.
“If you arrive by the time the dial is here, you will not be late,” she said, indicating a time only a few minutes earlier.
Sumitra offered me a smile as she walked toward the gardens. “I’m so pleased you could join us today.”
We wandered the looping paths, me on the left, Sumitra in the middle, Kaushalya on the right. I had come out here only once or twice, months ago when I first arrived. At that time, many of the flowers had not yet bloomed, and the walls of identical greenery seemed an unsolvable maze that had deterred future visits.
Now, walking among silky blossoms of blue and purple and red, I could almost enjoy the surroundings and the company. Jasmine scented the air with a light sweetness, and the hum of insects provided a pleasant accompaniment to the conversation. I had noticed very few birds in Ayodhya’s palace garden. But then, birds always made me think of my father and my banished mother, so perhaps it was a blessing in disguise.
“Kaikeyi was there when it happened,” Kaushalya said suddenly, pulling me from my reverie. “She not only accompanied Dasharath to the camps but drove his chariot into battle.”
“What?” Sumitra stopped walking and grasped my wrist. I made a half-hearted attempt to tug it away before realizing that would be rude. After all, I had spoken quite noncommittally about my time away at battle in hopes of avoiding any mention of such unwomanly conduct. “Is this true?”
“Yes,” I said, deeply uncomfortable with the attention. Don’t blush, I instructed myself, as if that might help. I could feel the heat staining my cheeks.
“Dasharath himself told me,” Kaushalya added. “He said you were the bravest person on the battlefield that day. That you saved his life.”
I flushed further at the praise, hating my face for giving me away so easily. Dasharath had stayed true to his word. He had kept the truth hidden from the outside world—but had given me my due all the same.
“After he was wounded, I drove him to safety. That is all.”
“That is all?” Sumitra repeated. “That is a great feat. Why did you not tell us?”
“Anybody would have done the same.”
Kaushalya snorted. “Neither of us could drive a chariot down a wide road, let alone through a battlefield.”
“The gods guided me,” I lied.
“All the same. The gods do not assist the unworthy. They cannot make talent where there is none.” Sumitra reached out and embraced me.
I stiffened for a moment, not expecting such a thing—but then I forced myself to relax and return the embrace. It was sincere. “Thank you,” I said with a smile.
We resumed our stroll. I was trying to think what new subject I could introduce when Kaushalya spoke again.
“Perhaps that is why you are so ill at ease among women, talking about women’s work,” she said. “You were raised by men to perform the tasks of men.”
I considered correcting her, telling her that the men I had been raised with had never thought of me as one of them, but thought better of it. “Perhaps,” I agreed. “Perhaps.”
We had completed a circle of the garden. As we reached the sundial, Sumitra begged leave to go back to her chambers and prepare for the day. I wanted to do the same—but Kaushalya’s friendship would dramatically improve my life in Ayodhya. By the same token, her enmity could make it intolerable.
So I lingered, quiet, as she crossed her arms and stared at the muddied hem of my skirts for what seemed like an eternity. I wondered if I would ever feel put together in her presence.
“We meet outside my chambers,” she said at last, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “In the mornings, when we take our walk, that’s where we meet. When we want to present a unified front to the court—typically in the wake of scandals or threats—we also meet there.” Kaushalya lifted her gaze to my face as she spoke.