It would take slow and careful work, work that I could not begin until after my pregnancy—the court healers had told me in no uncertain terms I could not tax my mind or body—but I began to believe in myself again.
After my second missed cycle, I wrote to my father, explaining briefly about the Yagna, the kheer of the gods, and the simultaneous pregnancies of all of Dasharath’s wives. I reminded him of Dasharath’s promise not so long ago and asked for his prayers that I bear a son, playing the part of a dutiful daughter. I imagined that he would be pleased when he read it, and it warmed me to think that he might be proud—though I still believed I would bear a daughter.
And even though we had not spoken in well over a year, I tried to write to Yudhajit as well. My first attempt—a meandering and apologetic ramble—I tossed into the fire. Perhaps I had something to apologize for, but the fault was not mine alone. My pride, lessened though it was, still would not allow me to be the first to bend.
In the end, I essentially copied my letter to my father and made no mention of my emotions at all. That way, I told myself, his eventual failure to respond would not hurt me.
Manthara handed me a thick package from Kekaya nearly a moon later. I ignored it for a few days, assuming that my other brothers and various courtiers had likely been conscripted into sending bland well-wishes.
This assumption was right, and I wanted to scream as I contemplated the thin strips of reed paper and realized how many I would be obligated to return. I almost ignored the final letter in the package. But as I idly turned it over, I recognized—
Yudhajit’s handwriting. Just the sight of it transported me to our childhood, practicing our letters in that cold stone room and racing each other to finish. I was filled with a homesick longing for my brother. He had written to me.
My eyes blurred for a moment. I blinked furiously, desperate to read.
Dear Kaikeyi,
I am heartened to hear of your pregnancy and have nothing but the best of wishes for you as you carry this child. I hope you are taking care of yourself in Ayodhya. Father tells me that you have taken to court well, and that he hears nothing but praise of you. I would expect no less.
I miss you desperately, and I apologize for not writing you sooner. I confess I was quite angry at what you said, but I am sure you now regret it—as I regret my role in your departure. My previously arranged marriage has fallen apart, and Father has set a new match with the princess of a mountain clan that will soon be joined with Kekaya. I think I understand a bit, now, of what you must have felt when I told you of your imminent wedding, and I do not even have to leave my home. For that, I am as sorry as I am glad that things have worked out for the best.
I know you and your propensity to assume the worst in all situations, so you must be well convinced by now that you are carrying a daughter. But I am confident that you will bear Dasharath a son.
Love always,
Yudhajit
Heart pounding in my chest, I reached for the Binding Plane, welcoming the familiar tug as the world shifted slightly underneath me. I rose from my chair and spun in a slow circle, finding and discarding in turn each bond that lay shimmering against the drab curtain covering the world.
There. It was smaller than before, which is perhaps how I had missed it in the time it took the letter to reach me, but the deep, rich blue was unmistakable. It extended out through the west-facing wall of my window, and I imagined it crossing the plains and fording the rivers, navigating the city and entering the vast stone palace of Kekaya, until it arrived at the heart of my beloved twin.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
YUDHAJIT WAS RIGHT. FOR all my plans in bearing a daughter—all I had begun to do to prepare to raise a girl in this world—I bore a son.
At first, when the midwife proclaimed my child was a boy, I did not understand her meaning. Then I shook with the force of my shock and relief, for I had truly never believed I might bear a child who could live an unconstrained life.
Remembering that my father had named me for his kingdom, I named my son Bharata, after our entire continent.
Kaushalya’s son was Rama, born the day before my Bharata. Sumitra followed us one week later with sweet-natured twins, Lakshmana and Shatrugna.
In the span of a fortnight, childless Dasharath became the father of four heirs. The sages proclaimed his sons to be evidence that the gods smiled upon Dasharath, and they recognized him as a great and pious ruler.
In the moments after I gave birth to Bharata, as I lay foolish and sweaty, I looked into his beautiful face and believed with all my being that one day he would rule.
The relief I felt at having a son was indescribable, so bright and hot that I nearly fainted from it. Instead, I cradled him, his soft skin filling me with a joy so deep it dwarfed the relief. I looked into his eyes, and I made him two promises: I would never leave him, not the way my mother had left my brothers and me. And I would never use the Binding Plane on him, never risk that destruction.