I had wondered, in the weeks leading up to the birth, whether I would be a good mother. What if I was too strange, too warlike and rebellious for it? But I need not have worried. I took to child-rearing quickly. After all, I had years of experience helping to raise my brothers, and I had far more help in prosperous Kosala than had been provided in Kekaya.
At first, Kaushalya and Sumitra and I tended separately to our children, our camaraderie ignored as we jealously guarded every precious moment we could spend with our sons. But one evening, several moons after their birth, Kaushalya arrived in Bharata’s nursery, bouncing a sobbing Rama.
“He won’t stop crying,” she explained, the dark shadows under her unadorned eyes telling all. “He is perfectly fine, but… I heard from someone that you always know how to soothe Bharata, and I thought…” The long gaps in her speech, as though she could barely cling to thought, cut through my own tired reluctance.
“Give him here,” I said, glancing at Bharata, who lay cooing on his mat, waving his small fists in the air at the arrival of his brother. I held Rama close and gently bounced him, stroking the down of his hair and pressing kisses on his soft cheeks. He continued to cry, but his wails softened, and without thinking I began to sing to him, a nonsense song I had sung to my littlest brother, Rahul, when he was upset. A song I hazily remembered my mother singing to me and Yudhajit long, long ago.
Rama quieted, looking up at me with wide eyes and trying to grab at my lips, and I felt my heart melt for him. I bounced and swayed, still singing, as Kaushalya leaned against the wall and slowly sank to the floor. “How did you do that?” she whispered.
Rama’s eyes were closing now, and I hugged him close to my chest, lowering my voice to a soothing hum. In a few more minutes he was fast asleep, and Bharata had also drifted off. I did not want to let him go, but exhaustion clung to me too. I lay Rama down by his brother, smiling as they unconsciously turned toward each other, and then went to sit by Kaushalya. “Practice,” I said.
“Even I want to sleep now.” Kaushalya leaned against my shoulder, the weight of her head inexplicably comforting. It was the closest we had ever been.
We both awoke some time later to the sounds of Rama and Bharata babbling to each other.
From then on, we spent much of our time together. I quickly found myself thinking of Rama and Lakshmana and Shatrugna as my own, and I believe Kaushalya and Sumitra thought of Bharata as theirs. And in my heart I vowed that I would raise all of them to be good men—men like their father, not like mine.
In the exhausted fog of those first few moons and the bittersweet relief of bearing a son, I had little time to think about the daughters of my kingdom. But it remained in the back of my mind, a seed of understanding that even if Bharata and his brothers were not going to suffer, someone else’s child would. And as I began to get my bearings once again, I realized Bharata’s birth brought me a gift: He solidified my position in the eyes of the court.
The first time it happened, I nearly fell out of my chair. “Radnyi Kaikeyi, do you think the harvest will be sufficient to increase the tribute?” Arya Suresh asked. I had learned through my acquaintanceship with Riddhi that he was her father. My bond with Suresh had grown since I helped her, so I imagined that he knew what I had done.
Still, I was so shocked at hearing my name that I barely heard the rest of the question, and I felt heat rise in my cheeks. I took a deep breath, collecting my thoughts about the tax the rest of the men had been discussing. “Perhaps it would be best to keep the tribute the same?” I said, then chastised myself for answering a question with a question. “The rains have been sufficient, it is true, but the gods must also bless our fields. The contributions were set based on last year’s harvest, which was abundant, so keeping it the same would not hurt us. If the harvest is worse than expected, the people will be glad there was no increase, and if the harvest is better, they will remember our generosity.”
I glanced toward my husband as I finished. Dasharath was practically beaming at me.
I had the power to change my kingdom.
Bharata was all of six moons old when I finally decided to raise the subject of the marketplace.
My suggestion was to modify the law to allow women to sell at the stalls twice a week. As I spoke, I kept an eye on the Binding Plane. A few of my bonds trembled, but my golden connection to Dasharath was like sunlight on a cloudless day.
Virendra, the Minister of War, cleared his throat when I had finished. I still did not know him well, although our relationship was respectful. I had always gotten the impression that he found me too strange after the whole affair with Sambarasura, as though he suspected I had not told him everything.