And she was right. How many women had come before me in this exact situation? I did not blame them for leaving their husbands and children. But this felt different, because it had happened to me. I was being unfair, but I felt twelve and alone again, and that had been unfair too. I wasn’t yet who I wanted to be, unquestioningly just. I had so much work left to do. So much to learn.
Watching the realizations play out across my face, Manthara sighed. “You carry on as bold as a man, and as clever too. It has served you well so far, but you cannot assume it will always be so. Or that others will do the same. You are unusual.”
“I do not carry on like a man,” I protested, sprawling on the floor dramatically.
Manthara knelt down next to me and rubbed my head. “Only you see it that way, Kaikeyi.”
I closed my eyes and accepted the comfort of Manthara’s touch.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE WOMEN’S COUNCIL AND Mantri Parishad took up most of my time, and I thrived on the work. I loved stepping into the world of the Binding Plane, that gray world that was fully my own, and walking through it as its mistress. And I enjoyed the careful shaping and altering of bonds, and the sweet thrill of victory that came with success. Here I could solve the kingdom’s problems with the strength of my own power, strategizing and pushing and arranging the council to best serve the people. Perhaps the only thing more satisfying was watching my sons grow older.
It was my blood son, Bharata, and Sumitra’s Shatrugna who got into the most trouble. As twins, I had expected Shatrugna and Lakshmana to be inseparable, as Yudhajit and I had been. But I suppose that all the boys were born so near to one another that the idea of twins did not take hold with them. Shatrugna and Bharata frequently ran from their nurses and tutors and would be found hours later hiding in various corners of the palace. They would feign injury and cause everyone to panic, only to spring up, laughing. They played pranks on their brothers and, on one memorable occasion, evaded various palace guards to burst into the throne room in the middle of a diplomatic meeting.
All children must learn right from wrong, and princes more than most. Sumitra and Kaushalya hated disciplining the children, could not bring themselves to cause the princes to cry or feel ashamed. And so, it often fell to me.
With Shatrugna and Bharata, punishment was simple: I separated them until they learned their lesson. I had vowed at Bharata’s birth that I would never manipulate him with my magic, and I quickly extended this promise to the other children. The heart-wrenching pain of what had happened when Yudhajit’s bond had snapped would never be fully gone from my mind, even if, all these years later, we had spun it back into existence with our steady correspondence. With my sons I could not risk it. I never even allowed myself to enter the Plane around them.
Lakshmana acted like Brahma incarnate, although between his light hair and hazel eyes he appeared to all the world as Dasharath made small. He never misbehaved, unless one of his brothers talked him into it, and even then, he would only serve as a lookout—or earnestly take the fall for his brothers. I never truly disciplined him for that, for it was adorable to watch him attempt to explain how the fault was his. And looking out for one’s family was a virtue.
Rama was the most difficult to manage. As a young boy, he barely cried. I remembered only one true tantrum from him from his early years. At maybe two or three years of age, he had begun sobbing one evening about not being able to play with his friend. When asked what friend he missed, Rama replied, “The moon.” Kaushalya’s attempts to explain the moon was far away and could not play with Rama only made matters worse, and at last she sent for me, unable to bear his tears. When I arrived, Rama was sitting in the corner hiccupping, fat droplets rolling down his flushed cheeks. He held his chubby arms out to me, and I scooped him up.
“Ma, I want to play with the moon!” he cried, burying his face in my shoulder.
“I know, I know,” I said, bouncing him up and down while I tried to think of some way to calm him.
Finally, my eyes landed on a small hand mirror propped on top of a chest. Still holding Rama with one arm, I snatched up the mirror and carried him out onto the veranda, where the vast expanse of the night sky arched above us. The sight of the full silver moon hanging there only made him wail more loudly. I deposited him on the ground and turned him away from the moon.
“I’m going to give you a magic toy,” I said. “And it will bring the moon into your hands.”
He quieted and stretched his hands toward me. I gave him the mirror and maneuvered it until the moon shone brightly in its reflection. Rama gasped in delight, then looked up at me. The brilliant smile on his face sent a pang straight through my heart. I ruffled his short black hair and sat next to him. Kaushalya brought me his plate of food, and I fed Rama as he happily babbled at the moon.