“Yes, of course, Raja.”
How strange, I thought as we parted ways, that I had run into this faraway king twice in my life. Then I put him out of mind. If only I had paid more attention to his troubles, recognized them as warning, perhaps things would have ended differently. But I remained blissfully unaware of the gods’ disapproval.
Later, I would sit next to Ravana at the feast, laughing and swapping stories of Mandodari and Dasharath, of battles and victories, of Kekaya and Lanka. I wonder if anyone else remembers the feast, remembers how friendly we were. Maybe they recalled it years later, after the start of the great war, and believed I had been a traitor all along.
But before the feast, there remained the problem of Rama. By the time I made it to the courtyard, the boys’ studies had ended for the day. I found Rama playing a complicated game that involved the throwing of various stones with his brothers.
“Rama?” I called out to him. “Come here.”
He dropped his stones immediately and ran over.
“Hi, Ma,” he said, giving me a hug without prompting. I buried my face in his mess of hair, then pulled away to study his face. His large, light eyes stared up at me, bright and loving, fringed with thick, long lashes. Seeing all my sons arrayed before me, I could feel in my chest a love so bright it nearly hurt. Hope tingled inside me. Asha might have been mistaken—or maybe Rama had merely been joking, in a silly ten-year-old way.
“How was your day?” I asked, taking his hand and leading him a few steps away, out of earshot of his brothers.
“Good.”
Experience with my brothers had taught me that directness would get me nowhere. I idly wished that the men in my life could be as straightforward as the women, but I had to pick my battles.
“Did you do anything fun?”
“No.” As he shook his head, one perfect curl fell over his forehead. He was the most handsome of his brothers, and I knew that in a few years he would be invited to every swayamvara in Bharat.
“I did something fun today,” I told him, lowering my voice to get him interested.
“What did you do?” It worked. I had his attention.
“I went out to the public gardens and held a Council. Just like your father does sometimes. Your other mothers came with me.”
Rama wrinkled his nose. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“You shouldn’t leave the palace. What if men come and see you when you’re out?”
I put my hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. “Plenty of men come to us with their problems, and we help them. We always have guards with us. It’s quite safe.”
Rama’s eyes narrowed, as if I had only confirmed his suspicions.
“What is the matter?” I asked.
“Women are meant for the eyes of their husbands only,” Rama said, as though in recitation. “Aren’t women who invite the attention of other men whores?”
I slapped him.
I had always sworn I would never raise a hand to my children, and I have been ashamed of my actions ever since. Rama cried out and all the servants in the yard turned to look at us. Lakshmana and Shatrugna and Bharata stared with wide, horrified eyes.
Rama drew himself up. For a moment he appeared far larger than ten, far larger than even an adult man.
“How dare you raise your hand to me?” he cried, and it was as though a hundred resounding voices spoke with his tongue. I stumbled back.
His eyes flashed a clear, unnatural blue, and he seemed to loom over me. The air sparked as it would before a storm.
The day of the Yagna flashed in my mind. His presence felt as Agni’s had. Like a god.
But that was impossible. I had been there when he was born, had held Kaushalya’s hand. It was impossible.
Rama collapsed back into himself, a normal child once more. He began crying, his cheeks turning red. I moved immediately to comfort him.
“I’m sorry, I should not have done that,” I said in his ear, holding him tight.
“I’m sorry, Ma, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that, please don’t be angry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he babbled, small body racked with sobs. Sympathy made my own eyes water. He was only ten; of course he did not mean it.
“Shh, shh, don’t cry.” I kissed the top of his head and rocked back and forth to soothe him. “You should not call any woman such a word,” I told him.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” he said. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”
When he was calm again, I surveyed the courtyard. Everyone had studiously averted their gaze, but I was certain that others had seen. But I doubted from their reaction that they had seen Rama’s form as I had.