I hoped to earn a boon one day, but I intended to ask for something better, wiser than the gift to comprehend the chatter of the silly myna birds or ill-tempered peacocks that frequented our gardens. I would ask to be the ruler of a great kingdom. Or for the power to heal all the sick. Perhaps I would wish for the ability to find whomever I wished, or better yet to keep the ones I loved close to me.
Manthara’s voice pulled me back. “That is correct. But there is a cost to his boon. He may never divulge what he hears, on pain of death. Not to anyone.” Manthara worked through the knot with her fingers, slowly separating the strands of wayward hair. “He claims that while on a walk, he was privy to a conversation between two swans, and your mother begged him to tell her what the pair had said.”
I twisted around, yanking my hair out of Manthara’s grasp. “Why would she do such a thing? Surely she doesn’t want Father to die!”
“Who knows?” Manthara replied, pushing my head forward again. She acted very familiar with me for a servant, but I loved her and did not care. “Kekaya told me a different story, but I do not wish to contradict our king.”
We were both silent as she moved in front of me to rub oil into my scalp. Her fingers pressed into my skin, relaxing me. I thought of leaning against my mother in the quiet library, the scent of scrolls and the hidden mysteries they contained all around us. I thought of the texts filled with descriptions of the gods and their boons, how none of them had warned of the path that my family had traveled down. Suddenly, the words of the meditation mantra I had read earlier leapt unbidden into my mind.
I recited them silently, sleepily, leaning into Manthara’s deft hands.
All at once, a red rope shimmered into existence, starting just above my stomach and ending at Manthara’s. I almost cried out. I blinked hard, sure I was imagining it—but it didn’t vanish. My mouth dropped open, and slowly I lifted my hand to touch it. But my fingers passed straight through.
“Kaikeyi? Did you see a fly?” Manthara asked, her hands stilling as she glanced around the room. The rope dissolved into the air. Bewildered, I continued to stare at the area where it had been. “Kaikeyi!”
“Y-yes.” I stammered the lie. “But it’s gone now.” I rubbed at my eyes and saw the imprint of the rope dancing behind them.
“Hmm.” She went back to her ministrations.
Cautiously, I repeated the words to myself again.
The rope reappeared. I nearly toppled out of my chair, Manthara accidentally yanking my hair as I started.
“What is it?” she asked, alarmed. “Are you well?”
“I—” The rope did not change but simply vibrated in a slow pulse. There was no way to explain what I was seeing. I righted myself. “I think I am just tired.” I kept my eyes fixed on the rope.
Manthara sighed. “You are a child,” she said. “I am sure this must be very difficult for you. I want you to know that I spoke to your mother before her departure. She was distraught. She did not want to leave you.”
I had never seen my mother express any emotion on my behalf, and this absurdity was enough to distract me briefly from the rope. “Why would my father not tell us he banished her?” I asked. As I spoke, a small current seemed to shimmer down the rope, starting at my chest and going to Manthara’s.
“I do not know what goes through the mind of the raja,” Manthara said. “And it is not my place to guess.” She bound the end of my braid and pressed a kiss to my head. “You’re ready for bed. Be a good girl and go straight to sleep.”
She left, the glimmering cord between us lengthening but not thinning as the door closed behind her. I climbed into my bed and stared at the place where the rope seemed to pass through the wood. Was this even real? My heart raced with the possibilities.
As I studied the red rope, an even stranger thing happened. I noticed other glimmerings in the air. When I shifted my concentration toward them, more cords materialized, all leading back to my solar plexus and extending out through the door. There were threads of gold, broad strands of varying thickness and color, mottled woolen strings, and floss so fine I could barely see it. It seemed impossible that I could have somehow imagined such a rich tapestry—but what other explanation was there?
Or perhaps my mother’s departure had driven me to madness. I shut my eyes against the onslaught of color.
When I opened them again, the web of light was gone. I breathed a sigh of relief. I wanted the gods’ approval so badly that I had convinced myself that some silly meditation on an old scroll had power in it. That was all. That had to be all.