“I am not afraid. I will not flee.”
“Go!” I begged him. “Rama, please!”
“No,” he said calmly. “But if you are so afraid, you may leave.”
I could not abandon my child. The waves surged higher, white and frothing like a great beast, defying all laws of nature. I stood over Rama and braced myself, determined to protect him at all costs.
The water crashed over us in a shock of icy cold that drenched my body and numbed my mind. Still, I held Rama tightly in my arms and prayed, knowing full well it would have no effect. I could feel the utter powerlessness of our position. But no matter what happened, I would not lose my son.
The waves beat at us again, pulling us forward. I slipped and caught myself, digging my heels as deep as I could into the muddy bank.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “He is sorry. Please, he is only a child. Please, please.”
I clung to Rama, bracing for another wave—but none came.
I twisted around to watch the last of the torrent subside and the water slide back into its place. In a moment, it was serene, the very picture of stillness. A sob caught in my throat. Had the goddess heard me?
“I told you I was not afraid,” said Rama, and I turned to look at him. I was soaked to the skin, water and clothes plastered against me, but Rama was—
Rama was completely dry. In fact, he was glowing. A halo of white light circled his head, and he shone from within as though he had the sun itself under his skin.
A cry came from the hill where the rest of the party had fled.
“My lord!” someone shouted.
“My lord!” another cried.
They knelt in awe, bowing to Rama. He raised his hand toward them in the universal sign of divine benediction.
Fear made bile rise in my throat. I stumbled back a step, and I could see it more clearly, the aura that surrounded him.
“He is gods-touched!” someone proclaimed, and the rest took up the chant.
To them, it must have looked like the river had crowned Rama, had put on that performance just to show his holiness, but I knew better. My son had angered Sarasvati. Perhaps my love for Rama had saved me, or perhaps the fact that I was gods-touched had prevented me from feeling the worst of her wrath. But Rama was not gods-touched. The fools on the hill did not know what that meant.
Heart pounding, I broke my own sacred rule, that which I had sworn never to do around my sons. I entered the Binding Plane.
I briefly leaned into the feeling of control as the world shifted and grayed until only the bonds were colored, and then looked up to find—nothing.
Rama was not there. I let the threads around me disappear, and Rama’s glowing form came into view.
Only then did I know it for sure.
My son was a god.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“HOW DID IT FEEL?” Bharata kept asking Rama during the final week of our journey. “When the river blessed you?”
Terrifying, I wanted to say. I thought I would lose my son. But he had not asked me. And Rama only laughed.
I wondered if he knew he was a god, or if his immortal memory had somehow been suppressed when born here on earth.
Over the remainder of our journey, I became convinced that Agni himself had been reincarnated. After all, Agni had provided the kheer at the Yagna, and it would follow that Agni could repel an attack from a river.
But why? Why would Agni have come down to the earth? In the stories, the gods only took human form in times of great strife. Bharat was mostly at peace. Rama had some higher purpose here, that much I knew. But I could not figure out what.
It was a relief to arrive in Kekaya, its narrow streets like an embrace. The city had changed only slightly, just enough that I knew time had passed. The wood and brick homes were dark, darker than the sandstone buildings of Ayodhya, but they welcomed me home. A familiar warmth blossomed in my chest. I had missed this place, perhaps more desperately than I had ever realized given the stinging in my eyes.
I spied a figure standing at the gates of the palace. Yudhajit. I spurred my horse forward, and the moment I saw the smile on my twin’s face, all apprehension melted away. My horse outstripped the guards in front of me and as soon as we halted, I threw myself off the steed and into his waiting arms.
“Kaikeyi,” he said into my hair. “Kaikeyi, I have missed you so much.”
I buried my face in his shoulder to hide my tears, but I could hear his breath hitch as well. “I missed you. I am so sorry, Yudhajit.”
“Don’t you dare ask me to forgive you. I was in the wrong too. We were young, and stupid. There is no need to apologize. I love you.”