“Gods-touched,” Dasharath breathed, sinking back down. “He was able to protect himself from the river.”
I shook my head. “I do not know if he is gods-touched, or something else.”
Dasharath stretched out his large hand to trace patterns on my stomach. “Something else?”
“I think…” I bit my lip. “I think he might have some piece of a god inside him.”
Surprise made him laugh. “What?”
“Maybe, when Agni came to us…” I hesitated, worried the suggestion might give offense.
“You think some part of him has incarnated within Rama?”
“I do not know. But there is something within him. I can sense it.”
His warm palm settled on my belly. The heat felt good, even if I was indifferent to desire. “How do you know so much about all this?”
“I liked to read stories about the gods, when I was young.” It was not quite a lie.
Dasharath wrinkled his brow. “Does it matter what Rama is? Gods-touched or part-god?”
Yes, I wanted to say. Yes, being gods-touched is a curse.
Except… it was not. I had made a blessed life for myself, even without the approval of the gods. I had learned a power of my own and used it.
Yes, I wanted to say. Yes, being a god is a blessing.
Except… it was not. My flesh-and-blood son, Bharata, the son of a woman abandoned by the gods, would still rule Kosala.
“No,” I said. “It does not matter.”
“You are worrying too much about a gift,” Dasharath said. “If you would like something to worry about, there are plenty of reports waiting for you.”
That surprised a laugh out of me. At this encouragement he added, “I am sure the palace staff have been missing your visits. And of course, the horses in the stables, how they have suffered without you. In fact, why are you still here? You should be working through the night.”
His arm kept me in place, happy and secure, and I did not even pretend to carry out his order. Instead, we lay there, content. I am sure I was still smiling when I drifted off.
A few weeks after our return, I went to see my sons before their morning lessons and was nearly knocked over by the four of them rushing down the corridor. “Slow down!” I called. “Why are you in such a hurry?”
Rama turned. “We don’t want to be late! Sage Vamadeva said we had a special lesson today.”
“A special lesson?” I echoed. “I have never seen you boys so excited for that.”
“It’s a surprise,” Shatrugna said. “But Rama said it’s going to be amazing.”
It made a bit more sense now—Rama’s excitement looked to be contagious. “Perhaps I should come see this incredible lesson for myself,” I said, half-teasing. I had a meeting of the Mantri Parishad soon.
But Rama’s face brightened, and he reached out to take my hand. “Yes! Ma, you have to come!” I found myself tugged along with them, unable to stop myself from smiling as we made our way to one of their lesson rooms. I supposed I could stay for a few minutes.
The boys calmed themselves before entering, filing through the door and bowing their heads to an elderly man dressed in crisp ascetic robes—Sage Vamadeva. I dipped my chin to him as well. “My son invited me,” I said by way of explanation.
Sage Vamadeva gave me a curt nod but did not acknowledge my presence further. The boys arranged themselves on the floor next to four low desks, and I leaned against the wall in the back of the room. After a moment, Sage Vamadeva said, “As you boys know, today’s lesson will be different. I have invited some of the eminent men of our city to come speak to you and offer their thoughts on the matters we have been studying. Why is this important?”
Rama’s hand shot up. “Because a good leader must listen to others.”
Sage Vamadeva’s stony expression softened ever so slightly. “Very good. Lakshmana, please summarize what we studied in our last class.”
“We studied the responsibilities and duties within family relationships,” Lakshmana said. “The role of the husband and the wife, of the parents and children.”
Although the answer was apparently right, Sage Vamadeva did not praise Lakshmana. Instead, he opened the far door of the chamber and gestured three men inside.
One was dressed similarly to Sage Vamadeva—another sage, then. The second man was clad in a richly dyed crimson tunic, but I did not recognize him, so he was likely a wealthy merchant rather than a noble. The final man was a commoner, judging from his cleanly pressed, worn-looking cotton dhoti. He could have been anyone plucked from the stalls of Ayodhya’s main market.