“It is important we listen to all men, regardless of stature,” Sage Vamadeva said, a sentiment I could heartily agree with. “Vikram will speak first. You are a father and a husband, yes?”
“Yes,” the man in the dhoti—Vikram—said. He sounded nervous, his eyes flicking around the room but never alighting on any face.
“And how do you carry out your duties to your family?” Sage Vamadeva asked.
At this, Vikram stood a bit taller. “I am a builder. I work hard every day to ensure my family has enough to eat and a good home to live in.”
I could not imagine that this was the exciting lesson the boys had been hoping for, but I was glad they were hearing about lives so different from their own. Sage Vamadeva gave Vikram an approving nod. “And what about their duties to you? To each other?”
“When we build, we enter into an agreement that we will be paid in exchange for our work,” Vikram said. “A family also has such agreements with one another. I support my family in every way, and so they obey me and attend to my needs. And my wife has a duty to our children to raise them and care for them, and my children in turn have a duty to obey my wife until they are grown.”
Nothing he said was incorrect, I supposed—but I was less enthused with every word he spoke.
“Now, these boys will one day rule Kosala,” Sage Vamadeva said. “Is there anything important they should know about families like yours?”
For the first time, Vikram’s eyes met mine. He swallowed. “Nobody will be angry for anything you say here,” Sage Vamadeva added.
“Some of my wife’s friends have started to go out and work themselves,” Vikram said, fixing his eyes back on my sons. “They bring their children along or leave them to be watched by older children. Some have been left in the roadside schools for many hours. This is not how children should be raised. I can provide enough for my family. There is no need for my wife to work as well.”
As Vikram spoke, Sage Vamadeva glanced at me. Was that a small smile on his lips? I did not believe this laborer was speaking from any place of ill will, but regardless, his words were entirely inappropriate as teaching material for the princes of Kosala. The future could not be taught by the past.
“Thank you, Vikram,” Sage Vamadeva said. “That was quite enlightening. Do the princes have any questions?”
Rama’s hand flew up once again, but I did not stay to hear his question. I had learned enough.
After the meeting of the Mantri Parishad, I returned to the lesson chamber, hoping to catch Sage Vamadeva before he departed. In a moment of luck, he was gathering his books, his eyes firmly on his work as I approached him. When the silence became too awkward to bear, I coughed, put on a small, polite smile and asked, “How did the remainder of the lesson go?”
Still he did not look up from his work. “It went well, although I know you did not come here to talk to me about that.”
I tilted my head, keeping my gaze upon him. “Then tell me why you think I’m here.”
Vamadeva braced his hands on the table and slowly lifted his head to look at me. His eyes were light, gray like mist against the dark brown of his skin. Absentmindedly, I wondered whether one of his parents had been from the south, for he did not look fully like a man from Videha, the northern kingdom he hailed from. “You were unhappy with what you heard.”
He had addressed me twice now but had yet to use my title. I pushed past the disrespect. “Do you truly think that was a worthy use of their lesson?”
His stare was cold, and I remembered that despite his age this man had the blessings of many gods and had performed miraculous works on their behalf. There was a reason Dasharath had sought him out. “It is important for them to hear other perspectives. No one person can know everything—not even you.”
So I had not misinterpreted the disrespect.
“I never claimed to know everything,” I said evenly. “But you are instructing them in religion and morals. Hearing about how one man prefers his wife and children to live is not instructive.”
“I am their teacher, and I find it instructive.” He looked back down at his books. “Your sons do not seem to mind.”
“My sons are children,” I said. “It is your duty to guide them. Surely you would not take them to the irreputable parts of the city, though one might argue that certain knowledge resides there.”
“Of course I would not do such a thing,” he said, shaking his head slowly, his white hair catching the waning sun from the window and throwing flashes of light as though he was anointed. “But I will not argue with you about this. The will of the gods is immutable. They must learn these truths somewhere.”