“We should pray first,” Rama whispered, approaching the statue of Shiva on the farthest right and kneeling. I made to follow him, but he twisted around and inclined his head toward my left. “Women pray on that side.” I looked down at the floor and saw a faint white chalk line dividing the room in half.
The temple was nearly deserted, with only a few attendants sweeping or making other preparations for the day, replacing the old flowers with crimson and amber blooms and filling the small brass lamps with golden oil. Slowly, I moved to the other side of the line, faced the statues of the gods that lined the back wall, and bowed my head.
After some time, I heard Rama’s soft footfalls approaching and rose to my feet. “They have their private chamber, where we can talk to them,” he said, gesturing toward the back wall.
It was unnerving that he knew so much of this place. I had followed the boys’ lessons less closely as they had grown older, once I had ascertained that none of their other tutors were of Sage Vamadeva’s ilk. But surely someone should have told me if Rama was regularly leaving the palace to take lessons at the temple?
Together, we entered a large room with a curved dome ceiling. It reminded me of a smaller version of the palace. Great paper windows, as tall as a man, took up two walls, letting in streams of morning light. Still, the sages had lit several small lamps on the tables—perhaps so they could more easily read some of the texts that lined the other two walls of the place. Wooden shelves ran from floor to ceiling, filled to bursting with scrolls. Some part of me wanted to approach the nearest stack, dig through it, and lose myself in the knowledge held here. It was, in truth, a beautiful room, one designed for reading and learning. If only it wasn’t set in a temple, for this place had been built for the gods.
The sages—evident by their saffron robes—grew silent upon our entrance. I pushed away the part of me that longed to know what they were saying, to participate myself. This was not the time and certainly not the place.
One sage stood, inclining his head to Rama. “Welcome, Yuvraja.” Rama did not share my surprise at the title, inclining his head to the sage. But then again, he did not know that the title belonged to Bharata. For the first time, I wondered how Rama would feel when he learned of his father’s vow. He clearly cared deeply about the people of the city and thought himself heir. Would it hurt him, to learn he would not be Kosala’s raja? “I see you brought a guest today? Welcome, Radnyi Kaikeyi.” The man’s tone was distant rather than welcoming, but I ignored it. I knew nothing about him. Perhaps he was simply forbidding to all strangers.
I bowed my head, hands clasped together in greeting. “Thank you for allowing me to come here,” I said.
“We did not allow anything,” he replied. “Your son did not tell us he was bringing you. We do not permit women in this area of the temple, but for Yuvraja Rama I suppose an exception can be made.”
Rama stepped forward. “You have my apologies. I did not realize that was the case. We can go—”
“No need,” the man cut him off. “Today is not your lesson day. Can we assist you or the radnyi?”
“I was telling my mother of your concerns about the future of this temple, and she wished to speak to you herself, to see how she might assist.”
A flicker of surprise rippled across the man’s face before he schooled it back into sternness. “You wish to assist?” he asked me.
“Should I not?” I smiled, but his expression remained stony. “If it is in my power to aid any member of this kingdom, I would like to.”
“You have told me of your concerns that people no longer respect the temples or worship the gods or respect their will as devoutly as they should. I am sure if my mother was to hear more, she would try to help,” Rama said.
“There is not much more to say,” the sage said slowly, as if he was trying to stall for time to decide how best to respond. I slipped into the Binding Plane, worried that he might attempt to spin some type of falsehood. Unlike Rama, the sage was present in the gray world, but there was not even a wisp of connection between us. “It is simply that many in the city no longer hold the temples in as high a regard.”
“Has attendance fallen?” I asked, wondering how he was measuring regard.
“I suppose,” he said. “But we do not count day to day; such things are not our concern. We worry that even the people who attend are falling further from the teachings of the gods.”
I chanced a glance at Rama, who was frowning in concern and nodding along. But I could not fathom what this man was talking about. “And what have they done to make you so worried?”