“They have devoted their lives to worship, a noble pursuit,” Rama said. “But you make a good point that I must also consider.”
To me, that was tantamount to agreement. “He never told me his name,” I said after a moment of silence, a peace offering.
“He really was unkind to you,” he agreed, shaking his head in irritation.
We talked of other things the rest of the way home.
We did not speak of the visit to the temple again, for less than a week later, as I sat with Dasharath on our favorite divan in his rooms, sipping cardamom tea, he asked without warning, “Were any of your brothers sent away to train when you were children?”
I put down my cup to stare at him. “No, although Ashvin traveled to learn from healers in other cities after I left. What prompted this?”
“I am considering sending Rama, and perhaps one of his brothers, to an ashram, to continue his martial training. I wondered what you thought of the idea.”
“We live in one of the largest, most celebrated cities that history has known. What could the boys learn in a secluded religious community that they could not learn here?” I countered. I was not necessarily opposed to it. But I also did not want to part with any of my sons.
“I was sent away for two years when I was their age, and it helped me to see the world more clearly, away from the immediacy of the city,” Dasharath explained, taking my hand in his. “I have been assured that Sage Vishvamitra himself will be there to supervise their training.”
Sage Vishvamitra was legendary. Before Dasharath was born, he had been a warlord and feared warrior in the eastern part of Kosala. He had coveted the prosperity of a nearby ashram and amassed several talented soldiers to storm the hermitage. But their weapons turned to dust in their hands. Upon seeing this, Vishvamitra renounced his rulership and turned to a life of penance and devotion to the gods. He had become one of the most powerful and pious men in the land, a wanderer and a scholar who rarely took pupils. Some of the greatest kings of Bharat had studied under him.
“Why Rama?” I asked, suddenly realizing how strange this arrangement was. “Shouldn’t it be Bharata who goes, if any of them must?”
Dasharath lowered his eyes.
I stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment. Then the traitorous part of my mind asked, How could Bharata compete with a god?
Blood pounded in my ears as though my body was bracing for a fight. But there was no fight. “Why Rama?” I asked again, more quietly. I needed to hear him say it.
“Kaikeyi, I am sorry,” Dasharath said.
“You made a promise.” My voice was cold. For the first time in weeks, in moons, I entered the Binding Plane in the presence of my husband. The gold cord that connected Dasharath and me still had prominence, but to my eyes it looked slightly thinner, duller, where before it had seemed luminous. I went to touch the cord, then stopped. Dasharath had broken his wedding vow and betrayed my trust. Perhaps it was this broken promise that had thinned our bond. But he was raja. He had the power—the right—to name his own heir.
“Rama is the most gifted in his studies, the most dedicated,” Dasharath said. “He is a superb warrior. He will make a fine ruler.”
“I accepted your proposal only after you made your vow. This marriage is—” built on a lie, I wanted to say, but with difficulty I swallowed the phrase down.
Dasharath sighed. He reached out to touch me, then seemed to think better of it. “And I am very sorry. But I do not think Bharata has any interest in ruling the kingdom. Kosala is vast. I will make certain Bharata governs one of our most important territories. He will be powerful, and a brilliant asset to Rama.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“You will always be the first of my radnyis, Kaikeyi. Kaushalya and Sumitra know it, and they love you more for it. When you asked me to vow that your son would be heir, you were about to be my third radnyi, and the youngest besides. You needed power, am I right?”
I nodded slowly.
“You don’t need that anymore. And I must think of what’s best for the future of Kosala. I love all my sons, but I also love my kingdom. I cannot deny that Rama is what is best for its future. And I think, in your heart, neither can you.”
This felt like a betrayal. Dasharath had asked me about the ashram knowing I would realize that Rama was to become heir. He must have been thinking about this for some time and kept it from me. This deceit had diminished our bond, and it filled me with anger to think about it.
And yet—Dasharath believed in the truth of what he said, and upon evaluation, he had a strong argument. Rama’s kingship would not hurt my position in court. Kaushalya might become Queen Mother, but I would still preside over the Women’s Council. It was a part of the fabric of Kosala now, and no line of succession could take that away from me. I would still be saciva to Dasharath. I would have the loyalty of the palace staff, the loyalty of the women in the kingdom. I would still be loved in Kekaya. Kosala was my home now. I should want the best for it.