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He closed the book with a snap. “Sita, I would be destroyed. If you die before I do, I will be a shadow of who I am. I know it’s unmanly to say so. It’s not a warrior’s way to depend on anything external. But I cannot extricate my being from yours. I knew the moment I set eyes on you, and my heart leaped out of my soul to unite with yours, that there can be no life for me without you. You are the gatekeeper to my heart. If I ever lost you, I would lose the way to my own self.”
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Sita’s hands covered her heart, holding their love within her chest. When he called her his gatekeeper, Sita thought of her long-standing dream of the black gate. She had received a key to the gate the moment she laid eyes on Rama. But that gate was not Rama’s. She knew it as clearly as she knew Rama’s heart lived within her. She could feel his love alive within her, the dance of their hearts, celebrating his tender words. Sita felt truth reverberate around every single word Rama said. The tide of her feelings turned, and suddenly she was more afraid for him than herself. What would become of Rama if something like this—she glanced at the book—ever happened to her?
After a while, Sita said, “I am safe here.” The serene night and Rama’s quiet presence melted the frost from her heart. “I don’t know why I was so frightened and angry. The women in Ayodhya are safe. Ravana has never breached Ayodhya’s walls. And I have you.
No man or blood-drinker has ever stood a chance against you.”
“Yes, the last three days Ayodhya has sung my glories, while my own wife has silently harbored doubts about her safety and future with me.”
“All gone now,” Sita said, and smiled.
The dark night settled around them, bringing them closer. Sita wanted to stay in this sweet darkness the rest of her life, and yet a part of her knew she wouldn’t.
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chapter 46
A Brother’s Memory
yodhya was still buzzing with Rama’s victory when Kaikeyi received the sumAmons from Kekaya. Her father longed to see his grandson, Bharata. One of Ashvapati’s swans delivered the message to Kaikeyi, and she asked Dasharatha for his consent. Her father’s health was not at its best; he had requested Bharata to come at the earliest. Yuddhajit offered to personally escort Bharata. It was the most practical solution since Yuddha was already in Ayodhya due to the recent summit. Still, Kaikeyi was moved by her brother’s gesture; he could have appointed someone else to do it.
There had been no time during Rama’s victory celebration to speak privately with Yuddha. Brother and sister had barely exchanged pleasantries. Kaikeyi was eager to speak to her brother and arranged to meet with Yuddha on the plains beyond Ayodhya. Yuddha would soon return to Kekaya with Bharata.
When Kaikeyi spied her dashing brother on his stallion, she felt the world as a vast place full of opportunities. Her mind felt energized, and she galloped toward him. Without a covert gesture, they slid off their horses at the same moment and strode toward one another.
Kaikeyi ran into his arms. Over the years, she had missed her brother more than she had expected, realizing their closeness only once it was gone.
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“Sister,” he said, squeezing her so tight she couldn’t breathe. The moment she was locked in his arms, however, another feeling came upon her. A remembrance of why she rarely visited Kekaya. She literally could not breathe in her brother’s arms, even after he had let her go. She looked up at him and recognized the resemblance others remarked upon. She was seeing herself as a man. They had the same piercing blue eyes, the same symmetrical features, and tall, almost lanky, builds. His skin had the sun-kissed glow that had faded from Kaikeyi’s skin over the years. She was not constantly out in the fields on horseback as he was.
“You are as beautiful as ever,” he said.
He had crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. Kaikeyi wondered if he noticed the signs of aging on her face. But then he pinched the tender skin under her arm and she grew still. If she tried to snatch her hand away, it would only hurt more; she knew this from long experience. It had been his favorite way to subdue her. Brother and sister looked at each other again, communicating in a way that could never be expressed in words. Instead of wanting to hurt her brother back, as she always did as a girl, she reached up and cupped his face. Yuddha dropped his hand, but not before smoothing the pinch with his thumb.
“I thought you would have grown out of teasing me,” she said quietly.
“Never.” He flashed his handsome grin at her, even if it wasn’t a real one.
Kaikeyi wanted to rub the skin where he had pinched her to alleviate the throbbing. But she would not show him that she had grown weak.
“Maybe this is why Father dares not set you on the throne,” she said. “He’s afraid that you’ll torture those weaker than you.”
She meant it as a joke, but he answered seriously. “You know I would never be unjust. You are the only one I tease. You are not supposed to count yourself among the weak, remember.”
And she did remember. The many hours spent pitted against Yuddha, who was so much stronger than she but showed her no mercy, none at all. It was to his credit that she knew how to fight like she did and how to withstand pain. Left to Manthara’s care, she would have been spineless. Kaikeyi was grateful to her brother for his teasing, his pinching, his punching, and his fighting. He had “made a man” out of her, and she missed being that man just as much as she loved being Dasharatha’s woman. Seeing her thoughts, Yuddha’s smile grew real.
The horses nickered, communicating with each other.
“How is Father?” Kaikeyi asked. “You look more like him now, you know.” It was in Yuddha’s manner more than anything. His eyes had become quick and darting, never resting for long on anyone or anything.
“Looking forward to see Bharata,” Yuddha said, “and otherwise well. The healthiest old king I’ve ever known.”
Father had recently turned seventy, but showed no sign of stepping down from the throne. Yuddha had been crown prince of Kekaya for close to twenty years now. He took it gracefully, with more cheer than Kaikeyi had known him to possess. Then again, it was as he had pointed out: Kaikeyi was the sole victim of his cruelty. He would never admit to resenting their father’s stronghold.
“I must come and visit sometime,” she said.
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“You are always welcome, Sister,” he said with a hint of formality.
They both knew that Kaikeyi would not come. Dasharatha was loathe to part from her for even a day. At least that was the excuse Kaikeyi had often made.
“Why can’t you stay here for a while?” she asked. She suddenly felt that she did not know her brother anymore. It made her heart jump in unease. How could this have happened?
Yuddha did not answer, but said, “We hope that Bharata will stay with us for a while.”
“Bharata and Shatrugna,” Kaikeyi amended. There was no way to part the two pairs, Bharata and Shatrugna, Rama and Lakshmana.
Yuddha inclined his head, assenting. That’s what he had meant. In every previous visit, Shatrugna had been Bharata’s shadow. “I was not sure if their wives had allowed them to be as close as before.”
Kaikeyi frowned. “Does your wife interfere in your friendships?”
She did not know her brother’s wife. He had married after her, which was not the usual way. But Dasharatha had swooped down on Kaikeyi unexpectedly, saving her when she did not even know she needed to be saved. Yuddha’s silence on the matter was eloquent. Not every marriage was destined to be happy. Kaikeyi sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods for Dasharatha’s love.
Returning to the practical matter at hand, Kaikeyi said, “The boys and their wives will come—with the usual retinue, of course.”
“And you?” Yuddha said, resting his gaze on her. “Will you be able to bear this separation from your beloved son?”
His pique hit its mark. Kaikeyi’s eyes filled with tears—more because Yuddha mocked the love she felt as a mother. “He is my son,” she said angrily, “the only thing that has ever been really and truly mine.”
“He is lucky to have such a loving mother.” A peace offering.
“Sometimes I feel I would do anything, even something completely irrational, to keep him safe,” she said. “As long as he lives and beyond, my love will too. I tell him often, ‘Land nor sea can part you from me.’”
The words were lightly spoken, but Yuddha’s eyes darkened. “What did you just say?”
Kaikeyi repeated, “Land nor sea can part you from me.”
She was puzzled by her brother’s reaction, by his sudden intensity.
“Pleasant words,” she assured. “I say them often to Bharata. He knew them by heart when he was hardly three.”
Yuddha shook his head. “This is not possible.” His eyes were darting here and there as he blinked through his emotions. “Come with me,” he said, leaping onto his horse.
He signaled to his men to ride on, telling them, “We will meet you in my sister’s courtyard.”
Following her brother’s lead, Kaikeyi signaled to her four guards to remain at a distance.
She was safe with her brother.
She rode up close to him, placing her hand on her brother’s arm. “What’s wrong, Yuddha?”
“You were too young. How can you remember her last words to you?”
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“Whose last words?” Kaikeyi felt her distress rise. She had not seen Yuddha so affected, not since they were young; even after a near-death battle he would restrain his emotions.
She did not need to know the cause to be affected by her brother’s anguish.
Yuddha dismounted, beckoning her to follow. Their horses stood between them and Ayodhya’s fort. Kaikeyi’s guards were hidden from view. She focused on her brother.
“Those words you said, that’s what Mother said before she left.” Yuddha shuddered.
“Before she was made to leave.”
“Our mother?” Kaikeyi could do nothing but echo her brother. She had no memory of her mother. None at all. All she knew were things she had been told. Or? She took a quick breath and then forgot to continue. A feeling of terror rose in her heart. A desperate need that was not heeded nor fulfilled.
“Our true mother, yes,” Yuddha replied. “The mother we never speak of.”
“You have no memory of her,” Kaikeyi asserted. It was easy to forget a person you had never known. Kaikeyi was not interested in her mother anymore. Kaikeyi was close to forty now and her brother several years past it. He couldn’t suddenly have a true memory of their mother. Of the emotions rising with Kaikeyi, one became dominant. A feeling that snaked around her inner organs, clamping them together.
“She loved us, you know,” Yuddha said. “She didn’t want to leave.”
“You were hardly four when she left. You don’t know anything!”
Instead of getting angry, Yuddha lifted his hand to his neck. “I remember how soft the skin of her neck was when I would rest my nose there. She always smelled so sweet, like jasmine and milk. Not like Father, with his unpredictable smells. When I sat in her lap, her hair sometimes covered both sides of my face, tickling my cheeks.”
Her brother spoke quickly, as if catching the memories before they disappeared. Kaikeyi’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t believe him. Where did all these “memories” suddenly come from?
“I remember the day you were born,” Yuddha said. This was more familiar ground.
“How Mother said you had the lungs of an elephant. That you would be someone who would really be heard. ‘My silly filly,’ she called you. I didn’t really like you at first. You woke me up at night. But Mother kept making me hold you, and admonished me to kiss you. ‘She is yours too.’ I never wanted to remember the night she left. Maybe that’s why I remember it so well.”
Kaikeyi was not breathing. Yuddha had dropped hints about their mother every so often through their childhood. But it was always things that were hearsay—about how beautiful she had been—things Kaikeyi had already heard from others. Her brother had never before spoken like this, with feeling. Their mother began to take form between them from the force of his emotions. Kaikeyi did not like it, not at all.
The horse snorted, blowing air through their nostrils. Yuddha’s hand flew up automatically to pat his steed. But his eyes were clouded, and his voice grew more rounded, like a child’s. Kaikeyi shifted on her feet, searching for a way to interrupt him.
Yuddha went on. “Sometimes the animals in my dreams made noises just like you, and I wouldn’t even wake up. But that night, your cry was different. It didn’t sound like you at all.
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There were words in the cry—big people’s words that I might not understand even if I tried.
I sat up in my bed, looking at the darkness around me. It was Mother’s voice. She sounded like you, the way you took huge deep breaths in between crying more. I scrambled out of my bed. The marble was cold and slippery, and the air too. I saw my wooden sword leaning by the door and grabbed it. Mother was crying. I had to go to her.
“I ran past the guard at my door and turned quickly toward Mother’s rooms. If the guard couldn’t hear Mother’s cries, maybe I was in a nightmare. Maybe the guard would follow me and try to kill me. People act strangely in dreams. I heard his footsteps behind me and started running as fast as I could. Mother’s cries grew louder. I thought someone was killing her! I ran so fast I could not even breathe anymore. When I saw the two shadows guarding Mother’s door, I knew it was a dream. The guards were supposed to do everything to protect her. But they were just standing there, leaning on their spears. They could not hear her.
Only I could. And so I knew I could do anything I set my mind to. I kept running straight toward the guards. They tried to stop me by saying my name, but I didn’t listen. I jumped up high and slashed my sword across one guard’s face. It was Soma, who would always smile and mock fight with me. Soma’s face started bleeding and the other guard just stared at me, so I left him unharmed. As I continued into Mother’s chamber, I could hear your cries too, growing louder than Mother’s. If anyone dared to touch you, I would show no mercy!
But I was glad it was a dream. I had to grow up more before I could be like Father, and protect you.
“I heard the guards behind me. I warned Soma with my sword. The guards quietly watched me. None of them smiled. ‘You should go back to your room,’ Soma said.
“Ahead of me, the light flickered from Mother’s room. The shadows were like the tongues of blood-drinkers, licking the walls. Mother’s voice had grown quiet as she hushed you. Everything was suddenly quiet. I could hear my own breathing. Mother might scold me for sleepwalking if she caught me. But then Mother’s voice grew louder again. She was begging for something.
“I stepped into her room, clutching my sword tight. Mother sat on her bed with the baby in her arms. The curtains around the bed swayed like ghosts. Mother’s hair was completely loose, hanging around her like black curtains. Father was there with his arms crossed. I wasn’t so sure I was in a dream anymore. I was afraid to take another step because I’d never seen Father so angry.
“‘Put her down,’ Father said in his ordering voice. ‘You have to leave now.’
“Neither of them had seen me yet. It had to be a dream; I was suddenly sure that a demon had taken over Father’s body. I held my sword as tightly as I could. It was quiet all around me now, except for you sucking on Mother’s breast. Mother’s tears were running down her face, dripping down onto your cheeks. Mother’s nose was pink.
“‘Please,’ Mother said, looking up at Father. ‘She needs me. Let me take her, at least.’
“‘Nonsense.’ Father’s voice was a bark.
“Mother said, ‘If you ever loved me at all, please let me take my baby.’
“I was suddenly terrified of Mother leaving without me. ‘Where are you going, Mother?’
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“‘She is not your mother anymore,’ Father said. ‘We will find someone else more suitable.’
“I didn’t understand a word he said. Mother began crying again, softly, kissing your head again and again. She held out her free hand to me. I ran toward her.
“‘Stay were you are!’ Father ordered. He told me to go back to my rooms. I could see the flames flicker in his eyes as I disobeyed him. My stomach was a stone. I hid my face in her knees. I was afraid to let Father see my tears. Mother’s hand rested on my head for a moment. Father’s iron hand clamped around my arm. He started tugging me away. I clung to Mother’s leg as Father pulled at me. A terror that was not mine alone began to fill me up. You felt it too. You forgot Mother’s breast and gave out a wail. Because you did, I did too. I opened my mouth and howled. At first no words came out. But as Father’s hand grew tight around my arm—I thought my arm would rip off—I cried, ‘I’m going with Mother!’
“Father bent down, prying my fingers away. He even smelled different, stinking like one of the guards after they wrestled. I clung to Mother’s leg. She was trying to get the baby quiet again, but you refused to drink any more. You knew something was terribly wrong. Father put his face to mine. His eyes were all wet. ‘You are going to be the king of Kekaya. You have to stay.’
“I felt Mother kiss the top of my head. I thought she would tell Father to let me go with her, but instead she said, ‘Let me take my daughter.’
“‘They are my children,’ Father said, yanking me away so hard I lost my arm at Mother’s side. But when I looked down, it was still there, though I couldn’t make it move. My sword was hidden under Mother’s skirts. After a moment, she lifted her foot and kicked it toward me. It slid across the floor and gently hit my feet. I stopped crying. It was her way to tell me I had to be a big boy. I stared at her and you. Both of you looked almost the same, your mouths were open and your eyes squeezed closed. Tears were rolling down from your closed eyes.
