PRINCE IN EXILE (15 page)

It flew closer, swooping directly over the heads of the kumbhas and giving them a very satisfactory alarm, sending them scurrying back to their trapdoor, hands flapping furiously over their misshapen heads. They popped into the trapwell like rats into a snake-hole, cursed loudly in their grunting-roaring tongue, and slammed the door shut with a resounding bang. Back in the aerie, the younguns and old feebles cackled merrily, applauding their lord. 

Jatayu turned back in a wide sweep, craning its wattled neck to see the sigil on the banner. It was black as pitch with red markings. The markings were meant to represent bones and a skull. Jatayu called out in shock as it recognised them. That was no ordinary war banner. It was a death-flag, hoisted to mark the passing of a great lord or king. 

This particular death-flag belonged to the lord of asura races, king of rakshasas, master of the black fortress, ruler of Lanka. If it was flying now, it could only mean one thing. 

Ravana was dead. 

NINE 

Sita knocked over the golden kalash with her bare foot, spilling raw rice and wheatgrains across the threshold of Suryavansha Palace and into the house. She stepped into a thali filled with water mixed with sindhoor, taking care to let as much sindhoor powder as possible stick to the soles of her feet, then walked across the marble foyer, leaving a trail of wet red footprints across the white stone floor. A roar of cheers erupted from the watching throng of untitled queens, palace staff and even the guards, echoing off the high vaulting dome and travelling through the vast halls of the royal complex. The celebration was echoed by the crowd outside, as the word was passed on that the goddess of wealth and prosperity had entered the royal house in her current form as Sita Janaki, wife of Rama Chandra. 

Sita’s sister and cousins followed suit, each repeating the rite, and cheers sounded for them as well. Then the four princes of Ayodhya entered the palace formally and took their places beside their respective wives, and each couple in turn paid their respects to the queen-mothers who had preceded them into the palace for this reason. 

By rights, Bharat and Mandavi ought to have been received by Rani Kaikeyi, but after seeing Kaikeyi’s distraught state, Guru Vashishta had suggested that they continue with the ritual without delay, and Rani Kausalya and Rani Sumitra had stood in for their sister-in-queenhood. So it was Kausalya’s feet that Bharat and his bride first touched. 

Bharat rose with his head bowed and hands joined. Kausalya felt a lump in her throat as she saw the pain in his eyes.
Oh, Kaikeyi, what use are all our vanities and ambitions if we cannot be there for those who love us truly? These are the moments that we live for as mothers.
Her rivalry with the Second Queen seemed so paltry and insignificant just then; her heart went out to the handsome young man before her, a man so desperately in need of a mother to touch his head and wish him the blessings that only a mother could confer.
Never mind,
she thought,
I’ll be a mother to him as well.
She reached out her hand, about to complete the formality, when a voice rang out across the large foyer. 

‘If you please, Kausalya, I prefer to bless my own son and daughter-in-law.’ 

Heads turned all across the chamber. Captain Drishti Kumar took two quick steps forward, arm raised in the stand-by gesture that would pit a dozen quads of palace guards against any potential threat. Kausalya saw an expression of extreme puzzlement appear on the captain’s stern face. Drishti Kumar blinked rapidly, then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Bharat and his wife were the only other ones in her line of sight, and the expressions on their faces were those of surprise as well. 

Kausalya turned her head to see Rani Kaikeyi coming down one of the two semicircular stairways that joined at the top and bottom to form the periphery of the Suryavansha sun sigil. She blinked, unable to believe her eyes. Kaikeyi was clad in the finest of silk saris, adorned with gold ornaments fit for a bride. With every step, jewellery jangled, bangles clinked, payals tinkled. Her long hair had been freshly oiled, the lustrous tresses glowing with vitality. Her eyes were kohl-rimmed, her lips painted, red sindhoor applied dutifully to her forehead … Kaikeyi looked like the epitome of Arya queenhood, resplendent as any of the Suryavansha queens depicted in the frescoes on the ceiling of the domed roof of the palace foyer. 

But she was a muddy mess only moments ago. How could she have bathed and remade herself this quickly? It’s impossible! 

Out of the corner of her eye, Kausalya could sense the excited flurry the rani’s unorthodox entrance was causing. It was hardly customary for a queen-mother to arrive at this late juncture, interrupting the threshold-crossing ritual of her own daughterin-law. Yet, she realised as she scanned the half-envious, half-admiring reactions of the aristocratic families of Ayodhya, the very unorthodox boldness of the action matched Kaikeyi’s character perfectly. 

Everyone thinks she’s making a dramatic late entrance on purpose. 

And who could blame them for thinking that way: every pair of eyes was riveted on the Second Queen, magnificent in her bejewelled finery as she descended to the bottom of the stairway, hips swaying in that cocky, swaggering sashay that only Kaikeyi could do so well. 

But it couldn’t be her. No human being could have achieved such a transformation that quickly. 

As the Second Queen began walking towards her, Kausalya’s eyes met Kaikeyi’s for an instant. She clearly read the arrogant challenge in the woman’s eyes. It was as if Kaikeyi were telling her directly,
Go ahead then, say what’s on your mind. See where it gets you. 

‘I told you, she’s bewitched. How else could she have changed herself this quickly? This woman isn’t Kaikeyi, it’s an asura posing as her!’ 

Every pair of eyes in the crowded foyer turned to the speaker. Kausalya turned as well, looking at the woman who had spoken the words that had been on the tip of her own tongue. Third Queen Sumitra stepped forward, eyes flashing angrily, and pointed an accusing finger at Kaikeyi. 

‘This time she can’t deceive us. We’re all witnesses. How could she have washed off the mud and dung, changed her sari, painted her face so painstakingly, and adorned herself with all those ornaments in the few minutes since she was taken away ranting and raving?’ 

A new flurry of reactions broke out, racing through the crowd of court nobles and aristocrats gathered to receive the princes and their new wives home. But it was Dasaratha himself who spoke first. The maharaja, seated on his travelling chair, half rose to his feet, face contorted with incomprehension. 

‘What are you talking about, Sumitra? What deception are you referring to?’ 

Sumitra pointed again at Kaikeyi. ‘Dasa, Guru Vashishta and Kausalya know what I am referring to. When your condition, instead of improving, grew worse and you fell into a coma, it was not your illness that was the cause. It was poison administered by this shrew in human form.’ 

Shocked gasps rose from the ladies of the assembly. Dasaratha frowned and looked at Kaikeyi. The Second Queen was standing calmly, eyebrows raised in an expression of mock-surprise. 

‘You are surely mistaken, Sumitra. How could you possibly believe that Kaikeyi would ever do such a thing? The setback to my health came as a result of my being attacked by a twice-lifer sent by the asuras. Guru Vashishta himself freed me of the wretched thing’s hold and saved my life. Kaikeyi had nothing whatsoever to do with it.’ 

Sumitra shook her head. ‘Not that, my lord. I speak of another, earlier incident, before the twice-lifer’s attack. Kausalya knows of that, but we were loath to tell you about it earlier because, because … ‘ 

Because the evidence we found pointed to you, Sumitra, being the one who administered the poison, not Kaikeyi
. But of course Sumitra could hardly say that now. 

The maharaja frowned. He had resumed his seat but still leaned heavily to one side, as if favouring his right arm. ‘I still don’t follow. What does this incident have to do with the accusation you are levelling at her now?’ 

‘It’s no accusation, Dasa,’ Sumitra said earnestly, her high-pitched voice cracking as she grew more agitated. ‘It’s a fact! We all saw her as the procession entered the palace gates. She was running by the side of Rama’s elephant like a madwoman, her breast bared, hair untied, sari drenched and filthy with the dirt of the marg. Why, she was led away by the daiimaas only a few minutes ago, just before we performed the griha pravesh ceremony and entered the palace proper. It’s physically impossible for any person to have changed her appearance from that state to
this
in so short a while.’ 

Sumitra emphasised her point by indicating the calmly watching Kaikeyi again. ‘I tell you, this woman standing before us is not Kaikeyi. It is an asura in disguise, another imposter seeking to get close to the royal family and do us all bodily harm.’ 

At the mention of the word ‘asura’, Drishti Kumar’s entire contingent drew their swords, and by the time Sumitra ended, the captain and two quads had taken two steps forward in Kaikeyi’s direction, ready to strike. 

Dasaratha pounded his fist on the armrest of his chair. ‘Enough! Sheathe your swords!’ When the guards looked uncertainly at their maharaja, then at their captain, Dasaratha shouted agan, spittle flying from his mouth, ‘Sheathe your swords!’ 

As one man, they obeyed the order, but the captain remained standing where he was, his eyes on Kaikeyi with the canny alertness of a mongoose crouched before a snake-hole. 

Dasaratha looked at Sumitra. ‘What madness is this, Sumitra? Do you realise what you are saying? You are accusing Kaikeyi, mother of Bharat, of being an asura in mortal disguise. Do you think I would not know if she were such a being? Or Guru Vashishta?’ 

Sumitra joined her hands in supplication. ‘I beg you, Dasa, believe me. I have seen her with my own eyes, transforming into a nagin and attacking you upon your sickbed. I have seen the hidden chamber where she offers vile sacrifices to her secret deity, the dark Lord of Lanka himself, Ravana!’ 

At the mention of the rakshasa king’s name, the entire congregation exploded in a shockwave of horror and disbelief. People turned to stare at the Second Queen and Third Queen both, backing away in repulsion as if fearing that either might be an asura in mortal disguise. The memory of Kala-Nemi’s wily intrusion was still fresh in their minds. 

Dasaratha looked at Sumitra in exasperated bewilderment. ‘Is this true? You have seen these things with your own eyes?’ He searched around for support or denial. ‘Guru-dev? Royal Preceptor? You confirm this too?’ 

Guru Vashishta, standing at the head of the Brahmin panel that was reciting the sanctifying mantras of the griha pravesh at the north-east wall of the foyer, replied quietly, his voice carrying easily to every ear in the palace conclave. ‘I have not had time to verify these things myself, Ayodhya-naresh. Perhaps they may be true, perhaps not. What is true, though, is that there are great forces at work here in this palace, and they are not all directed at the betterment of this family, nor even this kingdom.’ 

A fresh wave of anxiety swept the congregation. What exactly did the guru mean? Was he confirming Sumitra’s accusations, or was he offering a counter-accusation? Several seemed to think aloud that the guru was accusing Sumitra herself of treachery! 

Kausalya came to Sumitra’s aid, knowing that if she didn’t intervene now, the tide would turn any which way. ‘My lord,’ she said firmly, walking forward to stand beside Sumitra. ‘I have seen some small evidence of these matters. Yet as the guru says, the truth was so shrewdly concealed that it was impossible to verify it either way.’ 

Dasaratha’s thick brows beetled. He shook his head in exasperation. Sweat trickled down his face. 

Kausalya went on. ‘Be that as it may, one thing about which I am fully in agreement with Sumitra is the current deception. Only moments earlier, when our procession was arriving at the palace gates, both of us saw Kaikeyi-rani run out of the palace compound and attempt to come close to the elephant carrying Rama and Sita. She was in a distraught state and excessively dishevelled. Senapati Dheeraj Kumar himself prevented her from coming to certain injury beneath the pads of the bigfoot. She was led away by a trio of daiimaas. Moments later, we entered the palace to perform this griha pravesh, and lo and behold, Kaikeyi appears before us, bathed and bedecked as she is now. Decide for yourself then, Ayodhya-naresh. Is such a thing possible? Surely there is reason to doubt whether this is the real Kaikeyi or not. I suggest that without further ado we request Guru Vashishta to confirm for us whether she is truly what she appears to be, or some other personage. I await the wisdom of your judgement.’ 

The silence that followed this small speech was as heavy as a stone wall. While Third Queen Sumitra was well respected and loved, there was no question that it was First Queen Kausalya who was the mother-figure of the Kosala state. Women across the kingdom kept her clay image or painted portrait in the northeast corners of their houses, beside those of their own mother-goddess deities. If anything, Kaikeyi’s years of cavorting publicly beside the maharaja had only drawn greater loyalty and support for Kausalya. And today, of course, with Rama’s glowing accomplishments, it was Kausalya who held the floor.