PRINCE IN EXILE (34 page)

The voice dripped with all the sarcasm Kaikeyi could infuse into the words. The new First Queen looked shockingly out of place seated on the sunwood throne. Not only because the throne, an ancient and massive artefact carved from a single trunk of the rarest of rare trees and as much a part of Suryavansha history as the Seer’s Tower, was reserved solely for the liege of the time, which in this case was still Dasaratha. Once Bharat was crowned liege-heir and formally sworn in as maharaja, he would earn the right to take his place up there on the great throne, but that had not happened yet. And no matter who the liege that sat upon it, the sunwood throne deserved more respect and dignity than Kaikeyi was conferring upon it. The new maharani of Kosala was sitting in a grossly disrespectful posture on the seat of power, one leg curled upon the throne, the other carelessly flung out at a rakish angle. Her blouse was askew. Her limbs were so weighted down with heavy jewels that were she to be put on a scale right now and her jewels on the other side of the same scale, the ornaments would easily outweigh her. 

As she approached the dais, Kausalya didn’t notice all these finer points so much as take in the overall picture. 

The import of it was clear: Kaikeyi didn’t care a fig for the seat she sat on, nor for the great tradition she had succeeded to today. 

She was chewing paan, and after she spoke those galling words, she spat into a spittoon set by the left hand of the throne, the tobacco juice splashing partly on the rim of the brass container, mostly down its side, to drip disgustingly on to the tiger-skin pelts that carpeted the royal dais. A hundred of Banglar’s finest striped beasts had died to make that pelt-pile, but to Kaikeyi it was no more than a rug. 

‘Come, come,’ she said, making a slurping sound as she relished her betelnut and tobacco savoury. ‘Bow, beg, prostrate, crawl, whatever you like. It won’t make any difference. Your son is lost to you for ever.’ 

Kausalya reached the end of the dais and continued up the steps. She took them easily, despite their majestic height. Kaikeyi looked up at the last moment, saw her adversary climbing the dais rather than stopping before it as she had expected, and sat upright. Her blouse flaps fell open, revealing her breasts. ‘How dare you?’ she screeched, her voice rising two whole octaves with surprise. ‘You can’t come up here! Get away! Get away!’ 

Kausalya reached the throne and stopped. She had no desire to get any closer than this. For one, she had no wish to be spattered by the paan flecks that were flying from Kaikeyi’s mouth as she yelled shrilly. 

‘You think this is a game,’ Kausalya said, fighting to keep her voice level. ‘A game of thrones. But it isn’t. It’s a game of souls, Kaikeyi. Souls.’ 

Kaikeyi had drawn both legs up on the throne, rearing back until her head touched the hard carved wood of the backrest. She was dwarfed by the seat despite her ample bulk. The sunwood throne had a way of making those who were small at heart seem small in stature as well. She saw that Kausalya wasn’t attacking her physically as she’d expected, and relaxed slightly, resuming her chewing. 

‘Souls?’ she said, then giggled hysterically. Betelnut juice oozed from the corner of her mouth. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? A game of souls?’ 

‘It’s the game you chose to play when you danced with the lord of demons, Kaikeyi,’ Kausalya said. ‘The game that brought you from lying drunken and naked on your back in my husband’s bed to this great seat of power. Do you follow what I’m speaking of now,
First Queen?
’ 

Kaikeyi’s eyes narrowed at Kausalya’s words. ‘Still jealous over that,
sister
-queen? Get over it. I was Dasaratha’s first lust, and his last. His last, Kausalya. Do you follow what I’m speaking of?’ 

The revelation hit Kausalya like a slap. She had noticed Dasaratha’s dishevelled clothes and untied langot when she had had him removed from the kosaghar back to his chambers, but the maharaja’s very condition had made it impossible for her to think of such a thing. Now she knew. So the second queen and the daiimaa had somehow bewitched Dasaratha into performing the conjugal dance one final time with Kaikeyi. Devi alone knew what vile sorcery they had employed to achieve such an end. 

Kausalya had also noticed the strange phenomenon of Dasaratha’s appearance in the kosaghar. Despite his collapsed condition, the maharaja nevertheless seemed to look younger than he had done only hours earlier. She had put that down to her own stressed state at the time, but now it all made sense. The jal-bartan with the last dregs of some potion that Manthara had been clutching when they entered. The daiimaa had been pouring the last of it into Dasaratha’s mouth when they had come into the kosaghar. And who knew how much more of the vile stuff Kaikeyi herself had made Dasa drink earlier? What the potion was, it was impossible to tell, after Manthara had shattered the vessel to shards, spilling the last of the concoction. What was certain was that it was no herbal mixture. Kausalya’s memory still held fresh, vivid images of the day she had found Dasaratha lying in his bed, lips blue allegedly from the poison in the fruit punch Sumitra had mixed for him. A whole lot of things had become clear since the serving girl’s appearance and demise, and any last vestiges of doubt were decisively swept away by Manthara’s ‘coming-out’ in the kosaghar. The shrew and the witch, that was the enemy within that they were faced with, had been faced with for devi knew how long without their knowledge; they were the ones within the royal family that Guru Vashishta had sensed and spoken of at the secret meeting he had called in the seal room the night of Rama and Lakshman’s departure to the Bhayanak-van. But even the great seer’s powers had been obfuscated by the potent shakti of the Lord of Lanka. Ravana’s armies might have been decimated by the release of the Brahm-astra at Mithila. But his spasas were still active and alive, here in the very heart of Ayodhya. 

Not for long, Kausalya vowed. Not for long. If I have to fight them with my last breath, so be it. Whatever else happens, I will see to it that they do not prevail in the end. As the gods are my witness, I will rid Ayodhya of this unholy duo or die fighting them. 

‘You may have sapped him of his seed,’ she said aloud now, giving Kaikeyi no opportunity to take pleasure in her vulgar revelation. ‘But in doing so, you have also sapped him of his life. Do you know that your own countrymen now speak of you with shifty eyes and low voices as a result of your doings in the kosaghar? They call you “king-slayer”. Are you pleased?’ 

‘Who says that?’ Kaikeyi rose to her feet, stumbling over her own sari’s hem. ‘Which son of a whore dares to speak of me that way? Show him to me! I will have him torn apart by stallions and feed the remnants to the city dogs!’ 

Kausalya took care to stay out of range of the betelnut spittle issuing from Kaikeyi’s mouth. The new First Queen’s breath, even from a distance of almost two yards, stank vilely of alcohol and some rancid thing she couldn’t identify. What was in that paan anyway? The stuff dripping down the sides of the spittoon didn’t look like normal betelnut and tobacco juice. 

‘How many will you torture and execute, Kaikeyi?’ she asked. ‘All of them? And once you’re done dispensing this brutal brand of injustice, what then? Who will stand by you and help you rule this vast kingdom? Sitting on the sunwood throne is no mean task. Women have sat on it before, and ruled as wisely as men. For the Kshatriya code does not distinguish between sexes. But man or woman, it takes a person of rare strength of character to wear that heavy crown and wield the sword of justice. Are you capable of taking on that task, and ruling under the shadow of accusations of murdering your own husband—’ 

‘I didn’t mean to kill him,’ Kaikeyi screamed, her mouth an open red-black hole in her face. ‘I told him to have the tonic. The tonic made him younger and healthier! He was so virile, so strong again … it was like the years, the illness, everything had fallen away. But he vomited it out. He put his fingers down his throat and induced himself to bring it all up! And he would not take any more, even when I begged and pleaded. Manthara said—’ 

She stopped abruptly. Looked around and seemed to grow aware of her surroundings, her situation. She looked down at the gold thali lying on the armrest of the throne. It was half filled with paans. They all seemed to contain the same purplish-red stuffing that produced the peculiar juice Kaikeyi had been spitting out. A look of horror came over Kaikeyi’s face. She raised a hand and slapped the edge of the thali. It flew up into the air, cartwheeling front over back, spilling paans everywhere 

-Kausalya stepped back hurriedly to avoid a few - and flew to the left-hand side of the dais, there to crash and crash again until it came to a rolling halt and fell, ringing out one final time. Kaikeyi turned, and before Kausalya knew what she was doing, she was before her, clutching her hand tight enough to hurt, her eyes brimming with fat tears. 

‘You don’t understand,’ Kaikeyi said in a voice wholly unlike the arrogant loftiness with which she’d greeted Kausalya only moments earlier. ‘She drugs me somehow. And controls me. Her voice is inside my head all the time now. Telling me what to do. And if I try to resist or fight her … she … she … ‘ 

Kaikeyi screamed. It was the banshee wail of a lost soul. Heart-rending and horrible, it raised the hackles on Kausalya’s arms and the back of her neck. It was the kind of sound you might expect to hear from a mother whose only child had just died, not a queen-mother on the day of her son’s coronation. 

‘Help me,’ she sobbed, falling at Kausalya’s feet, clinging to her hopelessly, helplessly. ‘Help me, please. She makes me do these things. She made me do it all. I tried to reach out to you, to warn you, to warn Rama … in the street last night … the procession … you saw me … And later, before the wretched servant girl died … But it was too late already. She had a hold of me.’ Kaikeyi shuddered. ‘She was inside me, Kausalya! I can’t describe how it feels. It’s horrible! She’s completely mad now, I think. Driven crazy by … She kept talking to me as if I was her master, master this and master that … but it was only her, speaking through me, answering herself … and all the while, I could only watch and hear and feel my body being used, but I had no control … except for moments like this, when she’s distracted by something, or really communicating with her master.’ 

Kaikeyi clutched Kausalya’s feet, striking them with her forehead repeatedly. ‘I can’t fight her any more, Kausalya. Help me. Save me. I’ll die before I go on like this another moment. Please!’ 

Kausalya bent down, putting her arms around the shuddering, shaking woman. Her own mouth was dry, her heart thudding. Kaikeyi’s scream had chilled her to the core; her confession had set her ablaze. She didn’t know how much of this to believe and how much might be part of some new sinister scheme the duo had cooked up. But despite her better sense, she believed Kaikeyi. Most of all, she believed that this woman, the woman lying at her feet and sobbing her guts out, was the real Kaikeyi, pleasure-seeking, self-centred - even now Kaikeyi only thought of herself, not what she had done to Rama or Dasaratha under Manthara’s evil influence - but not the arrogant, supremely in-control bitch who had greeted Kausalya when she had entered the sabha hall.
Yes
, she thought,
this is the woman who spoke to me through the mouth of the dying serving girl. This is our Kaikeyi, not Manthara’s and Ravana’s Kaikeyi
. 

She was about to speak, to comfort and reassure the sobbing queen, when a brilliant flash of green light exploded, blinding her momentarily. She gasped, taken by surprise, and peered through the darkness that had suddenly descended. 

Manthara stood on the royal dais. A corona of green flame flickered at the periphery of her contours, then faded away. 

SIX 

‘Stand up,’ the daiimaa said to Kaikeyi. ‘Stand up and step away from that woman. She cannot help you now. Nobody can. Only I have the power to save you, Kaikeyi. Only I.’ 

Kaikeyi remained prone on the dais at Kausalya’s feet. She looked up at Kausalya, her face streaked with smudged collyrium and ornamental colours, the sindhoor in her parting oozing like blood down her forehead. ‘No! I won’t do it any more. I won’t let you use me! Leave me alone, Manthara!’ 

Manthara chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the vastness of the great hall. ‘Come now, my queen. There is much to be done yet. Your son will arrive soon, to be crowned liege-heir. And before the ending of this very day, he shall inherit the throne and become king as well.’ Her eyes looked slyly at Kausalya. ‘For we all know that his highness will not last this day. It is your good fortune to see your son rise to the stature of prince-heir and then king within the space of a single day. Rise and embrace your fortune.’ 

‘Bharat’s gone to his grandfather’s house,’ Kaikeyi said, her voice turning falsetto with stress. ‘He knows nothing of what happened here. He will not return in time for any coronation.’ 

The daiimaa clucked her tongue disapprovingly. ‘Don’t you remember anything, my rani? You had riders sent to Kaikeya the instant Dasaratha caved in and granted you the two boons. Bharat would have received the news and left Kaikeya hours ago. He will be here at any moment. Would you have him see you in this sorry state? You are a queen-mother now. If you cannot act like one, for his sake at least look the part!’ 

Kaikeyi stared up at Kausalya, pleading with her eyes. She shook her head from side to side, repeating over and over again, ‘Save me save me save me.’ 

Kausalya swallowed and looked up at the daiimaa. Manthara was standing beside the sunwood throne, dwarfed by its stature. Her bent grey-haired head came barely to the pedestal of the throne. She had her hand on the pedestal, carved to resemble a lion’s foot, and was stroking and caressing it slowly, like one might pet a favourite dog or parrot.