Prince of Dharma (41 page)

She turned to him, and for a moment he thought she was about to spit on him as well. But her words were as galling. ‘You betrayed me, Dasa. I heard palace gossip but didn’t believe it. All these months, you neglected me and avoided my bed, feigning illness and weakness, spurning my affections, and all the while you were falling under the spell of this—’ 

The word she used was one that he had never heard her speak aloud before—except in the heat of passion. He recoiled at the sound of it, shocked that she would use it in her own son’s presence. How had he shared his bed with this woman for so many years? How had he abandoned gentle, beautiful Kausalya for this hysterical shrew?
Because she did such wild things as no other woman ever did for you, you fool, you fool, and you were young and foolish enough to think with your manhood rather than your head. 

He strained to control his hand, still quivering with rage and eager to strike the filthy words from her gaudily rouged lips. ‘You go too far now, woman. Remember your place. Behave like a queen of Ayodhya.’ 

He gestured to Bharat, standing miserably behind her, head bowed in embarrassment. ‘Behave like a queen mother.’ 

‘A queen mother, am I? Funny. After the announcement earlier today, I thought I must be just another untitled concubine. Why else would you pass my son over for that witch’s whelp and make me feel like a cast-aside mistress?’ 

He tried to keep his voice from rising to a shout. 

‘Rama is my eldest son and the rightful heir to the throne. You know that as well as Bharat does. Ask your son if he begrudges his brother his birthright. Go on, ask him.’ 

She didn’t even turn to look at Bharat, whose eyes were filled with such pain that Dasaratha’s heart went out to him.
Forgive me, my son, for letting such a day come to pass. May you never have to witness such a scene ever again. 

Kaikeyi shook her head, sneering. ‘Don’t drag him into this mess, you brute. This is between you and me. You made a promise once. Now live up to your words! Or do I have to remind you what happened on the field of Kaikeya, when you lay unconscious and mortally injured, your host smashed and fleeing before the might of Ravana’s asura hordes? Does your precious
first
queen know about that day? About how I swooped down into the heart of the battle in my chariot, picked you up in my own arms and carried you to safety, then returned and led my father’s forces as well as yours in a regroup that held the asura hordes back long enough to give you time to recover and lead your army once more? Have you forgotten that day, Dasaratha?’ 

‘I remember it as if it were yesterday,’ he said quietly, his anger suddenly fled. And he did.
A terrible, dark yesterday. 

Kaikeyi’s chin rose proudly. ‘Then tell Kausalya what you promised me when we returned to my father’s palace.’ 

He was filled with a sense of dread so acute he thought for a moment that the whole world was turning dark. Then he realised it was only the setting sun, dipping down below the western mountains. 

‘I will listen to no more, Kaikeyi,’ he said. ‘Leave me now. Bharat, my son, escort your mother to her chambers. She needs to recover her wits.’ 

Kaikeyi shook off her son’s hand. ‘Don’t lay a hand on me! You may be fooled by your father’s deceit, but I won’t let him get away with this. The only thing I need to recover is your birthright. And I promise you, son, I’ll get it back even if it takes me until my last breath.’ 

She pointed a clawing finger at Kausalya. ‘Hear my words, First
Witch
. Even if your precious whelp returns alive from his trip to the Southwoods, which I honestly doubt, he will not be crowned prince-heir of Ayodhya. Not on his name-day or on any other day in his entire lifetime. This is my curse as a wronged mother and betrayed wife. Hear my shraap and tremble!’ 

Dasaratha experienced a moment of such pure, white-hot anger, he thought his head would burst with the intensity. His hand moved of its own accord and the next thing he knew, he had Kaikeyi’s throat in his grip, the pads of his fingers and thumb pressing against the most tender part of her spine. An ounce more pressure and he could snap her neck as easily as Bharat had snapped the shortspear. He still had that much strength.
Do it,
a deathly-quiet voice said in his feverish brain,
do it and put the ghost of your sins to rest once and for all. Do it, or after you are gone this woman will become your son’s worst enemy; have no doubt that she will do everything in her power to cut Rama down, clan-mother or not. Do it, Dasaratha. Kill her now. 

But Bharat’s face was before him, staring up at him with an expression that said that never in his wildest dreams could he have foreseen such a day or event. Those sorrowful tear-filled eyes wrenched at his heart, staying his hand.
My son, oh my son, you should not have to see this day.
The strength went out of Dasaratha’s arm. A white wave came roaring down from the skies and bore him away and he saw and heard no more. 

*** 

They emerged from the woods into the direct light of the setting sun. Rama’s eyes, accustomed to the dimness of the thicket for the past hour, were momentarily dazzled. 

That moment was all it took for him to take a step too far. The ground crumbled underfoot and then there was nothing left to hold his weight. He stepped out into the void, his other senses seeing instantly what had eluded his light-blinded eyes.
It’s a sheer cliff and I’ve stepped over the edge
! He started to fall, mouth opening to yell a warning to Lakshman and the seer, and his guts rose up to fill his throat. 

A hand caught his rig, another his left shoulder. For a fraction of a heart-stopping instant, he hung suspended in mid-air, the wind howling around his head, sun filling his eyes like a mashaal thrust into his face, and knew what a bird must feel at the moment when it ceases to flap its wings and starts to plummet back to earth. Then he was yanked up and fell on his back, feet scrambling over the crumbly dry soil, struggling to anchor himself. 

Lakshman fell on his knees beside him, grasping his arm with a sweaty palm. ‘Bhai? Bhai! Bhai!’ 

‘I’m all right,’ he said, not feeling all right at all. He glanced up at the sage, standing calmly beside them. The brahmarishi looked as impassive as ever. 

‘Mahadev, aapka lakh-lakh shukar hai. Aapne meri jaan bachaii.’
Great one, a hundred thousand thanks. You saved my life. 

Vishwamitra seemed not to hear. Rather than acknowledge Rama’s gratitude, he gestured at the void before them. ‘There are far greater dangers in store for us than the natural pitfalls of geography, rajkumar. You would do well to remember that. Next time, I may not be at hand to protect you from your own clumsiness.’ 

Clumsiness
? Rama blinked and bit back a response. He saw Lakshman start to rise and speak, and caught his hand, holding him down.
The seer-mage is right: I ought to have sensed the thicket was ending and slowed.
Yet he knew that he had been neither clumsy nor distracted. The thicket had simply ended and given way to a sheer drop with startling abruptness.
One instant we were in the heart of the heart of the woods, barely able to see a yard ahead; the next we were on the tip of a precipice. Nobody could have seen it coming.
Although clearly the seer-mage had seen, and had slowed in time.
Then why didn’t he warn us
? Rama got to his feet, brushing off the dirt without a word. Lakshman shot a sullen glance at their new guru but held his tongue as well. Rama turned and looked down at the void that had nearly claimed his life. 

They were standing at the edge of a sheer fall at least two hundred yards high. To either side the woods clustered thickly, crowding the very edge of the rocky cliff for as far as the eye could see in either direction. At the edge of the cliff, the thickly growing forest ended in a crumbly mud-covered lip less than a yard broad. 

No wonder I went over the rim; even a Ladakhi goat would barely be able to hold its footing on this terrain. Why, my two-horse has a wider running ramp on either side!
A step back and his head would bump against the last tree, its dense shrub-like overgrowth reaching over his head. 

A leaf fell from above, drifting directly down despite the strong breeze, falling like a stone into the void, turning round and round but never once turning over. The setting sun was almost parallel with them at this height, glaring directly into their faces. Peering down between his feet, Rama saw the familiar silver-gold gleam of water at the foot of the precipice.
A river? Here?
It was only a thin rivulet really, perhaps a tenth of the width of Sarayu, but it was a surprise to see any flowing water in this cursed place. More surprising was the apparently peaceful flower-studded glade in the valley below. It looked almost … idyllic. 

‘These are the Southwoods?’ Lakshman’s voice reflected the incredulity that Rama felt. 

The seer sounded distant and aloof. ‘It is Kama’s Grove, our destination.’ 

Kama’s Grove? But that was a holy place. What had happened to the dreaded Southwoods? The so-called Bhayanakvan, the forest so terrible that even asuras feared to enter? So far he had seen little more than the dense thicket of anjan trees through which they had just come, sister to the same ironwoods that lined the raj-marg on the far side of the plateau. Difficult to negotiate, rife with dagger-long thorns and clawing limbs, but not quite the horrific forest he had grown up hearing terror tales of. The only unusual thing about the thicket had been the complete absence of any fauna. Not a bird, not a squirrel, not a living thing apart from the closely crowded trees. And the only danger they had encountered thus far had been his narrow escape just now.
If this is what the whole trip’s going to be like, it’s not much of a challenge.
But he knew there had to be more to it. 

‘Come,’ said the seer. ‘We have to reach the river before sunset. You must perform your sandhyavandana.’ 

Vishwamitra turned and made as if to step sideways over the lip of the precipice, like a man getting off a horse. To Rama’s surprise, the seer seemed to find firm footing easily, and he went over the edge, his matted white hair ruffled by the wind as he descended step by step, disappearing from sight. Lakshman and Rama leaned over, peering down. The sage was directly below them, only his head and broad shoulders visible from this angle. At first it looked as though he was walking on thin air, but then Rama saw that he was treading a narrow in-ledge cut directly into the side of the sheer cliff face. Judging from the comfortable speed at which he was descending, Vishwamitra had come this way before.
Which means it shouldn’t be too hard for us to follow.
 

The realisation did nothing to reassure him. He looked at Lakshman, who was waiting for him to decide what to do next, then he shrugged and imitated the seer’s action. He fully expected his foot to flail in mid-air, his weight carrying him over the lip, this time to plummet straight down to the bottom. He had a wild vision of himself falling, passing the still drifting ironwood leaf, and reaching for it as if in a dream. Then his foot found the cleverly cut step and took a firm purchase. To his surprise, the ledge was easier to walk on than he had thought. It took him several heart-stopping moments to get used to the unusual posture—practically hugging the face of the cliff—but once he got going, it was doable. 

He heard Lakshman’s sharp intake of breath as he followed his example. In moments, they were both descending the precipice, Rama resisting the urge to peer down to see how far Vishwamitra had gone. Somehow he had a feeling that if he fell again, the seer wouldn’t be able to catch him in time. Rather than scaring him into freezing still, the thought made him more determined to make it safely down. 

He moved with growing confidence and precision, increasing his pace steadily until it felt as if he’d been doing this all his life. 

SEVEN 

They reached the foot of the cliff without mishap. The sun was very low by then, minutes away from setting. Vishwamitra stood by the bank of the stream, waiting. The angular light of the sun had turned the water into a mirror and Rama could see two Vishwamitras as he approached, one facing away from him, the other looking up from the water. The Vishwamitra in the water looked like a white-wax statue on fire. Except for the soft gurgling the water made as it flowed past, it could well have been a mirror, so still and quiet did it glide. 

It’s as pure and clear as Sarayu herself. It even smells like Sarayu. That mix of glacier and lotus and herbweed that nothing else on earth smells like; yes, it is Sarayu herself or her twin sister, I’d wager.