him and his inseparable brother Sathrugna out of the way. He would have sent you away too—but for the fact that he can’t survive even a single day without your caresses! Your charms are still potent. You will have to save yourself with their aid before it’s too late. . . . Rama should not be enthroned tomorrow.”
“Why not? The King may have his own reasons; and I see no difference between Rama and Bharatha.”
“Do you know how people can change overnight? Tomorrow this time, he will be a different Rama. His only aim will be to stay long and strong in his seat, and to achieve it he will remove all hurdles. The chief hurdle will be Bharatha, who may assert his claim any time and win it by public support. Rama will banish him or break him down or behead him. You will no longer be a queen, but an ex-queen, of an ex-king, and will probably be reduced to the status of being the handmaid of the queen mother Kausalya.”
“Never! how would she dare!” cried Kaikeyi involuntarily. “Let her try!”
“By this time tomorrow, it could happen; it’s bound to happen sooner or later.” Thus Kooni had brought Kaikeyi to the brink of panic, before spelling out the remedy: “Do you remember that Dasaratha was saved by you at one time, and there are two ancient promises of his to be fulfilled? Leave alone his promise to your father: you are not concerned with it. But hold on to the two promises given to you. Demand first the banishment of Rama to the forests for fourteen years, and secondly the crowning of Bharatha in his place immediately.”
“Impossible conditions; you must be drunk.”
“No, quite practical, only go about it this way. . . .”
Thus it happened that when Dasaratha sought Kaikeyi’s company, as was his wont, he did not find her in her chamber or the garden. A maid told him, “She is in the
“Why, why there?” He had had a tiring day. He had had meetings again and again with his chief spiritual mentor, Vasishtha, and his chief minister, Sumanthra, going into details of arrangements for the next day’s ceremonials and festivities. “I will be the host for the whole city tomorrow,” he had said; “let no one feel any want.” Again and again he had mentioned how every home and street and building should be decorated and brightened; and how musicians, dancers, and entertainers should be ready at the assembly hall before the dawn, and how the state elephant and horses and chariots should move in the procession of the newly crowned king; and named the streets through which the procession should pass. “People would love to see Rama on the throne and watch him in a procession. Every man, woman, and child must have a chance to look at him. Tell those conducting the procession to move slowly but not so slowly as to tire Rama. . . .” He had gone into every detail of the ceremonies. Exhausted, in the evening, he sought Kaikeyi’s company for relaxation.
He did not like the idea of being received by Kaikeyi in the kopa gruha (the room of anger, which was a part of a dwelling where one could retire to work off a bad mood); and when he went in, he found her sprawling on the floor in semidarkness, hair dishevelled, the flowers she had been wearing torn off, her jewellery scattered, clad in indifferent clothes, and not noticing his arrival. He stooped down to ask softly, “Are you unwell?” She gave no answer to his question till he repeated it, and then answered dully, “Oh, in perfect health, in every way. No physical sickness of any kind.”
“I am sorry. I was delayed. I waited because I wanted to bring you the news personally. I knew it would make you happy indeed, and wanted to have the pleasure of watching your joy.”
Kaikeyi condescended to mutter, “I knew it, I am not so stupid or deaf or blind as not to know what is going on.”
In that darkness and in the manner she had turned her face down, he had no means of judging the mood in which she spoke. It was difficult to be bending down so low, and he pleaded, “Why don’t you get up and sit on that couch, so that I may sit beside you comfortably and listen to you?”
“You may seek all the comfort you want. I need none of it. Dust and rags are my lot hereafter.”
“What makes you talk in this manner? Get up and share the happiness of the whole country. Let us drive around in your chariot and see the joy that has seized the people.”
“I want to be dead. That’s all. If you could send me a bowl of poison, that would be more welcome to me now.” It was most awkward for him to crouch or sit on the floor trying to appease her. His joints ached and creaked. But she would not budge. It was no time to call up an attendant, and so he pushed a foot-stool beside her and lowered himself onto it. After a great deal of cajoling, she announced: “Swear to me, by all that is holy, that you will grant me what I ask for; otherwise let me die in peace.”
“I have never said no to you. You shall have whatever you want.”
“Will you swear by Rama?” she asked.
He evaded a direct answer, as he felt uneasy at the mention of Rama’s name. “Tell me what you want,” he said clearly.
“You offered me two boons long ago. You may have forgotten it, but I haven’t. May I mention it now?” Now she had sat up, and it was less irksome to communicate with her. He tried to reach out and touch her, but she pushed his hand off. “On that battlefield when you went to the rescue of Indra and fainted, do you remember who revived you?”
“Yes,” he said. “How can I forget it? I have lived to see this day because I was revived, otherwise that evening any chariot wheel could have rolled over me.”
“Great memory you possess. I am glad you remember that far. And do you remember also who nearly gave her life to nurse and revive you?”
“Yes.”
“What did you promise her in return?”
The king remained silent a moment, then said, “I have not forgotten.”
“Bear with me if I repeat some small details that might escape your recollection. Let me help you. You said, ‘Ask for two boons of your choice and you shall have them.’ And then what did she do?” When he failed to answer, she added, “I said I would wait to take them, and you vowed, ‘Whenever you like—even if it is a hundred years hence, you shall have whatever you ask for.’ ”
The King, who was becoming increasingly uneasy, simply said, “I see that the time has come for you to ask.” There was no cheer in his tone. He was seized with dismal forebodings.
“Should I speak about it or not?”
