Chapter Four
Urmila
Life Without Lakshman?
At the top of the staircase in the King’s palace, I pause where Lakshman and I bade farewell every day. Without thinking, I push my hair back to relive the sensation of Lakshman sliding a flower behind my right ear. My left hand reaches up, and my palm cups the air where Lakshman’s face should be, with his eyes tender and his lips smiling.
But he is not here.
Heart heavy, my hands fall and I see only the familiar path that leads to the room of my mother-in-law.
Standing by the dressing table, Mother Sumitra has an expectant smile as she straightens the pleats of her white sari. Since Father’s death, his wives wear white saris according to Hindu custom, but as queens they still maintain a certain appearance and usually wear silk saris with gold borders.
As usual, when she sees me enter, Mother Sumitra greets me with a hug. Then, without a word, she sits on the cushioned chair facing the gold-framed mirror, head erect, waiting for me to brush her hair.
As I draw the brush through Mother Sumitra’s heavy, glossy black hair, I see a reflection of the light pink walls behind me. Lakshman always loved to see me in pink. He would tell me that my brown skin glowed next to the pink fabric, and he would always give me a purple flower on those days that I wore the color.
“How are you doing, my dear Urmila?” Mother Sumitra’s eyes are wide with loving concern.
I avert my gaze and look down at her hair, “Fine, Mother. I am fine.”
“Urmila, beti .” Mother turns and faces me. “Look me in the eyes and tell me how you are really doing.”
I blink rapidly and drive the tears back. I breathe deeply and look her in the eyes. I dare not speak my true feelings for fear of starting a flow of tears that I cannot stop. I shake my head and say nothing.
What am I to say? That I spend my mornings thinking of Lakshman? That instead of going to the temple as we did, I sit on the balcony facing east and imagine how my husband spends his days? That my tears flow freely when I remember the laughter, the liveliness of our mornings together, which I will not enjoy for years?
Unable to lie, and unwilling to speak the truth, I remain silent. Finally, Mother Sumitra looks away. I am relieved.
“So, Urmila beti, have you visited the market lately?”
“No, Mother, I have not.” I hope she does not notice that my voice is cracking.
“Well, I went there just this morning, and I saw the strangest sight. A stray dog, brown and skinny, walked up to one of the shops. The owner, kind soul, tossed him a piece of meat. This dog however, hungry as it obviously seemed, walked back in the direction that it came, and sat down next to a cat that was lying under a tree. The poor thing could barely lift its head. The dog dropped the piece of meat in front of the cat, lay down, and the two shared the meal!”
Mother Sumitra is so sweet. She aims to amuse me and lift my spirits even though she has lost her husband. Usually, I cannot help but feel uplifted when I see her, but these days even her silly tales cannot cheer me up. Her round face, even when it does not bear a smile, is still so animated. Whenever I see her, I think that the energy of her soul can barely be contained inside her tiny body. The light pink and gold walls of her room seem appropriately full of energy, matching her personality perfectly. I wonder again whether the color of the walls reflects her mood or helps create it.
I force a smile, but still she stares. Of course she does not believe my smile is genuine; she is no fool. She has known me many years; I grew up in her presence. Every morning I come to her chambers, brush her hair, part it in half, then braid half. Later, Shruti will come in and braid the other half.
I smile – genuinely this time – because I am part of this family and not just Lakshman’s wife. Ayodhya truly is my home, and even without Lakshman here, I am blessed to have it.
“Oh, how must Kaushalya be feeling? Urmila beti, I can have Shruti finish my hair. Why don’t you go and see Kaushalya? She must be missing Sita now. You can alleviate her loneliness.”
Normally, Sita braids Mother Kaushalya’s hair and Mandavi braids Mother Kaikeye’s.
“Yes, Mother. That is a good idea.”
As I set the brush onto the marble top of her dressing table, I unconsciously run my left index finger gently along her temple and pull a lock of hair from behind her ear to frame her face. She stands and gives me a hug so strong, I can think of nothing else – which, I suppose, is her aim.
* * * * *
Mother Kaushalya’s chambers are down the hall, past the King’s chambers. Its walls are maroon, giving the room a darker yet more regal appearance with less ornate gold than in Mother Sumitra’s room and straight lines instead of curves and swirls.
At the dressing table, Mother Kaushalya brushes her long graying hair in a listless fashion. She does not see me enter.
“Mother Kaushalya?”
She looks up with a start and sees me in the mirror. “Come in, come in. It is so nice to see you.”
“Mother Sumitra asked me to braid your hair.”
Her white sari is rather plain, and I get the distinct feeling that it would be wrinkled had it not been chiffon.
“That is very thoughtful. Yes, come in.”
She sits at her dressing table, where I brush her hair. For a long time, neither of us speaks, avoiding one another’s glance.
“Urmila, one braid will be fine.”
I look at her hair and realize that after parting it, I had begun to divide her long hair into two sections to create two braids. As I rebrush her hair, Mother Kaikeye enters the room.
“He will not come. He refuses to come. What am I to do, Didi?” I have no idea who Mother Kaikeye is speaking about. Perhaps I should not be in the middle of this private conversation. I drop my hands from Mother Kaushalya’s hair to indicate that I will leave.
“Nonsense, Urmila. You need not leave. Kaikeye will not be staying long,” she says so softly that Kaikeye, standing across the room in the doorway, cannot hear.
In the mirror, I see that Mother Kaikeye’s white sari is quite disheveled, and her hair, though braided, has loose strands flying freely. Her eyes are dark, not from the eyeliner she normally wears, but from lack of sleep or crying. She wears no makeup, which reveals the age she does not usually show. For the first time, I accept that she indeed is the mother of thirty-year old Bharat.
“What did you expect, Kaikeye? Bharat worships Ram and would never take his throne.”
So Bharat will not return? Where is he then? I am suddenly grateful that Mother Kaushalya let me stay, and realize how much I have been missing of the world around me. I look in the mirror as Mother Kaikeye, tears flowing from her eyes, turns and rushes out of the room. I see Mother Kaushalya frown and sigh, and then meet my gaze.
“You have been preoccupied with your own sorrows, Urmila. We did not wish to trouble you with the state of Ayodhya. It is time you learned.” Mother Kaushalya speaks softly.
I continue to braid her hair.
“Bharat has refused the throne. Kaikeye coveted the throne for her son, forgetting how much he loves Ram. What evil could have possessed her to desire such a thing I cannot imagine. Of course, it did her no good. Her actions killed Dasharat, stole from Ayodhya dear Ram, and lost her own son. Bharat will not speak to her. On Ram’s bidding, he accepted the throne, but he has vowed to remain outside Ayodhya, living in the same conditions as his brothers in the forest.”
“How can this be?” I ask, “How can he manage Ayodhya if he is not here?”
“I have asked him the same question, beti. He has asked Shatrughan to represent him within the kingdom.”
“Mother Kaikeye wanted Bharat to be king, but instead he too left Ayodhya? Does she ever appear in public? Surely the people blame her for the state of the kingdom.” I realize after speaking that I had spoken my thoughts aloud.
Mother Kaushalya’s eyes widen with surprise at my insolence, but then she smiles.
“She spends her days in the Chamber of Desolation.” Mother Kaushalya stands, her hair completed. She faces me. “You should go speak with her. In any case, perhaps time there will help you out of your mood.”
I open my mouth to speak, but unsure of whether I should apologize or protest, I say nothing. She smiles.
“Fourteen years is a long time to sulk, beti. Your anger at Kaikeye tells me that you are still alive. In time, you must discover what motivates you and use this opportunity to become more than just a wife left behind.
“This is why I suggested that you go to Kaikeye. Show her respect and talk to her. Think beyond your sorrow. Sumitra has been worried about you; that is why she sent you to me. Now, go to the Chamber of Desolation. There is a reason we have that room, after all.”
* * * * *
On the way to the Chamber of Desolation, I remember the tales of this room. We had no such room in Mithila, so of course, Lakshman would tease me by telling me that the room is possessed by demons that would snatch your heart when you cried. I believed him. I have never entered the room before, but berate myself for clinging to my silly childhood fears. Ram and Sita had reassured me that the room is benign, that it was created to allow people to sulk without infecting others with their bad moods. I suppose I should have gone to the room given my sorry state of mind, but the thought never occurred. Never having had reason before to use such a room, I forgot about its existence.
And yet, as I open the door to the Chamber, my hands sweat and I feel my heart knocking in my chest. I stand in the doorway for a minute, my eyes unaccustomed to its darkness. When my eyes adjust, I see a stark yet harmless room. Its dark blue walls are bare, pillars straight and plain. The contrast from the highly ornate, intricately carved pillars of the rest of the palace is striking, as is the lack of light and furniture.
Mother Kaikeye stands at the far wall, outlined against a window, blocking any light from entering. Her head drops down and her shoulders start to shake from crying.
She does not know she has an audience, so she has no reason to feign such sorrow. But still. Perhaps she heard me enter.
“Mother Kaikeye?” I say softly, as softly as I imagine the door sounded when opening, to test whether she knows I am present. She does not react, so I speak more loudly. “Mother Kaikeye?”
She turns around abruptly and sees me in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?”
“Mother Kaushalya sent me.”
“You should not pry in matters that do not concern you. She had no business sending you to me.”
Her agitation stuns me, and I suddenly feel the need to defend Mother Kaushalya. “She said that my mood might be better suited in this room.”
My cheeks warm as she walks closer and stares at me suspiciously.
“What is wrong with your mood? Why are you so upset that you should be here?”
Can she really be so mean? “I will not see Lakshman for fourteen years.” I am incredulous, and speak in a matter-of-fact tone that borders on rude.
“Yes, well, at least he is alive. He will be back.”
The nerve! My hands start to shake. She brought about her own husband’s death and now she deserves my sympathy? She is the reason my husband is gone and she insults me? I grasp my hands together and bring them before my face as I remember that I cannot speak disrespectfully, despite my feelings.
In my silence, she continues to talk, her voice now gentle.
“You will see Lakshman again. After years of being the king’s favorite wife, I could not comfort him as he died. Now, for the rest of my life, I will see only his angry face, the last expression I saw. You, though, have only to wait and Lakshman will return. Fourteen years is not so long.”
I cannot tell if she is trying to be nice or spiteful. Tears stream down my face as I think how my nine years in Mithila are but a distant memory compared to my twelve as Lakshman’s wife. How then will Lakshman think of me after being gone for fourteen years? I cannot endure more of her vicious words.
“Stop! Why are you doing this to me? Why are you hurting me so?”
“How am I hurting you? I speak only the truth.” Her face is blank.
“Your words, Mother Kaikeye, sting more sharply than a swarm of bees. Is it not enough that I pine for my husband? Would you have me question the strength of my marriage as well?” I drop to my knees and hide my face in my hands.
“I said no such thing,” says Mother Kaikeye. “All I said was that fourteen years is not so long a time.”
“I have only been married for twelve.” My voice cracks as I look up and face her.
I watch as Mother Kaikeye’s face softens, as she seems to realize the effect her careless words have had on me. She slowly sits down in front of me.
“I am so sorry, beti. I am not accustomed to visitors anymore. Since Dasharat’s death, I spend most of my days here. People do not speak to me, so it seems I have forgotten how to speak to others.”
“Words have a power of their own, Mother, and cannot be used carelessly.” Even yours, I think. You have been my mother-in-law for too long not to have an effect on me. I have always admired your strength, beauty, and composure. When I heard that you had tricked Father into granting you these wishes, I was appalled that you would so misuse your greatest qualities. I was ashamed that my greatest goal had been to be just like you.
“How well I know the power of words, Urmila. I have also learned that you cannot let anyone’s words sway you, not even those you think you trust, if they go against your better judgment.”
“What? Whose words could ever sway you? You have always been so self-assured.”
“Manthara, my maid. She convinced me that if Ram became king, that Kaushalya as Queen Mother would treat me as a maid. She made me believe that Dasharat, Kaushalya, and dear Ram had plotted against Bharat. ‘Why should Bharat, only a few hours younger than Ram, be denied the throne?’ she said to me. ‘Ram is to be crowned in Bharat’s absence so Bharat will have no choice but to accept his plight.’ How could I think that Ram would ever mistreat Bharat? Or that Kaushalya would see me as a maid? Even now, after what I have done, she sends you to me. She has not spoken one harsh word to me, though I deserve many.”
Remorse is what I see in Mother Kaikeye’s eyes, true deep remorse. “So why not call off this banishment if you regret it?”
“It is too late. Ram will not return. He will honor his father’s words. Even knowing how reluctant Dasharat was to make the request, Ram willingly obeyed his words. He will not dishonor his father’s memory by going against his command.”
“Don’t you mean your command?” I say.
Mother Kaikeye’s eyes and mouth open wide for a moment as she stares at me. Then her face relaxes. “I deserve that. Yes, my command. But now, what’s done is done. Manthara has been jailed for her treachery. I know others believe I should be imprisoned.”
“What do you believe?” I ask. I don’t think she should be incarcerated. I don’t know why, but I believe her. I believe her remorse is genuine and that she stands to do so much more good for Ayodhya as a free woman.
“It is not up to me. It is up to Bharat. He is king now, and must act as one for the sake of Ayodhya. He refuses to return here, setting up court outside the kingdom. He says he will not set foot in Ayodhya until Ram returns. How could I have done this?”
“You love your son, and Manthara’s words were powerful. She knew exactly what to say to get you to do what she wanted. What I don’t understand is why she did this.”
“She claimed it was out of concern for me. She has been my maid since I was a child, coming with me from Kaikaya when I came to Ayodhya. She said she could not bear to see me turned into a servant. I believed her.”
“Maybe she just wanted to show her power over you. If she has been with you since you were a child, she may think she has the right to tell you what to do. What better way to serve her ego than to make you do something you would never dream of doing yourself? Perhaps she prides herself in single-handedly throwing all of Ayodhya into such chaos.”
“You could be right. She has an evil temper, and would be outraged if I did anything against her advice.”
“In any case, if she has seen you grow up, then she knows your weaknesses. She certainly knew how to make you her puppet.”
In the silence we watch each other’s faces. Finally Mother Kaikeye speaks.
“Why are you being so generous to me? Especially after how insensitive I was earlier?”
“You are my mother-in-law. This I must respect.”
“But I do not deserve your sympathy. I am sorry. Your troubles are no doubt greater than my own. While Dasharat is gone, he and I had a lifetime together. You are unbelievable, Urmila. For two weeks I have been in this Chamber, alone and miserable. Yet with you here, I feel much better.”
“Why would you feel better just by sitting in this room? Just being in here makes me sad. If I want to feel better, I would rather be in a bright, airy room surrounded by flowers. That would lift my spirits.”
“Brilliant. We must do it.” Mother Kaikeye grasps my shoulders. We rise, and I look at her confused. “What color would you paint the walls? Light blue? Green? Yes, green. A pale soft green.” She walks to the windows and pushes aside the curtains. “Much better. Urmila, you must help me redesign this room. Savitri!”
She moves quickly, going to each window and opening the heavy curtains, then standing at various points around the room and staring, “Yes, this would be a good spot for an arrangement of flowers. What is your favorite flower, beti?”
“Umm…” Whichever flower Lakshman gives me, I think.
“And here…” She turns, not waiting for an answer. “A bench. Yes. Savitri! Where is that maid? Never mind. I will go find her.”
She rushes out of the room, leaving me bewildered at her sudden transformation. I helped her, I think as I slowly head out the door. I don’t know what compelled me to be so magnanimous, but I am glad of it. For a short while, I actually forgot about Lakshman. I hadn’t realized how much time I spend thinking about Lakshman. Passing Mother Kaikeye’s chambers, I see through the door that she is talking excitedly to Mandavi. I smile at Mandavi, but she seems to frown when she sees me. I must be imagining it. She looks back at Mother Kaikeye, and I keep walking.
I smile outside the palace as I pass Shruti’s garden. Though they bring painful memories, the flowers are beautiful. What harm is there in smiling at the thought of Lakshman? I will see him again.
The smell of garlic, onions, jeera, and something else wafts from Shruti’s kitchen in the soft breeze. I hesitate; Shruti’s house stands to my right, my own house is straight ahead. Chicken, I realize as a craving for it seizes me. Shall I eat another meal of berries, crying as I think of Lakshman? Or shall I visit my dear cousin, whom I have not called upon since her return? My heart feels lighter now than it has in a long time. As I turn and walk to Shruti’s door, I smile.
