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“I will vouch for her innocence,” Kaikeyi said, and Manthara’s heart lurched. Kaikeyi 159
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spoke loudly, not afraid of being overheard. “Manthara has never worked with poisons. You can ask my father. There were other people in my father’s service who worked with poisons.
It was not spoken of openly, and I do not know much. But I do know that Manthara was not part of that work. She has never poisoned anyone.”
Manthara peeked out from behind the curtain, loving the fierce look in Kaikeyi’s eyes.
She was proud of Kaikeyi’s quick thinking, even if it wasn’t strictly the truth.
“Except for you,” Dasharatha said, and sighed. “She poisons you every day. I can see that she has won you over completely. You cannot see her as I and the people of Ayodhya see her.”
“That’s correct,” Kaikeyi answered. “And I think you are the ones who need to improve your vision.”
The king’s reply did not come at once. Manthara heard movement and pressed herself against the wall. When he spoke, his voice echoed at them. Manthara guessed he stood by the edge of the stairway.
“I warn you, Kaikeyi. Manthara encourages this heedless impudence in you, and it is not a desirable quality. I assure you that she will be given a fair hearing tomorrow. Because of your relationship with her, she will receive the mildest possible punishment. If you side with her, however, or interfere in any way, I cannot protect you from the laws. They are not forgiving toward those who conspire against the state. Your loyalty will come into question, and you will not be included in the ceremony for a son. If this is important to you, I implore you to trust our fair adjudication. For the love we share, stay out of this.”
Manthara couldn’t stop her voice as she called out from behind the curtain, giving away her hiding place. “You call it fair? You have already made up your mind against me!”
She flung away the thick curtain but stumbled as she got tangled in the ornate border.
The king made his exit without a backward glance. Manthara pulled at her cane, cursing it and the ornate hemline of the curtain that wouldn’t let her go.
Kaikeyi turned to her but didn’t offer to help. Her eyes were steely, her face frozen. She came to Manthara’s side, bending her mouth to Manthara’s ear. “Is any of this true, Manthara? You have to tell me.”
They studied each other. Manthara liked what she saw: the two of them against Ayodhya. Since that was the case, Manthara answered, “You know me better than anyone. Anything I do is for your welfare.”
Kaikeyi straightened and looked down at Manthara. A tingling feeling rose up Manthara’s spine. She sensed Kaikeyi coming to a decision. Manthara’s gut filled with dread, as it always did at the moment of uncertainty.
Kaikeyi took Manthara’s cane and bent down to untangle it. While Kaikeyi worked to free the cane, Manthara steadied herself against Kaikeyi. Curious servants began to peek out from various corners. Manthara would deal with them later, doing whatever necessary to ensure their loyalty. Impatiently, Kaikeyi ripped off parts of the hemline and freed the cane. She stood and handed it to Manthara. It was all the answer Manthara needed.
They bid each other goodnight, knowing that the next day would be crucial. They had never witnessed Ayodhya’s justice before.
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As she rose the next morning, Manthara felt like a very old, small, and useless hag. Fighting the fear she felt in the pit of her stomach, she dressed herself with even less care. She couldn’t believe those fools had actually summoned her to the king’s great court. Since coming to Ayodhya two years ago, she had never even been inside Dasharatha’s court. It was not a place where women presided, especially not ones such as she. Once she realized this, she had set her plan in motion. Now she would behold the results of her work.
Pushing her cane into the ground, she strained to straighten her spine. She would not be subdued by these people. Leaving her chambers, she was dismayed to see two guards waiting for her. Her insides shriveled. Fair hearing? She was already being treated as a criminal.
She looked around, hoping to see Kaikeyi. Her mistress had promised to defy the king and appear alongside Manthara. It was all so official. It felt like a bitter draught that cured her from any illusion that she might belong in Ayodhya. She would never belong. Kaikeyi was nowhere in sight. Maybe Manthara had misread their silent interaction. Manthara prepared to face the situation alone, feeling like a martyr.
She scowled at the two guards, noticing that they were no more than boys. They hadn’t even cared to send her proper guards. “I know how to get there,” she told them.
They shuffled to their feet and could not meet her gaze.
“If you dare lay your hands on me, you will be sorry.”
She smacked her cane against their shins to show them what she meant. She enjoyed the sound of her cane against their bones. Because of their phony valor, they didn’t yelp, though she saw their faces turning red. She would not spare them the rod if they were impudent with her, an elderly woman. Without looking at them again, she started shuffling toward the court, complaining loudly about how far away it was. When the guards pointed out that they were there to “save” her the walk, she complained even louder about that.
“This way,” one of the boy guards said, and she was forced to follow. “We go by chariot.”
She huffed but was relieved. It would have taken her well over an hour to walk, though she had set her mind to it, like a penance. She couldn’t decide which of her mistakes had been more foolish: her idea that she might gain acceptance here or this trap she’d set to test them. It was all panning out exactly as she’d envisioned it in her nighttime planning. It sent shivers up and down her crooked spine. It was all working too well; it was spiraling out of her hands. The workings of justice were one thing in theory, another when a hotheaded king like Dasharatha ruled. Though she was completely innocent, and she told herself that she was, they might sentence her to death. The root cause of it was her ugliness. She knew that.
“You are so ugly, you deserve to die,” she murmured to herself as the chariot left the place where she lived, which had not yet become home. Now it might never be. “You are too ugly to live in Ayodhya,” she whispered to herself. It pacified her to reduce the whole drama to this core truth. The deeper she looked at the charge she was facing, the more certain she was. The king had claimed just yesterday that he didn’t despise her because of her hunchback, but what other reason could it be? Manthara had never heard of a beautiful woman facing charges in any court. No, you had to be downright ugly to be a criminal.
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As the chariot made its way through Ayodhya’s streets, Manthara avoided the Ayodhyans milling about. She couldn’t bear their eyes, as annoying as the stabbing pains in her neck. They had obviously never seen a misshapen body like hers before. Did they not have the courtesy to hide their gaping? A longing for her homeland hit Manthara with such force that she felt she was going to be sick.
“Stop the chariot!” she said, her voice ringing shrilly.
She clambered off the chariot with her insides heaving and made it to the side gutter just in time. She retched violently, emptying her insides. If only she could puke out herself; then she would be free. As the water in her eyes cleared, she surveyed the mess she’d made, noticing most keenly how pristine the gutters were. Or had been, before she came along. That was the way Ayodhya was. Pure and pristine. And that was why it hated her. She reminded it of the nastiness that was there somewhere. Every place and every person was externally spotless. Only hypocrites could be that clean. She turned around, seeing the crowd that had gathered around her. No one had the sense to fetch her water or offer her support. They continued gaping as if they had never seen anyone be ill before, either.
“Water!” she croaked.
Only a guard moved, merely doing his duty.
Manthara leaned on her stick, wiping the sweat off her forehead, eager for the water so she could be free of the stink that clung to her. She refused the eyes of every single person there. It seemed to her as if time had stopped and their mouths gaped at her for an eternity. She was unique in Ayodhya. Not a single decrepit or handicapped person was allowed in public view. Did they have a dungeon where they threw all their disabled? Or were they killed at birth?
She received the jug of water, snatching it out of the boy’s hand. She began to drink greedily, gulping it down, feeling it splash down her neck and onto her chest. Like poison it burned her throat, and she spit it out, throwing the jug to the ground.
“Bah!” she said. “Even the water here is foul.”
She waved the crowd away with her stick and climbed onto the chariot laboriously. Don’t touch me, her glare warned the red-faced guards. Empty, she was full. She resolved not to be meek and subdued as she faced the king’s court. Manthara had crossed paths with the king often enough that she could not hide her contempt. Why should she attempt to now? He had openly said that he distrusted every word that came from her mouth.
“Go faster!” she shrieked. “Let’s get this farce over with.”
The chariot stopped in front of the dazzling marble steps that led up to the court. She utterly hated every step and every sight of this so-called heavenly place. That didn’t stop her from observing the wealth that Ayodhya insisted on flaunting: “Look at this marble stairway, inlaid with precious gems. We are so rich here in Ayodhya, we eat gold nuggets.”
She turned her lips down. The display of richness highlighted how skewed Ayodhya’s morals were: they didn’t even know how to spend their wealth productively. As Manthara made her way up the many steps, she had never felt it more keenly, the divide between us 163
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and them. As her foot mastered the last step, she heard the thundering of hooves behind her and peered over her shoulder. Finally!
Kaikeyi raised a dust storm in her wake as she galloped down the courtyard. She flung herself off the horse before it came to a standstill and ran up the steps to Manthara’s side.
“I thought we would go together,” she said, her breath short, her brow furrowed.
Manthara looked approvingly at Kaikeyi. She had dressed for this occasion in a closely fitted dress that displayed her form. Her beauty would not go unnoticed.
“They must have anticipated it,” Manthara said. “They sent those two buffoons to handle me.”
Kaikeyi tucked her arm into Manthara’s. “I’m so glad you are not my mother,” she said with false cheer.
Manthara smoothed Kaikeyi’s hair and fixed her veil. The words had taken on a double meaning over the years, which they both appreciated. Manthara clucked and said, “I love you too, my dear.”
Arm in arm they entered the court. Immediately, four guards closed in around them, escorting them toward a throng of people. Some of them were in chains. So there were other criminals in Ayodhya, after all. That was a relief. Manthara saw only one other woman among the accused. A bearded man stood on a platform above the others. As they approached, his crime was declared.
“You have been found guilty of forcibly defiling an unwilling maiden. Two of your fingers shall be cut off and you will pay a fine of sixty gold coins to her and her family.”
Though Manthara had memorized the punishments for subjects suspected of poisoning queens and of treason, she began quavering. Would they cut off part of Manthara too and deform her further?
She concentrated on the hall, though she despised the ornate decorations of gems and gold inlays. At the very end, the haughty king presided on a large golden throne, overseeing the special cases. This was the line that Manthara was ushered to. The king was surrounded by his eight ministers, who sat on smaller golden thrones. Vasishta, looking as aloof as Brahma, the creator, sat in a place of high honor, along with the other priests. Manthara’s eyes darted back and forth. The sides of the hall were lined with seats and filled with Ayodhya’s men, not a friend among them. Hundreds of ill-wishers. But the wealth was dazzling. Even Kaikeyi seemed unsettled by the grandiosity, whispering to Manthara, “As the queen, even I am bound by certain rules. But no matter what happens, know that I’m on your side.”
In an effort to subdue Manthara, queen and hunchback were made to wait and listen to further sentences. After taking it all in, memorizing the face of her enemy, Manthara looked straight ahead, honing in on the king. His eyes were not on Manthara but on Kaikeyi, of course. He was not pleased that she was here. Good. He would see what happened when he meddled in things he should not. Manthara tightened her grip on Kaikeyi. But when she looked up at the king, she might have retched again had she been alone. Presiding in his court, the king was no longer the man Manthara knew as Kaikeyi’s lover. Here he was made 164
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of steel—justice personified. Suddenly Manthara was afraid for Kaikeyi’s defiance. Had Kaikeyi pushed her luck too far by openly disobeying the king?
The two of them waited in silence in the back of the line. The man whose two fingers would be amputated was led away. Manthara admired his expressionless face, the way he would give this arrogant council nothing more.
“Kaikeyi, princess of Kekaya, daughter of Ashvapati, queen of Ayodhya,” the king said.
His voice echoed through the wide chambers. “Step away from the accused.”
Kaikeyi tightened her grip on Manthara. The two women clutched each other in this hall of men. “If you stay by her side,” he said, “I have no choice but to direct the charge against both of you. If you are complicit in Manthara’s actions, not even I can save you.”
All eyes were on them, the beauty and the hunchback. Manthara felt Kaikeyi falter, sagging against Manthara’s grip. Manthara’s mind flew in its cage. She alone had to carry them both through this. The king’s wrath was palpable. Because Manthara did not know for sure how this would end, she deliberately disengaged herself from the queen.
Kaikeyi tightened her grip on Manthara, but then let go, trusting Manthara’s initiative once again. If Ayodhya had a shred of its proclaimed decency, Manthara would emerge unscathed. If by some chance Manthara would be unfairly sentenced, Kaikeyi would avenge her. Manthara did not doubt it. So she stepped ahead and away from Kaikeyi.
Raising her voice so that everyone would hear, she said, “What have I done to incur your wrath, Great King?”
Every eye turned on Manthara. Even the criminals gaped at her, denying her a place among them.
“You will not speak unless spoken to,” the king said. His voice and eyes were neither cold nor warm. “Guards, guide the queen to the visitor’s seat.”
Kaikeyi let herself be guided to the seat while holding Manthara’s gaze meaningfully.
“Let the trial begin,” the king declared, signaling to a bare-chested young priest.
The priest chanted: “Those who bear false witness fall headlong into hell. The sky, the earth, the water, the twilight, day and night, sun and the moon, know the conduct of every living being. He who swears an oath falsely is lost forever. The soul within is the supreme witness of man.”
Vasishta stepped forward. “I request the honor of sharing a few words.”
The king nodded.
Vasishta looked past Manthara to Kaikeyi as he spoke. “I once asked an intelligent and curious person what the worst crime in Ayodhya is. I do not know if this person has yet discovered the answer, and today I will speak plainly. Having committed murder, a person may do penance in this life and the next to atone. His heart can be cleansed if his penance is sincere. Other heinous crimes may similarly be rectified through lifelong penance. There is but one crime that is devious for its effects cannot always immediately be seen: oath-breaking. Our civilization is built upon the power of word. A promise should not be made or used lightly. Human life began as thought, took form in sound vibration, and morphed into words. Its final manifestation is visible as action. Oath-breaking is the most devastating 165
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crime. It pulverizes the building blocks on which this entire Earth is built. Your word is your destiny.”
Behind Manthara, Kaikeyi sighed deeply. Vasishta’s eyes grazed Manthara for a moment before he withdrew to his seat.
The king’s voice made Manthara jolt. “You, Manthara, have used your word to threaten the kingdom and stand accused of scheming to poison the senior queens, Queen Kausalya and Queen Sumitra. As an aggressor to the state, you face capital punishment. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”
Kaikeyi stood abruptly, but Manthara raised her hand. She was astounded by her own willpower, for her insides were gone. She struggled to bring words to her lips; her tongue was thick, her mouth stubborn. They would say nothing. Let these fools sentence her on false charges; they would suffer in hell for their crime. She heard, however, Kaikeyi’s movements behind her, the rustling of her silks and the tinkling of her jewelry. Manthara had to speak before Kaikeyi did something rash.
“It’s a false charge,” she croaked. “I’m innocent.” She couldn’t get herself to say the words gracefully.
“What proof do you have against her?” Kaikeyi demanded.
“Queen Kaikeyi, princess of Kekaya, you are a visitor in this court,” one of the ministers said. He had a wispy beard that moved with each word he said. “You will not speak unless spoken to.”
Kaikeyi was silenced but by no means stilled.
“Sumantra,” the king said, “read the charges.”
Sumantra, one of the few whom Manthara had actually found sympathetic, rose. He held the scroll and read: “On the day of the half-moon, King Dasharatha announced that Queen Kausalya will sit by his side at the sacred fire, and that the other queens will be honored according to their rank. Kausalya will be entitled to the lion’s share of the fertility nectar to become the official mother of the nation. On that same day, Manthara cornered one of Kausalya’s maids, asking her about the practices that protect the senior queens from poisons. Since then, the accused has been carefully shadowed. We have six witnesses who are prepared to testify to the fact that Manthara has made comprehensive inquiries, including offering bribes, regarding the availability and practice of poisons in Ayodhya. Since her arrival in Ayodhya, the accused has made no attempt to hide her ill will toward the two senior queens. Although she has not yet made an attempt, we find her intentions reprehensible. The Laws of Manu state that any person in the king’s proximity who harbors malice toward him and his subjects shall be slain. We, the Court of Ayodhya, therefore find you, Manthara of Kekaya, guilty of scheming against the welfare of the state.”
