MUKUNDA Chapter 2– The Morning the Ancestors Spoke and the Path Opened Before Me

I woke to the soft wind moving through the palace, carrying with it the smell of the coals that had been burning in my mother's kitchen since before the sun began to lighten the sky. There is something about the smell of food being prepared for a great gathering that settles into your bones, that tells you without words that something important is happening, that the day ahead will be different from all the days that have come before. Inside my mother's room, her hands were busy preparing the food for the court, the rice porridge that would be served in the morning, the pork that had been cooked with the sauce that her mother had taught her to make, the spices that had been brought from the lands beyond the mountains, the things that would be offered to the counselors and the elders who would gather in my father's court to hear the words that would shape the future of our land. I lay there for a moment, listening to the sounds of her moving through the space that had become ours, the space where she had raised me, the space where she had taught me the things that I would need to know when I was old enough to understand them, and I felt the weight of the day that was coming settle on my chest like a stone that had been placed there by hands that I could not see but that I knew were the hands of the ancestors, the ones who had been watching me since the day I was born, the ones who had been waiting for this moment, the ones who had been preparing me for something that I was only beginning to understand.

"Runako, wake up, my child," my mother said, her hand touching mine gently, the way she had touched me since I was small enough to fit in her arms, the way that told me that even though I was growing, even though I was becoming someone who would have to carry the weight that she had been carrying, I was still her child, still the one she had brought into this world, still the one she would protect for as long as she had breath in her body. "Today is the great day. Do not let sleep weigh you down, do not let the heaviness that comes in the morning, the heaviness that tries to keep you in the place where dreams are soft and the world is far away, hold you back from what is waiting for you."

I opened my eyes and saw the light of the sun coming through the window, touching the crown that I had placed on the shelf above my bed, the crown that had been made for me when I was born, the crown that marked me as the daughter of the king, the crown that I had worn on the days when the court gathered and the people came to see the one who would carry the blood of the warriors into the future. I breathed in deeply, feeling my heart beating in my chest, feeling the song that was rising in me, the song that was not made of words but of something deeper, something that had been passed down from the women who had come before me, the women who had stood in this place, who had looked at the same light coming through the same window, who had felt the same weight on their chests and had found the strength to carry it. The meeting of the kingdom had arrived, the meeting that would decide who would be chosen, who would be passed over, who would be the one to carry the staff when my father was gone, and I was afraid in the way that a person is afraid when they do not know what is coming, but I was also something else, something that had been growing in me since the day my mother told me that I was enough, that I was not less because I was not a son, that the blood that ran in my veins was the same blood that had run in the veins of the warriors who had protected this land for generations.

"What will I wear, mother?" I asked, pushing away the blanket that had been keeping me warm, the blanket that had been woven by my grandmother's hands, the blanket that had been passed down from mother to daughter since the first women came to this land and learned to weave the threads that would become the things that kept their families warm, the things that carried the stories of their lives, the things that would be given to the daughters who came after.

"Wear the royal clothes that have the red of the western threads, the red that was brought from the lands beyond the mountains, the red that was given to your grandmother by the traders who came from the coast, the red that has been kept in our family since before you were born, since before I was born, since before the stories that we tell were stories that anyone remembered. Your father wants all the children of the royal house to dress according to their status, to wear the clothes that show the people who they are, to carry the weight of the titles that have been given to them, to be the ones that the people look to when they need to know who will carry the legacy forward when the ones who are carrying it now are gone. You are the eldest daughter, the one who was born first, the one who carries the blood of the king and the blood of the warriors, the one who has been watching and waiting and learning since the day you were old enough to understand the things that were being said around you. Your clothes must show the respect that is due to the one who sits on the throne, the one who has carried the weight of this land for so long, the one who is your father, the one who loves you even when the world does not understand the love that a father has for a daughter who was supposed to be a son."

I nodded, and I let her help me put on the jacket that had the red of the western threads, the jacket that had been made for me when I was old enough to stand in the court, the jacket that had been worn by the women of our family when they went to the gatherings where the decisions were made, the jacket that had seen the things that the women had seen, the things that they had carried, the things that they had passed down to the daughters who came after. I looked at myself in the glass that had been brought from the lands beyond the mountains, the glass that had been given to my mother by my father when I was born, the glass that had shown her the face of the daughter who would carry the things that she had been given, and I saw myself as the true child of the king, the one who had been chosen by the ancestors, the one who had been given the blood that ran in the veins of the warriors, the one who would stand in the court and speak the words that needed to be spoken. But inside, I was still small, still the child who did not understand the world, still the daughter who wanted to run to the river and sit with Taru and let the wind carry away the weight that had been placed on her shoulders, still the one who was learning to carry what had been given to her, still the one who was becoming something that she did not yet fully understand.

By the time we reached the great court, the people were already gathered, the counselors standing in their rows, the princes and the chiefs of the villages standing in the places that had been assigned to them, the elders who had been watching this land since before I was born standing with the dignity that comes from having carried the weight of a life that has been lived in service to something larger than themselves. King Magodo, my father, sat on the great chair that had been covered with the skin of the elephant that had been hunted by his grandfather, the chair that had been passed down from king to king since the first king sat on this land and promised to protect the people who had chosen him to carry the weight of their lives. The staff of the kingdom, the staff that had been carved from the wood of the tree that grew at the center of the land, the staff that had been held by the hands of every king since the first king was given the right to sit on this throne, was placed beside him, waiting for the moment when it would be passed to the one who would carry it forward, waiting for the time when the ancestors would speak and the one who had been chosen would step forward and take what had been given to them.

When my father spoke, his voice was strong, the voice of a man who had been carrying the weight of a kingdom for as long as I had been alive, the voice of a man who had learned that the strength that is needed to lead is not the strength that comes from the arm but the strength that comes from the heart, the strength that comes from knowing that the decisions you make will shape the lives of the people who trust you, the strength that comes from the ancestors who watch you and the spirits who guide you and the land that holds you. His voice was like the lightning that comes before the rain, the lightning that lights up the sky and shows you the things that were hidden in the darkness, the lightning that reminds you that there are forces in this world that are larger than you, that have been moving since before you were born, that will continue to move long after you are gone.

"Today I want to know which of the children of the royal house are ready to protect our kingdom, which of them have the courage and the confidence and the faithfulness that will be needed when the enemies who are watching from the hills, the enemies who have been waiting for the moment when we are weak, begin to push against the borders that have been protected by the blood of our ancestors, the borders that have been guarded by the hands of our warriors, the borders that have been the line between what is ours and what belongs to those who would take it from us if we let them. The children of the royal house must show that they are ready, that they have been watching, that they have been learning, that they have been waiting for the moment when they would be called to carry the weight that has been passed down from generation to generation, the weight that will be passed to them when the time comes for the ones who are carrying it now to lay it down."

There was silence for a moment, the kind of silence that falls over a gathering when the words that have been spoken are too heavy to be answered quickly, the kind of silence that lets the weight of what has been said settle into the hearts of the people who have heard it. I could hear the workers who had been kneeling in the dust, the ones who had come to the court to see the things that would happen, the ones who had left their fields and their homes and their families to be here on this day, to see who would be chosen, to see who would carry the staff when the king was gone, to see the things that would shape their lives and the lives of their children and the children of their children. I looked at my mother, the woman who had been sitting beside me, the woman who had been carrying the weight of not being the queen for as long as I had been alive, the woman who had been watching the other wives of my father, the women who had given him sons, the women who looked at her with eyes that held the things that she had learned to carry without letting them break her. Her eyes were not speaking, but the things that were in them, the things that had been there for years, the things that she had been carrying since the day she gave birth to a daughter instead of the son that the court had been waiting for, were there for anyone who knew how to see them, were there for me, were there for the ancestors who had been watching her, who had seen her carry the weight that had been given to her, who had been waiting for the moment when the daughter who had been born to her would stand and show them what the women of this family were made of.

As soon as we entered, Mainini Netsai, the second wife of my father, the woman who had given him the twins, the sons that the court had been waiting for, the sons that the counselors had been hoping for since the day it became clear that my mother would not give birth to the heir that the kingdom needed, came forward in her bright clothes, the clothes that had been made for the wife who had given the king what the kingdom needed, the clothes that marked her as the one who had done what my mother could not do. She fell to the ground in the way that the wives of the king fell when they came before him, the way that showed the respect that was due to the one who sat on the throne, the way that reminded everyone who was watching that the king was the king, that he was the one who had been chosen, that he was the one who carried the weight of the land on his shoulders. She told him that her two children, the twins that had been given to her, the sons that the court had been waiting for, the sons who would carry the legacy that had been passed down from generation to generation, wanted to learn the ways of the court, wanted to be trained in the things that would be needed when the time came for them to carry the weight that had been passed down to them.

My father looked over the heads of the people who had gathered, over the counselors and the wives and the children who had come to see what would happen on this day, and he lowered his eyes to me, to the daughter who had been born first, to the daughter who had been born when the kingdom was waiting for a son, to the daughter who had been watching and waiting and learning since the day she was old enough to understand the things that were being said around her.

"And what will Mukunda do?" he asked, and I heard in his voice the thing that I had been hearing since I was old enough to understand that the world did not see me the way I saw myself, the thing that said that I was not what the kingdom had been waiting for, that I was not the son that would carry the staff when he was gone, that I was something else, something that the ancestors had not been expecting, something that the counselors did not know what to do with.

I raised my head, the way my mother had taught me to raise it when the world was trying to make me lower it, the way that told the people who were watching that I was not ashamed of who I was, that I was not less because I was not a son, that I was the daughter of the king and the daughter of the woman who had carried me and the daughter of the ancestors who had been watching me since before I was born. I told him that there was nothing I wanted more than to honor him and to protect our land, that if he wished, I would learn with the others, that I would stand beside the sons who had been given to the other wives, that I would show them that a daughter could be just as strong, could carry just as much weight, could be the one who stood when the enemies came and the borders were threatened and the things that had been protected for generations needed someone who was willing to give everything to keep them safe. But I asked him to protect my mother, to remember that she was the heart of this house, that she had been carrying the weight of not being the queen for longer than I had been alive, that she had been watching the women who looked down on her and the counselors who whispered about her and the world that did not value what she had given, and that she had not broken, had not fallen, had not become something less than the woman she had always been.

One of the elders who had been watching, one of the men who had been sitting in this court since before I was born, one of the men who had seen kings come and go, who had seen the weight of the kingdom passed from one hand to another, who had seen the things that the ancestors had left for the people who would come after, spoke up and said that this daughter had a pure heart, that she carried the blood of the kingdom in her veins, that she was not less because she was not a son, that she was something that the ancestors had been waiting for, something that the kingdom had not known it needed, something that would surprise the people who thought that only a son could carry the weight that had been passed down from generation to generation.

My father was quiet for a moment, and I saw in his face the things that he had been carrying, the weight of being the king, the weight of the decisions that he had made, the weight of the daughter who had been born when he was waiting for a son, the weight of the woman who had given him that daughter, the woman who had been carrying the things that he had not been able to protect her from. When he spoke, his voice was not the voice of the king who had been sitting on the throne, the voice that had been like the lightning that lights up the sky, but the voice of a man who had been carrying something for a long time, something that he was not sure how to put down, something that he had been holding because there was no one else to hold it.

"Let it be so," he said. "Tomorrow, Mukunda, you will enter the training of war with the others. I want to see if your heart is as strong as your words, if the courage that you are showing today, the courage that makes you stand in this court and ask to be counted with the sons of the other wives, the courage that makes you speak for your mother when the other children are speaking only for themselves, is the courage that will carry you through the things that are coming, the things that will test you, the things that will ask you to give more than you have ever given, to be more than you have ever been, to carry more than you have ever carried."

My mother looked at me, and I saw in her eyes the tears that she had been holding, the tears that had been there since the day she gave birth to a daughter instead of the son that the kingdom was waiting for, the tears that had been there through the years of watching the other wives, the tears that had been there through the nights when she thought no one was watching, the tears that had been there through the moments when the weight of not being what the world wanted her to be had pressed down on her until she was not sure she could stand. But these tears were not the tears of sadness, the tears that she had been carrying for so long, the tears that had become so much a part of her that she was not sure who she would be without them. These were the tears of pride, the tears that come when you see the child you have raised, the child you have carried, the child you have taught, stand and speak the words that you have been waiting to hear, stand and be the thing that you knew she could be, stand and show the world that the daughter who was born when the kingdom was waiting for a son is something that the ancestors had been waiting for, something that the kingdom had not known it needed, something that would change everything.

The day moved quickly after that, the way that days move when the things that have been waiting for so long finally happen, when the words that have been held for so long finally come out, when the paths that have been hidden for so long finally open. In the middle of the court, the people began to move away, to go back to their homes and their fields and their families, to carry the news of what had happened, to tell the ones who had not been there, to speak the words that would become the stories that would be told to the children and the children's children. I walked out of the court and looked up at the sky, the small clouds moving across the face of the sun, covering it and uncovering it, covering it and uncovering it, the way that the things that are hidden are covered and uncovered, the way that the truth that has been waiting to be seen is covered and then seen, covered and then seen, until the time comes when it can no longer be hidden at all. But in my heart, there was something else, something that I had not expected, something that had been growing there since the words that had been spoken in the court, since the moment when my father had looked at me and said that I would be counted with the sons, since the moment when my mother's tears had told me that I had done what she had been waiting for me to do. It was like the wind was calling me, telling me that something was coming, something that I had not prepared for, something that the ancestors had been waiting to show me, something that would change the way I saw everything that had happened and everything that would happen.

As I was walking near the place of the great trees, the trees that had been planted by the ancestors, the trees that had been growing since before the first king sat on the throne, the trees that had seen the things that the people of this land had done, the things that they had carried, the things that they had passed down to the ones who came after, I heard a voice, a voice that was deep, a voice that was not like any voice I had heard before, a voice that seemed to come from the trees themselves, from the earth beneath my feet, from the sky above my head. It called my name, softly, the way that a mother calls to her child when she wants to tell them something that she does not want anyone else to hear, the way that a lover calls to the one they love when the night is dark and the world is far away. I looked behind me, but there was no one there, no one who could have spoken the words that I had heard, no one who could have known my name, no one who could have called to me in the way that voice had called. But the wind moved strongly, carrying with it the sound of thunder from far away, the thunder that comes before the storm, the thunder that tells you that the rain is coming, that the things that have been dry will be watered, that the things that have been hidden will be washed clean, that the things that have been waiting will finally be revealed.

It felt like what I was hearing was not of this earth, not of the things that I could see and touch and understand, but of the spirits, the spirits of the ancestors, the ones who had been watching me since the day I was born, the ones who had been waiting for this moment, the ones who had been preparing me for something that I was only beginning to understand. They were calling to me, telling me that the night that was coming, the night that would fall after the day that had changed everything, would show me the truth of the kingdom, the truth that had been hidden, the truth that the ancestors had been waiting to reveal, the truth that would change the way I saw myself and the way I saw the land that I had been born to protect. I stopped there, in the place where the great trees stood, feeling my whole body fill with cold, the cold that comes when you are standing on the edge of something, when you are about to step into something that you do not understand, when the thing that you have been waiting for is finally here and you are not sure if you are ready for it. But my heart was burning, burning like there was a fire inside me, a fire that had been lit by the words that had been spoken in the court, by the tears that had been shed by my mother, by the voice that had called my name from the place of the great trees, by the ancestors who had been watching and waiting and preparing me for this moment. I knew in that moment, with a certainty that went deeper than anything I had ever felt, that something great was about to happen, that the thing that I had been waiting for, the thing that the ancestors had been preparing me for, the thing that would change everything I knew about myself and about the land that I had been born to protect, was coming, and that I needed to be ready, needed to be strong, needed to be the daughter of the king and the daughter of the woman who had carried me and the daughter of the ancestors who had been watching me since before I was born.