He looked at Sati’s back. She was still staring at the door, her body shaking.

Is she crying?

Daksha thought that perhaps Sati was angry with Brahmanayak for insulting her father. She was his daughter after all.

Daksha smiled. ‘It’s all right, my child. I’m not angry. Your grandfather doesn’t matter anymore because...’

‘Father,’ interrupted Sati as she turned around, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘Why can’t you be more like grandfather?’

Daksha stared at his daughter, dumbstruck.

‘Why can’t you be more like grandfather?’ whispered Sati again.

Daksha was in shock.

Sati suddenly turned around and ran out of the room.

Daksha kept staring at the door as it slammed shut behind Sati. Fierce tears were pouring from his eyes.

More like grandfather?

More like that monster?

I am better than him!

The gods know that! They know I will make a far better king! I will show you!

You will love me! I am your creator!

You will love me! Not him! Not that monster!

The sound of the door being opened broke his train of thought, bringing Daksha back to the present from that ancient memory.

He saw Veerini walk into the bed chamber. She glanced at Daksha for an instant, then shook her head, walked up to her private desk and rummaged through it to find what she was looking for: her prayer beads. She brought them up to touch her forehead reverentially, then both her eyes and then her lips. She held the beads tightly and turned to take one last look at her husband. The disgust she felt couldn’t be expressed in words. She had no intention of desecrating her ears by listening to his voice. She hadn’t spoken to him since Sati’s death.

Daksha’s eyes followed Veerini’s passage. He couldn’t muster the courage to speak, even if it was only to apologise for all that he’d done.

She walked into the private prayer room next to her bed chamber and shut the door. She bowed before the idol of Lord Ram, which was, as usual, surrounded by the idols of his favourite people, his wife, Lady Sita, his brother, Lord Lakshman and his loyal devotee, Lord Hanuman, the Vayuputra.

Veerini sat down cross-legged. She held the beads high, in front of her eyes and began chanting as she waited for her death. ‘Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram; Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram...’

The faint echo of this chanting reached Daksha’s ears. He stared at the closed door of the attached chamber, his angry wife closeted within.

I should have listened to her. She was right all along.

‘Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram; Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram....’