“The throne is yours, Bharatha. All yours.” The words dripped from Kaikeyi’s lips like sweet poison, enchanting yet deadly. She held the world in her hands and was handing it to him, gift-wrapped. Only a fool would walk away. Did it matter that her delicate fingers were steeped in blood and tears? His father’s blood and the tears of all of Ayodhya?
Power, such a seductive thing. It begins when we are infants and learn that a shrill cry can get you immediate attention. First we cry because we ne
