An Interview with Mandodari: The Queen Who Saw It Coming

The squirrel noticed the paperwork before he noticed the queen.

There was a great deal of it.

Behind one intimidating stack sat Queen Mandodari of Lanka.

The daughter of Vishwakarma, the divine architect.

Widow of Ravana.

There was something different about her. Her crown was broken. The palace was eerily silent.

The squirrel—Nagendra—had attributed it to the early hour.

Then he remembered he had visited other royal courts at even earlier hours.

Those palaces had been alive with ministers, servants, and guards.

This one felt different.

Nagendra approached the queen like a conquering emperor. Her sharp eyes snapped toward him.

They looked old, weary, and exhausted. But alert.

"Why," she asked, "is there a squirrel in my council chamber?"

A fair question, really.

Nagendra approached the queen and studied her.

"Well?" she asked impatiently.

"What?"

"Most creatures usually explain themselves after entering the royal council chamber."

"Ah," he said. "I am a journalist."

Mandodari stared.

"That does not explain anything."

“Well,” Nagendra snapped. “Most hosts offer a seat when a guest comes in.”

The queen glowered at him. Then, the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Fine," she gestured. “Sit.”

Nagendra hopped onto the chair and settled into it as though he attended royal councils every week.

The queen raised an eyebrow.

"What are you writing?" Nagendra asked.

"Reconstruction plans."

"For Lanka?"

"For what's left of it."

Queen Mandodari had answered matter-of-factly. Nagendra blinked. Looked around.

Chants of “JAI SHRI RAM!” and “JAI BAJRANG BALI!” thundered across the city.

Elsewhere, a royal procession had been arranged for Goddess Sita to be escorted to Lord Rama.

“If you are here for Sita,” Queen Mandodari said dryly, “I suggest you go downstairs now. Or you’ll be late.”

Nagendra looked back at her.

"Did you know this would happen?"

Queen Mandodari froze.

“Well?” Nagendra asked.

For several moments, the queen said nothing.

Outside, the celebrations continued.

Somewhere below, conches sounded.

But Nagendra did not relent.

The queen sighed at last.

“Fine,” she said. “I did not.”

“You didn’t?”

“I knew arrogance and ego had taken over him,” she said, setting down the papers. “I knew he was blind with pride and lust.”

“Then, you knew it was wrong of him to kidnap Goddess Sita,” Nagendra said.

Queen Mandodari nodded.

“And yet you watched him send your children, your relatives, and your best warriors to an early grave,” Nagendra noted.

Queen Mandodari stiffened.

“I warned him,” she said hotly. “Every time. I reminded him that he was a scholar, a learned man, and someone who had mastered the Vedas. He was a Shiva Bhakta. He knew right from wrong.”

“And?” Nagendra asked.

The queen shook her head slowly.

“His pride had taken over. He thought he was avenging Shoorpanaka.”

“He wasn’t?” Nagendra asked.

The queen laughed wryly.

“He wanted Sita for himself. He wanted to intimidate Rama.”

“What happened when you warned him repeatedly?"

“He ignored me repeatedly.”

The only sounds in the chamber came from outside.

“Did you ever consider divorcing him?” Nagendra asked. “Taking your children with you?”

The queen blinked.

“Divorcing?”

“It means terminating your marriage.”

Queen Mandodari’s eyes widened.

“Terminating?”

“Your marriage with Ravana,” Nagendra finished.

The queen’s eyes narrowed. Her hands curled, and her lips trembled.

“What,” she growled in a soft, deadly whisper, “did you just say?”

But Nagendra wasn’t finished.

“You knew he was wrong. You saw him neglect your advice. You watched him send your children to an early death. Why did you stay?”

The queen stood up. She looked murderous with rage.

“HOW DARE YOU!!!”

She bellowed so loudly that the palace shook violently. Thunder split the sky in response.

Outside, several guards immediately turned toward the council chamber.

Nagendra looked around.

“Ah,” he said. “I think I hit a nerve.”

“YOU DARE WALK INTO MY CHAMBERS AND SUGGEST I ABANDON FAMILY?”

“You make it sound worse when you say it like that.”

Mandodari stared at him in disbelief.

“Either you have lost your mind, or you’re not from this Yuga!” she snapped.

Nagendra clutched his notebook harder.

The queen took a breath.

“Now, listen to me, little squirrel,” she snapped. “Because I will not repeat myself!”

Nagendra nodded too quickly.

“If your parents did something morally questionable, would you stop loving them?”

Nagendra shook his head.

“I’d be sad and upset. I’d tell them they’re wrong. But I’d still love them. A friend of mine interrogated someone in a pub about having flawed parents whom you still love.”

“Then, why would I abandon my husband?” Queen Mandodari asked.

“Because he made terrible choices that cost innumerable lives,” Nagendra snapped back.

“Your children, included.”

The queen’s face paled. But she kept her composure and spoke in the same cold tone.

“I know.”

“You obviously disapproved of his choices,” Nagendra said.

“I did,” she said, staring outside the window. “But approval is different from liking someone.”

“Everything has its limits,” Nagendra persisted.

“So, you have never loved anyone?” Queen Mandodari snapped. “Not even this friend?”

“He is my friend,” Nagendra said hotly.

“And yet he randomly walked up to people and began complaining about his family.”

“That’s not—”

“The point is…" Queen Mandodari raised a hand. “You still love him.”

“He is a gentle and sweet man,” Nagendra fought back. “He would never hurt a fly!”

“I am not judging someone whose life I know nothing about,” Queen Mandodari said. “I am merely stating that Ravana was, no doubt, wrong. Abducting women. No consent. Ignoring wise counsel.”

“Then?” Nagendra asked.

“What makes you think he would’ve changed if I had left?”

“Wouldn’t it?”

“No,” she said bitterly. “Society would condemn me. I stayed and fought with him. Pleaded with him. I did everything I could.”

“That sounds awful,” Nagendra said.

“It was,” she agreed.

The only sounds that came were from the guards settling back into their bored murmurs.

Queen Mandodari stood and went to the window. Nagendra stood, too.

“The hardest battles are not always fought on battlefields,” she continued. “Sometimes they happen in private rooms. In conversations. In warnings nobody wishes to hear.”

“You knew he wouldn't listen?” Nagendra asked, standing still.

“Eventually.”

“Then why keep trying?”

“What would you do if that friend of yours made a terrible decision?” Queen Mandodari turned to him.

“I would fight with him. Call him out.”

“Even plead with him?”

“…yes.”

“Then, you understand my answer.”

Nagendra put his quill down. Spoke softly.

“Do you regret staying?”

Mandodari was silent for a very long time.

“I regret that he would not listen.”

“That's not what I asked.”

“That’s the answer you get,” the queen said, gesturing toward the door.

Nagendra looked at her for several moments.

Then he closed his notebook.

“Understood,” Nagendra said. “I will see myself out.”

History always talks about Lord Shri Rama.

About the wicked Ravana.

But history usually forgets Mandodari. The one who stayed, knowing that someone she loved was being a villain.

Nagendra, alias Naganna the squirrel, is a recurring character from Echoes of a Late Bloom, where he interviews gods, kings, queens, warriors, sages, and other innocent bystanders across multiple Yugas. 🐿️📚