The Palace of Illusions

by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

I was surrounded by redness, though I wasn’t in a room. The walls undulated, gave off warmth. I had no body, no name. Yet I knew who I was. Someone spoke to me encouragingly, in a familiar voice, telling me that it was my turn now. I must go forth to do my duty. But I held back. It was so comfortable in this place. So safe and undemanding. Also, I was worried by the enormousness of my task. Can I really change history? I asked. What about the sins I’ll incur, being the cause of so much devastation? The voice was as gentle as a brook wending through pebbles. Try to remember that you are the instrument and I the doer. If you can hold on to this, no sin can touch you. Instrument, I repeated. Doer. It sounded simple enough, though I suspected that it would become more complicated once the game began. I asked, What if I forget? He said, You probably will. Most of them do. That’s the beguiling trick the world plays on you. You’ll suffer for it—or dream that you’re suffering. But no matter. At the time of your death I’ll remind you. That’ll be enough.