The Palace of Illusions

by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

“A problem becomes a problem only if you believe it to be so. And often others see you as you see yourself.”

I, too, am beautiful, I told myself, holding Krishna’s words in my mind.

My father was obsessed by pride and the dream of getting even.

He had absolute notions of right and wrong and adhered to them rigidly. (This made him a fair ruler, but not a beloved one.) His weakness was that he cared too much about what people might say about the royal house of Panchaal.

Dhri was the noblest of all the people I knew. He had a sincere love of virtue but, sadly, almost no sense of humor. He was overly protective of me (but I forgave him that). His weakness was that he believed completely in his destiny and had resigned himself to fulfilling it.

He asked me what I thought of my place in the world as a woman and a princess—and then challenged my rather traditional beliefs. He brought me news of the world that no one else cared to give me, the world that I was starving for—even news that I suspected would be considered improper for the ears of a young woman. And all the while he watched me carefully, as though for a sign.

Was our father in their lighted, laughing chambers? Why didn’t he invite us to join them?

Dhri laid a finger on my lips. For some paradoxical reason, he wanted to narrate the moment that pained him most, that laid bare his longing. Even in mortal danger, Drupad could not but admire the young man—his poise, his courtesy, his skill at arms. A fleeting yearning rose up in him: if only he were my son. “Don’t say that!” I interrupted angrily. “You’re the best son a father could ever desire. Aren’t you giving up your entire life to get King Drupad what he wants—senseless though it is?” “Go on with the story,” he said.

Every time I spoke it, it embedded itself deeper into my brother’s flesh, for a story gains power with retelling. It deepened his belief in the inevitability of a destiny he might have otherwise sidestepped: to kill Drona.

I’d expected my brother to agree but instead he gave me a considering look. With a shock I realized that he was changing.

“And who decided that a woman’s highest purpose was to support men?”

And why was a battle necessary at all? Surely there were other ways to glory, even for men? I’d teach them to search for those.

Each day I thought less and less like the women around me. Each day I moved further from them into a dusky solitude.

He who has not conquered himself, how will that king conquer enemies?

These were the lessons I most envied him, the lessons that conferred power. They were the ones I needed to know if I were to change history.

“In righteous war, you fight only with men that are your equal in rank. You don’t attack your enemies at night, or when they’re retreating or unarmed. You don’t strike them on the back or below the navel. You use your celestial astras only on warriors who themselves have such weapons.” “What about unrighteous war?” “You don’t need to know about that!” my brother said. “I’ve told you too much already. Why do you want all this information, anyway?”

“He’ll teach me,” my brother said. He must have been tired, for he sounded bitter, which was rare for him. “He’ll teach me because he’s a man of honor. And I’ll go because it’s the only way I can fulfill my destiny.”

I was better at composing and solving riddles, responding to witty remarks, and writing poetry, but my heart was not in such frivolities. With each lesson I felt the world of women tightening its noose around me. I had a destiny to fulfill that was no less momentous than Dhri’s. Why was no one concerned about preparing me for it?

“Besides, don’t you know, a woman must be prepared for her destiny in a different way.”

I would use my strength instead to nurture my belief that my life would unfurl uniquely.

The other group consisted of those rare persons who were themselves harbingers of change and death. Or those who could laugh at such things. They wouldn’t fear me, though I suspected they might well hate me, if the need arose. So far, I knew only three such people: Dhri and Krishna—and Dhai Ma, transformed by her affection for me. But surely there were others. As I chafed in my father’s palace, I longed to find them, for only they could provide the companionship I ached for. I wondered how long I would have to wait before destiny brought them into my life, and I hoped that when it did so, one of them would become my husband.

“You’ll die old and rich and cantankerous as ever—and happy, because you’ll be gone before the worst happens.”

“Men might value fame above all things. But I’d rather be happy.”

“I’ve heard that great seers have the power to change the future they foretell. Please—can’t you shape mine so that I don’t harm those dearest to me?”

Three dangerous moments will come to you. The first will be just before your wedding: at that time, hold back your question. The second will be when your husbands are at the height of their power: at that time, hold back your laughter. The third will be when you’re shamed as you’d never imagined possible: at that time, hold back your curse. Maybe it will mitigate the catastrophes to come.”

“You’ve borne the harshness of the prophecies well, so I’ll give you a parting gift—a name. From now on you’ll be known as Panchaali, spirit of this land, though in your wanderings you’ll leave it far behind.”

“The story of your life, if only you’d stop interrupting it. And of your five husbands. And of the great and terrible war of Kurukshetra that will end the Third Age of Man.

“Little sister,” he said. “I thank you from the depth of my soul for what you’ll do for me.”

Now I discovered that a woman’s life is tougher than a banyan root, which exists without soil or water.

I took the garland for myself, determined to do on my own what no man dared do for me.

Remember that, little sister: wait for a man to avenge your honor, and you’ll wait forever.

“You were just as impatient then. In meditation, you invoked Shiva. He came and stood in front of you, silent and blue as moonlight. You asked for a wish to be granted. He smiled. You asked for it again—and again. Five times you made your wish before he had the chance to say yes. Therefore, in this life, you will have what you wanted five times over.”

the power of a man is like a bull’s charge, while the power of a woman moves aslant, like a serpent seeking its prey. Know the particular properties of your power. Unless you use it correctly, it won’t get you what you want.”

“You’ll bring about the Great War where I’ll meet Bheeshma and kill him.” His face darkened. “But I should have begged your pardon instead for all the humiliation you’ll suffer before the war, and all the sorrow afterward. And much of this you’ll endure, sister, because your destiny is linked with mine.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to pick my own husband!”

“I think so,” Krishna said. “He’s handsome, too, and a great favorite with the ladies. I think our Krishnaa will like him!”

Happy face indeed !

To be the woman whose smile made his heart beat faster, whose frown wounded him almost to death, whose advice guided his most important decisions. Could this be the way I was meant to change history?

“As for being pawns,” Krishna was saying, “aren’t we all pawns in the hands of Time, the greatest player of them all?”

But I was a woman, and I had to practice them—as Sikhandi had suggested—in my own way. I would approach the problem aslant. No matter what my father’s intention, I could still make Arjun’s heart beat faster.

The sorceress taught me other unqueenly skills. She made me lie on the floor at night, with only my arm for a pillow, until I could sleep under those conditions. She made me wear the cheapest, most abrasive cotton saris that chafed my skin until I grew used to them. She made me eat what the lowest of my servants ate; she taught me to live on fruits, then water, and then to fast for days at a time.

I noticed that her lessons went in opposites. She taught me adornments to enhance my beauty. She taught me how to make myself so ordinary that no one would spare me a second glance. She taught me to cook with the best of ingredients and the most meager. She taught me potions to cure illness and potions to cause them. She taught me to be unafraid of speaking out, and to be brave enough for silence. She taught me when to lie and when to speak the truth. She taught me to discover a man’s hidden tragedies by reading the tremor in his voice. She taught me to close myself off from the sorrow of others so that I might survive. I understood that she was preparing me for the different situations that would appear in my life. I tried to guess what shape they might take, but here I failed. I failed also in this: though I knew all that she taught me was important, in my vanity I only learned the ones that flattered my ego.

She laughed out loud. “I can’t teach you that,” she said. “Love comes like lightning, and disappears the same way. If you’re lucky, it strikes you right. If not, you’ll spend your life yearning for a man you can’t have. I advise you to forget about love, princess. Pleasure is simpler, and duty more important. Learn to be satisfied with them.” I should have believed her and modified my expectations. But I didn’t. Deep in my stubborn heart I was convinced I deserved more.

narrowed downward in a wedge that drove itself into the ocean.

In this Third Age of Man, the good are mostly weak. That is why the earth needs the Great War, so she can start over.”

“women contribute to the world’s problems in a hundred insidious ways. And you, who will be more powerful than most, could wreak greater havoc if you aren’t careful.

If Salya won, I thought with a shudder, he would claim me, and I’d have to go with him, as mute and compliant as the purse of gold a winner carries away at the end of a wrestling match.

“His younger brother, Dussasan,” the artist explained. The brothers made me uncomfortable, though I couldn’t have explained why.

“But I’ll be there,” he said. “On that crucial day, I’ll be there—to keep you from choosing wrongly.” My eyes flew to his face. What did he mean? Bound as I was by the contest, what was left for me to choose?

Fear makes us selfish.

How I longed to speak to her of that other, forbidden name: Karna.