The Forest of Enchantments

by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

This was my first lesson on the nature of love: that in a moment it could fulfil the cravings of a lifetime, like a light that someone might shine into a cavern that has been dark for a million years.

him?’ Divine mandates were worrisome and inconvenient; they tended to upset human plans. And the window for a girl’s marriage, even if she was a princess, was a small one.

My challenge would be to remain calm and devise the best strategy to deal with my situation. Sometimes there was no escape, and I had to learn to withdraw within myself and find the strength to endure. These mental lessons were the most difficult of all. I was never sure whether I mastered them or not. If I asked the bow, it would only say, frustratingly, ‘There’s more to learn. Because a trained mind is your strongest ally—and an untrained one your worst enemy.’

I’d never thought of my body as a trap. ‘What do you mean, I’m trapped in my body?’ ‘Anything that makes us forget our true selves is a trap, princess—even something we love or define as beautiful. Our time is almost up, so I’ll end with one last piece of advice: in the midst of darkness, remember this conversation, what I told you today. It’ll help you see past the darkness. It’ll help you endure.’

sometimes our ill luck has consequences that bless others.’

We come into the world alone, and we leave it alone. And in between, too, if it is destined, we’ll be alone. Draw on your inner strength. Remember, you can be your own worst enemy—or your best friend. It’s up to you. And also this: what you can’t change, you must endure.’

Perhaps duty was a kind of love, after all.

‘Some people are born unlucky, possessing so much externally, yet destitute within.

I didn’t believe in giving in to fate, not without a good fight.

This incident taught me that the more love we distribute, the more it grows, coming back to us from unexpected sources. And its corollary: when we demand love, believing it to be our right, it shrivels, leaving only resentment behind.

Love was full of contradictions. Sometimes the person you loved weakened you and sometimes he or she made you a stronger person. But under exactly what conditions did these very different changes occur?

many strands of karma must come together for an upheaval like this to occur—yours, mine, the kingdom’s, perhaps the entire earth’s. The wise man accepts it calmly. Who knows why I’m going into the forest, and whom I’ll meet there?’

How innocent we’d been, thinking that if only we willed something hard enough, it would come true. I wondered what we’d both be like by the time we saw each other next time, or if we’d even meet again.

it’s not enough to merely love someone. Even if we love them with our entire being, even if we’re willing to commit the most heinous sin for their well-being. We must understand and respect the values that drive them. We must want what they want, not what we want for them.

When you put your hand in the fire, knowingly or unknowingly, do you not get burned? Such is the ancient law of the universe. Of karma and its fruit. The idea of motive is irrelevant to it.’

her eyes full of disbelief that someone could do such a thing to her when all she’d offered him was love. Then, screaming her pain and outrage, she vanished in a swirl of red mist.

How entangled love is with expectation, that poison vine! The stronger the expectation, the more our anger towards the beloved if he doesn’t fulfil it—and the less our control over ourselves.

When my voice grew hoarse and my arms too tired to punch him, I prayed to the goddess to save me. When she was silent, I prayed to the rest of the gods, anyone who came to my mind. But the sky above me remained empty. The gods—if indeed they even existed—had their own plan, and it didn’t coincide with my distressed need.

thought of love’s contradictions, how it fills us with joy but also with worry for welfare of the loved one and pain for his suffering.

Ravan’s wrath? Ah, love. Why had Vidhata made its nature so complex? Why did one love conflict, so often, with another?

Abandoned as I was by my husband, no one could save me. But I could save myself. Love and happiness might not be in my control, but at least my dignity still remained mine. I might not be able to have the life I wanted, but I could choose the manner of my death.

had to use every shred of willpower to keep myself from running out, screaming. The anguish with which I prayed for death to release me. The anger I felt that I, who was innocent, should be made to suffer in this way. My agony was timeless—I don’t know, in terms of human measurement, how long it lasted. But I do know this: in that agonizing trial, I was transformed. Perhaps that was why I had to endure pain—because true transformation can only happen in the crucible of suffering. All impurities fall away from gold only when it’s heated to melting.

Forgiveness is more difficult when love is involved.

knew now that love—no matter how deep—wasn’t enough to transform another person: how they thought, what they believed. At best, we could only change ourselves.

Take me away from this misery,” I cried. ‘“I can end your life,” Death said, “but it would benefit no one, not even yourself. For the suffering you seek to escape in this way is your karma, and you will have to undergo it in another life. Would you not rather help your husband?”

I understood that things happen to us for many complicated reasons, arising from both the past and the future. Thus I’m no longer sorrowful for all that has taken place in my life—or the things that are about to happen in yours.’

Or perhaps it was fate. It’s hard to tell them apart, what we bring upon ourselves and what destiny determines. They’re as difficult to disentangle as love and sorrow.

‘Pull yourself together,’ she said sternly. ‘You aren’t some weak-willed wench. You can control your emotions. Remember all that you’ve survived. Behave like the queen you are. No one can take your dignity away from you. You lose it only by your own actions.’

In the dream, too, I lay in the forest, but now I was surrounded by women. They walked around me with soundless measured steps. They looked at me with wise and compassionate eyes, eyes that had known suffering. Some I recognized: Sunaina, Ahalya, Mandodari, Sarama, Kaikeyi. Some I guessed at: a monkey with a diadem on her head who must be Tara; a tribal woman holding a half-eaten fruit who must be Shabari. Why, even Surpanakha was among them, a rare calm veiling her mutilated face. Endure, they seemed to say. Endure as we do. Endure your challenges. The words resonated through me.

Living in the forest wasn’t what I’d planned for myself or my babies. But then, had I planned that Ram should come into my life like a tidal wave and sweep me away? Had I planned to be banished to the forest on the eve of our coronation, to be abducted, or even rescued? Had I planned on the rumours upon our return, or Ram’s harsh decision? All these had happened without my choice, but I’d survived them. Wasn’t that all we could do as imperfect human beings?

I pondered the word endure, what it meant. It didn’t mean giving in. It didn’t mean being weak or accepting injustice. It meant taking the challenges thrown at us and dealing with them as intelligently as we knew until we grew stronger than them.