The Palace of Illusions (9 page)

Far within the banyan grove, I heard a jackal howl. Coldness passed over my skin like ghost breath. For the last few days, I'd been longing for this moment. Why, then, did a strange reluctance silence me now? It came to me that I didn't trust the sage enough to reveal to him my secret desires.

Later I would wonder, was it because of this lack of faith that the spirits answered me so obliquely, in riddles that were more hindrance than help?

“Scared, princess?” the sage taunted. “Maybe you'd better step out and return to your safe palace—”

“No!” I cried. “Ask your spirits if I will get what I desire.”

A smile—feral or condescending?—glinted through the sage's beard. “And do you even know what that is, child?”

Stung, I retorted, “I'm no child, and I do know what I want! I want to leave a mark on history, as was promised to me at my birth.”

“Very commendable! But there are other things—perhaps unknown to you—that you crave more. No matter. The spirits will see into your heart and answer accordingly.”

He clapped his hands and the spirits swirled faster. Yellow whispers came to me through the smoke.

You will marry the five greatest heroes of your time. You will be queen of queens, envied even by goddesses. You will be a servant maid. You will be mistress of the most magical of palaces and then lose it.

You will be remembered for causing the greatest war of your time.

You will bring about the deaths of evil kings—and your children's, and your brother's. A million women will become widows because of you. Yes, indeed, you will leave a mark on history.

You will be loved, though you will not always recognize who loves you. Despite your five husbands, you will die alone, abandoned at the end—and yet not so.

After the voices fell silent, I sat stunned. Much of what they said—the part about five husbands, for instance—confused me. The rest filled me with despair.

“Oh, don't look so dejected,” the sage said. “How many women can claim to be envied by goddesses? Or become queen of queens?”

“I don't want them if it means the other parts will be true as well. What good is it to own the most wonderful palace in the world if I'll have to lose it? And all those deaths! I refuse to be the cause for them, especially Dhri's.”

“ You don't have a choice, my dear.”

“I'll enter a hermitage! I'll never marry—
“

His crooked teeth flashed. “Destiny is strong and swift. You can't trick it so easily. Even if you hadn't come seeking it today, in
time it would have found you. But in your case, your own nature is going to speed its process.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your pride. Your temper. Your vengefulness.”

I glared at him. “I'm not like that!”

“Even the wisest don't know what's hidden in the depths of their being. But here's something to console you: Long after you're gone, men will remember you as the most amazing queen this land has seen. Women will chant your name to bring them blessing and luck.”

“Much good that'll do me when I'm dying alone, tortured by guilt!” I said bitterly. “Men might value fame above all things. But I'd rather be happy.”

“You'll have happiness, too. Didn't you hear the spirits say you'll be loved? Besides, I have a feeling you'll grow to feel differently about fame!”

His jocularity angered me, but I controlled myself because I needed his help. “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?”

He shook his head. “Only a fool meddles in the Great Design. Besides, your destiny is born of lifetimes of karma, too powerful for me to change. But I'll give you some advice. 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.”

He poured water on the fire, extinguishing it with a hiss, a signal for me to leave. But then, glancing at my unhappy face, he said,
“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.” He turned to a thick book made of palm leaves and opened it.

“What are you writing?” I couldn't help but ask.

He ran a hand through his thick mane, exasperated. “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. Already you've kept me from it for too long. Go now!”

“Done so quickly?” Dhai Ma asked. “He didn't have much to tell you, did he?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, you barely stepped in, then stepped out. I'm glad, though.” She dropped her voice as she pulled me toward the waiting cart. “These sages with their sorcery—you never know what they might do to a young virgin.”

Inside the sage's circle, had time taken on a different gait? I climbed onto the cart, too preoccupied to feel its jolts. I peered through the shadows of the banyan one last time. The gloomy light played tricks on me: it seemed that there were two figures sitting inside the circle. One of them was the sage. The other—why, he appeared to have an elephant's head! The cart lurched away before I could point him out to my nurse.

“What did he say?” Dhai Ma was all curiosity. “Nothing bad, I hope. You look so solemn. I knew this heat would be too much for you! Remind me to get you some green-coconut water when we go through the bazaar.”

I pondered what to tell her. “He prophesied that I'd have five husbands,” I said finally.

“Five husbands!” She slapped her forehead in disgust. “Now I know he's a fake! Why, in all my years I've never heard of a woman with more than one husband! You know what our shastras call women who've been with more than one man, don't you? Though no one seems to have a problem when men sleep with a different wife each day of the week! Can you see your royal father, proper as he is, ever allowing something scandalous like that?”

I hoped she was right. If that part didn't come true, then perhaps the others wouldn't either.

Dhai Ma heaved a sigh. “He probably made up the bit about Kallu dying, too! I'll probably be the one to perish first, the way that man tortures me day and night. What a waste of time this was! Oh, my aching back! Wait till we get back to the palace. I'll give that maid a box on her ear that she won't forget for the rest of her life.”

Each night I thought of my name. Already I'd insisted that everyone address me by it.
Princess Panchaali.
A name strong like the land, a name that knew how to endure. It was what I'd been waiting for. No matter what else came to pass, I would always thank the sage for giving it to me. I thought also of the palace the spirits had promised me. Most magical, they'd called it. I wondered how I would ever gain such a palace.

I didn't want to contemplate the other prophecies—they were too disheartening—but they knocked against my heart. I understood, suddenly, the unspoken questions the spirits had answered: Who would I marry? Would I ever be mistress of my own home? Would I find love? Were these the kinds of desires hidden in my heart? How puerile they were, things my maids might have wanted!
Was I then no better than the women who surrounded me, wrapped in the cocoons of their unimaginative lives, not even knowing enough to want to escape? It was a mortifying thought.

Other nights I considered the mystery of the book the sage showed me, the story of my life. How could such a book be written before I'd lived the incidents it described? Did this mean that I had no control over what was to happen?

Surely it wasn't so. Otherwise, why did he take the trouble to warn me?

I didn't speak to the sage again for many years, though I heard of him from time to time. I learned his name: Vyasa the Compendious, because of the many hefty books he'd written. Vyasa the seer, born on a dark island of a union between an ascetic and a fisher princess. On my wedding day, I would see him in the marriage hall, seated on my father's right, his placement revealing an importance I hadn't guessed at. He'd gaze at me, blinking mildly, as though he'd never seen me before. When I'd make my first great mistake, his expression would remain unchanged, so that I wouldn't realize the enormity of what I'd done until it was too late.

Later, among my wedding gifts, I'd find a wooden box. When I'd open it, a familiar smell, wild and bitter, would rise from the powder inside. I'd use it in Khandav, and later in the Kamyak forest. Thrown on fire, it warded away insects, just as he'd promised, and nightmares as well. On those nights, my rough bark-bed seemed softer. But no matter how much I called for them—for by now I had other, wiser questions—the spirits did not return to me again.

6

The palace was in turmoil because Sikhandi had returned.

My maids gathered in corners and corridors, whispering fervently, but they scattered like sparrows when I approached them. Dhri was shut up in council with our father, so I had no way of asking him. And Dhai Ma, when she finally appeared, wringing her hands, was so distraught that I could hardly get any sense out of her.