The Palace of Illusions

by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

  This was where I met Keechak. He'd come to the garden for a tryst with one of Sudeshna's maids, but when he saw me, he waved her off.

  “You're new, aren't you?” he said. He was handsome in a fleshy way, with sensuous lips. He wore many ornaments and reeked of musk and wine. “Are you one of my sister's new attendants? You're pretty!” His kohl-lined eyes roved up and down my body approvingly. My face grew hot. Not even Duryodhan had dared to look at me quite like this in his sabha, for he'd known I was a queen. Is this how men looked at ordinary women, then? Women they considered their inferiors? A new sympathy for my maids rose in my mind. When I became queen again, I thought, I would make sure common women were treated differently.

  But that was a long time off. Right now, I had to deal with Keechak.

  I rose coldly and walked away.

  Perhaps that was my error. If I had been obsequious instead of disdainful, if I had pretended to be shy and overwhelmed by his attention, like the other women he approached, he might have lost interest in me. Sudeshna had many maids who were younger and prettier. Forest living had taken its toll on my body, and I made no efforts to rectify its ravages. But by indicating that I wasn't his to possess, I raised Keechak's hunter's instincts. From this moment, he would not leave me alone.

  I wasn't aware right away of the problems I'd spawned. Other challenges preoccupied me. I was finding that having my husbands physically close to me was harder to bear than if we'd been truly separated. Catching a glimpse of Yudhisthir as he walked with King Vi-rat, I'd cringe as he bowed deferentially. I'd hear Arjun joking with the women in the dance hall and wonder how he had the heart to laugh. Sometimes I'd look out toward the barns, wondering which of the tiny figures in yellow loincloths toiling in the muck were Nakul and Sahadev, who loved fine living. When special dishes were sent up from the kitchen for the queen and her favorite attendants, I wondered which ones Bheem had prepared, and if he knew that I wouldn't be eating any of them.

  At night I'd lie on my pallet, running my fingers over the new calluses on my palms. In the dark my hands felt like someone else's. Krishna had said, When sorrow strikes you, Krishnaa—and it will strike you harder than your husbands because your ego is more frail and more stubborn—try to keep this in mind: being a queen's maid is only a role you are playing, only for a while. I repeated the words to myself, but tiredness played strange tricks on my mind. Sometimes, just before I fell into the blankness of sleep, it seemed that everything I'd lived until now had been a role. The princess who longed for acceptance, the guilty girl whose heart wouldn't listen, the wife who balanced her fivefold role precariously, the rebellious daughter-in-law, the queen who ruled in the most magical of palaces, the distracted mother, the beloved companion of Krishna, who refused to learn the lessons he offered, the woman obsessed with vengeance—none of them were the true Panchaali.

  If not, who was I?

  A month before our year of disguise ended, Keechak cornered me and threatened to take me by force if I would not come to him of my own will and satisfy his desire. I fled from his grasping arms to Sudeshna, but she counseled me to give in to her brother. “Who knows if you'll ever see those husbands of yours again,” she said. “Or if they even exist? Make Keechak happy, and he'll make sure you have enough to live comfortably the rest of your life.”

  I ran then to the only refuge I could think of: Virat's sabha. Surely the king would save a helpless, abused woman. Keechak followed me there. He pushed me to the floor in full view of the court and kicked me for having spurned him. I cried out to Virat for justice, but he sat as though deaf. Only his head, bent helplessly, betrayed his shame. He knew that without Keechak's support he could not run his kingdom. When the king himself behaved in this manner, what could I expect of his courtiers? But what hurt me worst was Yudhisthir's demeanor; he gazed at me, silent and calm as though I were enacting a play.

  I stared at them all in disgust. It seemed to me that time had looped back on itself, that I was back in Hastinapur, helpless once again in front of the jeering Duryodhan. When I turned my angry eyes on Yudhisthir, he said, “Be patient, lady. Your gandharva husbands will be freed of their curse soon. They'll help you then.”

  I tried to articulate my outrage at his words, but he stopped me sternly. Perhaps he feared exposure. “Return to the women's quarters and stop weeping like an actress!”

  His words pierced me like poisoned darts. I wiped my eyes, done with entreaties. “If I'm an actress today,” I spat, “who is responsible for that?”

  Keechak ignored our exchange. “See!” he sneered. “There's no one to protect you here. I'm more powerful than all of them. You might as well come to my bed.”

  Even then Yudhisthir remained silent.

  I ran again—this time to my room—and bolted the door.Keechak laughed and let me go. He knew that no flimsy lock could keep him out. Soon enough, he'd have his will.

  I bathed in the coldest water I could find, but still I burned. I couldn't eat; I couldn't sleep. After midnight, when the palace grew quiet, I searched its labyrinthine corridors until I found Bheem's sleeping quarters. I opened the door, slipped in, and awakened him. Shocked, he pleaded with me to leave. “What if someone discovers us together? What answer can we offer without giving ourselves away? And then all these months of suffering we've gone through will be wasted.”

  I told him I no longer cared if people found out who I was, if Duryodhan won the wager. The dangers of the forest we might have to return to were far less than the ones I faced right here in this palace. I told him of my humiliation in the court and of Yudhisthir's callous cowardice. I said, “If Keechak touches me again, I'll swallow poison.”

  Bheem pulled my cracked palms to his face. I could feel his tears on my calluses. He said, “Without you by my side, what use is a kingdom? I promise you that tomorrow I'll kill Keechak, even though I'm discovered.”

  But now that I was sure I would get my way, I grew still as ice. Together we created the plan that would destroy Keechak without betraying my husbands.

  And then?

  Then time rushed headlong, gathering devastation like an avalanche. In the dark of the dance hall where I lured him the next night, Keechak was pounded to death. When they found his smashed body the next morning, word spread like fire. It was gandharva magic! What else could destroy one of the foremost warriors of Bharat? A weeping Sudeshna would have had me burned as a witch, but she was too afraid of my spirit-husbands. Instead, she banished me to my quarters, which suited me very well.

  But far away, the story reached the Kaurava court. At once Duryodhan suspected that Keechak was killed by Bheem. (Having been captured once by gandharvas, he knew they operated differently.) Karna suggested that they attack Virat's kingdom, at once from both north and south. He knew that if the Pandavas were there, they'd be honor-bound to help their host. If not, the Kauravas would gain a rich kingdom with little effort.

  Of the battles that took place, the bards (who love to dwell on battles) have sung enough, so I'll leave them alone. Enough to say that four of the Pandavas (still disguised) accompanied Virat and routed the Kaurava army in the south, while Arjun drove Virat's son's chariot to the north. When the young prince Uttar panicked, Arjun (still in his sari) rendered the Kauravas unconscious with the Sammohan astra. The furious Duryodhan, when he recovered, declared that the Pandavas had been discovered and must return to the forest. But Yudhisthir sent back star charts to prove that our thirteen years of exile had ended on the very day of the battle. And so preparations for an even greater battle began.

  But here's what I remember most clearly: When King Virat realized who we were, he fell at our feet, begging our pardon for his many discourtesies, and ordered Sudeshna to do the same. He placed us on his throne and knelt on the dais with folded palms. A sullen Sudeshna knelt beside him. She wouldn't meet my eyes. She would never forgive me for being the cause of her brother's death. But Virat, who was more pragmatic, offered Princess Uttara in marriage to Arjun. For once, my much
-wedded husband (aided by a dig from my elbow in his ribs) made the right decision: he asked that the princess become, instead, his son Abhimanyu's wife.

  At the wedding, we sat again on Virat's throne. I was dressed in cloth of gold and my unruly locks flowed over my back, beautiful as lava—and as dangerous. Men whispered that with my dark skin I was like a lightning cloud. I took it as a compliment. Around us sat friends and relatives who had gathered to celebrate the end of our exile, and (though no one spoke of it yet) to offer their support in the coming war. Dhri was present, and my father, and my five sons. My heart tightened as I searched their faces, trying to match names to features. But they smiled at me shyly and without resentment. Perhaps—now that they were grown—they understood our troubles better and forgave me my difficult choices.

  And there in the wedding mandap was Abhimanyu, so handsome and noble, already taken—we could tell by his bemused expression—with pretty, pert Uttara. They made a good match, I thought. Soon we'd find equally good ones for my sons. The priests rang bells and chanted mantras. Sudeshna offered me chilled pomegranate juice in a gold goblet, much as I'd done for her. And Krishna? Earlier today, meeting him after so long, I'd wept, and he'd dried my tears—and then his. Now he sat behind me, so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. From time to time, as we listened to the priests' drone, he whispered an irreverent comment, forcing me into laughter.

  Why did this moment mean so much to me? Was it because my ego was vindicated? Because I received, in sight of all, the respect that had been denied me these many months? Because I knew that my humiliation at the hands of the Kauravas was about to be avenged? I confess I've always found such things sweet. But there was something more: it was the last scintillation in the darkness descending around us, the last time I would be so completely happy.

  31

  We were not surprised when Duryodhan refused to honor the terms of the wager and return Indra Prastha to us. Nor— except for Yudhisthir, who had hoped for a peaceful solution— were we particularly disappointed. To tell the truth, the rest of us itched for war, for a chance to pay Duryodhan back for some of the suffering he'd put us through. That very night, Dhri dispatched messengers to our potential allies, asking for help. Our situation was grim. Hastinapur had numerous supporters already, kings whose fathers and grandfathers had befriended Shantanu, then Bheeshma, then Dhritarashtra. Could we expect them to switch generations of allegiance so easily? Many believed Duryodhan had done nothing wrong. Yudhisthir had gambled foolishly—and lost all he possessed. Now he wanted it back. Which kshatriya worth his name would acquiesce to such an unreasonable demand?

  In spite of these problems, our hearts were strangely light, our blood-beat illogically elated. Finally (was it only I who thought this way?) things would be resolved. Either we'd be avenged—or it would no longer matter because we'd be dead.

  Messengers were sent to every kingdom except Dwarka. We decided that Arjun should go to Krishna himself and ask his dearest friend to join us. We felt—we didn't know why, for Krishna hadn't won any major battles—that with him on our side, we couldn't fail. (It wouldn't hurt to have his notorious guerrilla troops, the Narayani Sena, fighting for us, either.)

  But Hastinapur employed many spies, and so, even before Arjun set off, Duryodhan mounted his fastest steed and spurred it toward Dwarka. He knew that if he arrived there first, the laws of hospitality would require Krishna to grant his request before he considered Arjun's.

  Here is what Duryodhan told Sakuni upon his return (yes, we, too, had spies in Hastinapur):

  “Well, uncle, that was an excellent idea of yours, to ride through the night, driving the horses hard, changing them whenever they flagged. I reached Dwarka at noon, quite a while before Arjun got there. Krishna was taking a nap, but they showed me into his room. There was just one armchair at the head of the couch where Krishna was sleeping. I made myself comfortable in it. Soon after, Arjun walked in. You should have seen his face when he saw me! There weren't any other seats. He should have taken the hint and left. But he squeezed himself into a little space at the foot of the couch, and as soon as Krishna stirred, he bowed down, the sycophant, and did pranam. Krishna—who as you know has been most unjustly partial to the Pandavas all along—asked him what he wanted. Well, I wasn't having any of that! I cleared my throat conspicuously and, when Krishna turned, pointed out that I'd taken the trouble of getting there before Arjun, so I should get what I wanted before him. Slippery as he is, he said, But I saw Arjun first—that equals out your claims, and besides, he's younger, so you should allow him first choice. I was fuming, but I remembered what you said and held my tongue. I even managed a smile.

  “Anyhow, things didn't turn out as badly as I feared. Because what does Krishna do next but announce that he isn't going to actually fight in the war. Some kind of vow he'd taken, I don't remember the details. He won't even carry weapons. Then he makes us this offer: we can either choose him, or we can choose his Narayanis (that, as you know, was the main reason I'd gone there). I was certain that Arjun would choose the soldiers, but the fool got all sentimental, saying how he wanted nothing but his dear friend's guidance and blessings, and that no army could equal that. I had to use all my powers to keep from snorting with laughter. Anyhow, the upshot is that I got myself the Narayanis—they'll be on their way to Hastinapur in a day or so—and Arjun got himself a charioteer—because that's what Krishna's going to do during the war, drive his horses, though why he agreed to it I don't know. He is a king after all, even if his lands aren't much compared to ours. Impractical fools, both of them. They deserve each other!

  “Balaram? Oh yes, I went to see him right afterward. He's been a good friend ever since I took those mace-fighting lessons from him and then sent him a cartload of my best sura as thanks. Yes, it was a shrewd move. He loves his drink, does Balaram! But I did it mostly because it's a pleasure to give something fine to a connoisseur. He's always claimed I have better technique than Bheem—which of course I do. That man wields his mace like it was a giant cucumber. I thought it would be easy to persuade Balaram to join our forces, but he said he couldn't go against his brother. However, because of his love for me, he'd stay out of the battle altogether. Then he said something strange. He said, Where Krishna is, victory lies there. And he looked at me with such sadness in his eyes—as though I were already dead! I tell you, it gave me quite a turn. Made me wonder for a moment whether I'd made the wrong choice.

  “I'm sure you're right: he thinks too highly of his brother's prowess. Can't blame him—they've been inseparable all through their lives, like Dussasan and myself. In any case, we've made our choice, and I never was one for regretting my decisions.

  “I agree! Of course we're going to win! What was it at last count, the size of our army? Eleven akshauhini? I doubt that the Pandavas will be able to muster half that many soldiers, to say nothing of horses, chariots, elephants, and astras. The most seasoned warriors are on our side—Bheeshma, Drona, and especially Karna, a friend like no other! Did you know he's taken a vow of abstinence? He isn't going to touch meat, wine, or women until the battle is done. He's taken to bathing in the Ganga each day for purification, and if a beggar or a brahmin comes up to him at that time, he'll give them whatever they want! He believes that such acts of charity will push his powers to their peak so that he can destroy Arjun. With a fighter like him on our side, how can we lose?

  “But just in case we don't win, I plan on dying with full glory on the battlefield. That would be far better than sharing my kingdom with those cursed Pandavas. For whatever my shortcomings—no, no, uncle, you flatter me by calling me faultless; I know myself better than that—I thank the god of war and death that cowardice isn't one of them.”

  Even bedchambers are not safe from efficient spies, and our spies were efficient indeed. Thus we knew that folks in Hastinapur were not sleeping well. The blind king started from his slumber with nightmares of mountains built of his sons' skulls. Dussasan awoke clutching his chest and
screaming Bheem's name. Duryodhan drank himself into a stupor to keep from wearing out his floors with pacing. I cannot say I felt pity for any of them.

  Only Karna, our informants reported, slept soundly and awoke clear-eyed to perform his daily ablutions by the river, where each day more people gathered to ask him for alms. Rumor had it that he'd given away half his wealth already. If this continued, he'd be a pauper by the time the fighting began. My husbands exclaimed at this folly, and Arjun said, scoffingly, “He always was a show-off!”

  But I knew Karna wasn't showing off—he had never cared to do so. Instead, by giving to the poor, he was atoning for his misdeeds and securing a place in heaven. No matter what he said to bolster Duryodhan's confidence, I could see that he didn't expect to live past the war. Nor—my heart constricted when I realized this—did he seem to want to do so.

  People love to believe that virtue is rapidly rewarded, and that agitation is the fruit of unrighteousness. But things are not so simple. For instance: Bheeshma (whom the Kauravas had chosen as their commander-in-chief) was found sitting on the white stones by the Ganga at dawn, his shawl wet with night dew. Dhri (who was to lead the Pandava army) dueled with the captain of the guard each day until he was bruised and exhausted—and still he could not sleep. Kunti had borne our years of exile stoically in Vidur's home, but now she fell ill and could eat nothing. When Yudhisthir asked her to join us in Virat's palace, she made implausible excuses. Even the blessing she sent as my husbands prepared for war was ambiguously worded. She prayed for their victory and wished that they wouldn't have to spill the blood of their brothers. (“Brothers!” Bheem cried when he heard her message. “Since when have those Kaurava vermin been our brothers?” while Sahadev wondered if Duryodhan hadn't used Gandhari to brainwash their mother.) Half-moons of dark bloomed under my husbands' eyes. Arjun (who currently shared my bed) flailed out in his dreams, speaking harshly in a language I didn't recognize, calling Abhimanyu's name. Walking out into the corridor one night, I found Yudhisthir at a window, staring at the moon-bleached grass. He, too, had dreamed of a skull mountain. But there was more to his dream: on top of the mountain was a great, glittery throne, and on it were seated the five Pandavas, goblets of victory wine in their hands. When they raised them to their lips, the drink turned to blood.