The Palace of Illusions (19 page)

He said, “If I were Arjun, would that make you happier?”

I managed an even tone. “I'm no longer a princess. I'm your wife, and content with my lot, whoever you may be.”

“Most commendable.” There was a teasing spark in his eyes.

I risked the next words, treading the dangerous territory of the half-truth. “But I have thought often of Arjun since Krishna spoke to me of his powers.”

He turned from me, looking over to the side. His brow was corrugated, the line of his lips hard. What if he wasn't Arjun, as I'd so hastily presumed? Why hadn't I heeded Dhai Ma's warning that forwardness would be the ruin of me? Most warriors, after all, had battle scars. Who could blame my stranger-husband if he was furious right now, hearing another man's praise on his new wife's lips?

But when he spoke, it was with courtesy and some charm, and I realized that whatever troubled him had nothing to do with me. “I cannot reveal my identity without my family's permission. But I'll tell you this: I too have thought of Panchaali since Krishna described her many virtues to me!”

For the rest of the way he held my arm, supporting me as I limped along. He didn't speak further, and I was thankful for the silence. My mind was trying to encompass all that had happened in the last few hours. Now that I was sure of Arjun's identity, I knew that everyone who cared for me—Dhri, Dhai Ma, my father, Krishna— would be delighted at how things had turned out. I was married to a man who was the greatest warrior of his generation. He would become one of my father's staunchest allies. In the Great War, he would
protect my brother as he attempted to fulfill his destiny. Courteous, noble, brave, handsome, he would be a fit husband for me (and I a fit helpmate for him) as together we left our mark on history. Perhaps he would build me the palace I dreamed of, a place where I finally belonged.

I would no longer waste time on regret. I would turn my face to the future and carve it into the shape I wanted. I would satisfy myself with duty. If I was lucky, love would come.

That was what I told myself as we walked and walked, the hot day wilting around us, the pathway of stone and thorn taking me further each moment from everything that had been familiar to me.

14

I bent over a smoky fire fueled by cow-dung, cooking brinjal curry under the watchful eye of my mother-in-law. The kitchen was tiny and airless. My back ached. The smoke made my throat burn. Sweat poured into my eyes. I wiped it off furiously. I wasn't going to give my mother-in-law the satisfaction of thinking that she'd reduced me to tears, though in fact I was on the verge of weeping with frustration.

She sat pristine in her white widow's sari, her hair blacker and glossier than it had any right to be (she was old, after all, with five grown sons), flicking stones from the cheap red rice that her sons had begged as alms. The heat didn't seem to affect her. At first I thought it was because she'd positioned herself in front of the single small window. But perhaps she had inner resources beyond what my eyes could see. A subtle disdain flickered under the composure that marked her face. It seemed to say, You find this difficult? Why then, you'd never have survived a hundredth part of what I've been through.

I'd entered a household full of mysteries, secrets that no one articulated. I'd have to use all my resources to try and decipher them. But one thing I knew already: from the moment she saw me yesterday, my mother-in-law regarded me as her adversary.

It had turned evening by the time Arjun and I entered a small settlement at the edge of town, with dilapidated mud walls pressed up against each other. I thought I'd prepared myself to accept hardship. But my heart fell as I noted the alleys stinking with refuse, the stray dogs with their open sores. It was all I could do to not clap a hand over my nose.

As we turned a corner, four young men, all dressed like Arjun as poor brahmins, joined us. I knew these must be the other Pandavas. From under my veil, I darted glances at their faces, but I couldn't recognize a single one. What art of disguise had they learned?

The brothers embraced Arjun and cuffed him on the shoulder, chiding him for not allowing them to help him in the fight. When they turned to greet me, their eyes were alight with curiosity and (I thought) admiration. Not sure how a new wife should behave with her brothers-in-law, I bowed my head and joined decorous palms, though I was equally curious. They were a lively lot, the two youngest ones miming how the defeated kings had run from my husband, the large, muscled one slapping his knees and doubling over with laughter while the eldest watched indulgently. My husband was pleased by their praise, though he didn't say much. At their approach, he'd let go of my arm, a fact I didn't care for.

The oldest brother—this would be Yudhisthir—urged us to hurry. “We're late!” he said. “You know how Mother worries.” We turned the final corner and there was their hut, the meanest in the row. From the small kitchen window came the clink of pots.

The tallest of them—if I remembered right, his name was Bheem—winked at Arjun. “Mother's always so serious! Let's play a trick on her.” Before the others could stop him, he called out, “Ma, come and see what we've brought home today.”

“Son,” said a woman's voice in a patrician accent, “I can't come right now or the food will burn. But as always, whatever you brought should be shared equally amongst all my sons.”

The brothers looked at each other, embarrassed.

Yudhisthir frowned at Bheem. “You certainly have a way of getting into trouble—and dragging us along! Let me go and explain.”

He disappeared through the low doorway. I thought he would be back soon, but he didn't return for a long time. The brothers waited in awkward silence. I sensed that they hesitated to invite me in without their mother's permission. I looked toward Arjun, but— perhaps deliberately—he was watching a plume of smoke rising from a nearby hut. I stood on the porch feeling parched and unwelcome, the regrets I'd chased away returning to descend on me like vultures. When my legs hurt too much, I sat down on the ground, leaned my back against the hut wall and closed my eyes. I must have dozed. When I opened them again, my mother-in-law loomed above me like a statue carved from ice. And though I'd had doubts about the identity of her sons, I knew at once that I was staring up at the widowed queen Kunti.

Kunti didn't believe in using spices. Or perhaps she just didn't believe in letting her daughter-in-law have any. She'd handed me a pulpy brinjal, along with a lump of salt and a minute amount of oil, and told me to prepare it for lunch. I asked her if I might have a bit of turmeric and some chilies. Perhaps some cumin. She replied, “This is all there is. This isn't your father's palace!”

I didn't trust her words. In the alcove behind her I could see bowls and jars, a pouch. On the floor sat a grinding stone, stained yellow from its last use. I swallowed my anger and chopped the brinjal on the dull cutting blade. I rubbed salt into it and dropped
it into the pan. There was too little oil. The cow-dung fire burned too high, and I didn't know how to reduce it. In a few minutes, the pieces began to get scorched. I was about to give up and let them burn to blackness when, turning, I saw the smallest of smiles on Kunti's face. I understood. If the fish had been Arjun's test, this was mine.

This is what Kunti declared to her sons yesterday, before she said a single word to me: “All through my life—even in the hardest of times—everything I said, I made sure it was done. I told myself I'd bring you up as princes in the halls of your forefathers, and no matter how much harassment I faced, I held on to my promise. Sons, if you value what I did for you, you must now honor my word. All five of you must marry this woman.”

I stared at her, my brain trying to take in what she had said. Was she joking when she said they must all marry me? No, her face made that clear. I wanted to shout, Five husbands? Are you mad? I wanted to say, I'm already married to Arjun! But Vyasa's prophecy recoiled upon me, robbing me of my protests.

I recognized, too, the thinly veiled insult in Kunti's words.
This woman
, as though I were a nameless servant. It angered me, but it also hurt. From the stories I'd heard about Kunti, I'd admired her. I'd imagined that if she did indeed become my mother-in-law, she would love me as a daughter. Now I saw how naïve I'd been. A woman like her would never tolerate anyone who might lure her sons away.

The brothers looked at me with speculation in their eyes. They didn't protest. Maybe they weren't used to contradicting their mother. Or maybe the idea wasn't as repugnant to them as it was to me. Only
Arjun blurted out, “Mother, how can you ask us to do this? It's contrary to dharma.”

“Let us eat now,” Kunti said. Underneath the serenity her voice was like steel. Here was woman's power at work! In spite of my fury, I felt a grudging admiration. “It's late. You're tired. We can discuss it tomorrow.”

Arjun drew in his breath. I waited for him to stand up for me, to tell his mother that he and I were already husband and wife, committed to each other. She had no right to destroy that.

To my disappointment, he said nothing.

Now that she'd had her way, Kunti turned to me. She allowed herself to smile as she welcomed me with a bouquet of gracious words. But I felt the thorns underneath.