The Palace of Illusions (38 page)

Our twelve years in the forest were ending. Now, according to the wager Yudhisthir had lost, we would have to spend a year in hiding. If during this year Duryodhan discovered our whereabouts, we would have to endure another twelve years in exile. Yudhisthir decided we would spend the year in the kingdom of Matsya, just south of Indra Prastha. “No one will think of searching for us this close,” he said. “We'll disguise ourselves and take up jobs in King Virat's palace. I've heard his household is large and loosely managed. As long as we don't draw attention to ourselves, we should be safe. But no one must suspect that we know each other. If we come across each other, we must act as though we're strangers. On no account must we contact each other. Remember, if we're detected, we'll be forced to endure another twelve years of exile.”

As agreed, I came into the city of Virat alone in the evening, when the sky was a bruised blue. I stepped hastily, uneasily, along the busy thoroughfare that led to the palace. Never in my life had I ventured on a public street without an escort. With difficulty I maneuvered my way around raucous peddlers pushing carts and horsemen who spurred their mounts along, uncaring of pedestrians. Men stared at me—and who could blame them? All decent women were safe in their homes by this time. Besides, in my sari made of flattened
bark, my crow's nest of hair that hadn't seen a comb in years, I must have looked like a madwoman. I tried to ignore their comments, tried to hide my distress. Somewhere in the shadows, dressed in the rough homespun a cook might wear, Bheem was watching to make sure I reached Queen Sudeshna's palace safely. I didn't want him to forget Yudhisthir's injunctions and come forward to help me.

To keep my mind off my own misery, I thought of my husbands. Once I was inside the gates, Bheem would make his way to the royal kitchens and ask for a job. He would prepare delicacies for men who weren't even worthy of washing the dishes from which he ate! Yudhisthir was already settled in the palace. A few days ago he'd dressed himself in a brahmin's white dhoti, fastened tulsi beads around his neck, and entered the old king's court. He said that he excelled in philosophic conversation and in the game of dice and needed a home. Virat, who loved to gamble, took him on. Now Yudhisthir, upholder of truth, would have to learn to flatter courtiers. Nakul and Sahadev were working in the king's barns. Over the years Virat had lovingly collected the finest of cows from all over Bharat. They would care for these. Taking leave of me, they'd tried to cheer me, reminding me how much they loved animals. But I knew the truth: they would be toiling in the hot sun, cleaning dung from sheds, enduring the jibes of overseers.

And Arjun, our warrior? In the inky depths of last night he'd spoken the words that would activate Urvasi's curse. By morning his hair cascaded down his back. Without mustache or beard his face looked naked. His form was lithe and slender, draped in red silk. When he walked, his hips swayed; his smile was shy yet confident. How had his body learned these feminine subtleties? There were coral bracelets on his arms. When he asked me to braid his hair, I couldn't stop my tears. He was going to be Princess Uttara's dance tutor. He, too, would live in the women's quarters. I would have to
curb my emotions at the sight of his lost manhood, at the jibes to which, as a eunuch, he was bound to be subjected.

“How will I spend an entire year without even one of you to confide my troubles?” I said.

Arjun dried my eyes with the edge of his sari. Perhaps the change had been more than physical, for he spoke with a new gentleness. “You'll do it. You're stronger than you think. Remember what Krishna said when he came to bid us goodbye:
Time is even and merciful. No matter how long this year might seem, it will in truth be no longer than a year of joy in Indra Prastha
.” He'd concealed his beloved Gandiva in a sami tree outside the city, wrapping it in cowhide to keep it safe from a year's weathering. I thought of Krishna, who had driven us in his chariot to the edge of the sleeping city. Leaving us, he'd waved as nonchalantly as though we'd see each other in a week. I held fast to the two images: the wrapped weapon and Krishna's smile, cutting through the dark. As I knocked with a shaky fist on the queen's gate, readying myself to beg for a servant's job, somehow they consoled me. I would be patient. I would be brave. Even this year would pass.

Sudeshna said: “I'm sorry to hear of all the troubles you've had, but I can't hire you. Even though you've been Queen Draupadi's attendant all these years, doing her clothes and hair. You must be good—everyone knows how bad-tempered this woman was! Is it really true that she used to throw things at her husbands when she got angry?

“You're too beautiful, that's why. Even with your torn clothes and dirty hair. Imagine what'll happen once you clean up! What if my husband falls in love with you? Or my son? Or my brother? Although I'm not too worried about my brother. He can take care of
himself. You've heard of him? The greatest fighter in Matsya— maybe in all of Bharat, and the general of Virat's army? He's always falling in and out of love with my maids. He makes sure to give them enough gifts to keep them quiet, though, when he tires of them. He's a generous man, my Keechak.

“You say you're going to remain veiled at all times? And stay in the inner apartments? Never come out when any man is around? You've taken a vow not to beautify yourself until Queen Draupadi gains revenge for the way she was insulted?

“That's loyal of you, though a bit excessive.

“What's that about your husbands? They're gandharvas, half-men, half-gods? You say they're watching you at all times, even though you've been cursed and must be separated from each other? They're powerful and extremely hot-tempered? Well, that should give you plenty of incentive to remain chaste!

“I guess it's safe enough to employ you.

“That's always been my problem—I'm too kindhearted. Just can't say no.

“So can you do my hair the way Draupadi wore it for the Rajasuya yagna? Let's see—Virat's going to have a big gathering this coming full moon—some kind of poetry festival, he likes those things. How about then? And can you get rid of these spots on my face?

“Good, good! I've a feeling we're going to get along well.

“What's your name, by the way? You want me to just call you
maid
? Oh, very well, if that's what you prefer.

“Now tell me something I've been dying to know: How did Draupadi manage to control five husbands? I can barely handle Vi-rat, and he's old! What kind of sleeping arrangements did they have? Oh yes: one more thing. Those gandharva husbands of yours—how is it, being married to them? I mean, do they have the same kind of equipment as men do?”

At times I felt the year would never end, that time had spitefully dug in its heels. It was humiliating to be at the beck and call of a woman as feckless as Sudeshna.
Fetch my mirror, sairindhri. Make some more sandalwood paste—the red kind—and grind it smoother this time. I don't like this hairstyle. Do it over!
Even amidst the worst hardships of the forest, I'd had my dignity. Our guests had shown me respect. The people I loved had stayed in touch, even if I didn't see them often. And Krishna. Was there ever a time when he hadn't visited me for an entire year? My chest ached with a strange thirst when I thought of that. I wondered if one could die of loneliness.

I must be fair to Sudeshna: in her scatterbrained way, she was kind. She told me I could sit in her private garden whenever I wanted.
I know you're sad
.
It'll give you a little peace.
But perhaps it would have been better if she had been truly callous. For it was in her garden that the amorous Keechak would see me.

Sudeshna's garden was what I had expected: large, unimaginative, overfull of ostentatious, expensive blooms. Still, I couldn't stay away from it even though it only made me long for my own intricately arranged garden, where around every corner there had been a surprise: a single seat half hidden under a mountain ebony tree, a row of usir releasing their pungent odor—but only if one knew to rub their leaves. Lost now, all lost: the grove of banyans, fully grown, thanks to Maya's magic; the ketaki flowers, palest gold; the simsupa trees that whispered my name. At one end of Sudeshna's garden, I found an asoka—the same tree under which, in the Ra-mayana, Sita had borne her sorrows. When I had a moment, I sat under it, trying to draw upon her fortitude. She'd lifted her mind from the demonesses taunting her and sent it to her beloved Ram and
found peace. But I didn't know how to do that. When I wasn't distracted by my tasks, anger filled my mind like dense smoke: anger for the Kauravas, whom I blamed for my present condition; anger for Yudhisthir, whose foolish nobility had made him their prey; anger for my other husbands, who obeyed him blindly; and anger for Karna, with whom I had no right to be angry.

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.