The Palace of Illusions (39 page)

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.