The Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni Page B
Authors: Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
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shoots an arrow at the sound. From the beast's dying cry, he realizes he has killed a cow, that most sacred of animals.
I shut my eyes. I didn't wish to hear any more of this story. I willed Karna to walk away from the fallen animal before he was discovered as its killer. I knew he wouldn't.
In the morning he finds the owner of the cow, confesses his deed, and offers compensation. But the enraged brahmin says, You killed my cow when she was defenseless. You, too, will die when you have no means of protection. Karna pleads with him to change his curse. I'm not afraid of dying, he says. But let me die like a warrior. The brahmin refuses.
“How could Karna bear to keep on living after all these misfortunes?” I whispered.
Dhri shrugged. “Suicide is the coward's way. And whatever his faults, Karna isn't a coward.
“I told you this story against Krishna's advice for two reasons. One is that the unknown is always more fascinating than the known.”
(But in this my brother was mistaken. Nothing has more power over us than the truth. Each painful detail of Karna's story became a hook in my flesh, binding me to him, making me wish a happier life for him.)
“But also,” Dhri continued, “I want you to realize that Karna is cursed. Anyone joined to him will become cursed, too. I don't want that to happen to you—because you're my sister, but also becauseyou're born to change history. You don't have the luxury of behaving like an ordinary starstruck girl. The consequences of your action may destroy us all.”
I was annoyed at being pressed in this way. But even more, I was frightened by the conviction in his voice. All this time, I hadn't known that he'd taken my destiny as seriously as his own. Still, I spoke lightly. “I'm glad you have so much confidence in my power! But remember what Krishna said? We're nothing but pawns in Time's hands!”
“Even a pawn has a choice,” my brother said. “The day Sikhandi left for the forest, I longed to go with him. To leave the palace behind without a backward glance. To live out my life in peace under the trees. To escape the bloody fate toward which I've been pushed every moment since I was born. I could have done it. Sikhandi would have hidden me so skillfully that the entire Panchaal army wouldn't have found me. But I chose not to.”
“Why?” My throat was dry. How wrong I'd been all this time, thinking I knew my stoic, resigned brother.
“Two reasons held me back,” Dhri said. “One was you.”
“I would have gladly come with you,” I protested hotly. “If you'd only asked—”
“The other,” he interrupted, his harsh voice scraping against my ears, “was myself.”
Through the long night, out of love for Dhri, I tried harder than ever before to bar Karna from my mind. But can a sieve block the wind? Fragments of stories floated in my head, women who had saved their husbands by countering their ill luck with their virtue. Perhaps I could do the same for Karna? In the midst of that hope a regret leaped up like a leopard. Why hadn't Dhri sidestepped hisfate when he had the chance! I imagined him carefree under a canopy of gigantic mahogany trees, his brow erased of the creases that marred his handsomeness. But the next moment I was proud of his resolution—the way I had been of Karna for facing the angry brahmin. I knew I should not compare them, that my loyalty should be aimed only toward my brother. Yet as I swayed between sleep and waking, the two men began to melt together in my mind. How similar their nature and their destinies were, pressing them both toward tragedy, forcing them into acts of dangerous nobility. No matter how skilled they were at battle, ultimately it would not help them because they were forever defeated by their conscience. What cruel god fashioned the net of their minds this way, so they could never escape it?
And what traps had he set up for me?
12
Coiled on the silver tray like a white snake, the wedding garland was as
I shut my eyes. I didn't wish to hear any more of this story. I willed Karna to walk away from the fallen animal before he was discovered as its killer. I knew he wouldn't.
In the morning he finds the owner of the cow, confesses his deed, and offers compensation. But the enraged brahmin says, You killed my cow when she was defenseless. You, too, will die when you have no means of protection. Karna pleads with him to change his curse. I'm not afraid of dying, he says. But let me die like a warrior. The brahmin refuses.
“How could Karna bear to keep on living after all these misfortunes?” I whispered.
Dhri shrugged. “Suicide is the coward's way. And whatever his faults, Karna isn't a coward.
“I told you this story against Krishna's advice for two reasons. One is that the unknown is always more fascinating than the known.”
(But in this my brother was mistaken. Nothing has more power over us than the truth. Each painful detail of Karna's story became a hook in my flesh, binding me to him, making me wish a happier life for him.)
“But also,” Dhri continued, “I want you to realize that Karna is cursed. Anyone joined to him will become cursed, too. I don't want that to happen to you—because you're my sister, but also becauseyou're born to change history. You don't have the luxury of behaving like an ordinary starstruck girl. The consequences of your action may destroy us all.”
I was annoyed at being pressed in this way. But even more, I was frightened by the conviction in his voice. All this time, I hadn't known that he'd taken my destiny as seriously as his own. Still, I spoke lightly. “I'm glad you have so much confidence in my power! But remember what Krishna said? We're nothing but pawns in Time's hands!”
“Even a pawn has a choice,” my brother said. “The day Sikhandi left for the forest, I longed to go with him. To leave the palace behind without a backward glance. To live out my life in peace under the trees. To escape the bloody fate toward which I've been pushed every moment since I was born. I could have done it. Sikhandi would have hidden me so skillfully that the entire Panchaal army wouldn't have found me. But I chose not to.”
“Why?” My throat was dry. How wrong I'd been all this time, thinking I knew my stoic, resigned brother.
“Two reasons held me back,” Dhri said. “One was you.”
“I would have gladly come with you,” I protested hotly. “If you'd only asked—”
“The other,” he interrupted, his harsh voice scraping against my ears, “was myself.”
Through the long night, out of love for Dhri, I tried harder than ever before to bar Karna from my mind. But can a sieve block the wind? Fragments of stories floated in my head, women who had saved their husbands by countering their ill luck with their virtue. Perhaps I could do the same for Karna? In the midst of that hope a regret leaped up like a leopard. Why hadn't Dhri sidestepped hisfate when he had the chance! I imagined him carefree under a canopy of gigantic mahogany trees, his brow erased of the creases that marred his handsomeness. But the next moment I was proud of his resolution—the way I had been of Karna for facing the angry brahmin. I knew I should not compare them, that my loyalty should be aimed only toward my brother. Yet as I swayed between sleep and waking, the two men began to melt together in my mind. How similar their nature and their destinies were, pressing them both toward tragedy, forcing them into acts of dangerous nobility. No matter how skilled they were at battle, ultimately it would not help them because they were forever defeated by their conscience. What cruel god fashioned the net of their minds this way, so they could never escape it?
And what traps had he set up for me?
12
Coiled on the silver tray like a white snake, the wedding garland was as
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