The Forest of Enchantments Read online

  Today the black walls of the sanctuary gleamed in lamplight. The goddess’s eyes, too, gleamed as though the statue were alive. I watched the priest decorate the onyx image with mandara flowers, which are supposed to be her favourite. He placed the largest one—the one I’d revived—upon her head. But I was distracted. I couldn’t stop thinking of the vision I’d had, Ram and I together in the other world, the sweet intimacy we’d shared. Urmila’s mind must have travelled with mine, for as the priest waved the arati lamp and chanted, she whispered to me that she thought Lakshman was a fine-looking man. The plaintive longing in her voice resonated in my heart. And suddenly I was sure, like never before, that Ram was the right mate—the only one—for me.

  I prayed with more intensity than ever before, holding my breath until the room swam around me. Holy Mother, you know what love is. They say that you went through many troubles and penances to win Lord Shiva as your husband. You even defied your parents to follow him into the wilderness. Please help us. I ’ve never felt this way about a man—nor has Urmila, from what I can tell. Mother, guide Ram’s hand tomorrow as he strings Shiva’s bow so that Urmila and I can marry the two brothers.

  After I finished praying, I waited hopefully. I’d heard that sometimes the goddess presented a sign. But there was nothing.

  We were halfway back to the palace when we heard rapid footsteps behind us, the priest calling our names. He hurried up, out of breath.

  ‘The flower I placed on the idol’s head,’ he said, ‘has fallen.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Urmila asked.

  ‘You must have asked for a boon. The goddess is willing to grant it.’

  Urmila gripped my hand, her face afire with excitement, but the priest looked uneasy. ‘The flower fell to the left of the statue,’ he said. ‘You’ll get what you want, but it will not be what you expect. Success in the beginning will be followed by a thorny path.’

  ‘What about the end?’ I asked.

  ‘Unclear,’ the priest said. I could tell from his face that he wished the portent was better. ‘There may be joy. But equally, there may be disaster. And in between, heartbreak.’

  ‘I DON’T CARE ,’ U RMILA said defiantly as we walked on in the dusk. ‘I want to marry Lakshman. I’m willing to walk through innumerable koshas of thorns for him.’ She ignored the warning about heartbreak. That was my sister—she only heard what she wanted to hear. She grasped my hand and held it hard against her chest. ‘I’m tired of waiting. I want to live—now! Don’t you?’

  Her blood beat, rapid and erratic, against my palm. As though in answer, my heart lurched with longing. Suddenly I, too, was ready for marriage, along with any adventures it might bring.

  But I couldn’t let go so easily of the priest’s warning. I wanted Ram. I desired him more than I’d ever desired anyone. But I wondered uneasily what price the gods would exact in exchange.

  As we walked back to the palace, Urmila enumerating Lakshman’s many heroic attributes for my benefit, I was distracted by another thought. The feeling I’d experienced when I saw Ram—this was not the first time I’d been shaken by such a sense of familiarity. I’d felt it on the day, several years ago, when Ravan, the famed demon king who was loved by many, hated by more, and feared by all, came to Mithila to try for my hand.

  I REMEMBERED THE DAY well. Though they’d said nothing, I sensed my parents’ nervousness. Ravan’s reputation was a dark and paradoxical one, clouded in mystery. He came from an island in the faraway southern ocean, inhabited by monsters. No one at my father’s court knew where it was. He’d spent decades in austere prayer and received the boon of invincibility. He’d pillaged kingdom after kingdom, both earthly and celestial, and taken whatever he fancied: riches, women, slaves. Even the god-king Indra was terrified of him. The sun and the moon, taken in battle, served as doorkeepers in his palace, which had been built by Vishwakarma, the divine architect, out of Vajra, a celestial metal so strong that no weapon could harm it. He had wrested Kubera’s flying chariot, the pushpak viman, from him, even though Kubera was part-god and related to him besides. Paradoxically, he was a devotee of Shiva.

  I found Ravan’s story both fascinating and troublesome. If he was Shiva’s follower, might it give him the power to string the bow? And if so, what form would my life take?

  When I entered the hall, Ravan was already there, standing in front of the bow. He was the tallest and most striking of all my suitors, at once fierce and handsome. In front of him, my stately father appeared little more than a child. There was a dark shining around him. I realized—though how I knew this I couldn’t tell—that he’d thrown a glamor-spell over himself, and what we were seeing was not his true appearance, which was at once more majestic and terrible. My mother had surrounded me with her women, dressing us alike, all of us veiled in heavy silks of the same hue, but somehow he knew, right away, who I was. He bowed to me with a familiar smile, his teeth very white against his thick, dark mustache, as though he owned me already.

  What if he succeeds? I thought, lightheaded with sudden terror. I’d heard that the island he lived on was invisible to all except those he allowed to see it. No one who went there ever returned. Nor did they wish to, for they no longer remembered who they were. If he took me with him, I’d never see my parents, my sister, my land. I’d lose myself in him.

  This last thought pulled at me, cool and seductive as an underwater current.

  But the bow had not budged, although Ravan had tried again and again to lift it, his muscles straining, the veins bulging on his forehead, his eyes turning red with effort and rage. Finally, he’d given up with a cry so loud and full, I feared the hall would collapse around us.

  ‘Be thankful that it’s the bow of Shiva, whom I hold in great reverence,’ he said to my father, who stood pale beneath his kingly demeanour, not knowing what would happen to his people now. ‘Otherwise I’d have destroyed your entire kingdom and taken your daughter by force.’ He raised his hand and clenched it. A cloud belching thunder and fire materialized, and into it he disappeared.

  I stood wordless and shaken, like the rest of the assembly. But the flash of a vision I’d had as he vanished distracted me.

  Ravan and I had been together in that same great Elsewhere that I sensed today with Ram. In that shimmering, shifting place, Ravan had knelt weeping, except he didn’t look like the Ravan I’d just seen. Who he was in that world I didn’t know, though clearly he was a celestial being. I couldn’t see his face. Don’t send me away from you , he beseeched, his palms joined, his head bent low. I can’t live without you. His voice shook with misery—and with love. But he wasn’t talking to me.

  To whom had he spoken? And what did all this mean?

  Three

  I WAS USUALLY INDULGENT TOWARDS Urmila’s chatter, but tonight as we lay in the bedroom we’d shared since we were girls, I felt edgy with impatience. I needed to do something this night, but I couldn’t do it until she fell asleep. I yawned pointedly while she repeated the tales she’d heard of Lakshman’s exploits. When she forced me to respond, I spoke in drowsy monosyllables. But she was too excited to sleep.

  When she was this way, I’d learned over the years, only one thing calmed her down: my singing. So I made up a song, one I felt was appropriate for tonight, repeating it over and over until her eyes closed and her breath slowed.

  The wind blows through the forest

  And comes to rest on the branches

  Of the pomegranate tree in our father’s garden.

  The day has come, it sings.

  The heroes are on their way.

  Faces of gold, eyes glimmering like mountain lakes,

  Will they bear our hearts away with them

  To our destinies?

  I slipped out of bed and, carefully avoiding the night guards, went to visit Shiva’s bow. Having come from the realm of the gods, the bow knew many things. Perhaps it would provide answers to the questions that troubled me.

  To reach the bow, which was housed in the
court-room of the old palace, a distance from our living quarters, I had to walk through the silent palace grounds, the night fragrant with gardenias and stars. The visitors’ palace, in which Ram was sleeping, lay in my path. No. I confess: I chose a longer way so that I’d have to pass by it. Outside, I stopped for a moment—I couldn’t help it, though I knew it would be a terrible scandal if anyone discovered me here.

  I imagined Ram. He would have bathed and rubbed scented oil onto his travel-weary limbs before sleep. Now he lay stretched out on the bed, his body dark against the conch-white sheets, his chest smelling of musk. Beneath closed lids, his eyes flickered. Was he dreaming? Dream of me , I willed him before I forced myself to continue on to the Hall of the Bow. The doors to the hall were unlocked, as I’d hoped. And there were no soldiers on duty outside. By now, my father knew that people were too afraid of the bow to venture near it.

  MY MOTHER HAD TOLD me the story of how the bow came to us. A few years after King Janak had found me, the sage Parashuram, who in his notorious wrath had massacred seven generations of the corrupt kings of Bharatvarsha, appeared in my father’s court in a flash of lightning. In his hands he held a bow.

  ‘I’ve come to marry your daughter Sita,’ the sage announced. ‘Bring her to me.’ His dreadlocks danced like snakes and there was a fearsome frown on his face.

  At first my father was too horrified at the sage’s demand to respond. He feared, too, the unleashing of the sage’s anger upon Mithila if he refused. Finally he stammered that this was indeed a great honour. But perhaps a girl who had just turned five was a bit young for the venerable sage?

  Parashuram had let out a roar of laughter. ‘It’s a joke, you gullible fool! I vowed lifelong celibacy long ago, don’t you know that? Ah, but the look on your face! Priceless! Actually, I’ve come with a message from my lord, Shiva. And a gift. He’s sent you his bow to guard Sita because you’re too simple and trusting to protect her yourself. Soon she’ll grow into a beautiful woman, and gaggles of suitors will flock around her. However, she must wait for a special being, a divine prince born to right a great wrong, to restore order to the universe. But he can only fulfil his destiny if Sita becomes his wife. No, don’t ask for details. You wouldn’t understand, even if I wasted my time explaining. Just get this into your head: Shiva has sent this divine mandate—you can give your daughter in marriage only to the man who can string his great bow, the Haradhanu. That should keep the riffraff away. Your job is simple: just wait for the right man to show up.’

  My father eyed the bow with skepticism. It didn’t look too different from his own bows, except for the unusual carvings along its length. Letters, perhaps, in an unknown language. ‘But who is this man?’ he asked unhappily. ‘And how long will we have to wait for him?’ Divine mandates were worrisome and inconvenient; they tended to upset human plans. And the window for a girl’s marriage, even if she was a princess, was a small one.

  The sage gave a great thundery guffaw. ‘Stop your foolish fretting! Everything will happen at the right moment.’ He beckoned to Shatananda. ‘You look like a competent fellow. Send out a proclamation about the bride-price throughout the land. Be sure to emphasize Shiva’s wrath. It wouldn’t hurt to describe the Haradhanu’s special qualities, either—you’ ll find out what they are as soon as I leave. You’ll still get some fools who think too highly of themselves, but not nearly as many as would’ ve overrun your court otherwise.’ He laid the bow on the ground, paid obeisance to it, and disappeared in another flash of light.

  When he recovered from the shock of these unusual occurrences, my father tried to pick up the bow, intending to keep it safe in our armoury. But it was impossibly heavy. An entire phalanx of soldiers failed to lift it. My father was forced to let the bow lie where it had been set and build another court for himself. Now the old palace sat empty except when a new suitor came.

  I OPENED THE DOOR of the hall, and there it lay in the middle of the floor, the Haradhanu. A ripple of joy went through me, as always, when I saw it. The bow reciprocated: I felt a wave of warmth emanating from it, for the bow and I had a special bond.

  The first time I came across the Haradhanu, I was nine years old. Tired of the noisy and elaborate game of doll-weddings that Urmila and my visiting cousins, Mandavi and Srutakirti, were playing, I’d been searching for a space where I could be alone. Even at that age I loved solitude. But wherever I went, people jostled around me, wanting things, asking questions. Finally, exasperated, I’d pushed open the door of the cool, dark hall, intending to hide in a corner until it was time for our midday meal. The bow lay in the centre of the floor, compact and intriguing, dusty with fear-filled neglect. My parents had warned me to stay away from it, though they hadn’t told me anything else about it yet. Generally I was an obedient child. Why, then, did I walk over to it and run my hands over its carved surface. It was made of a strange material, neither wood nor metal. Under my palm it thrummed and grew flesh-warm, and I felt its spirit. Without words, the bow began to convey to me mysterious truths. I sat there for hours that day, mesmerized, though afterwards I couldn’t remember anything.

  The next morning I told my mother that the bow required a caretaker: me. She refused. She told me it was a magical object, and such objects had strange and dangerous powers beyond an ordinary human’s understanding. But I was unusually stubborn.

  ‘I have to do it,’ I kept saying.

  She denied me—until I added, ‘The bow wants me to.’

  ‘How would you know that?’ she challenged.

  ‘It told me.’

  My mother’s eyes widened in surprise. I didn’t know if she believed me, but she no longer ordered me to stay away.

  I spent many afternoons polishing the bow, telling it my thoughts, singing to it. Although my voice was unremarkable, it seemed to please the bow. Some days it grew magically light in my hands, allowing me to lift it with ease. But after a while, it would grow heavier, so that I had to struggle to hold it aloft.

  ‘I’m making you stronger,’ it said, and that was true. Not only did my muscles grow more powerful, and my bones sturdier, but I felt a thrumming energy passing from it into my body. When I mentioned this, the bow sounded pleased.

  ‘Good that you’re absorbing it,’ it said. ‘You’ll need strength of many kinds in the future.’

  Once when I’d raised the bow to string it—because sometimes it instructed me to do that—my mother came into the room, looking for me. I put the bow down quickly, but it was too late. She’d seen me. I braced myself for her questions—and possibly a scolding. Was it forbidden to handle Shiva’s bow in this manner? But she backed out of the room without a word and told no one what she’d witnessed.

  I was thankful for that, but aware of this also: something changed that day between my mother and myself. She no longer saw me as her daughter—or at least, not only as her daughter. Sometimes I’d look up from my daily activities—painting a scroll, embroidering a shawl, grinding herbs for a potion, tying up a young shoot—and find her eyes upon me, a little anxious, a little awed.

  To see awe in a parent’s eyes—it is a strange, lonely feeling.

  THE BOW, HOWEVER, WASN’T done with me. It would make me sit in front of it, eyes closed, touching it. Then the palace would recede, and I would find myself in a horrific place, a different one each time. I’d be imprisoned in a tiny dungeon whose stones pressed in upon me so that I couldn’t breathe. Or I’d be buried chest-deep in quicksand and sinking further down each moment. Or I’d be in a cave, my back to the rough stone wall, while a raging fire got closer and closer. My challenge would be to remain calm and devise the best strategy to deal with my situation. Sometimes there was no escape, and I had to learn to withdraw within myself and find the strength to endure. These mental lessons were the most difficult of all. I was never sure whether I mastered them or not. If I asked the bow, it would only say, frustratingly, ‘There’s more to learn. Because a trained mind is your strongest ally—and an untrained one your worst enem
y.’

  The time I spent with the bow was not always hard work. Sometimes it was pure magic. Once, in a vision, it showed me the gigantic ice peaks of Kailash from which it had come, blue in the thin air, of this world and yet not so.

  ‘How amazing that you’ve come from somewhere so far away, so magical,’ I said, a little enviously. ‘I’ve only taken day-journeys from our palace, and never alone. Urmila’s always with me, and my nurse, and often my parents, not to mention troops of soldiers.’

  ‘Don’t fret,’ the bow said. ‘You have many journeys in your future, some of which you’ll wish you didn’t have to undertake. And as for coming from somewhere far away, you, too, have done that.’

  ‘From where? Tell me. Please!’ I held my breath, hoping the bow would finally divulge to me what I’d always longed to know. Who my mother was. My father.

  But the bow replied that it was referring to a different kind of place, one which I must remember by myself. It added that I was no ordinary person but one with a complicated destiny. My great sacrifice, it indicated, would save the world. Or did it mean that I was the great sacrifice? The bow was often troublingly ambiguous.

  Once it told me I wasn’t a woman at all.

  ‘What am I, then?’

  ‘A goddess, obviously.’

  There was that word, again.

  It wouldn’t explain further.

  TONIGHT I ’D BARELY ENTERED the hall when I was struck by an enormous surge of excitement and impatience emanating from the bow. It took me a moment to understand what it was conveying to me: its task on our mortal earth, Bhulok, was almost done.

  ‘Are you so happy to leave me, then?’ I asked, a little hurt.

  ‘I’ve appreciated your care, princess. You are, as I’ve said, a special being. But I’m ready to be reunited with my lord, Shiva the auspicious. To be in his hand is a happiness beyond explanation. Perhaps you’ll feel a little of it when you see him—for you’ll do so one day. In the moment of your blackest despair, he’ll bring you hope. No, don’t ask me anything more. Already I’ve said more than I should. Watch carefully for him, though. He’ll be disguised, as he often is.’