The Forest of Enchantments Read online

  This was intriguing, and on any other day, I’d have tried to cajole more information from the bow. But, newly pierced with love, I was interested in a different question.

  ‘Tell me about the relationship between your Lord and his goddess consort,’ I said. ‘I’ve heard that they are much enamoured of each other.’

  The bow said, ‘Ah, the relationship of Shiva and Shakti! It’s the perfect connection of male and female, equal yet splendidly different. It’s based on love and respect and knowing each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Yes, the gods also have their weaknesses. It’s part of the divine play. My Lord and the Goddess are ideal helpmates to each other. Sometimes they fight, too. It’s like a huge tempest unleashed over the ocean. But always they forgive each other—for without forgiveness what love can there be? And when they come together afterwards, that union is the sweetest.’

  I listened mesmerized, visualizing the goddess with her divine mate, wondering if it was possible for humans to replicate this perfect relationship. Would I be blessed with such a love in my life?

  I forced myself back to present matters. ‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘does Ram come from the same realm as I do? Is that why I feel this closeness to him? This sense of recognition? And am I going to marry him?’

  The bow spoke in the oblique manner it favoured when it was reluctant to divulge information. ‘Ram is the greatest of the great, the saviour of the good, the destroyer of demons. You’ve been connected to him since before the ages of man. Out of love for him you’ve taken on this human body and agreed to be the cause for the final battle of Treta Yug between the forces of light and darkness.’

  I wasn’t sure what the words meant, but there was a resonance to them that seemed to lodge deep within my body. Still, I protested, saying, ‘It sounds like lines from a song, ancient and heroic, quite disconnected from my little life. Am I really going to fight the forces of darkness?’

  The bow didn’t dignify my query with an answer.

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Remain true to yourself—and to your heart. Be courageous and remember, even the blackest night must end in dawn.’

  That was frustratingly vague, but I knew nothing would be achieved by asking the bow what exactly it meant. It would tell me what it always said: all will be clarified at the right time.

  I decided to follow a different tack. ‘Here’s something really strange. You remember Ravan?’

  The bow snorted. I gathered that it wasn’t too impressed by the demon king.

  ‘Yes. How can I forget? He tried to lift me three times before he gave up and rushed back to that island of his. He was so furious, I thought he might explode.’

  ‘When I saw him, I felt the same way as with Ram—as though I recognized him from some other time. How can that be?’

  The bow was silent for a while, as though weighing how much it might reveal. Finally it said, ‘I’m telling you things I shouldn’t, because I’ve become overly fond of you through the years. You know Ravan from the same divine realm. You’re connected to him, too, but in a different way. He came to earth because of a curse. Now, trapped in his demonic body, as you are trapped in your earthly one, he’s forgotten who he really is.’

  My body. People often said I was beautiful, with a pale golden, glimmering beauty. At such times I knew to remain modestly silent, but I realized they spoke the truth. I’d never thought of my body as a trap.

  ‘What do you mean, I’m trapped in my body?’

  ‘Anything that makes us forget our true selves is a trap, princess—even something we love or define as beautiful. Our time is almost up, so I’ll end with one last piece of advice: in the midst of darkness, remember this conversation, what I told you today. It’ll help you see past the darkness. It’ll help you endure.’

  Then it was silent. I realized with a pang that it would never speak to me again.

  BACK IN MY BED, I tossed, restless. I wanted to sleep but couldn’t, and this distressed me in my girlish vanity. I’ll have circles under my eyes in the morning, I thought. I don’t want Ram to see me like that.

  Finally, in the small hours before dawn, I fell into a dream. I was in a beautiful forest. Every leaf gleamed emerald. Every brook sang a heavenly, heartbreaking song. Ram sat beside me in a hut whose walls and roof were made from flowering vines I’d planted and nurtured: champak, juthika, malli. Around me rose an intoxicating smell. At first I thought it was from the flowers. Then I realized it was the scent of Ram’s body, headier than any human-made perfume. I moved closer to run my hand over the warm, protective expanse of his chest. He put an arm around me and looked at me with such tenderness that I thought I would melt to my core.

  ‘You are mine,’ I said, ‘and I am yours.’

  ‘But of course,’ he said. His eyes were as deep as eternity. I parted my lips to kiss him, but there was someone outside the hut. It angered me. Who could it be, disturbing our idyll?

  I saw the flash of gleaming gold. It was a deer, the most amazing deer I had seen in this world, or even in that other unnamed one that came to me in fragments. It stood in the open doorway and regarded me with intelligent, mournful eyes. How soft would its neck be if I stroked it?

  ‘I must have it,’ I cried.

  ‘This is no ordinary deer,’ Ram said. ‘It has the power to destroy us. Forget it.’

  I was shaken by a strange and sudden longing. An anger. I wanted the deer. I needed it. It would make up, a little, for the things I gave up to be in the forest. Kingdom. Queenship. The child that I couldn’t have because how could I subject a child to this wild, wandering life of exile?

  ‘If your professions of love are true,’ I said in a cold, formal tone that surprised me because it wasn’t like me to speak in this manner, ‘bring me the deer. If not, I will understand that the words of the heir of the house of Raghu are worth less than the ashes that are left behind when a fire dies.’

  At this, a stillness descended upon Ram’s face.

  ‘I will go to capture it, then,’ he said. ‘But know this: my going is the end of our happiness.’ And his face filled with a sorrow so deep that I awoke weeping.

  Four

  THERE MUST HAVE BEEN MUSIC when Ram walked into the Hall of the Bow that morning, because there was always music when the suitors came: the great boom of drums, the baying of the long trumpets, slender flute-notes drawn out like silver wire. I didn’t notice them. Strings of marigold must have stretched from pillar to alabaster pillar, auspicious yellows and oranges as was the custom. I didn’t see them. Deafening cheers by the crowd—because the citizens of Mithila were always welcomed at these events, and they always came. I heard nothing. Which sari had my mother dressed me in that morning? Which jewels had she twined in my hair, which ornaments had she fastened with loving anxiety around my neck, my waist? I only saw Ram’s face, those lotus-petal eyes. The lines of his lips were as tender as in my dream. You’re mine, I whispered. I’m yours . He tilted his head as though he’d heard me, all the way across the great hall. I thought I saw him smile.

  Perhaps time, too, was caught as I was in the dazzle of that smile. The next events seemed to occur within the slow glide of a dream. Ram picked up the bow and, leaning into it, pressed its lower edge down with his foot until it bent. Did he conquer it with his strength, that strength which had destroyed hosts of rakshasas, or did the bow aid him, turning light as a twig in his hand as it had in mine. Was this the man it had been waiting for? His arm moved in a sinewy arc as he looped the string over the other edge—and thus the Haradhanu was strung. How effortless it seemed!

  A cry of astonishment rose up from the viewers, and then a roar of applause. I smiled and stepped forward with the victory garland in my hands and my heart beating a rapid rhythm of joy. But Ram wasn’t done. There was an absorbed look on his face as though his thoughts were far away. He tightened the string further until the bow creaked in protest. Ram continued pulling at the string; a great groaning came from the bow. Suddenly there was an explosion of
sparks, blinding us. By the time I could see again, the bow was on the floor, shattered into innumerable pieces.

  I was so shocked, I almost dropped the garland.

  The applause in the hall died abruptly, replaced by consternation. The wilful destruction of a sacred object was an act of blasphemy. The consequences would surely be dire. I looked at my bow, its broken body strewn all over the floor, and a great sorrow welled up in me. Why would Ram indulge in such a wanton deed?

  I wanted to kneel and gather the pieces and hold them close to my heart in a last embrace. I wanted to say goodbye and thank you and sorry as well. But just as I gestured to an attendant to take the garland from me, a shard of light sped from the fragments, like a comet reversed, and disappeared through the ceiling. I thought I heard music, high and unearthly, a melody at once of farewell and joy. Hearing it, my sorrow fell away.

  When later I mentioned this to Urmila, she said, ‘You’re always imagining things.’

  ‘What have you done, Ram!’ my father cried, aghast. ‘You’ve broken Shiva’s sacred bow.’

  The stern abstraction was gone from Ram’s face, and he looked young and confused, so that I wanted to protect him. ‘I can’t explain it,’ he said. ‘But I knew it had to be done. This happens to me sometimes. It’s as though some inner voice guides me.’

  I thought this fascinating, but I could see that my father was troubled at the thought of a son-in-law who acted according to the dictates of voices audible only to him. Would his daughter be safe with such a man? I wanted to tell him that I would be fine. The bow had explained to me already that Ram wasn’t like ordinary men. Naturally, his behaviour wouldn’t be ordinary. I accepted that. After all, I wasn’t completely ordinary myself.

  I did wonder, though, at what other times had Ram been similarly guided. What else had he destroyed?

  I’d have to ask him that, I thought. A smile tugged at my lips as I imagined where and when such a conversation might take place.

  Perhaps I should have been more worried, but I wasn’t. I was in love, and love is wild and optimistic, especially in the beginning. Thus I did not think of this: what else might he destroy in the future?

  NOW IT WAS TIME for the exchange of garlands, which would betroth us until the wedding could take place. My father called me forward. My breath came fast as I raised my garland, jaati and madhavi, while Urmila held up a second one, made of scented champak, one of my favourite flowers, for Ram to place around my neck. I smiled at my husband-to-be with a shy and tremulous love. I am yours , I said again silently, and it seemed to me that with this thought my heart left my body and entered his.

  But Ram wouldn’t meet my eyes. Nor would he take the garland Urmila held out to him. He turned, instead, to my father. ‘I can’t proceed any further without the permission and blessings of my father,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t be right. King Dasharath sent me with Sage Vishwamitra to destroy the rakshasas that were obstructing his holy rituals. He knows nothing of our journey to Mithila, nor of the events that have occurred since.’

  I lowered my arms, my face burning. Ram’s tone was respectful; I couldn’t fault what he said. Still, I felt rejected and ashamed of my eagerness. Anxious, too. What if King Dasharath didn’t agree to this marriage? He was a more powerful and important monarch than my father. Perhaps he would deem this alliance unsuitable. What then would be my fate?

  And suddenly I was angry. Filial duty was important to Ram. Good. But what of his duty towards me?

  My father looked concerned, his eyes clouding. But he spoke calmly. ‘You’re right to want your father’s blessing. I’ll send a messenger to King Dasharath at once. We’re well acquainted, having fought side by side at the battle of Vaijayant. I’m sanguine that he will agree to this alliance.’

  Vishwamitra, who had stood silently in a corner, watching the unfolding drama with his hooded eyes, came forward now. ‘I will go myself,’ he said. ‘King Janak, begin the wedding preparations. I pledge that I will bring Dasharath back with me. This marriage must take place.’

  Must? I was glad that the sage was on my side, but that was a strangely urgent word.

  My father bowed his thanks, but Ram raised his chin stubbornly. ‘There’s one other matter. I’ve promised my brothers that we’ll get married at the same time—and into the same family, so as to avoid the conflicts that occur so often among wives.’ A darkness passed over his face as he said this, and I wondered at its cause. ‘Therefore, before we ask my father’s permission, I must make sure that King Janak can fulfil my vow.’

  My father looked thunderstruck. In the women’s corner, my mother’s face was drawn and pale. Even Vishwamitra was taken aback. ‘Be reasonable, Ram!’ he barked. ‘King Janak has a second daughter, Urmila. Let’s marry her to Lakshman. Surely that’ll be fulfillment enough.’

  I heard the sharp, delighted intake of Urmila’s breath. But Ram shook his head, and his face was stubborn as stone. ‘I’ve given my word, Sage. It can’t be broken for the sake of convenience. That is not the custom of the House of Raghu.’

  His words, eerily echoing the ones I’d uttered in my dream, sent a shock through me.

  Everyone began to speak at once, arguing, trying to find their way around this new hurdle. Their voices rattled like stones inside my head. Urmila was on the verge of tears.

  I thought of what the bow had taught me. I retreated to a place of silence within. My distress fell away and I was able to pray.

  Divine Mother, find us a way out of this mess .

  As though in response, words rose up within me like a fountain, though I had no idea of what I was about to say.

  Low but resolute, a voice—mine yet not mine—cut through the cacophony. My parents looked startled, but it was Ram I was addressing. I saw wonder in his eyes and realized that this was the first time he was hearing me speak. ‘Your desire to avoid conflict among brothers is a good one, Prince of Ayodhya, but perhaps you should have informed us of this vow before you strung Shiva’s bow? Surely you knew that once her bride-price is paid, a woman can’t marry anyone else.’

  I was horrified at what I’d just said. It was rude to reprimand a guest, no matter what he’d done. Additionally, for a woman to speak up about her own marriage in this way was considered shameless. Even if all Ram’s conditions were met, would he want a wife like this?

  But deep inside me someone—was it the goddess?—said, It’s important to speak your mind to the man you’re going to marry. What kind of relationship would you have if you couldn’t do that?

  Ram looked at me silently. Was that compunction in his eyes? Was it guilt? Or was it displeasure?

  The goddess wasn’t done with me. More words spilled out of my mouth. ‘Fortunately, as it happens, there are two other unmarried daughters in the house of Janak. Father, send a messenger to my uncle, King Kushadhwaja. Ask him to hurry here with my cousins, Mandavi and Shrutakirti.’

  My final words were again for Ram. ‘Would that satisfy your vow, O prince of the great house of Raghu?’ Underneath its politeness, my voice was laced with sarcasm.

  Ram’s brows drew together in a frown. Surely he was angry now.

  O Goddess, I thought, I’ve ruined everything with my sharp tongue.

  But after a moment he bowed and said, ‘Indeed it will, princess. I thank you for finding such an excellent solution.’ There was a flicker in his eyes. I wanted to believe that it was glad relief, perhaps even respect. But possibly it was only surprise that a mere girl could untangle such a knotty situation.

  THAT EVENING, THE BROTHERS joined our family for a meal on our terrace, among the sleeping flowers. We sat on cushions on the cool stone. Lamps hung from alcoves around us, swinging lightly in the breeze. Nearby a musician plucked on the strings of her veena and the notes rose like longing into the sky. The food was simple, as it usually was in my father’s house: rice cooked with ghee, lentils, a couple of vegetables, and a milk dessert prepared personally by my mother as a special welcome to guests who might soon bec
ome family. What spiced the meal was our anticipation—and, in my case, anxiety. Vishwamitra had departed for Ayodhya, and Shatananda had gone to bring Uncle Kushadhwaja and my cousins back with him. Would they be successful in their quests? My father was optimistic, already treating Ram and Lakshman like the sons he’d never had. But I set little store by his confidence that all would turn out well because it was what he always said.

  Urmila, however, didn’t share my doubts. Now that her marriage to Lakshman (in her mind) was only a matter of time, she dropped her shyness and reverted to her usual lively, chattering self. She was full of questions, and in answer, Ram told us stories of their adventures while on the road with Vishwamitra. Lakshman, visibly proud of his brother’s prowess, added details of valour that Ram had modestly left out. In the lamplight that threw up shadows of enchantment around us, we listened as the brothers painted for us their travels through the forests and their encounters with the rakshasas. I was forced to admit to myself, with some chagrin, that Shatananda seemed to have been right. The rakshasas, according to the brother, were a ferocious species. They knew strange enchantments, shooting arrows of fire or raining blood down on their foes. They could grow to enormous sizes in a heartbeat. As she listened, Urmila gripped my hand—but surreptitiously. She wished Lakshman to think her brave. My own breath grew uneven as I heard of Ram’s battle with the demoness Tarhaka, who liked to fashion her clothing from the skins of brahmins she had tortured and killed.

  ‘She came at Ram brandishing a huge sal tree,’ Lakshman said, ‘threatening to make a meal of him. But he dispatched her with the Vajra Baan.’

  ‘What’s a Vajra Baan?’ Urmila whispered.