The Forest of Enchantments Read online

  ‘It’s a divine lightning arrow. Much more than an arrow, really. Only great warriors are given the gift of invoking it,’ Lakshman explained kindly. ‘Ram has many such astras—some far more powerful. He was the best student at our gurukul, so our teacher passed on the secret knowledge of these astras to him.’ The glance he sent towards his brother was one of pure adoration.

  ‘He taught you the use of many astras, too,’ Ram said with a smile, but Lakshman had moved on to the next part of his tale.

  ‘When Tarhaka fell to the ground, the forest shook as though it was an earthquake. Her corpse was as large as a mountain. Her fangs—she’d opened her mouth for a death scream, so I had a good look at them—were like elephant tusks, stained red from all the blood she’d drunk. Ram went on to kill thousands of other demons—no exaggeration, you can ask Sage Vishwamitra—who were terrorizing the holy ones. Their magic tricks were no match for my brother!’

  ‘You killed as many rakshasas as I did, brother,’ Ram said mildly. ‘And remember, our strength was enhanced by the blessings of the holy ones.’

  ‘There you go, being over-modest again!’ Lakshman said. ‘Kings need to know their own worth, and to make sure that others know it, too.’

  ‘It’s our father who is king,’ Ram’s voice was stern. ‘May he reign for many years more.’

  Lakshman bowed his head in obedience, though the line of his lips was stubborn. It was clear that in all things his allegiance lay with Ram, that he saw himself at once as his brother’s prime protector and follower. A small disquiet rose up in me. Even if all went well and the four marriages took place as planned, what kind of husband would he make Urmila? Was there any space left in his heart for a wife?

  And for that matter, what of Ram? He hadn’t spoken to me all evening, although I often found his eyes on me. Was he angered by my taunting words? And even if he wasn’t, where did a wife fit in among all his responsibilities to his lineage, his family and his kingdom? Did he even need someone else to love, when Lakshman and he seemed like one soul in two bodies?

  All too soon, dinner was done and servants brought us bowls of rosewater to wash our hands. My parents wished the brothers a peaceful night and started on their way to the royal chambers. Urmila and I weren’t ready for the evening to end. There was so much more we wanted to know about the brothers. But decorum decreed that we follow them, so we did.

  As Urmila and I walked across the garden towards our living quarters, we were surprised to hear footsteps hurrying behind us. My heart beat hard as I turned to see who it was. The brothers had followed us! Ram came forward, palms joined, and bowing formally, asked if he might speak to me in private. The sconces lighting the tree-lined path flickered so that light and shadow danced on his face. I nodded, suddenly shy. Urmila threw us a curious look, then asked Lakshman if he would be so kind as to walk her to the princesses’ quarters. Lakshman hesitated, but Ram must have given him a sign, because he bowed and followed my sister. We heard their footsteps receding from us and my sister’s laughter like a spring bubbling up out of the earth, and then we were alone in the garden, amidst fragrant vines that I’d nurtured. Ram looked away from me, towards the goddess’s temple. He seemed uncomfortable. It struck me that, valiant warrior though he was, he hadn’t had much experience in speaking to young women. The knowledge filled me with a kind of tenderness.

  Finally he spoke, his voice stilted. ‘Princess, I know I’m behaving inappropriately, speaking to you alone in this manner, without your parents’ knowledge. But I must—because I need to apologize and explain myself. When I told your father of my vow, I know I distressed you. But I couldn’t go back on my promise, or abandon my dharma. Only misfortune can come of an alliance based on broken vows.’

  I watched him carefully. I wanted to understand everything possible about this man. Right conduct was clearly important to him, as was his word—more important than anything. Again, the question came to me: what of his wife? Would he ever consider her to be as important as his dharma? What would his dharma say about the importance of loving his wife?

  Ram continued. ‘I was tempted, though. For the first time in my life, I regretted that rash vow. I wanted to push it away. My heart longed to remain silent so that I could place the betrothal garland around your neck.’

  There was an intensity in his gaze that made my pulse speed up. He loved me and wanted me! It wasn’t just my imagination.

  Ram continued speaking, his voice ridged with emotion. ‘You asked me, rightly, why I hadn’t informed your father of my vow in advance. I should have, but I was weak. I didn’t want him to turn me away before I’d even had the chance to try and win you. I knew that if I left Mithila without you, there would be a great emptiness at the centre of my life. So, selfishly, I remained silent. Will you forgive me for the pain I caused you?’

  I inclined my head in assent, my heart too full for words. I’d already dropped my anger—perhaps because I loved him. Now his confession plucked the sting of rejection out of my heart.

  ‘And then, when the problem seemed insurmountable,’ Ram added, ‘you found the perfect solution, one that had escaped even the royal advisors.’

  I basked in his admiration for a moment. Then I had to tell the truth. ‘I prayed to the goddess. The answer came from her.’

  Ram took my hands in his. I was surprised at how rough his palms were. From archery, I guessed. I hadn’t thought a prince’s hands would be so calloused. I liked them far better than all the manicured, scented princely hands in the world.

  But what did I know of princes—or even of ordinary men? Ram was the first man to touch my hand. And in that fragrant, lamp-lit moment, I vowed he’d be the last.

  ‘Then it’s a sign that the gods smile on our love,’ he said. ‘Do you know, I dreamed of you last night?’

  And I of you , I was about to tell him. But then I remembered how ominous the dream had been and pushed it into the black abyss in my mind, where I hid all the things that frightened me, things I didn’t understand. I focussed instead on what he’d just said. Our love . I looked up at the sky through thankful tears, and it seemed to me that the gods were, indeed, smiling down at us.

  I went to bed that night hoping for another dream of Ram. A joyous one this time, now that he’d declared his affections. A dream did indeed come to me, but it wasn’t of Ram. Nor was it joyous.

  In the dream I rushed through air, borne aloft though I didn’t know how to fly. My hair streamed behind me. My tears blazed like a meteor’s tail, furious and filled with loss. I wrenched my heavy gold bangles from my arms, my bridal necklace from my throat. I threw them down upon the forest far below. But who would find my trail in that wilderness? With all the hatred in my heart, I cried, Hear my curse, trickster. You and your evil lineage will fall to perdition for this . Your land will turn to ash.

  A voice answered, laughing, I don’t care about the future. In this moment, I have you, my lovely. That’s enough for me.

  But who was it I spoke to with such loathing? And who was it that responded with such dark elation?

  Five

  A MESSENGER ARRIVED FROM D ASHARATH . T HE delighted king, along with his courtiers and a large army, was on his way. The entourage would reach Mithila within the week. Dasharath wanted the wedding to take place as soon as possible. Could King Janak look for an auspicious date to prepare for the ceremony?

  My mother was relieved, but also, suddenly overwhelmed with preparations.

  It’s an old belief in Mithila that a daughter’s dowry shouldn’t be amassed until the wedding is set; such presumption may tempt fate. Though in general she scoffed at superstition, this one my mother had observed religiously. When I’d asked her why, she said that she loved Urmila and myself too much to risk our happiness for the sake of her beliefs.

  Her embarrassed smile made me realize something I hadn’t considered before: even the strongest intellect may be weakened by love. This struck me as paradoxical. Shouldn’t love make us more courageous? Mor
e determined to live according to our principles?

  I needed to study this strange emotion further. In my father’s house, love flowed like a calm and aged river, nourishing but predictable. In Ayodhya, I would have new situations to examine.

  My mother’s quarters bustled with coming and going: jewellers carrying caskets filled with ornaments to cover every inch of a woman’s body; weavers bent low under the weight of iridescent silks embroidered with gold thread; perfumers preparing unguents of sandalwood and rose petals. The palace was awash with enthusiastic melody, the court musicians composing new tunes for the first—and only—royal wedding of this generation. Cooks rushed back and forth with delicacies for my father to approve. My cousins arrived, and the women’s quarters filled with their excited birdcalls. At night, Urmila climbed into my bed and threw her arms around me, whispering—as though someone, overhearing, might snatch away her joy, ‘Is this really happening?’ I smiled, because it seemed that I, too, swayed between the calm harbour of my past and a sweet and heady dream.

  The days passed in a blur. Beauticians scrubbed us with turmeric and bathed us in milk. They perfumed our newly-washed hair with incense smoke. They applied ash of pearl to our faces to keep our skin dewy and pristine. From a palace window, I watched messengers ride off through the shimmery green of the forests with invitations. But there weren’t as many as one would have expected for a fourfold royal wedding. I understood the reason; too many kings had come to try for my hand, only to return to their homes in fury and shame, defeated by Shiva’s bow. Obviously, they couldn’t be invited to my wedding. Nor could their allies. I felt a twinge of guilt. Because of me, my sister and cousins would be deprived of a ceremony as grand as they deserved.

  But in the end, it didn’t matter. The retinue King Dasharath brought with him was large enough to fill the wedding hall. Additionally, holy men of every kind, from sleek brahmins to mendicants with matted locks, arrived from all over Bharatvarsha to bless us. How had they even known? My father, delighted and unquestioning, constructed giant tents for their comfort and sent his best cooks to fashion their meals. Urmila told me the gossip: it was believed that among them, disguised, were gods and demigods, come to observe the most important marriage of the century—no, of the entire Treta yuga, ordained by Shiva himself.

  ‘Can such things be true?’ she asked. ‘And is our marriage that important?’

  I had no answer for her. Ever since I’d been swept up by the currents of that strange other life, where Ram and I seemed to know each other, I’d felt unmoored from our everyday world. Reality swirled and changed colour each day, like a sky filled with fast-moving clouds. Only this was constant: I longed for Ram, for him to hold my hands again in his archery-calloused fingers and tell me that he loved me.

  There was, of course, no opportunity for that. Ram and Lakshman had joined their father, who had been housed in a separate palace at the edge of the royal grounds because it was considered inauspicious for brides and grooms to meet in the days that preceded the wedding. I had to console myself with the fact that in a few days we’d belong to each other. We’d spend the rest of our lives together, and we wouldn’t allow any of society’s foolish dictates to separate us.

  THE NIGHT BEFORE THE wedding, my mother summoned me to her chambers. I made my way to her through a maze of coffers filled with jewels and gold plate. She pushed aside a pile of shimmery silver cloth from a bench and beckoned to me to sit by her. She wound her arms around me and hugged me to her bosom, which smelled of lotus blossoms. A pang went through me as I realized what a big change this wedding would bring into both our lives. Would we ever see each other again? Perhaps she felt something similar, for her eyes were damp, and this was unusual in my pragmatic mother. Or was it some other fear that brought tears to her eyes?

  After a moment, she took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was practical and calm as always. ‘Don’t mind me. Mothers always get emotional at their daughter’s weddings. When you have your own daughter, you’ll know. It’s like a cord is being cut, a stronger one than the physical birth-cord.’

  I laid my head on her shoulder. I told her that I would always remain close to her in my heart. Surely there were ways of keeping in touch? Letter carriers? Messenger birds? And didn’t daughters, even royal ones, come to their mother’s home when it was time to deliver a child?

  ‘You’re right,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It’s just that I have a foreboding that we’ll never meet again. But that’s not the reason I called you here tonight. I need to tell you what I’ve learned about your new family. I wish it were more, but Ayodhya is far from us, and I had only a little time. They are a complicated bunch, the members of the House of Raghu.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we call the other girls to listen too?’ I asked.

  She shook her head, her forehead furrowed by a rare frown. I realized, with a sinking of my heart, that something significant troubled her. ‘Urmila, as you know, is easily excitable, and your cousins—much as I love them—are worse. They’d become unnecessarily anxious and might say the wrong thing in the presence of the wrong person. But you’re level-headed and know to keep your own counsel. And you’re good at problem-solving. I noticed how you immediately thought about your cousins when Ram told us of his pact with his brothers. I trust you’ll use what I’m about to tell you in the best and wisest way.’

  My stomach churned with nervousness. What was it about the court of King Dasharath that worried my mother so? I didn’t share her confidence in my wisdom. I wanted to confess to her that I couldn’t take credit for my quick-thinking earlier—it was all the goddess. Who knew if She would ever speak through me again? But why worry my mother even more? Instead, I took a deep breath and nodded. As eldest, I knew it was my role to watch over the others, to shield them when I could. I was prepared to do it to the best of my ability—and willingly, too. Ram wasn’t the only one who knew where his duties lay.

  ‘Your dear father,’ my mother continued, ‘is a saintly man. He was never interested in expanding his kingdom, either through war or marriage alliances. Thus I have the good fortune of being his only wife, loved by him even though I failed to produce a male heir to whom he could pass on the kingdom. He cherishes Urmila and you as much as he would have cherished sons. You don’t know how rare this is in royal families! Sometimes I regret that I sheltered you so, here in our peaceful little corner of the world, because now you’re going abroad with little armour to protect yourself from the intrigue that is common in palaces.’

  She looked unhappy and uncertain. It hurt me because she had always been so confident. I put my arms around her and held her tightly.

  ‘You’ve taught me to defend myself,’ I said. ‘You’ve allowed me to learn to heal both plants and humans. You’ve inspired me to be kind and courageous. To not tolerate wrongdoing. I’d rather live my life by these strategies than any other.’

  My mother looked unconvinced. ‘They’re good qualities, but not, unfortunately, the ones society values most in a woman. Nor the ones that will help you best when manoeuvring around palace politics. But here’s one thing I want you to remember. Maybe it will help you in a hard time: If you want to stand up against wrongdoing, if you want to bring about change, do it in a way that doesn’t bruise a man’s pride. You’ll have a better chance of success.’

  Protests crowded my mouth. Was a man’s pride more important than the truth? Why should I have to strategize if I was in the right?

  ‘But Mother,’ I began, ‘isn’t—’

  My mother raised her hand to silence me. ‘We only have a little time left together. I must use it to tell you about your in-laws.

  ‘King Dasharath is the opposite, in many ways, of your father. Early in his life he decided that the boundaries of his kingdom, Koshal, must stretch farther than it ever had before. His ambition led him to fight many wars—with kings and demons. He won most of them because he was a great warrior. He was impetuous and wild-tempered and loved the excitement of combat. He had n
o qualms about throwing himself into the thick of battle. Twice he was so grievously wounded that people feared he would die. He was a great hunter as well, though he gave that up after he killed the son of a blind ascetic, mistaking him for a deer. They say the ascetic laid a terrible curse on him for that, but I couldn’t discover the details. He’s milder now, and a most indulgent father—over-indulgent, some would say—because his children were born in his old age, after many holy yagnas.

  ‘He dotes particularly on Ram, who is his favourite among all his sons.’

  Dasharath certainly didn’t make any efforts to hide his favouritism. Arriving in Mithila, he had hugged Ram for a long time, kissing his brow and murmuring endearments, while Lakshman got a few pats on the back. Bharat and Shatrughna stood back, deferential and ignored, not seeming to mind the attention heaped on their eldest brother. They were clearly as proud of Ram as Lakshman was.

  ‘The brothers looked like they were at peace with Dasharath’s treatment of them,’ I said. ‘Do you think it’s something I need to worry about?’

  ‘Not yet,’ my mother said. ‘But things might change, especially when it’s time for Dasharath to announce his heir. So keep your eyes open. Your immediate task will be a different one, but difficult in its own way, because I can see how deeply you’ve fallen in love with Ram. No, don’t blush. It’s wonderful and I’m happy for you, for not all princesses get this gift. Anyway, your first job is to make sure Dasharath doesn’t feel you’re coming between him and Ram. As long as you’re careful about that, Dasharath will love you. Not because of who you are, but because you’re Ram’s wife. Though I hope that’ll change as he gets to know you and to appreciate your qualities.’

  I nodded. It wasn’t the best of situations, but I could manage it.

  ‘A greater challenge,’ my mother said, ‘will be the women of the palace.’

  ‘Women? Are there many?’

  ‘Yes, because Dasharath took numerous wives—several hundred, if my sources are accurate! Some he married for gain and others for pleasure. There’s a great deal of rivalry among his queens, and much vying for his attention. Though on the surface all is cordial, hidden animosities run deep. The three queens that concern you most are Kausalya, Sumitra and Kaikeyi.