The Forest of Enchantments Read online

  ‘Kausalya, the eldest is Dasharath’s chief consort—but not his favourite, even though she’s Ram’s mother. That’s been a deep sorrow to her. She’ll try hard to make you her ally, to support her in her battles against the other queens. Listen patiently to her complaints about the other wives, but keep what she says to yourself. And as far as possible, be polite and respectful to them all and don’t take sides.’

  I nodded, absorbing all this.

  ‘Sumitra, the exquisite, is the youngest of the three. For a time, Dasharath was infatuated with her beauty, as a result of which she grew disdainful of the other queens. But then she, too, was unable to give him the heir he wanted and fell from favour.’

  ‘How, then, did Dasharath get his sons?’

  ‘Finally, he had the holiest rishis in the land perform a very special prayer ceremony, as a result of which all the queens became pregnant. Something happened during that ceremony that indebted Sumitra to the other two queens—I couldn’t discover the details—but afterwards, she no longer gave them any trouble. Kaushalya gave birth to Ram—he’s the firstborn, Kaikeyi to Bharat, and Sumitra had the twins, Lakshman and Shatrughna. But she gave them to Kaushalya and Kaikeyi to bring up.’

  I was startled by this information. I’d never have guessed that the devoted Lakshman was only a half-brother to Ram. Was there another, deeper tie that bound him so tightly to his older brother? Could it have been forged in that ethereal world that I’d glimpsed?

  ‘What matters most to you in all of this,’ my mother continued, ‘is that Lakshman worships his older brother. He wants—no, needs—to be close to him. He’s probably worrying right now that marriage will affect their relationship, that you’ll take Ram away from him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that!’ I cried hotly. ‘I’m not that kind of person.’

  ‘But he doesn’t know it. So you must make a special effort to welcome Lakshman into your heart and into your chambers, and allow his relationship with his brother to continue unchanged. He’ll love you for it—as will Sumitra. And in Lakshman you’ll find a powerful protector.’

  ‘I’ll make sure Lakshman feels included,’ I said. But I couldn’t resist adding, ‘Though I hope he’ll devote some portion of his attention to his new wife!’

  Lakshman would require careful handling. From what I’d seen, the two brothers were inseparable. That would have to change somewhat after marriage—both Urmila and I needed it to. We’d have to put our heads together and come up with a plan.

  As for protection, I believed that even I, inexperienced as I was, would be better at protecting myself from palace intrigues than the blunt and hot-tempered Lakshman. And if by some strange chance I did require protection of another kind, didn’t I have Ram?

  ‘I’ve left Kaikeyi, the second wife of Dasharath, until the end,’ my mother said, ‘because she’s the most complicated. An accomplished and intrepid charioteer, she often drove Dasharath’s chariot when he was at war.’

  ‘I didn’t know women in Ayodhya were allowed to do such things!’ I exclaimed in admiration. ‘Aren’t they much stricter about rules and traditions there?’

  My mother gave me a wan smile. She was less enthusiastic about Kaikeyi than I was. ‘She’s a healer, too. Twice she saved the king’s life when he was severely wounded.’

  ‘A healer!’ I said excitedly, glad to find someone in Ayodhya who shared my interests. I pictured us becoming friends, spending long afternoons sharing plant-lore. ‘I could learn so much from her.’

  But my mother shook her head in warning. ‘Don’t trust anyone in your new home too soon—least of all Kaikeyi. To continue with my story: Having saved the king’s life, Kaikeyi became Dasharath’s favourite wife, his counsellor and comfort, the most powerful person—male or female—in the palace. Be careful with her. I’ve heard that she’s as changeable as clouds in a windy sky. If she takes a dislike to you, your life could become difficult. But perhaps I’m worrying unnecessarily. I’ve also heard that she has a deep fondness for Ram…’

  I left my mother’s chambers with my head whirling. How many people I’d have to deal with in my new family, to cajole or appease, comfort or avoid, as the need arose! I’d need to tread carefully between the quicksands of ancient antipathy. I’d have to build my relationship with my husband cautiously, without encroaching on territory that his family felt belonged to them. Could I manage all that? I counted out the things I needed to do on my fingers: respect Dasharath; be sympathetic to Kaushalya; be affectionate to Lakshman; observe Kaikeyi and learn from her how power could be used—all the while keeping a safe distance.

  But here’s what was most fascinating: how much all these people, so different from each other, loved Ram. What enchantment did my betrothed possess that made even enemies forget their ancient rivalries in their desire to make him happy? I waited impatiently for an opportunity to discover it for myself.

  Six

  FINALLY, THE DAY OF THE wedding arrived. My father’s priests, as well as the ones King Dasharath had brought, had interpreted the heavenly signs and discovered that, by great good fortune, for a brief while, the auspicious lagna of karkata would reign in the skies. Sage Vasishta, Dasharath’s guru, declared that the exchange of garlands between the brides and grooms needed to take place at that time, because couples united under these stars never suffered the sorrow of separation.

  All was readied in accordance. The four brothers waited on one side of the hall where once Shiva’s bow had lain. We sisters waited on the other side. But as the priest held up the aruni with which to light the sacred fire, a man appeared in the hall. There was an ethereal, moonlit glow about him. My father asked who he was, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he began to dance. The musicians in the hall struck up a melody to accompany him, though later they’d have no recollection of what they had played. It lodged deep inside us, music such as we’d never heard before. The stranger twirled and bowed and leaped into the air, an unearthly grace in his gestures. None could take their eyes off him. None knew for how long he danced. We only knew that when the performance ended, we found ourselves breathless.

  As suddenly as he had come, the dancer was gone. My father questioned the guards and doorkeepers, but no one had seen him leave. The priests hurried to light the wedding fire, but it was already too late. The auspicious lagna had passed. Vasishta surmised that this was the doing of the gods. Perhaps the dancer was a god himself.

  ‘But why would the heavenly ones wish our children ill?’ my father cried in dismay. ‘Haven’t we propitiated them with ample offerings?’

  I could see that Dasharath was even more upset than my father, though he said nothing.

  Vasishta shrugged. ‘The ways of the gods are strange, hard for our limited human minds to encompass. Remember this, too: sometimes our ill luck has consequences that bless others.’

  I didn’t disbelieve him, but I was troubled. It was unfair that one person should suffer in order for others to be blessed. If the gods were powerful enough to shape our destinies, why couldn’t they just send us good fortune untainted by sorrow?

  MY FIRST UNPLEASANT SURPRISE came as we were about to depart for Ayodhya. My mother had planned for our nursemaid Malini to accompany Urmila and myself to Ayodhya, to help us settle into our new home. Mandavi and Shrutakirti had also brought their personal serving women from home. But King Dasharath had surprised us all by announcing that he had retainers—personally chosen by him—for each of his daughters-in-law.

  ‘Now you are princesses of Ayodhya,’ he said. ‘It’s only proper that you should be served by your own people.’

  Urmila had been distraught while Malini wept silently into her sari. I, too, was upset. We’d been counting on Malini, a good-natured woman who didn’t take things too seriously, to provide comfort and counsel when we were homesick, to laugh away imagined demons as she had done throughout our childhoods. I was additionally troubled by the high-handed way in which Dasharath made his decision, not taking into account who might be hur
t by it, or what we wanted. My mother tried to reason with Dasharath.

  ‘Let Malini be with them for a few days,’ she said. ‘You can send her back to Mithila once the girls settle in.’

  But the king refused, though he was polite about it, and called for the palanquins. ‘It’s time we started on our journey back,’ he said.

  When the first set of bearers rushed up with my palanquin, I was astonished because I’d never seen one this regal or ostentatious. Its panels were decorated in gold and inlaid with ivory; the curtains covering its doors were made of a shimmery cloth that would allow me to look out without being seen. It was laden with silken bolsters and frothy quilts and was larger than the bed I was leaving behind in the palace of my parents. The palace of my parents, I thought with a pang. Having been given away in marriage to the House of the Raghu, I could no longer call it mine.

  ‘Could I please have Urmila share my palanquin on the way to Ayodhya?’ I asked Dasharath. I wasn’t sure how many opportunities I’d have to speak privately with my sister once we reached our new home. Marvelling at wonders and laughing at follies together as we travelled would help us deal with our disappointment at not having Malini with us. Additionally, I longed to know if being a wife felt as wonderful and magical to her as it did to me.

  Dasharath looked scandalized at my request. ‘No need of sharing, my child,’ he said. ‘I made sure to bring palanquins for each of my daughters-in-law so you can all travel in the comfort that befits your position.’

  ‘Please, Father…’ I said, ‘having my sister beside me on this journey would give me more comfort than—’

  But Dasharath shook his head firmly. ‘No, my dear. That’s not appropriate. What will people think!’ I started to argue further, but my mother pressed my arm hard, a warning to let the matter go. Choose your battles, her stern grip seemed to say. This isn’t the time .

  She was right. The cavalcade was lined up, ready to leave for Ayodhya, horses neighing and stomping, servants loading food and drink into carts, priests sprinkling holy rice, praying for a safe journey. I bit back my words, but I promised myself that once I was settled in Ayodhya, I’d make sure that King Dasharath didn’t dictate my life.

  Before we left, my mother managed to pull us apart for a brief private goodbye. Urmila hugged her tightly, weeping. ‘We’re going so far away. We’ll be so alone. Why won’t Father-in-law let Malini come with us? It isn’t fair! It isn’t right.’ Her anxiety was contagious. I, too, felt my eyes fill with tears.

  But instead of consoling us, my mother spoke sternly. ‘Pull yourselves together. Surely I’ve brought you up better than this? We come into the world alone, and we leave it alone. And in between, too, if it is destined, we’ll be alone. Draw on your inner strength. Remember, you can be your own worst enemy—or your best friend. It’s up to you. And also this: what you can’t change, you must endure.’

  Urmila continued weeping, but I stopped and stared at my mother. She stood tall and regal, suddenly unfamiliar, like a queen out of a tale, and looked at me gravely. I knew it was mostly to me that she’d spoken. Endure . A word solid as a tree trunk. A good word upon which to build a life, I thought. I would learn it, and it would help me through dark times.

  THE SWAYING OF THE palanquin, along with the rhythmic chant of its bearers, threatened to put me in a trance, but I resisted valiantly. I didn’t want to miss a single moment of my journey. Who knew if I’d ever embark on another one as long or as adventurous? Most women from princely families, my mother included, didn’t stray far from their husbands’ palaces once they were married—and Ayodhya seemed like a land with many more rules and restrictions than Mithila.

  Though I still smarted from my father-in-law’s high-handed treatment, I had to admit that travelling alone had certain compensations. Urmila would have kept me occupied with jokes about the wedding. She would have prevailed upon me to curl up with her under the quilt and sleep, warning me that otherwise I’d look haggard and ugly by the time I arrived in Ayodhya, where our mothers-in-law were waiting to evaluate the wives their sons were bringing home. Now in my solitude, I’d be able to watch the forest, stretching on either side of me into infinity. I’d heard my father’s huntsmen talk about the wildlife that inhabited the forest, gazelles and bears and talking monkeys. I didn’t believe monkeys could talk, but if they did, I hoped I’d see one. Who knew, maybe I might even come across a stray rakshasa or two.

  But my hopes were soon dashed.

  Our procession was headed by enthusiastic heralds that blew on horns and beat on drums, frightening away all wildlife. Worse, the thousand soldiers that Dasharath had brought with him flanked both sides of the road, stomping and shouting, slashing back the undergrowth and lopping off branches and vines, even those that didn’t intrude on our path, with a vigour that made me feel ill. After a while, I couldn’t stand it any longer and called to one of the horsemen who rode by my side as my special guard. It was on the tip of my tongue to summon the commander of the army, but I kept in mind my mother’s advice and requested instead that he carry to Ram the message that his wife humbly requested to see him.

  In a little while, I could see my husband—that dazzling, looming word I wasn’t used to yet—riding toward me. His rapid hoof-beats matched the speeding rhythm of my heart. In his jewel-crusted prince’s attire, wearing a rather official-looking coronet, Ram seemed very different from the young man in our temple garden with his lithe and dusty grace. But his eyes were the same, flecked with that ancient recognition.

  At this moment they were also concerned. ‘Are you well, my princess?’ he asked, moving the palanquin curtains aside to grasp my hand, not caring who saw him. ‘Is the motion of the palanquin causing you discomfort? This is a dangerous part of the forest, but once we’ve crossed it, I can request my royal father to stop at one of the hermitages that lie beyond…’

  I was distracted by the warm pressure of his hand on mine, and his smell, a perfume I couldn’t quite place but which I knew I’d always recognize now. At our wedding, after the exchange of garlands, he’d held my hand just like this, and shocked everyone by vowing aloud that he would never marry again. Sita will be my only consort and beloved, all the days of my life. The words had hummed inside me like honeybees. I hadn’t expected such a gift, that my husband would be mine alone. The hall had filled with murmurs as people discussed such a vow, unprecedented in a prince. My father looked delighted. Dasharath was clearly displeased—no doubt he had hoped for many more valuable marital alliances for his heir—but he controlled himself and inclined his head in gracious acceptance of his son’s impractical wish.

  I pushed away the memory—amazing, to think that Ram and I had already begun accumulating memories—and assured him that I was well. The only thing distressing me was the callous behaviour of the soldiers. Could he order them not to harm the trees? ‘This is their home, and we are visitors,’ I added. ‘We should treat them with courtesy and not cause them needless pain.’

  Ram’s brows drew together in surprise. Clearly, he’d never considered that plants feel pain as we do. But he inclined his head. ‘You are tender-hearted, my dear. I can’t fault that. It’s right and necessary that women should be so.’

  I wanted to ask him, wasn’t it as important for a king to feel the hurt of others as women did? Wasn’t he responsible for the animals and birds and trees in his realm, as well as the people? Who would protect them if he didn’t? But already I was learning that I had to carefully choose the time and place for frank talk.

  Ram beckoned to a nearby soldier and said something. The man took off at a run—to inform the commander of the prince’s strange order, I guessed.

  Ram bowed to me. ‘My heart longs to remain here with you—but I must return to my father’s side.’

  Ram’s horse neighed impatiently. No doubt he sensed my husband’s desire to be back—as was proper—with his father. I smiled at Ram and spoke the ceremonially appropriate words of thanks and farewell. There would be opportun
ity enough for ethical discourse regarding the duties of a king, and who he was supposed to protect. After all, we were going to be together for the rest of our lives.

  MY PALANQUIN MADE ITS way through the forest in relative quiet now, giving me a chance to observe the many kinds of greens around me, in places shot through with sunshine, in places deepened by shadows or punctuated by the bright exclamation of flowers. I watched them longingly. I wanted to climb out and run my hands over bark and stem, smell the sap. I wanted to walk barefoot through the tickle of grass, find bird-nests and fox-lairs, and rare and precious healing herbs. But such things were not allowed to princesses, especially those married into the royal family of Ayodhya.

  Still, it was a small thing to set against all the happiness I was carrying in my heart. My thoughts swung back to the wedding. After his vow, Ram had kept my hand in his as though he’d never let go. From time to time, as the priests chanted countless prayers for peace, prosperity and progeny, I stole a look at his face. Though it was appropriately solemn, there was a smile in his eyes. Did it indicate that nothing was worth taking too seriously? That even the longest ceremony would come to an end? Or was it a smile of anticipation? Was he thinking, as I was, of the moment when we’d finally be alone in our own bedchamber? Of course, for that we’d have to wait until we reached Ayodhya and Dasharath’s priests found us an appropriately auspicious moment, just in case a royal heir was conceived.

  When the ceremony was over and the elders had withdrawn, the room filled with the boisterous games and jokes that are common to weddings. My women teased Ram, complaining that he was too dark, no match for my fair complexion. I could see the loyal Lakshman bristling, ready to defend his brother, but Ram joked back, saying that surely when we slept together some of my beauty would rub off on him. I was pleasantly surprised by his sense of humour, and the fact that he delighted in asking riddles. If you have it, you want to share it. If you share it, you don’t have it. What is it? He played with strands of my hair as he spoke; a flame of delight surged up my spine. I held on to that feeling now as the jogging of the palanquin bearers lulled me into a half-sleep.