The Palace of Illusions Read Online Free PDF

any thought, and second at my brother's compliment, backhanded though it was. Dhri never commented on my looks; nor did he encourage me to comment on his. Such useless talk, he believed, made people vain. Was this another sign of change?
    But I merely said, “How is it that Father never worries about you? Is it because you're so ugly?”
    My brother refused to rise to the bait. “Boys are different from girls,” he said with stolid patience. “When will you accept that?”

    In revenge, the tutor shot a last comment at me from behind the safety of the door that led to the passage. “Prince, I have recalled one rule of conduct which you may tell your sister: A kshatriyawoman's highest purpose in life is to support the warriors in her life: her father, brother, husband, and sons. If they should be called to war, she must be happy that they have the opportunity to fulfill a heroic destiny. Instead of praying for their safe return, she must pray that they die with glory on the battlefield.”
    “And who decided that a woman's highest purpose was to support men?” I burst out as soon as we were alone. “A man, I would wager! Myself, I plan on doing other things with my life.”
    Dhri smiled, but halfheartedly. “The tutor wasn't totally wrong. When I leave for the final battle, that's what I'd like you to pray for.”
    The word moved over me like a finger of ice. Not if but when. With what chill acceptance my brother spoke it. He left the room before I could contradict him.
    I thought of the husband and sons that everyone assumed I would have someday. The husband I couldn't visualize, but the sons I imagined as miniature versions of Dhri, with the same straight, serious eyebrows. I promised myself I'd never pray for their deaths. I'd teach them, instead, to be survivors. And why was a battle necessary at all? Surely there were other ways to glory, even for men? I'd teach them to search for those.
    I wished I could teach this to Dhri as well, but I feared it was too late. Already he had started thinking like the men around him, embracing the world of the court with open arms. And I? Each day I thought less and less like the women around me. Each day I moved further from them into a dusky solitude.

    Dhri was given other lessons, though these I couldn't share.
    Late mornings, he fought with sword and spear and mace with the commander of the Panchaal army. He learned to wrestle, to ridehorses and elephants, to manage a chariot in case his charioteer was killed in battle. From the nishad who was my father's chief hunter, he learned archery and the ways of forest people: how to survive without food or water, how to read the spoor of animals. In the afternoons, he sat in court and observed my father dispensing justice. Evenings—for a king must know how to use his leisure appropriately—he played dice with other noble-born youth, or attended quail fights, or went boating. He visited the homes of courtesans, where he partook of drink, music, dance, and other pleasures. We never discussed these visits, though sometimes I spied on him when he returned late at night, his lips reddened from alaktaka, a garland around his neck. I spent hours imagining the woman who had placed it there. But no matter how much sura he drank or lotus fiber he ate, each morning my brother was up before daybreak. From my window I would see him bathe, shivering, in the cold water he insisted on drawing, himself, from our courtyard cistern, ignoring Dhai Ma's remonstrations. I would hear him chanting prayers to the sun. O great son of Kashyap, colored like the hibiscus, O light of lights, destroyer of disease and sin, I bow to you. And then, from the Manu Samhita, He who has not conquered himself, how will that king conquer enemies?
    Some evenings, Dhri didn't go out. Instead, closeted in with one minister or another, he learned statecraft: the art of preserving a kingdom, of strengthening its borders, of allying with other rulers— or subduing them