The Palace of Illusions Read Online Free PDF Page B

without battle, of recognizing spies who may have wormed their way into the palace. He learned also the differences between righteous and unrighteous war, and when to use each. These were the lessons I most envied him, the lessons that conferred power. They were the ones I needed to know if I were to change history. And so I cajoled Dhri shamelessly, forcing him to share reluctant bits with me.
    “In righteous war, you fight only with men that are your equal in rank. You don't attack your enemies at night, or when they're retreating or unarmed. You don't strike them on the back or below the navel. You use your celestial astras only on warriors who themselves have such weapons.”
    “What about unrighteous war?”
    “You don't need to know about that!” my brother said. “I've told you too much already. Why do you want all this information, anyway?”

    One day I said, “Tell me about the celestial astras.”
    I didn't think he'd agree, but he shrugged. “I guess there's no harm in telling you, since you'll never have anything to do with them. They're weapons that must be invoked with special chants. They come from the gods and return to them after being used. The most powerful ones can be used only once in a warrior's lifetime.”
    “Do you have an astra? Can I see it?”
    “They can't be seen, not until you've called them. And then you must use them right away; otherwise their power might turn against you. They say that some, like the Brahmastra, wrongly used, can destroy all of creation. In any case, I don't have any—not yet.”
    I had my suspicions about the existence of such astras. They sounded too much like tales old soldiers would make up to impress novices.
    “Oh, they're real enough!” he said. “For instance, when Arjun captured our father, he used the Rajju astra to enclose him in an invisible net. That's the reason the Panchaal forces couldn't rescue him, even though he was only a spear's length away. But very few teachers know the art of summoning them. That's why Father hasdecided that when the time is right I must go to Drona in Hastinapur and ask him to accept me as his student.”
    I stared at him in shock. Surely he was joking! But my brother never joked.
    Finally I managed to say, “Father has no right to humiliate you this way! You must refuse. Besides, why would Drona agree to teach you when he knows you'll use the knowledge to try and kill him?”
    “He'll teach me,” my brother said. He must have been tired, for he sounded bitter, which was rare for him. “He'll teach me because he's a man of honor. And I'll go because it's the only way I can fulfill my destiny.”

    I don't wish to imply that King Drupad neglected my education. An unending stream of women flowed through my apartments each day, attempting to instruct me in the sixty-four arts that noble ladies must know. I was given lessons in singing, dancing, and playing music. (The lessons were painful, both for my teachers and me, for I was not musically inclined, nor deft on my feet.) I was taught to draw, paint, sew, and decorate the ground with age-old auspicious designs, each meant for a special festival. (My paintings were blotchy, and my designs full of improvisations that my teachers frowned at.) I was better at composing and solving riddles, responding to witty remarks, and writing poetry, but my heart was not in such frivolities. With each lesson I felt the world of women tightening its noose around me. I had a destiny to fulfill that was no less momentous than Dhri's. Why was no one concerned about preparing me for it?
    When I mentioned this to Dhai Ma, she clicked her tongue with impatience.
    “Where do you get all these notions? Your destiny as important as the prince's!” She rubbed brahmi oil into my scalp to cool my brain. “Besides, don't you know, a woman must be prepared for her destiny in a different way.”
    Dhai Ma herself taught me the rules of comportment—how to walk, talk, and sit in the company of men;