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“What did I learn that day in the sabha?
All this time I'd believed in my power over my husbands. I'd believed that because they loved me they would do anything for me. But now I saw that though they did love me—as much perhaps as any man can love—there were other things they loved more. Their notions of honor, of loyalty toward each other, of reputation were more important to them than my suffering. They would avenge me later, yes, but only when they felt the circumstances would bring them heroic fame. A woman doesn't think that way. I would have thrown myself forward to save them if it had been in my power that day. I wouldn't have cared what anyone thought. The choice they made in the moment of my need changed something in our relationship. I no longer depended on them so completely in the future. And when I took care to guard myself from hurt, it was as much from them as from our enemies”
We all grew up hearing the stories of the Mahabharata, often told by our grandmothers or elder relatives, tucked under blankets in the warmth of their voices. For me, these stories were a nightly ritual. I remember washing my feet before hopping into my grandaunt's bed, ready for the next chapter of the epic. Her storytelling skills were unmatched, and those moments are among my most cherished memories.
But as much as I loved those stories, I always felt something was missing—the voices of the women. The grand, god-like men of the Mahabharata dominated the narrative, while the women, often goddesses themselves in human form, were sidelined, rendered passive, or worse, seen as pawns in the great game of kings.
That’s where *The Palace of Illusions* by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni comes in—a refreshing, feminist retelling of the Mahabharata, one that speaks to the child in me who always craved stories but felt dissatisfied with the portrayal of women in the epics.
This book presents the epic from the viewpoint of Panchali, the wife of the Pandavas, and transforms her from a silent witness into a powerful voice. Panchali is no mere bystander in this version; she is fiercely intelligent, unapologetically strong, and, perhaps most importantly, deeply human. While the men around her are revered as heroes, gods even, Panchali is shown with all her flaws, desires, and ambitions laid bare. It’s empowering to see her not only as a woman at the center of this legendary war but also as someone who had a hand in shaping its outcome, knowingly or unknowingly.
The nuanced portrayal of Panchali gives us the feminist Mahabharata we needed but never received as children. It allows us to see these revered figures as real people with egos, insecurities, and moments of brilliance and vulnerability. Divakaruni brings out the emotional complexity of the epic, and while Panchali's actions often stem from love, loyalty, or pride, they highlight the fact that women in our myths had agency—something traditional retellings often gloss over.
In a world where the female characters of our ancient texts are often reduced to victims or mere plot devices, *The Palace of Illusions* offers a necessary corrective. It made me realize how much I longed for this narrative growing up. Panchali’s voice, her power, and her perspective are a reminder that women have always been at the heart of these stories, even if history didn’t always acknowledge it.
I loved how Divakaruni didn’t shy away from showing Panchali’s imperfections, which made her more relatable. She is proud, passionate, and yes, at times, driven by ego, but that’s what makes her so compelling. This is not a sanitized version of the Mahabharata but one that feels more real, more human—and all the more gripping for it.
If you grew up on the Mahabharata but always wished the women had more of a voice, *The Palace of Illusions* is a must-read.
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