It is hard to believe that so much can happen in a single lifetime. It feels as though I have lived seven lives already. In these few months, a thousand years seem to have passed. Time was rushing by so swiftly that I did not even realize it was moving. Only when I was suddenly jolted did I come to understand.

When I went to my husband to speak about bidding farewell to foreign goods from the market, I expected there would be some argument over it. Yet I had a certain confidence that it was unnecessary for me to counter argument with argument. There is a kind of magic in the atmosphere that surrounds me. A man as great as Sandip, like a wave of the vast ocean, came crashing at my feet. I did not call him—he was summoned by the very air that surrounds me. And that day, I saw Amulya—ah, such a boy—innocent, fresh, as simple and sweet as a young bamboo flute. When he came to me, it was like the river at dawn, and as I watched, a new color blossomed from within the current of his life. That day, I realized how a goddess, gazing upon the face of her devotee, can be so utterly enchanted—Amulya’s...

Looking around, I understood it. I have now seen for myself what kind of work my golden wand of power can accomplish.

That is why, on that day, with unshakable faith in myself, I went to my husband like a thunderbolt wrapped in lightning.

But what happened? In these nine years, not once have I seen such a distant look in my husband's eyes. It was like the sky over a desert—no trace of moisture within himself, and in whomever he gazed upon, not a hint of color could be found. Had he even shown a little anger, I might have been saved. I could not touch him at all. I felt I was false. Like a dream—no sooner had the dream broken than there was nothing but the dark night!

All these years, I have envied my beautiful sisters-in-law for their beauty. In my heart, I knew the Creator had not given me strength—my husband’s love was my only strength. Today, I have drunk deep from the cup of power, and its intoxication has taken hold of me. Now, suddenly, the cup has shattered and fallen to the ground. How am I to survive now?

I sat down hurriedly to tie up my hair! Shame! Shame! Shame! As I was passing in front of the elder queen’s room, she called out, “What’s this, little queen? Your hair bun seems ready to leap over your head—are you sure your head is all right?”

That day, in the garden, my husband told me with utter ease, “I give you your freedom.” Is freedom so easily given, or taken? Is freedom a thing, a tangible object? Freedom is emptiness. Like a fish, I have always swum in the cherished