Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (23 page)

Seeing the page

quaking with dread, this time Duryodhana

sent Duhshasana, his closest brother,

bloodthirsty and coarse, to fetch Draupadi.

“Come, my fine girl, you’ve been lost at dice

and are nothing but a slave. We own you now.

You’ll have to learn to love the Kauravas

and show us how you’ve made our cousins happy!

I’m here to fetch you, you’ve no choice. Be quick.”

She tried to run, hoping to find protection

in the women’s quarters. Duhshasana

followed, grabbed her, pushed her, dragging her

by the hair toward the assembly hall.

She whispered that it was her time of the month

when she should not be seen, when she was wearing

a single garment, but he laughed lewdly.

“Let everybody see you have your period—

wear what you like, or come to us stark naked.

Slave! You can’t be so particular.

Call on the gods until your voice is hoarse—

‘Nara, Narayana . . .’ They won’t rescue you!”

Soon she was flung in front of the assembly,

her long hair loose, her garment torn, disheveled

and stained with blood. Every decent man

lowered his eyes in shame, but none of them—

not the elders, and not her five husbands—

uttered a word of protest. They were silenced,

for to speak out would have been disrespectful

to Dhritarashtra; and some of those present

feared falling out with Duryodhana.

Draupadi stood upright in their midst,

glowing with anger. She glanced scornfully

at her husbands, and that one glance hurt them

more than the loss of everything they owned.

She addressed Duhshasana, “It is an outrage

for you to drag me here—a virtuous woman—

to a hall of men! I see before me

many elders well versed in propriety

and in dharma—yet not one of them

raises his voice at this disgraceful insult.

Do they lack courage? Or do they condone

your vile behavior? A curse on you!

My husbands will not pardon this offense!”

“Slave! Slave!” jeered Duhshasana, rubbing his hands.

Karna laughed, thinking of how Draupadi

had scorned him at her bridal tournament,

and Shakuni and Duryodhana cheered.

But everybody else was choked with shame

and sorrow, and stayed dumb.

Draupadi spoke.

“My noble husband is the son of Dharma

and follows dharma. Let no word of mine

be heard as blaming him in any way.

I wish to hear an answer to my question.”

Bhishma said, “Dharma is a subtle matter.

The answer to your question is not obvious.

One without property has nothing to stake

but, on the other hand, it is accepted

that wives are the chattels of their husbands.

Shakuni is an unsurpassed dice-player;

your husband played him of his own free will.

He himself has not accused Shakuni

of cheating.”

Draupadi replied at once,

“Great-spirited Yudhishthira was summoned

to this hall and, having no real choice,

was challenged to a shoddy gambling match

despite the fact that, as is widely known,

he has no skill at dice. Then his opponent,

Shakuni, took vile advantage of him—

how then could he be said to have lost?

My lord was caught up in low exploitation—

only possible because he cleaves

to principle. As I understand it,

when he put me up as his last stake

he had already gambled himself away

into slavery—is that not so?”

Draupadi again looked to Bhishma,

master of every nuance of the law,

for a clear reply. No answer came.

Seeing Draupadi weeping piteously,

Bhima, unable to contain himself,

leapt to his feet, his eyes blood-red with rage,

and shouted wildly at Yudhishthira,

“I never heard of a gambler who staked

even the life of a common prostitute,

let alone that of his
wife
! Oh! Shame on you!”

He made as if he would attack his brother,

but Arjuna restrained him. “Wolf-belly!

Never have you uttered such an insult

to our brother. In playing against his will

when invited by a respected elder,

he acted as a kshatriya should act.

You, though, by this rash outburst, are falling

away from the highest dharma; you’re matching

our enemies’ dishonor and wickedness.”

Then Vikarna, one of the younger sons

of Dhritarashtra, addressed the assembled elders,

urging those present to express a view.

There was silence, so he spoke himself.

“It’s deeply shameful for her to be dragged here.

Yudhishthira was under the influence

of an addiction; he had lost control

of his own actions, so should not be seen

as properly responsible. Furthermore,

it was not his own idea, but Shakuni’s

to stake his wife—this despite the fact

that Yudhishthira is not her sole husband.

In any case, it’s clear that the Pandava

could not lose his wife if he had lost himself,

since slaves can have no right to property.

Draupadi is no slave—it stands to reason.”

There were sounds of approbation in the hall.

Karna answered him contemptuously,

“You notice none of the elders speaks for her;

only you, you green, impulsive youth,

are swayed by sentiment. The fact remains,

we clearly heard Yudhishthira stake all,

all
his possessions. That includes Draupadi.

As for her being brought into this hall

scantily dressed—if that’s what’s upsetting you—

that is not an act of impropriety.

Even to strip her naked would be no sin

since she has joined herself to five husbands,

flouting every law of decency,

and therefore is undoubtedly a whore

in the eyes of gods and men. Duhshasana—

make the Pandavas take off their clothes,

and strip this woman.”

At this, the Pandavas

removed their upper garments and flung them down.

Duhshasana then grabbed at the loose end

of Draupadi’s robe, and began to pull . . .

. . . Draupadi

closed her eyes in silent concentration.

Duhshasana brayed with triumphant laughter

as he twirled her round, unraveling

yard upon yard of cloth which pooled and pooled

on the marble floor, more and more of it.

His gleeful smile began to fade, as minutes

passed and more minutes, and the garment

covered her as securely as before,

though a stream of silk, a multicolored river,

shimmered and snaked around the assembly hall.

Everyone cried out in utter wonder,

and glowered at the sons of Dhritarashtra.

Duhshasana gave up, tired and angry.

Bull-like Bhima roared, his voice like thunder,

“As the gods are my witnesses, I vow

that, before I enter the halls of Death,

I will tear open this man’s wicked breast

and drink his blood, as a lion savages

a helpless deer, its eyes pleading in vain.

If I do not, then let me never reach

the pure and blessed realm of my ancestors!”

All who heard him shivered. The tide of feeling

was now increasingly behind the Pandavas,

and against the weak-willed Dhritarashtra

who was sitting, mute, stroking his chin.

Vidura addressed the gathering:

“Learned men, it is not right that Draupadi

stands here, with no answer to her question.

I urge you to speak.” But there was silence.

“Take this slave girl away,” ordered Karna.

But as Duhshasana was dragging her,

Draupadi cried, “Stop! I have a duty

which I neglected to perform before

through no fault of mine—to greet the elders

in this assembly in the proper fashion.

My lords, I do not deserve this treatment—

to be forced to stand before this court in shame

by you, members of the honored family

that is now mine. Since my svayamvara,

I have never been paraded in this way

for men to scrutinize. Lords of the earth,

where is honor in this hall? Where is dharma?

Time must be out of joint when such outrages

can be enacted unprovoked, unchallenged.

I am the wife of great Yudhishthira,

equal to him in rank. I am the daughter

of King Drupada, and the friend of Krishna.

I ask again for an answer to my question—

am I won, or not? Am I a lowly slave,

or am I a queen in a distinguished line?

You surely know the law. I will accept

whatever you decide.”

Bhishma answered,

“As I’ve already said, the law is subtle,

so obscure that even Drona slumps

with his head bowed. But this much is certain—

you are blameless. What has been done today

will bring disaster on the Bharatas.”

Duryodhana spoke: ‘This doom-mongering

is so much old man’s talk. Stick to the point.

Draupadi, the answer to your question

lies with your husbands—the four younger ones.

If they disown Yudhishthira and declare

that he is not your lord, then you go free.”

Duryodhana’s cronies applauded him,

while others shed tears at the Pandavas’

cruel predicament. But strong-armed Bhima,

quite clear on this, said, “Do you really think

that if high-souled and just Yudhishthira

were not our unquestioned lord, your ugly head

would still be sitting on your shoulders? Only

because I bow to his authority,

and because Arjuna tightly holds me back,

do I sit quiet, rather than littering

the floor of this assembly with the corpses

of you and your friends, killed with my bare hands!”

“Dark-skinned Draupadi,” said Karna, “notice—

no one here is speaking up to say

you have not been won. In fact Yudhishthira

had lost you when he lost himself. Accept it,

you are a slave’s wife—or, rather, former wife,

since slaves own nothing.

Go now to the quarters

of the king’s relatives; the Kauravas,

and not Kunti’s sons, are your masters now.

Choose another husband, one who will not

gamble you away—or shall we share you?

In slaves, a willing, sensual disposition

is always welcome. Show us what you can do.”

Duryodhana laughed, and bared his hairy thigh

obscenely to the weeping Draupadi.

At this, Bhima’s eyes blazed scarlet, “I swear

the day will come when I will break that thigh

in a great battle, and you will plummet then

into the deepest, darkest pit of Death!”

Duryodhana turned again to the Pandavas:

“Come, reply. I’ll abide by your decision.”

Arjuna said, “Our brother was our master

when he staked us. But when Yudhishthira

had lost himself, then whose master was he?

No one’s master—not even Draupadi’s.

It follows, then, he had no right to stake her.”

He turned to the assembly, “Now acknowledge

that the blameless Draupadi retains

her freedom, and her status, as before.”

Many agreed with Arjuna’s solution.

Just then, a jackal began to howl loudly

somewhere in the palace; asses squealed,

and frightful birds croaked. King Dhritarashtra

found the courage to address his son:

“Duryodhana, you have gone too far.

This blameless princess of the Panchalas

has endured the most grievous insults.

Virtuous Draupadi, ask me for a boon

and you shall have it.”

“My lord,” said Draupadi,

“free the dutiful Yudhishthira

from servitude, so that his son and mine

can never be taunted with the name of slave.”

“Let it be so,” conceded Dhritarashtra.

“And now let me grant you a second boon.”

“Then, my lord, let my other husbands go,

together with their weapons and chariots.”

“It shall be as you say,” said Dhritrashtra,

“Now, ask again.”

“My lord,” said Draupadi,

“greed is a threat to virtue. These two boons

are enough for me. My noble husbands

will make their own way, through their own good acts.”

“This is remarkable,” said haughty Karna.

“In Draupadi, the Pandavas have a boat

ferrying them across to their salvation.”

Bhima now leapt to his feet, on fire

to unleash on the Kauravas the fury

he had suppressed before. But Yudhishthira

forbade it and, approaching Dhritarashtra,

affirmed his loyalty. “Go now in peace,”