Draupadi- the Tale of an Empress Read online

  DRAUPADI

  Saiswaroopa Iyer holds an MBA from IIT Kharagpur. She worked as an investment professional before turning to her passion for storytelling. Her love for epics, Puranas, and philosophy encouraged her to become a full-time author. Before Draupadi, she has authored three novels, all based on strong female characters from the ancient past of India. She also possesses a certificate in Puranas from Oxford Centre for Hindu Studies.

  She lives in Bangalore.

  Published by

  Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd 2019

  7/16, Ansari Road, Daryaganj

  New Delhi 110002

  Copyright © Saiswaroopa Iyer 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-93-5333-315-7

  First impression 2019

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

  To Krishna Vasudeva,

  the eternal inspiration

  To Krishna Dwaipayana,

  the guru who gave us the immortal epic of Mahabharata

  To Krishnaa Draupadi,

  the embodiment of feminine strength, courage and resilience

  Contents

  Introduction

  Prologue

  PART I: PRINCESS OF PANCHALA

  1. The Banishment

  2. The Defeat

  3. Drona and Drupada

  4. The Fire Pledge

  5. Drupada and Jarasandha

  6. Rukmini

  7. Krishna, the Friend

  8. House on Fire

  9. Swayamvara

  PART II: QUEEN OF INDRAPRASTHA

  10. Kunti

  11. The Wedding

  12. Khandava Prastha

  13. Bhima

  14. The Takshaka Menace

  15. Indraprastha

  16. Jarasandha and Krishna

  17. Rajasuya

  18. Krishna’s Farewell

  19. Yudhishtira’s Fear

  PART III: THE EMPRESS

  20. The Game of Dice

  21. Court Scene I

  22. Court Scene II

  23. Nakula and Draupadi

  24. Meeting in the Forest

  25. Journey to the Himalayas

  26. Duryodhana’s Ghoshayatra

  27. Jayadrata

  28. Farewell to Dvaitavana

  29. Yaksha Prashna

  30. Agnatavasa

  31. Matsya

  32. Keechaka

  33. Killing of Keechaka

  PART IV: WAR

  34. Peace at What Cost?

  35. Night Before the War

  36. Bhishma’s Secret

  37. Dushasana’s End

  38. Uttara is Pregnant

  39. Victory at What Cost?

  40. Empress Again

  Conclusion: Into the Future

  Acknowledgements

  References and Inspiration

  Introduction

  Mahabharata was my first literary love, at the age of five or six, when my parents introduced reading to me. And it did not remain just a literary indulgence. Those immortal personalities occupied a permanent space in my conscience. They became a part of my dreams, fantasies, joys and misery. This inseparable connection with those who existed millennia ago and continue to exist in my life, made me take to storytelling. One can imagine my elation when I was asked to write a novel based on Mahabharata. And the character was none other than Draupadi—the propelling heroine of the undying epic.

  Along with the celebration came a challenge. I was to write the story of a character on whom volumes had been written, from academic to pop literature. I wanted my story to be unique and yet highlight the core of Veda Vyasa’s brilliant heroine.

  Draupadi was a woman who had the brains to propel the future, spine to stand up for truth, will to fight, and the heart to love despite the cruel games of fate. Many of the previously written expositions portrayed her only as the wronged woman in a man’s world, stuck in a polyandrous marriage, drawn into one intrigue after the other, helplessly calling out to Krishna. On the other hand, to the common Indian consciousness, she is a person who could strike fear in the heart of a prospective wrongdoer. The compelling contrast between the intellectual and the popular world views was a fascinating topic to dwell upon.

  Within traditional schools too, a spellbinding variety of interpretations exists. Dvaitic traditions extol her compelling devotion. Scholars regard her as an aspect of Shri herself. Some regard her as a manifestation of Sachi, the wife of Lord Indra. Those engaged in shastraic discourses praise her as the wife who took the institution of vivaha (marriage) to a new level. Of all the interpretations, one struck a chord with me. It was the scholarly premise driving Andhra Mahabharatamu, the Telugu recreation of Mahabharata composed between eleventh century to fourteenth century CE. The poets of this composition regard Draupadi as the Ichha Shakti, the propelling force of initiative that was powered by the Jnana Shakti of Lord Krishna, taken to fruition by the Kriya Shakti of the Pandavas. Delving into the story also gave me an opportunity to revisit some medieval folklore-inspired beliefs and contrast them against the spirit of Veda Vyasa. Draupadi, being a woman thirsty for vengeance, capable of no emotion other than anger, was one myth that I was motivated to counter. As Yudhishtira says about her in the critical edition of Mahabharata, Draupadi is the embodiment of compassion, but not a pacifist. Quoting Rudyard Kipling, she was that woman who managed to keep her head while everyone around her lost theirs. Naturally, hers was the earth and she, the immortal empress.

  My reference list includes BORI’s critical edition of Mahabharata, translated by Dr Bibek Debroy, Kisari Mohan Ganguli’s translation of the Calcutta edition, and Andhra Mahabharatamu published by Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams. My understanding of various characters was influenced by discourses by Bhagawan Sri Satya Sai Baba, Swami Chinmayananda, Brahmasri Samavedam Shanmukha Sarma, Brahmasri Garikipati Narasimha Rao and Brahmasri Chaganti Koteshwara Rao.

  Keeping with the vibrant storytelling tradition of India, this narrative too takes creative liberties that may seem to depart from the literary narrative at places, but strives to bring the reader closer to the characters.

  I should mention the inspiration I drew from the works of Sri K.M. Munshi (Krishnavatara), Sri S.L. Bhyrappa (Parva) and Sri Bankim Chandra Chatterjee (Krishna Charitra).

  With the blessings of elders and inspiration from the one above, I present this offering, in the hopes that you enjoy the tale of this immortal empress of ancient India.

  Prologue

  The cool monsoon river breeze blew against her face, making her curls flutter. She loved the sight of clouds clearing the sky, making way for the rays of the sun. After the customary sun worship, Rajmata Uttara would always linger to feast her eyes upon the red ball before he turned into a ball of flames, too bright to cast an eye on. Sensing the maids waiting for her, Uttara tore her gaze away from the sky and turned to return to the royal rest house on the banks of Yamuna, close to the city of In
draprastha. This was a site she had carefully chosen for the privacy it provided her in the Vanaprastha stage of her life, and because it was close to the city. The errand boy bowed to her before leaving for the city on the humble horse cart to get provisions for the next couple of days. The young maid extended her hand to support Uttara on her walk back. A commotion at the end of the usually quiet path leading to the city drew her attention. A grand chariot approached the rest house with the charioteer reining in the Gandhara-bred shell-white stallions to a gentle trot. Uttara’s face brightened for a moment before a frown wrinkled her sunburnt forehead. Leaving the maid’s hand, she turned the other way, without staying to welcome the visitor. Unmindful of her maid who stood rooted to the spot, facing the biggest dilemma of her life, Uttara turned to walk back to the rest house.

  ‘Grandmother!’

  It had been more than a month since she had heard the call. The voice did not lack even an ounce of affection and reverence. But Uttara decided that she was allowed this privilege to sulk against the emperor of Bharatavarsha—the vast expanse from the southern seashores to the heart of the cold snow mountains in the north. Though the original empire under the celebrated ancestor Bharata was much bigger, this was the biggest that the empire had been in recent generations. To his credit, her grandson had proved a worthy successor, carving his own journey in the midst of the agony of losing his father. But the affairs of an emperor could not be an excuse to not visit one’s own grandmother. Uttara did not pay heed to his pleas, not until Janamejaya overtook her, blocking her way.

  ‘Grandmother,’ he twinkled. ‘We both know that you cannot stay angry with me.’

  Uttara folded her hands on her chest. That boyish spark only surfaced in his eyes in her presence.

  ‘But tell me, am I the only one to blame? Why do you insist upon staying here instead of your older mansion in Hastinapura? That way, you could command me to present myself in front of you anytime you wished, Grandmother.’

  Thanking the gods and ancestors for the simple pleasures she enjoyed, even after nearly losing everything she had loved, Uttara gave in with a majestic wave of her left hand. ‘Like I should give up my ashram dharma just so that your horses are saved a ride here.’ Turning to the stupefied maid who had not yet decided her course of action between the emperor of the land and the only woman she feared, Uttara instructed her to serve the meal.

  After affectionately asking about Rajmata Iravati, her daughter-in-law, the queen of the late emperor Parikshit, and about the well-being of Bhimasena, Ugrasena and Shrutasena, she proceeded towards the spacious portico where she usually had her morning meal. Janamejaya told her about the other developments in Hastinapura and his desire to perform the Ashwamedha. The conversation veered towards the Ashwamedha Yajna conducted by his great-grand-uncle Yudhishtira. The impact of the recollection of the erstwhile empress, Draupadi, was visible on Uttara’s face.

  An awestruck silence overtook them, each drowned in their own memory. Uttara was remembering her association with her enigmatic mother-in-law, and Janamejaya was thinking about Rishi Vaishampayana’s narration of the exploits of his ancestors and their much-celebrated queen. He saw Uttara fiddle with her silvery white plait, still long and lustrous, despite her ripe age of nearly eighty springs.

  ‘You lost a lot in the great war, Grandmother,’ he murmured, shuddering while he imagined the dance of destruction at Kurukshetra. ‘Was there ever an occasion when you felt your life would have been better had you not married into the Pandava household?’

  ‘Depends upon how one defines the word “better”, Janamejaya,’ Uttara replied, still staring into space, as if she was viewing the incidents of her past right there.

  Janamejaya moved closer, taking his place by her feet. ‘After listening to the most learned rishis of Bharatavarsha for days, I have still not been able to come to terms with my father’s death, Grandmother Uttara. How can I even dare to imagine how it must be for you who lost…’ he could not complete the sentence, partly out of the numbness his empathy generated and partly because he did not want to refresh her moments of bereavement. Uttara had lost her father, brothers, and a very young husband with whom she had hardly spent a year of marital life, to the war at Kurukshetra. Her unborn child, Parikshit, Janamejaya’s father, had escaped from an episode of horrific midnight slaughter.

  ‘Everyone lost someone dear to them in the war, Janamejaya,’ Uttara sighed. ‘My marrying into this household at least gave me the satisfaction of bearing an heir to this empire. In fact, I am proud that the thought of unborn Parikshit gave the much-needed hope and strength to Uncle Yudhishtira to take up the reins of this devastated land. I had the good fortune of being a daughter to Mother Draupadi when she lost everyone born of her womb to that midnight slaughter.’

  Janamejaya’s eyes filled with a sense of admiration. ‘Old men and women at Hastinapura still blame Empress Draupadi and her anger for their losses in the battle.’ With a pained shrug, he added, ‘The gap of understanding that exists between the wise and the mundane.’

  ‘As the emperor, it is your dharma to dispel misunderstandings surrounding the history of this land, Janamejaya,’ Uttara’s voice was stern. ‘The whole point of reciting the records of the past is to learn from the exploits of our ancestors, take pride in their valour, strength and courage, while gaining wisdom from the stories of their tribulations. If people judge their ancestors because of false notions about history, it is only a matter of time before the population is uprooted from the values their ancestors fought for, and falls apart.’

  Janamejaya nodded. ‘That is the reason why I have impressed upon the rishis and acharyas to impart the timeless record of Bharata to students while they acquire education from their gurus. I have also appealed to the erudite disciples of Bhagavan Veda Vyasa to conduct recitation sessions in public gatherings during the festivities.’

  Uttara smiled in satisfaction at his genuine attempts. ‘Janamejaya, lazy intellect puts the blame of the Great War on one person. Those who truly understood what led to the eighteen-day-long slaughter at Kurukshetra would reflect on the events and choices of three of the four generations that led the entire empire to war. Blaming someone like Mother Draupadi is not only foolish but also a disturbing sign of misogyny that would be frowned upon by the learned rishis who recorded history and composed the timeless story. Mother Draupadi, in fact, saved the empire from many disasters with the sheer power of her desire to protect this land.’

  Janamejaya listened to her animated discourse and smiled. ‘Grandmother Uttara, I have never seen a woman defend her mother-in-law with the passion that you did just now. Pray, tell me the story again, this time through her eyes.’

  Uttara rejoiced at Janamejaya’s undying enthusiasm to listen to the tale of his ancestors repeatedly. Very few were fortunate enough to carry the legacy that he did and even fewer realized and strived to live by it as he did. She was more than delighted to narrate the tale, especially from the perspective of the woman who had captured her respect, awe and love for this life and the lives to come—from the perspective of Draupadi.

  Part One

  Princess of Panchala

  One

  The Banishment

  She woke up with a start.

  The nightmare seemed real. The senior nurse ran to comfort the little princess.

  ‘You are safe, my princess…’

  ‘Where are they?’ Princess Draupadi demanded. Traces of defiance surfaced on her face and fear had no option but to bow out. She saw the nurse exchange an uncertain glance with the other female attendants.

  ‘Who do you talk about, my dear?’

  ‘Father, Shikhandi, Satyajit, Dhrishtadyumna… They have to be saved!’

  The nurse held her by her arms, brushing her lustrous curls. ‘They are all in the court, Princess. You must go to sleep.’

  ‘But they were in danger!’ Draupadi protested, attempting to jump off the bed. In the lamplight, the attendants who blocked her way saw her eye
s turn crimson. There was something about the anger of this ten-year-old princess that made them shudder. The only person in the royal household of Panchala they feared more than her was King Yajnasena Drupada himself. Even the Crown Prince Dhrishtadyumna, who was quick to anger, did not inspire the awe that she did. The very friendly Shikhandi and the quiet Satyajit, not more than Shikhandi’s shadow, came nowhere near in wielding the authority that she did at her age.

  ‘That was just a nightmare, my lady,’ the nurse smiled. ‘Come back to bed, or else your father will get angry.’ She hoped to convince the princess using her father’s name, but tonight, the ten-year-old Draupadi was too possessed by her nightmare to fear anything else. The nurse shrugged when she saw the princess bite the arm of the female guard who was trying to stop her.

  ‘You cannot go to the court like this!’ the nurse hissed, pointing at Draupadi’s crumpled silks and dishevelled hair. Even this attempt to stop the princess was futile. ‘Idiots! Catch her!’ she shouted at the sleepy guards. ‘If she reaches the court in that state, some of us are going to lose our jobs!’ she screamed at the two guards who were pursuing her.