This was unbelievable. This was without doubt a miracle, an act of God defying the laws of logic, space and time. God was on the side of Draupadi and against the Kauravas. God had stood up when man had not.
Naked, the Goddess is Kali, bloodthirsty and wild as the undomesticated forest. Clothed, she is Gauri, gentle as a domesticated orchard or field. The unclothing of Draupadi is not merely the unclothing of a woman; it represents the collapse of civilization, the move from field to forest, from Gauri to Kali, when dharma is abandoned and matsya nyaya reigns supreme, so that might dominates the meek.
Hair-splitting arguments regarding whether a man can gamble his wife after losing himself take attention away from the fact that a woman is being gambled away like chattel and one is seeking legal justifications for it. That is the tragedy of the situation.
According to one folk narrative, once Krishna was bathing in the river with the Pandava brothers when his lower garment got pulled away by the current. Draupadi immediately gave him her upper garment so that he could cover himself. Krishna repaid that act of generosity by coming to Draupadi’s rescue and covering her with cloth when the Kauravas tried to disrobe her.
49
The last game
Draupadi’s eyes flashed fire. ‘I shall never forgive the Kauravas for doing what they have done to me. I shall not tie my hair until I wash it in Dusshasana’s blood.’
Bhima could not keep quiet any more. ‘And I will kill each and every Kaurava, drink Dusshasana’s blood and break Duryodhana’s thigh with which he insulted my wife.’ His voice boomed across the hall with such force that the dice trembled and the game board burst into flames.
Outside, the dogs began to wail. Donkeys began to bray. Cats whimpered. Fear crept into Dhritarashtra’s heart. Vidura told his brother, ‘The gods frown upon you and your sons. Stop this madness before it gets further out of hand.’
The blind king shouted, ‘Stop, Draupadi. Don’t utter that curse that sits on your tongue.’ He then hobbled towards her and said, ‘Shame on me, that I let things go so far. Shame on me, that I tolerated this stupid game. Shame on me, that I enjoyed it too. I am old and blind, and foolish. Forgive them for my sake. I offer you three boons. Take them and leave in peace.’
Draupadi stopped sobbing and said, ‘First, I want freedom for my husbands and second, I want their possessions to be restored to them.’
‘And the third boon? Something for yourself?’
‘Nothing,’ said Draupadi. ‘Greed is unbecoming of a warrior’s wife.’
As the Pandavas were leaving with their weapons and their wife, Karna chuckled and shouted, ‘Draupadi is the raft that saved the drowning Pandavas. Have they no shame? Saved by a woman. What they lost in a game, they accept in charity instead of earning it back.’
‘Come back and play a final game, Yudhishtira. One game. Just one and win all that you have lost. Especially your honour,’ cried the Kauravas.
‘And if I lose?’ asked Yudhishtira, indicating his willingness to play to the dismay of his brothers. ‘Twelve years of exile in the forest, taking with you nothing but what you carry on your persons, with no claim on Indra-prastha for that period, followed by a final thirteenth year living in hiding. Should you be discovered during this final year, you shall go back into exile for another twelve years.’
Yudhishtira accepted the terms of the game and made his way to the gambling table. His brothers protested. His wife begged him to stop. But Yudhishtira refused to listen. ‘I will surely win this last game.’
The dice was rolled once again. And once again Shakuni said, ‘Lo, I have won!’
The Pandavas were now obliged to leave their city and move into the forest for thirteen long years. Without uttering a word, Yudhishtira bowed to the king and bid farewell to all the members of the royal family and set out with his wife and brothers, carrying nothing but the clothes and weapons on their person.
Dhritarashtra was told by his charioteer, Sanjay, that while leaving the palace, Yudhishtira covered his face with a cloth, lest his angry eyes destroy Hastinapuri; Bhima flexed his arms that were restless to break the bones of each and every Kaurava; Arjuna picked up a fistful of sand and let it trail behind him, indicating the shower of a million arrows that would soon fall upon those who had wronged his family; Nakula covered himself with mud so that no beautiful woman was tempted to follow him into the forest; Sahadeva painted his face black in shame; and Draupadi let her unbound hair streak across her face, terrifying the women of the city of their eventual fate.
As they were leaving, Kunti ran after her sons. Vidura ran behind her. Yudhishtira stopped and hugged his mother but requested her to stay back. ‘Whatever be his feelings for me, Duryodhana will not treat you with disrespect. Stay here with my uncles and their wives and your nephews. Wait for us till we come back from exile.’
With a heavy heart, Kunti let her sons go. ‘Take care of my sons,’ she told Draupadi as she bid a tearful farewell to her daughter-in-law. ‘Pay special attention to Sahadeva. He is sensitive and may not be able to bear the pressure of his calamity too well.’
Then Kunti and Vidura watched all six pass through the gates of the city and walk towards the southern horizon. Many from the city followed them. They watched them bathe in the Ganga and bid them farewell from the other side of the river. Beyond lay the forests that would be their home for a long, long time.
Why does Dhritarashtra finally intervene? Is it because good sense finally prevailed? Is it because he suddenly notices bad omens all around and realizes he must protect his sons from the consequences of their megalomania? Is it because, as many folk versions suggest, the palace women including Gandhari and the wives of the Kauravas rise up in protest? Vyasa leaves the reader guessing.
In South India, Draupadi is worshipped as the fierce virgin-goddess who is let down by her five husbands. In festivals that last up to eighteen days, the whole Mahabharata is re-enacted at the end of which young men walk on fire. This ritual is believed to represent an act of collective expiation by the men for letting down the goddess. In Bangalore, during the Karaga festival, a man dresses up like a woman and travels through the city surrounded by brave men carrying swords, known as Veerakumaras. The man is supposed to represent Yudhishtira, the eldest Pandava, undergoing ritual humiliation as he asks his wife, the goddess, to forgive him and bestow her grace upon his people.
A solar eclipse is supposed to have occurred when the Pandavas went into exile. This is described by Vidura in the Sabha Parva.
In the Bhil Bharata, a version of the Mahabharata from the Dungri Bhil community in the northern parts of the Gujarat state, who claim descent from Rajputs, there is a tale of the Pandavas being asked to find ‘a man who is sold by a woman’ before they can proceed with a particularly powerful yagna. Bhima offers to find such a man. He wanders the earth but finds no such man as all the women he meets say that the men who belong to them are their husbands. They inform Bhima that a husband is like a jewel that makes a woman beautiful and therefore cannot be given away like cattle. Finally, Bhima is directed to a courtesan who has many customers. They all chase her but she does not care for them. She willingly sells a man to Bhima so that the Pandavas can perform their yagna. This tale compiled by Dr Bhagwandas Patel seems like an expression of folk outrage on the gambling of Draupadi by the men who were supposed to protect her. They treated her as chattel, not as wife.
Book Eleven
Exile
‘Janamejaya, in the forest, your once prosperous ancestors lived in poverty and were repeatedly humiliated and humbled.’
50
Krishna visits the Pandavas
While the gambling match was taking place in Hastina-puri, and while the Pandavas were losing all their fortune, Krishna was away at Dwaraka defending his city from attacks by Shishupala’s friends, Shalva and Dantavakra. After pushing them back, he rushed to Hastina-puri. By the time he arrived, however, the match was over and the Pandavas had lost everything.
Kris
hna found his cousins and their queen outside the city, near a cluster of caves in the forest of Kamyaka, looking despondent, surrounded by sages who were trying to comfort them and make sense of all that had happened. Royalty just a few days earlier, surrounded by grain and gold, cows and horses, they had nothing now.
Draupadi was the first to see Krishna approach. Tears, held back until now, burst forth in a gush as she ran to hug him, unmindful of the men around. The Pandavas followed her and hugged Krishna too. Somehow, seeing Krishna, it seemed all wrongs would be made right.
‘We still have our weapons. Let us march to Hastina-puri right now and destroy the Kauravas,’ said a determined Bhima.
‘Did you not agree to spend thirteen years in exile if you lost the match?’ asked Krishna.
‘Yes,’ said Yudhishtira.
‘Then, keep your word.’
‘They tricked us,’ shouted Arjuna. ‘Shakuni used loaded dice. Exile or no exile, Duryodhana will never let go of Indra-prastha.’
‘That should be a concern only thirteen years later,’ said a calm Krishna, sensing the bubbling rage in the brothers.
‘Yudhishtira played the game of dice,’ reasoned Bhima. ‘Not us. Let the rest of us fight and reclaim what is ours.’
Krishna looked at Bhima sternly. ‘Don’t blame him for this situation. You allowed him to play on your behalf. You are as much responsible for this situation as he is. No one forced any of you to accept the invitation to the game of dice and nobody forced you to wager your wife. Your pride prevented you from withdrawing. You continued, abandoning all good sense. All five of you lost. All five of you must keep your word and suffer exile quietly. To keep your word is dharma.’
Hearing Krishna speak so, Draupadi started sobbing uncontrollably. Her unbound hair reached her feet like an unfurled banner seeking vengeance. ‘Surely I am not responsible for what happened to me,’ she said.
Krishna looked at Draupadi, his eyes full of empathy. ‘God does not hate you, Draupadi. But you are responsible for rejecting Karna on the grounds of caste. A great warrior, he would never have gambled you in a game of dice. You chose a priest instead, who turned out to be a prince, who shared you with his four brothers, but who could not protect you. And so here you are—helpless, humiliated, and alone, in a situation that you inadvertently helped create. Take responsibility for it.’
Draupadi was shattered on hearing Krishna’s grating truth. Krishna hugged her and wept with her and wept for her. He then consoled her. ‘Those who tormented you, Draupadi, had the option of not doing so. Those around could have helped you. But they chose to abuse you. The elders could have protested, but they hid behind rule books. Each one of them, the criminals as well as the silent witnesses of the crime, will pay a price, Draupadi. As you weep now, so shall their widows. Be assured of that.’
Sensing Draupadi’s concern for her children, Krishna said, ‘Do not fear for them. I will give them, Subhadra and Subhadra’s son shelter in Dwaraka. There they will be raised as my own sons by my wives.’
In both the great Indian epics, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, the forest is both a physical reality as well as a metaphor for the unknown, untamed realms of the mind. The Rishis are the first to explore both these spaces, creating trails connecting caves and water bodies that offer refuge to travellers. Warriors accompany them or follow them, protecting them from beasts and demons. Thus the Vedic way reaches the unexplored realms of the world; the forests become tame, a safe place for mankind, where even the weakest can thrive. Politically, this can be seen as the tales of the so-called Aryan invasion, how the followers of the Veda established their supremacy in India. Metaphysically, it can be seen as the tales of gradual domestication of the mind.
As in the Ramayana, the forest exile in the Mahabharata begins as a tragedy and ends as a great learning experience that transforms the Pandavas into better human beings and hence better kings.
The Pandavas were born in the forest. After the burning of the lac palace, they took refuge in the forest. When they lost the game of dice, they again go into forest exile. By contrast, the Kauravas spend their entire life in the palace. This shows that the Kauravas have luck on their side while the Pandavas have none. The Pandavas have to rely on their intelligence, strength and unity to make their fortune.
51
Draupadi’s vessel
Dhaumya, the chief priest of the Pandavas, followed them to the forest. Accompanying him were hundreds of Brahmans from Hastina-puri who were disgusted by the behaviour of the Kauravas. ‘You may not have a kingdom,’ they told Yudhishtira, ‘but you are our king. Let us perform yagnas for you as we always did. Let us invoke the Devas and wipe away your misfortune.’
Watching the Brahmans sit around her husbands, Draupadi was overwhelmed with despair. ‘When they came to my house in Indra-prastha, they never left unfed. Now, I have nothing to offer them. Oh, what shame!’ she wailed.
Krishna noticed that among the priests who surrounded the Pandavas there were many who had come there on Duryodhana’s express instructions. The sole reason for their presence there, Krishna divined, was to make the Pandavas feel miserable over their inability to feed guests, and thereby win favour with the Kauravas. And the Pandavas were undoubtedly miserable. The five brothers scoured the forest for berries and fruit, but there was never enough to go around.
Krishna asked Draupadi, ‘I have travelled so far to see you. Will you not feed me, Draupadi? What has happened to your famed hospitality?’ Draupadi felt Krishna was mocking her misfortune. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Krishna held her chin, raised her head, looked into her eyes and with an encouraging smile said, ‘Surely there is something.’
Draupadi wiped her tears. She realized her friend was up to something. She started thinking. ‘Half a berry,’ she said. ‘That’s what I have. I was eating it when you arrived.’
‘That will do,’ said Krishna. Draupadi’s face lit up. She untied a knot in her garment where she had kept the berry, and offered it to Krishna. Krishna ate it with relish and even burped in satisfaction making Draupadi laugh.
No sooner did Krishna burp than all the Brahmans felt as if they had eaten a vast meal. Their stomachs were so full that they could barely sit. All of them stood up and kept burping in satisfaction. ‘We have not eaten yet our stomachs are full,’ they said. They realized the blessings of the gods were with the Pandavas; even though they had no food, no one left their doorstep hungry. They blessed the Pandavas and Draupadi.
Krishna then advised Yudhishtira to pray to the sun-god to save him from such embarrassing situations. In response, Surya gave him a magic vessel. ‘Give this to Draupadi. It will be always full of food until all your guests have been fed and you have been fed and Draupadi has had her meal,’ said the Deva.
The arrival of the vessel was a welcome relief for Draupadi. She bowed to Surya and thanked Krishna. Having thus provided for his cousins, Krishna took leave and returned to Dwaraka.
For Kshatriyas, it was a matter of great pride that whoever visited their houses left after being refreshed and well fed. This was the law of hospitality. This is why, even today, many households in India insist that whosoever enters their house must not leave without having at least a glass of water or a cup of tea or a small snack.
Draupadi’s vessel is like Lakshmi’s Akshay Patra and the Greek cornucopia which are always full of food. Across India, the term ‘Draupadi’s vessel’ means a kitchen that is overflowing with the best of foods that is offered to all guests, servants and members of the household. Such a kitchen is an indicator of a good housewife.
Even though Draupadi had humiliated his son, Karna, on grounds of caste, the sun-god helps Draupadi by providing her with the magic vessel of food, yet another instance of forgiveness in the epic.
52
Kauravas gloat
Duryodhana was not content with the exile of the Pandavas. ‘They have gone into the forest. But they will come back. Let us go into the forest and hunt down the Pandavas inste
ad like wild beasts. That will secure my position forever.’
Dusshasana, Shakuni and Karna agreed with Duryodhana. But before they could act, Vyasa stormed into Hastina-puri and admonished the blind king and his blindfolded wife, ‘Stop your sons. Have they not brought enough shame to the good name of Kuru? Now they plan a dastardly hunting expedition against your nephews!’
‘This is truly shameful,’ agreed Vidura. ‘Brother,’ he told Dhritarashtra, ‘You are the king and you let this happen to your own nephews. You can still salvage the situation. Call them back. Say it was a big mistake. Punish your sons for their wickedness. Save the household from doom.’
‘If you are so concerned about the Pandavas, then why don’t you go to them? Why are you sitting here with me?’ snapped Dhritarashtra, tired of being criticized by his brother.
‘I will,’ said Vidura. He got up, left the palace and the city, and went straight to the Kamyaka forest, not turning back once to look at his brother.
No sooner did Vidura leave than Dhritarashtra regretted his harshness. ‘What have I done? How could I have been so rude to my brother who thinks only of my welfare?’ He immediately dispatched a servant after Vidura. ‘Do not return until he agrees to come back.’
The servant found Vidura with the Pandavas. They were seated under a huge Banyan tree on the banks of the Ganga. ‘Please come back. The king regrets his harsh words,’ said the servant. But Vidura refused to budge.
Yudhishtira knew how much the two brothers loved each other. ‘Uncle, please go back,’ he told Vidura. ‘You are the one voice of reason in the palace. He needs your support in this horrible time. You may not agree with his politics but please do not abandon him at such a time. Stand by him. He needs you more than we need you.’
Jaya: An Illustrated Retelling of the Mahabharata Page 14