Draupadi- the Tale of an Empress

by Saiswaroopa Iyer

  ‘Like your brothers will let you, the emperor, go alone to Hastinapura when so much is under suspicion!’ Draupadi protested. ‘Nor can I stay back, Samrat. Subhadra can look after the children for a couple of days.’

  Yudhishtira was about to shake his head but something in her eyes made him feel otherwise.

  Like he would be better off with her beside him at Hastinapura.

  Twenty-one

  Court Scene I

  Hastinapura

  The messenger’s voice interrupted her troubled nap. Draupadi sat up on the couch. On seeing the male intruder, otherwise not allowed into the inner chambers, she glared at him. He was trembling, as if dreading saying whatever he had come to convey. Draupadi softened and nodded at him.

  ‘You…you have been called to the sabha…Devi,’ he immediately lowered his glance.

  Draupadi did not mind honouring Dhritarashtra’s wish of seeing her in the sabha. But asking a guard to call her, a samragni, seemed odd.

  ‘Did the game conclude?’ she asked, remembering the game of dice that was supposed to take place.

  Swallowing hard, the messenger opened his mouth, ‘Emperor Yudhishtira…wagered and…lost you.’

  It took a full moment for her to digest the news.

  Lost me?

  With some effort, Draupadi managed to remain calm. ‘Who is calling me to the sabha?’

  ‘The crown prince…Duryodhana, in the name of King Dhritarashtra, Devi.’ His eyes begged her to not ask him any more questions.

  Draupadi rose, showing neither hurry nor anger. ‘What did the emperor lose in the game?’

  The guard mumbled, ‘Everything, Devi. His treasury, his army, kingdom, empire, brothers, weapons, himself…and you.’

  The reality now hit her.

  She was being summoned as a wagered win. Possibly as a slave?

  Instinctively, Draupadi’s hand felt for the dagger placed by the side of her couch. She loosened her grip, realizing the futility. If valour could save the day, the Pandavas would not have let it come to this. Desperation and poise rivalled each other within her. And rage she did not know who to direct upon. The wily host or her gullible husbands? Steadying her shaking lips, she drew herself to her full height.

  ‘Pratikami,’ she addressed the guard, ‘do hasten back to the sabha and ask the king of Hastinapura. Did the emperor lose himself first, or me? If he lost himself first, wagering me would not have sanction, according to the rules that govern the game of dice.’ She saw him stare at her. Admiration replaced his shock for a short moment before his eyes narrowed in pity. She hated seeing that. ‘Hurry back and pose my question to the court of Hastinapura. I would like to know what the elders think.’

  The guard left and Draupadi collapsed on the couch, trying to get a grip over herself. Wagering riches and jewellery was one thing. But wagering a principality played with the hopes of the people of that land. The question here was of an empire. The empire that was built on their vision, sweat, and blood—right from the late King Pandu to the lowest foot soldier in the Pandava army.

  Upon the unthinkable, he wagered and lost his own brothers and himself? And her?

  As futile as it seemed now to invoke the rules of the game, Draupadi thought fast. The betrayed woman and queen within her made the task even harder. But something made her feel responsible. For the empire, for the hopes of countless people. At one instant, her hands shook so much that she had to curl her fists hard.

  Like a part of her wanted to strangle Yudhishtira. Who, by the name of Mahadeva, had given him the right to do this?

  She began to ponder over the order of the losses, assuming the guard had recollected them correctly. The game should have stopped the moment he lost the last of his jewellery. But Yudhishtira was not used to losing in a game. Losing the treasury would have driven him to desperation. They had, only a day before, discussed the prospects of financing and sending a portion of their army to Dwaraka to help Krishna. The treasury was crucial. Wagering the army to win it back must have been the next step in desperation and she could see how things had spiralled to this dire situation.

  She hated him. She hated his trait that had brought him to that situation!

  Krishna!

  The cry within sounded distraught.

  What would he advise me to do in this situation?

  ‘Mother of this empire!’ Krishna had quipped cheerfully when they had last spoken to each other. A tear trickled down her cheek at the memory of him tenderly brushing her cheek. She had hardly a year’s experience as the empress of Bharata. But she had been a mother for long enough to realize what she had to do. Determination replaced everything else and she rose to take measured steps towards the sabha. She walked past the dark corridors, undaunted. She was not the ‘lost wife’ anymore. She was the mother. And a mother left no stone unturned when it came to save her children—her subjects, her empire.

  The flabbergasted guard met her midway. ‘Devi…they said you should come to the sabha…to find the answer to your question.’

  Draupadi walked ahead, ‘Who else is there in the sabha? Is Queen Gandhari present?’

  The silence told her that the guard was clueless. She was sure that news of this magnitude would not be hidden from Queen Gandhari.

  If she could somehow stall the proceedings till then and influence Gandhari to impress upon the king…

  Telling the guard to hurry forward and announce her arrival, she began to delve into the nuances of statecraft she had learnt under the able tutelage of Acharya Upayaja. ‘Be with me in spirit, Acharya. Guide me to save the day.’

  Entering the vast corridor outside the sabha, Draupadi made her way towards the ornamental mezzanine that usually served for seating the women of the royal family. It was then that she felt a hand reach out to pull her by her arm.

  ‘Dushasana!’ she snapped, thwarting his grip.

  The look on the face of the younger Kaurava prince when he blocked her was like that of a hungry hyena. ‘Acting smart for a slave, aren’t you?’

  ‘What did you dare call me…?’ the retort was hardly out of her lips when he caught her hand again. When Draupadi resisted, his other hand caught her long hair.

  ‘Let go! Dushasana, you uncouth… Let go!’ The pain almost made her shriek. But pride stopped her from doing so. Before she knew, Draupadi had slipped on the stairs that descended into the sabha. But Dushasana’s grip on her hair did not loosen. Despite her resistance, he managed to drag her. ‘Shame on you, lowly jackal!’ her nails dug into his palms, but his brute strength prevailed.

  Her feet hit the sharp edges of the stairs. In an attempt to hold on to an empty seat, her hands were wounded.

  Were the courtiers of Hastinapura simply watching her ordeal? It can’t be!

  Draupadi was not in a position to look at anyone present in the sabha, her long tresses blocking half her view and the force of his grip rendering her unable to turn the other way. Draupadi panted for breath, trying to rise, when she felt something. The monster had placed his foot upon her back, pinning her down.

  Grunting like a cornered leopard, Draupadi mustered her strength and finally shook him off her. Raising her head, her eyes fell upon the silk cloth, embroidered for the game of dice, and then on the pair of white dice. Her eyes blazed red when they fell upon the five familiar figures, sitting rooted to the spot. She was about to address them—no, order them—to kill the foulmouthed Dushasana on the spot. However, no words escaped her when she saw their downcast pale faces. She doubted if they would ever look into her eyes. For their own good, she hoped they would not. Turning her gaze towards the blind King Dhritarashtra, she rose like a cobra.

  ‘King of Hastinapura! Is it “customary” in your “illustrious” Kuru sabha to drag women by their hair?’ a haunting tenor echoed from her. Not waiting to hear the King’s response, she turned to glare at the others in the court. ‘Am I in the same land which believes that gods turn wrathful when the honour of a woman is violated? Or was I dragged int
o a land devoid of all the principles that a civilization imbibes and follows?’ The elders—Grandsire Bhishma, Kripa, Drona, Uncle Vidura, the grand old man Baahlika—everyone turned his gaze away from her. Draupadi’s gaze stopped at one man. The first one who had dared to meet her gaze.

  Either he had no conscience or…

  ‘The woman who serves five husbands, what “honour” does she deserve in any civilized land, Draupadi?’ If she knew a way of controlling the elements, Draupadi would have burnt anyone who said those words. But the sheer satisfaction that the man showed in uttering the insult told her how low his conscience had stooped.

  ‘Vasusena Karna!’ a lone voice came from the other side. ‘Uncivil rhetoric does not speak of civilization either!’ He was one of the younger Kuru princes, a person unlikely to defy his own brothers.

  At least someone has a spine in this court of imbeciles!

  The young prince stepped forward to face King Dhritarashtra. ‘Father, being the king of Hastinapura, you bear upon your shoulders the burden of keeping up the ethos of our ancestors. The Princess of Panchala has indeed posed a valid question. The eldest Pandava had no rights to wager her after losing himself.’

  Karna turned to his side, laughing dismissively, ‘Prince Vikarna, one does not expect a boy like you to know the nuances of a game like this. But the courtesy of not defying your own elders is the least that is expected of you!’

  ‘Besides,’ Shakuni, the maternal uncle of Duryodhana and the mastermind behind the dice game, interjected, ‘Yudhishtira himself sits in silence without a protest. Do you, Vikarna, need a greater proof that Draupadi was won in a lawful wager?’

  Vikarna scoffed, ‘None who acknowledges the legacy that we strive to uphold would stand back, doing nothing at this sheer injustice.’

  A murmur broke among the courtiers. Draupadi chose to not look at Yudhishtira or any of his brothers. She sensed a movement, and it seemed like one of them was about to break the ominous silence and teach them a lesson, but he was held back by another. But at the moment, none of that mattered. She was here to protect her dreams and what she had spent years working for. The chances of her succeeding seemed bleak but she could not give up!

  ‘Besides,’ Vikarna continued, ‘when the princess of Panchala is the wife of all the five brothers, the eldest Pandava has no right to wager her in the first place!’

  Duryodhana finally cleared his throat to speak. Not missing an opportunity to cast a gleeful glance at Draupadi, he turned to Vikarna. ‘The game is a fair one, Vikarna. But to satisfy you and probably…’ his glance hovered over Draupadi again, betraying his forbidden longing, and then passed on to the five brothers. ‘Ask the younger brothers of Yudhishtira themselves. If they can defy their eldest, even if one of them can defy Yudhishtira, he is free to go along with his wife!’

  Draupadi glared at him when the truth struck her. It was this unity that they were aiming to damage. The survival against deadly intrigues, the meteoric rise of Indraprastha, the unrivalled expansion—all of that had happened due to the unity of the five brothers. The unity that Kunti had nurtured and preserved, the unity that she, Draupadi, had furthered, sacrificing the joys of a simple marital life to endure the complicated relationships a polyandrous wedlock presented.

  At that instant, her gaze turned to the Pandavas. The contrast was distinct. One pair of eyes was still downcast and four pairs of eyes were showing readiness to defy him at her signal. Draupadi had to make an effort to steady herself.

  The fight remained.

  To their horror, she shook her head, raising a forbidding finger—being as discreet as she could be. Moments of quiet followed. Nerve-racking pain threatened to overtake her limbs, but Draupadi held on.

  Duryodhana stared at the four brothers of Yudhishtira and shrugged, ‘Looks like your husbands have spoken… I mean, by not speaking.’ He guffawed and continued, ‘Draupadi, any more “questions”?’

  ‘What would nuance mean to those who take pleasure in bending principles and subverting the tenets of kshatra dharma?’ Draupadi scoffed.

  ‘Enough, slave!’ Karna interjected. ‘The court has wasted enough time deliberating over her pointless question! Dushasana, drag her here and throw her at the feet of her new lords.’

  Twenty-two

  Court Scene II

  The shock on the faces of the elders was palpable. Dushasana was about to reach out to grab Draupadi again, but he was held back.

  ‘Lord of Kurus! Pray, stop this tragedy! Would you want your progeny to remember you as the one who let his daughter-in-law be molested in the sabha, under your rule?’ Vidura, Dhritarashtra’s younger brother and his prime minister, urged him. He tried to hold back Dushasana. But the Kuru prince shook him away with ease.

  ‘Molested? You amuse me, Uncle,’ Duryodhana chuckled. ‘But to allay your fears, let me give this “daughter-in-law” a chance to redeem her honour. She is free to desert her husbands and choose anyone present in this court as her new husband. She would be freed this very moment.’

  At that instant, Draupadi saw Karna step forward. The involuntary rise of hope in his eyes made her want to laugh aloud. She did, but at Duryodhana’s idea of justice. ‘Fie on you, Duryodhana! In fact, I pity you! Unable to better my husbands when their valour is unleashed, you have resorted to this unjust game of dice. You dishonour me even by thinking that I would choose one of the spineless souls in your court as my husband. Given the cowards that you all are…,’ her eyes pointedly blazed on Karna, ‘you don’t even deserve to stand by my side, forget getting my hand!’

  Duryodhana threw his head up. ‘As my dear friend rightly said, enough time of this sabha has been wasted in addressing pointless questions. Dushasana, bring her to me.’ He added, baring his left thigh, ‘Let her take her place, here!’

  ‘Mark my words, Duryodhana!’ Bhima sprang up, shaking off whoever had restrained him until now. ‘You gloat over my condition today and dishonour my queen. But think of the day,’ his own frame shaking with rage, Bhima paused as he glowered at Duryodhana’s brothers, ‘when I shall smash your thighs to a pulp and drink the blood of your brother who dared to drag Draupadi by her hair! None, I repeat, none of your other brothers will remain alive by then to come to your aid.’

  An eerie silence filled the court. But Dushasana only laughed. Shoving Vidura out of his way, he pulled Draupadi by her arm.

  ‘Wait, why is the slave still wearing silks that only queens and noblewomen wear?’ Karna bellowed. ‘Pull those garments off her body and bring her here.’

  ‘Karna!’ Arjuna’s voice broke. ‘All your life, you have ached to compete with me in archery. I promise you, that wish will be granted. That day, your mother will weep over your corpse! The corpse with a missing head that my arrow will claim!’

  ‘Stay away!’ Draupadi thundered at Dushasana who advanced despite the spine-chilling oaths taken by Bhima and Arjuna. ‘This is a sabha blinded not only by lust and vileness, but also by foolishness of the worst kind.’ Turning to the elders, she added, ‘Are you all unaware of the combined might of Panchala and the other allies that the house of Pandu enjoys? Are you under the delusion that they will care about the “rules” of this damned game when it will come to avenging this assault on their daughter and queen?’

  Her threat had a mixed effect on the onlookers, but not much on Dushasana who caught hold of her upper garment.

  ‘Grandsire Bhishma! Acharya Kripa, Acharya Drona!’ she called out to the elders. ‘You stand on the threshold of eternal infamy…’ her voice faded, seeing the helplessness that had overcome Bhishma’s face.

  She remembered the love and pride she had seen in his eyes on the day of the crowning of Yudhishtira. She remembered the awe and fear that his name had struck among the formidable warriors of Bharata. Helplessness did not belong to that name. Draupadi’s eyes narrowed in pity as her grip over her garment loosened. The knot began to give way.

  Vikarna, the lone dissenter of this ignominy among the Kaurava brothe
rs, had left the court. Vidura, the only voice that spoke sense, was not being heeded by anyone. King Dhritarashtra sat rooted to his spot.

  ‘May you remain in history as the ones who shamed the house of illustrious Bharata. Lusty jackals, it is not my body that you stare at! It is your doom! The doom of your house! The doom of your lineage! The doom of your peace!’

  The garment gave way and Draupadi collapsed because of the impact. A strange sense of abandon overtook her. Modesty was the last thing she cared for. The day awaited this doomed land when royal families and commoners would tear each other apart, like her garment had been torn apart. Now there seemed no way to stop it.

  Perhaps, that was for good!

  At that instant, another garment miraculously landed over her shoulders. It covered her just as her torn garment slipped off her body. Draupadi felt faint even as those present in the court stared, spellbound at the phenomenon.

  Krishna! You’re with me indeed.

  Steadying herself, she glared at Dhritarashtra who had not uttered a word. Meanwhile, Vidura put himself between her and Dushasana.

  ‘Let it be, Uncle Vidura,’ Draupadi said. ‘Let those asking for their own destruction have their wish granted. Let their women…’

  ‘Dushasana, you are playing with fire!’ a female voice rang behind her. ‘Duryodhana, son, have you decided to write your own doom?’

  Queen Gandhari. You are too late.

  The blindfolded queen stumbled twice or thrice in her hurry to reach Draupadi. When her steps faltered for the fourth time, Draupadi herself rushed to support her.

  ‘My sons have taken leave of their wisdom, senses, and everything that keeps a man sane, Princess of Panchala. Forgive them! I beg you, forgive them!’ Gandhari attempted to kneel at Draupadi’s feet but was stopped midway by Draupadi. The next moment, the queen of Hastinapura turned to face the throne. ‘Lord of Kurus, save our sons. Undo the wrong done to Draupadi. Otherwise, I fear we will live to see our own progeny die. We will live to see people celebrate their deaths and berate us!’