Draupadi- the Tale of an Empress

by Saiswaroopa Iyer

Once, the enticing sight of a valley in full blossom made Draupadi long for a walk in the terrain. She bit her lip as soon as she had voiced her wish. ‘Bhima, let it be.’ She shook her head.

  ‘Come on, don’t dash my hopes to the ground this way, Draupadi!’ he persisted till she gave in.

  ‘Just promise to not repeat the Saugandhika incident where you disappeared for days to search for a flower,’ she shrugged and walked with him after Bhima had promised that they would return before sunset.

  ‘I know your love for blossoms,’ Bhima smiled his most tender smile. ‘Even at Indraprastha, you would spend more hours supervising the gardens, than your mansion. Even at the risk of the gardeners dreading your presence!’ he guffawed at his own joke before the stab of realization of what they had lost hit him. He looked at Draupadi who was already interested in a strange-looking creeper blooming with long flowers. She was commenting on the contrasting effect the creeper would have when planted against a row of Kadamba plants. Unwilling to break her reverie, Bhima walked towards the end of the cliff.

  Draupadi paused, sensing him walk away. Her lips pursed at the thought of their serene bliss disturbed by bitter memories. Forgetting the day at the Kuru sabha was not possible. Mechanically gathering the seeds from the creeper, which she hoped would germinate in the warmer temperatures near the foothills, she proceeded to explore the lower row of bushes. It was then that she sensed the treacherous camouflage. As she was swept off the ground, Draupadi could not see the abductor who sprang upon her from nowhere. Before she could alert Bhima, his rough hand closed upon her mouth. Her legs kicked the air, frantically trying to make some noise that would reach Bhima’s ears. Even though her hands were free, it was futile trying to overpower the brute. Draupadi, by now, was sure it was a rakshasa—a cannibal! Mahadeva knew whether he intended to feast upon her, or worse, force himself on her. She tried to hold on to anything that would impede his speed. Bhima was bound to notice her silence and absence and look for her soon. She only had to delay the progress of the rakshasa. Draupadi attempted to hold on to a branch, but the cannibal was too strong for her grip. A part of the branch broke and remained in her hands. Draupadi tried beating his legs with it. But the attempts were in vain. Finally, she gave up and dug her nails in his leg instead, causing him to move his hand from her mouth.

  ‘Bhima!’

  The rakshasa grunted in anger, tightening his hold over her, realizing her trick.

  ‘Bhima!’

  She managed to scream before he gagged her again. But Bhima seemed too far to hear her. The rakshasa gained speed after that. She, too, was exhausted by now.

  ‘Leave her, Jata!’ A voice came from the path ahead of them. The rakshasa stopped in his tracks. ‘I said, leave her!’

  The voice was familiar. Draupadi saw a figure emerge on the slope covered with wild plants. The voice sounded a lot less menacing, almost protective. The rakshasa—Jata, as the other man called him—continued to advance.

  ‘I shall not say it again!’ The voice was much closer. As he landed right before Jata and compelled him to leave Draupadi alone, she saw his eyes widen.

  ‘Samragni?’

  ‘Ghatotkacha!’ she mouthed, remembering the son of Bhima by Hidimba, the woman chieftain of the rakshasas. He had even attended the Rajasuya. In the couple of years that had followed, Ghatotkacha seemed to have grown into an able-bodied rakshasa. Draupadi saw them pounce on each other. The style of fighting differed a lot from what she had seen in the urban parts of Bharata. The moves spoke of brute force but she could sense their remarkable ability to take advantage of the topography. None of them gave the other a moment to breathe easy. Nor did any of them show signs of fatigue. Resilience seemed to be a quality ingrained into their minds and bodies. It was terrifying to watch. But it was fascinating too. It was only after she saw them engaged in a deadlock that she remembered to call out to Bhima again.

  Jata’s desperation seemed to grow upon the thought that his opponent could receive more help. The young Ghatotkacha, she could gauge, was a strategic fighter too. She could guess that his mother had possessed the presence of mind to train her son under experienced wrestling teachers from urban Bharata as well. It showed in the way Ghatotkacha retained his breath even when Jata’s started to falter.

  But where on earth was Bhima?

  Draupadi began to get worried.

  Was he too caught up with some other rakshasa lurking in the wilderness?

  Draupadi’s eyes quickly surveyed the rugged route downhill, and then, she turned her gaze back to the bout. Ghatotkacha managed to land a powerful blow on Jata’s head that sent the latter sprawling down the slope. He hit against another boulder. Neither Draupadi, nor Ghatotkacha, saw him move for a while. Draupadi exhaled and looked for Bhima who had disappeared. It was unlike him to not respond to her call.

  ‘Ghatotkacha!’ she exclaimed, stopping him in the middle of his greeting. ‘I am worried for Bhima. We came together till there!’ she pointed in the direction of the cliff and narrated how Jata had tried to whisk her away.

  Ghatotkacha’s lips parted in concern. It was not like Bhima to succumb to anything without a good fight and it required more than an average rakshasa to defeat Bhima. Ghatotkacha surveyed the valley for other possible exits. Nothing seemed out of place.

  Draupadi saw what Ghatotkacha had missed. She sensed the shadow from a distance and whirled around just in time to see Jata sneaking behind them after recovering from his fall.

  ‘Watch out!’ she cried, on seeing Jata’s club, ready to hit Ghatotkacha.

  The lad ducked before he turned around but Jata screamed and fell down before his club could deliver its intended blow. Draupadi and Ghatotkacha saw a grinning Bhima behind him!

  The second layer of wolfskin had become a necessity in this altitude. Draupadi opened her eyes to see Nakula massaging her cold feet and Sahadeva trying to protect the fire from the winds. She had heard of the beauty of the snow-capped mountains and had always cherished a dream to visit the Himalayan valleys. But with the increasing height, the topography seemed to turn more hostile. She tried to sit up and felt her head spin.

  ‘Don’t get up so soon, Samragni. Rest a while more,’ Yudhishtira patted her from behind.

  Succumbing to physical fatigue and helplessness was a first in her life. Much against her own wishes, Draupadi fell back, resting her head in his lap. Yudhishtira proceeded to massage her head, and she was in no position to protest. ‘Don’t we have more distance to cover today, Samrat?’ she managed to ask.

  It seemed to her that Yudhishtira’s voice too had considerably weakened. ‘We have, Samragni. But Ghatotkacha offered to carry you for the rest of the journey. We have some more time to rest before he returns with a hunt.’

  Bless Ghatotkacha! But how mortifying was it to be carried like this!

  Draupadi groaned in disgust. She heard Nakula chuckle sadly.

  ‘If it makes you feel any better, even the three of us need help if we want to proceed any further. Of course, Bhima being the exception,’ Nakula muttered.

  ‘Did our empire extend till here?’ Draupadi wondered. As per her knowledge, Arjuna, in his northward campaign during the Rajasuya, had brought under the empire the territories of Kimpurusha, Yaksha and Gandharva. Nakula nodded. Draupadi’s respect for the soldiers who had accompanied Arjuna rose, and she began thinking about the perils they might have encountered while fighting against the better-positioned local armies. How had their sacrifices been squandered away over a stupid game? Warm tears washed down her cold cheeks. Suddenly, the insults she had faced from Karna, Duryodhana and Dushasana seemed smaller than what an average soldier in the army of Indraprastha would have felt at the news of the loss of the empire. Why did Arjuna, who was well-aware of the sweat and blood of the soldiers, not stop Yudhishtira? She had no answers, and she knew even Yudhishtira had none. This journey to the Himalayas seemed meaningful now.

  Never should a soldier’s sacrifice go unnoticed, much less, squandered
away in the name of meaningless diplomacy.

  Bhima and Ghatotkacha, along with his followers, returned with the hunt for the day. Following them were eminent rishis, known for their extensive travelling and experiences. Draupadi sensed Yudhishtira move and sat up to welcome the guests. While the meal was cooked, they would have a story to listen to! The story turned much more interesting when one of the rishis informed them about Arjuna’s current whereabouts and his return journey. The fatigue of the arduous trek was forgotten when tales about Arjuna’s encounters with the divine beings were recounted by the rishis, the highlight being his possession coveting of the Pashupatastra that had belonged to Lord Shiva himself!

  Draupadi’s mood changed on hearing about Arjuna’s return. It was almost like how it had been when he had returned from his military campaign for the Rajasuya. Kunti had been right. None among the five brothers could be himself when one of them was not around.

  Twenty-six

  Duryodhana’s Ghoshayatra

  The return to Dvaitavana was more pleasant than the onward journey. Draupadi felt that Arjun’s return had lifted the spirits of the other four too. It showed in all aspects of their daily life, right from their appetite to their enthusiasm about hunting, discussing statecraft, and weapons. She expressed it to Yudhishtira once and could not decipher the wry smile on his lips. Before she could ask him the reason, the rishis came to visit and welcome them back to Dvaitavana.

  The rishis engaged them by narrating tales of heroic kings and queens, and of the learned rishis of yore. The tales came with messages of inspiration that lifted the spirits of the five brothers in the trying times. Some of the rishis and travelling Brahmins often brought valuable information about what was happening in the various Mahajanapadas, especially in Hastinapura.

  Before they had embarked on the northward journey, Yudhishtira had kept himself abreast of the information with a keen interest. Duryodhana, in the early days of the Pandavas’ exile, had indeed gone to extreme lengths to keep the citizens and other vassal kings happy.

  But in recent years, while the citizens found little change in their lives, trouble had started brewing amongst the various kingdoms of Bharatavarsha. The royal family of Kekayas had broken up, with hostilities rising amongst paternal cousins—a situation the Pandavas could relate to. The kingdoms of Matsya and Trigarta were in constant tussle, at times, even stooping to the level of raiding the borders and stealing each other’s cattle. The rulers of the central kingdoms of Avanti and Vidarbha maintained a diplomatic demeanour, but the travellers told Yudhishtira that signals of economic dominion were surfacing, and it was a matter of time before the ambience turned hostile. The onus of resolving these tussles often fell upon Dhritarashtra who sat on the throne of the empire. However, he often left the decisions to his eldest son and Duryodhana’s skill of resolving hostilities was not popular.

  That day, the travelling rishis told them something that made Yudhishtira sit up.

  ‘The crown prince of Hastinapura aches for a break. The news of your arrival at the forests of Dvaitavana has reached Duryodhana, Samrat. To humour him and keep him away from the issues of governance for a while, Shakuni and Karna have impressed upon him the need to organize a pleasure trip to Dvaitavana. The royal retinue is set to arrive here accompanied by a thousand attendants, cooks, soldiers, entertainers, servants, and pleasure girls,’ the rishi tried to summarize what he knew.

  Sensing the hostility in the faces of Arjuna and Bhima, Yudhishtira concluded the conversation swiftly and bade the rishis farewell after a brief meal. The evening passed in an uncomfortable silence, with each of them attempting to distract themselves.

  Draupadi observed Yudhishtira’s restrained anger. It surfaced once or twice in his eyes. But the eldest Pandava knew how to suppress it. At times, even at his own cost. Draupadi felt compelled to ask him about it when she saw Yudhishtira awake, long after the rest of his brothers had gone to sleep.

  ‘I know why Duryodhana has suddenly set out to interact with cattle rearers on the bordering regions. It’s a pretext,’ Yudhishtira’s tone assumed an uncharacteristic acerbity.

  ‘The real intention of this Ghoshayatra is to flaunt what they have in front of us so that he can escape from his own inadequacy in governing this empire,’ Draupadi replied, mirroring his unaffectedness. ‘Worry not, Samrat. Neither the flaunting, nor the ostentation they are going to exhibit, is going to disturb me now,’ she paused. Both of them knew that Duryodhana would not be foolish enough to get into a confrontation with them. With Arjuna’s newly-acquired astras and Bhima’s strength, they did not stand a chance, especially when they came accompanied by their servants and courtesans. Nevertheless, she added, ‘I shall make sure that all the weapons are sharpened and ready for use.’

  Yudhishtira caught Draupadi’s arm when she turned to enter the hut. ‘It is going to hurt, Draupadi.’

  ‘Not me, Yudhishtira. Neither should it hurt you.’

  The Kaurava retinue did arrive in a few days’ time. The Pandavas saw architects arrive at the other side of the lake, a few days in advance, to set up an elaborate encampment. The cooks and servants followed to arrange for food, drink and other necessities for the royal couple. Draupadi tried to ignore the noises that often disturbed her night’s sleep. To her relief and Yudhishtira’s, Bhima set out to hunt in the other direction. They often underestimated the giant’s perceptibility.

  The rishis, however, continued to visit Yudhishtira and life continued like before. One day, a young rishi expressed his displeasure at the way the lake was being polluted by the retinue of Hastinapura, with remains of food, meat, and even discarded garments and containers. The fauna that used to visit the lake for drinking, had stopped coming to the vicinity in fear.

  ‘It is blatant flouting of dharma, Samrat!’ the rishi exclaimed. ‘Dvaitavana is host to human inhabitants like us. What kind of a guest dishonours his host and violates the sanctity of the premises this way?

  The very kind of guest who dishonours and tries to violate his own guests!

  The five brothers understood the young rishi’s impassioned expression of love for the forest and its creatures. Before any of his brothers lost his restraint, Yudhishtira thought of an action that would pacify the rishis as well as keep their minds off the intruders. He proposed performing Rajarishi Yajna, a fortnightly ritual performed in the honour of the beings present in the forest. The rishis lauded his initiative and readily helped him with the arrangements. With Draupadi by his side, Yudhishtira performed the yajna, invoking the various beings of the forest and thanking them for their safe and peaceful stay in the premises, and the enriching experiences of Vanavasa—a phase they had feared would be much more arduous.

  To his relief, the day passed uneventfully with all of them immersed in the ritual. To his surprise, the noise from the encampment at the other side of the lake also stopped. After sunset was the time for singers and entertainers to perform and entertain the Kuru princes, and the soldiers would join in, blowing trumpets and beating drums. But for some reason, an uncharacteristic silence prevailed upon the encampment, as if the inhabitants had suddenly vacated the camps. Upon Draupadi’s suggestion, he sent two young rishis to cross the lake and find out the reason. Before long, the rishis returned, and to Draupadi’s surprise, they brought Princess Bhanumati—the princess of Kalinga and the wife of Duryodhana—with them.

  For a moment, Draupadi’s eyes narrowed, remembering the fateful day.

  The very princess who had not spoken a word in her defence.

  Shaking her thoughts away, Draupadi stepped forward. A closer look at Bhanumati raised her concern. The wife of the Kuru crown prince had not bothered to wear her jewellery and even her braid was undone. Draupadi walked up to Bhanumati, noticing the redness in her eyes, and held her arms with tenderness. Bhanumati broke into hysterical sobs and collapsed on the ground.

  ‘Princess Bhanumati!’ Draupadi exclaimed in genuine concern and tried to raise the distraught woman. But Bhanumat
i clung to her feet. The sound of her wails made Yudhishtira and his brothers hurry closer. Yudhishtira looked for Duryodhana or any of the Kaurava brothers and found none. He looked at the rishis, confused.

  ‘The Kuru crown prince angered the Gandharvas who were also camped at the far end of the lake, Samrat,’ one of them replied. ‘The Gandharva lord was outraged, and overpowered the prince, binding him and taking him away.’

  ‘Arise, Bhanumati,’ Draupadi said, and led her inside the hermitage while Yudhishtira moved towards the deserted camp to probe for more details.

  Bhanumati’s tears continued. ‘Believe me, Draupadi. I warned him against this Ghoshayatra. My heart was against intruding on these enigmatic forests with unwelcomed pomposity. But my words fell upon deaf ears.’

  ‘What happened to Du…Dushasana? Was he captured by the Gandharvas too?’ Draupadi enquired, fighting a flood of emotions. Something about Bhanumati’s state reminded her of her own lonely battle on the day of the dice game. She saw Bhanumati nod, a new wave of pain in her eyes.

  ‘And Karna? He must have fought off the Gandharvas?’ Draupadi enquired. ‘Karna was too drunk to even take proper aim at them!’ Bhanumati wailed. ‘Mahadeva knows where he fled in a bid to save his own life!’

  Draupadi moved away, allowing Bhanumati to vent her grief. Bhanumati sprang to her feet and caught her arms. ‘Your husbands can save him. Only they can secure Duryodhana’s release!’ Seeing Draupadi’s lips part, she went down on her knees again.

  ‘Pray, arise, Bhanumati!’ Draupadi said.

  It was surreal, the slew of emotions that overwhelmed her. Bhanumati’s grief melted her heart. The wife of the enemy who had dragged her into the court and had tried to disrobe her, now knelt at her feet, begging her to save that enemy. The very enemy who had come all the way to Dvaitavana to gloat over her misery and that of her husbands. Draupadi extricated herself from Bhanumati’s grip and stepped out of the hermitage. She saw Bhima argue with Yudhishtira.