Yudhishthira’s decision would prevail with us no matter how distasteful the choice was. Yudhishthira recognized this invitation of Duryodhana’s as the first move in a sequence that would lead to the bloodbath which Vyasa had prophesied. His heart heard Vyasa’s words and shrank: “You yourself will be the cause of the war; you cannot avoid it.” All that Eldest could think of was how not to be the cause, how to step out of Shakuni’s trap. There was only one friend who had the statesmanship to advise us, but he was waging his own war hundreds of miles away.
“Shakuni will play against us,” said Yudhishthira, his voice expressionless with despair.
“Shakuni, King of Gandhara. You know what his boast is? ‘My bow is gambling, my arrows are dice, my bowstrip their markings, my chariot the dice board,’” said Uncle Vidura.
“Who else?”
“Duryodhana’s brothers, Satyavrata, Purumitra, Jaya…” said uncle Vidura.
“A pretty lot,” said Sahadeva. “We will not bother to look for an auspicious day. There cannot be one.”
“Take your time, Think about it, Yudhishthira. We should all think about it,” said Nakula.
“There is nothing to think about,” said Yudhishthira. “A refusal means war. Uncle, I accept.”
The idea of setting foot within the gates of Hastinapura filled us with numb sickness. The servants dared not try to console us. Cheerful words clanged like broken maces on stone. In the House of Lac, with the constant threat of being roasted, we had not felt this dull impotence.
It was not just that we had all taken a vow to follow Eldest’s decision, nor that dharmically he stood in our father’s stead; a compulsion deeper even than sacred duty compelled us not to go against him. Bheema and I, who hated this running to do Shakuni’s bidding, dared not look at each other as though our eyes, had they met, would have shouted our protest to the skies. Even less did we dare look at Draupadi. Tears streamed from her eyes, but she made no protest; for once I would have welcomed one. Our mother took her in her arms and they wept together in silence. We brothers felt like caged tigers. It was only as Draupadi was about to get into the chariot that she let out a loud keening which made us shiver and set the dogs whimpering and howling. Her distraught look swept the palace, the Mayasabha, the mansions, the stable, the new military academy; then she turned on Yudhishthira. With her eyes flashing fury and teeth gritted, she looked dreadful.
“For the sake of your precious Dharma, you will give this to Shakuni. It belongs to all of us. I do not know why I do not cut my throat now. You deserve all that will happen, but we do not. You have no thought for all those who followed us seeking a new life in Indraprastha.” It was a terrible thing to say, true yet unjust, for though Yudhishthira seemed not to chafe he was in anguish. He himself gave a last dazed look at Indraprastha and muttered:
“Destiny blinds reason. It swings us like puppets along its path.”
Subhadra! My heart was torn between thankfulness that she was visiting in Dwaraka and a dreadful need of her presence for Draupadi’s sake as well as mine. In her intelligence, she had always known how to assuage our proud Queen’s temper. As for myself, I had come to depend on her presence in great and small ordeals. My spirit called for her. But it already knew that it would be many years before that solace could be mine.
We were splendidly received at the gates of Hastinapura by Duryodhana with his sweet young wife who welcomed us prettily with flowers and gracious words. Duhshasana, Karna, Shakuni, and a whole clutchful of Duryodhana’s brothers were there; in short, all the rogues of Hastinapura. The only gladdening thing about this reception was that Greatfather, Dronacharya, Ashwatthama, and Kripacharya were not there. Nor of course was Uncle Vidura.
We were led before Uncle Dhritarashtra. He played the overjoyed uncle—and he was overjoyed. There were tears in his eyes as he fumbled to embrace us and ceremoniously take the perfume from our hair. Yes, real tears, and I doubt not that one in three ran in affection and remorse, the other two in joyful foresight of grabbing all we had for Duryodhana. Uncle Dhritarashtra was the most muddled old fool in the world and never had his mixture of sentimentality and guile been so grotesque. Bheema and I had to steel ourselves to accept his embrace. Our mother submitted, so did Eldest and the twins, but Draupadi flinched and withdrew as though about to be stung.
Greatfather greeted us sorrowfully. Dronacharya and Kripacharya were shamed, and Mother Kripi wept. Ashwatthama looked at me with unshed tears.
We all wanted to get the game over with as quickly as possible, but various sorts of preliminary “diversions” had been arranged for us. There were puppet shows and fireworks and juggling and wrestling. Musicians and singers came to our rooms to sing us to sleep. But I could not sleep. Veenas and flutes and tabors played the appropriate ragas for the times of the day. In the morning we were woken by chanters extolling the deeds of our ancestors, Pandu and Puru.
“Why does Greatfather Bheeshma not do something?” we asked.
“Because,” said Uncle Vidura, speaking for the first time, “Karna, Duryodhana, and his brothers have decided to overrule Greatfather. Boosted by the kings they have invited, they are willing to cut his throat. He hardly fears that. What he does not want is the war that would inevitably follow.”
At last we stepped into the Crystal Palace. It was spectacular enough, had we been in a mood to be dazzled. We murmured perfunctory appreciation. Draupadi could not be with us in the hall for she was in her period and we felt lighter for her absence. It would be a relief when this was over. Yudhishthira wore a look of calm determination. At last we were facing the enemy.
There were five thrones on the platforms: Greatfather and Uncle Dhritarashtra sat at the top level with Great-great-uncle Bablika near the pillar. Below them was Duryodhana’s throne. On either side was a smaller and more modest one for the two acharyas. Beyond, on either side, were the deerskin-covered seats for our Guru Dhaumya and King Somadatta. On the right were the chanters, on the left the Rajanyas. I did not like this large turnout. A friendly game required no such crowd.
Not far from the throne was a low platform covered by silk carpets. My eyes were drawn to the ivory board on which the dice were to be thrown, and to the embossed gold tumbler which held them hidden within, like twin astras.
Yudhishthira, having received the ceremonial welcome from the preceptors, stood at the door to receive the elders and then he himself sat down near the plank. His face had lost its look of anguish and at last I understood what Draupadi must have known all along: Yudhishthira was relieved. With Indraprastha gone there would be no more bone to quarrel over. Now he had to go through the motions.
In a voice just loud enough to be heard by the people that mattered, Yudhishthira said:
“Do we really have to go through with this?”
“Let us agree upon the rules and follow the dice,” was Shakuni’s answer.
“Gambling is not really a Kshatriya game,” Eldest said.
“Dice is a game of kings.”
“It is a devious one.”
“Decline the challenge then, Yudhishthira. You and your brothers may run home.”
Even if spoken without contempt this would have been an unpardonable insult to a prince. As it was, Bheema was ready to jump up. Eldest stayed him with a hand.
“I have never retreated from a challenge. Who plays?”
“I play,” said Shakuni. There were murmurs from both sides of the hall.
“I will lay the wagers,” said Duryodhana quickly.
“I have never heard of playing by proxy,” said Yudhishthira. “But let it pass. Begin. I stake this necklace thrown up by the ocean.” He took the triple rows of pearls from his neck. It lay gleaming beside the ivory. “And you?”
“Priceless jewels and golden coins,” said Duryodhana, throwing them down.
Yudhishthira threw the dice, and then Shakuni.
“I win,” said Shakuni matter-of-factly.
“I stake everything in my treasury against what
is in yours,” said Yudhishthira. There was a louder murmur this time, cut short by the rattle of dice.
“I win,” said Shakuni again.
“Who won?” Uncle Dhritarashtra whispered in Uncle Vidura’s ear, but we all heard him.
“I wager my chariot and its eight horses as white as the moon with its gold bells and its seats covered in tiger-skins,” said Yudhishthira. The dice danced and rolled in Shakuni’s hand and fell to the ivory.
“I win,” Shakuni’s voice had a hypnotic throb. Yudhishthira wore an indrawn smile. Was he now trapped by the seductive rhythm of the game?
“Who won?” Uncle Dhritarashtra asked Sanjaya with barely concealed eagerness. Everybody was waiting to hear Yudhishthira itemizing his loss.
“A thousand dancing girls arrayed in silk and gold and skilled in the sixty-four arts.”
“Against mine.” The dice obeyed Shakuni. Sometimes I saw them glance off Shakuni’s little finger as they left the cup. His cheating at dice was done with the same consummate skill as his manipulation of the Kaurava court.
“My silk-clad servitors.”
“Two thousand silver-coloured elephants, gold-belted, each with six female elephants.”
“I win.”
“Who won?” Everything was horrible about Uncle Dhritarashtra today. His slack mouth was greedy, his eyelids flickered as though he willed himself to see. Then Duryodhana’s voice again:
“I wager that many chariots with their horses, also the chariot warriors whose wage in gold coins is one thousand a month.” Next Yudhishthira waged his army and lost it. He lost his granary and his vessels. Uncle Vidura moved back to Uncle Dhritarashtra and hissed in his ear. Again we heard his voice.
“This will be bitter medicine for you, Brother, but your son is cheating and it will end in the destruction of the world. When Duryodhana was born you should have destroyed him. It is not too late. Let Bheema kill him in anger. For the good of a tribe one may destroy a man; for the good of a country one may destroy a village; for the good of one’s true self the whole world may be destroyed. Save yourself.” The rattle of dice was the answer. It was too late anyway. Yudhishthira had lost everything. We had lost everything. At this moment when we were stripped of all our possessions, I found it in myself to be grateful, for everyone’s sake, but especially for Yudhishthira’s, that Draupadi was not present.
Draupadi, Draupadi. I prayed that Krishna would appear. I prayed to see Duryodhana’s head, stunned, about to topple from the neck through which Krishna’s chakra had sliced. I waited for him to take a step forward. He did and stood gazing down at Yudhishthira, but his head stayed on his neck. Krishna was fighting his war against Salva, thousands of yojanas away.
Shakuni had edged around the gambling board and put his arm around Yudhishthira’s shoulders. He looked into his eyes with a friendly smile and said:
“Come, Yudhishthira, you have not lost everything.”
“Yes, I have lost everything,” Yudhishthira said. He sounded like a child.
“No, child.” Shakuni’s light eyes were intense as he leaned towards Yudhishthira, his diadem almost touching Yudhishthira’s forehead. “You have not lost everything.” He had called the Emperor of Bharatavarsha “child”. At any other time…but I was flooded with hope because it must mean that he had wanted to teach Yudhishthira a lesson, to punish Draupadi and Bheema for laughing.
“You still have your greatest riches of all. There.” Without turning around he pointed at Nakula. “Is not that most beautiful dark prince part of your greatest riches?”
“Yes. Yes, he is.”
“True. And does he not obey every wish of yours? Is it not true that compared to him, what you have lost is as nothing?”
There was a great silence in the hall. People leaned forward, unable to understand what was happening. I still thought Shakuni was going to tell us we owned ourselves which the shastras say is all that we have a right to and I began to hope that he would then hand everything back to us with an avuncular pat. The shame of it to us must serve him as a balm for Duryodhana’s wounds. “The Pandavas boast that you are as one, that Eldest’s slightest wish is as a divine command. Yudhishthira, prove it. Stake Nakula and win back all you have lost.” There was a challenge in Shakuni’s voice. I felt a warrior’s cry stifle in my throat. Bheema was growling like a tiger, low rolling growls that came from his belly.
“Yes, I stake Nakula, this incomparable dark handsome prince,” said Yudhishthira. The dice were rattling again. They crashed through my thoughts onto the board.
“I win,” said Shakuni in a voice like oil, like velvet. “And you would not want to separate twins.”
“No, I would not,” said Eldest. “I stake Sahadeva.” My mind raced through the possibilities. Yudhishthira would lose us all as quickly as possible; then we would kill Shakuni; or this was something he and Shakuni had staged to appease Duryodhana. No other explanation was possible. Shakuni won Sahadeva.
“Yudhishthira, surely you do not mean to offer Arjuna, the son of your own mother?” Shakuni got exactly the answer he wanted.
“There is no use in trying to create discord between us. The twins are no less and no more to me than my brother Arjuna. I wager my brother Arjuna, the greatest archer in the world.” Before the words were out of his mouth, Yudhishthira had shaken and rolled the dice. Shakuni played.
I was a slave.
I was lost, and in the time it took to wager and roll the dice again, so was Bheema. There were cries of “Shame” and they grew louder and louder. Greatfather Bheeshma sat like a stone. Dronacharya and Kripacharya were weeping openly and Ashwatthama sobbed. Uncle Vidura, unable to look on any longer, hid his head in his hands. Bablika, Somadatta, Sanjaya, Ashwatthama, Bhoorishravas, and Yuyutsu were murmuring angrily.
And then Shakuni said, “There is one brother left, Yudhishthira Dharmaraj.”
“I wager myself,” Yudhishthira said in an even voice.
The dice rattled. “I win.” It was all over, and I was certain we would return to reality after this nightmarish joke.
“Who won?” came Uncle Dhritarashtra’s plea, like a distorted echo. There was a long silence. Had it really happened? We heard Shakuni’s oily voice.
“What about the peerless Princess of Panchala? Win yourself back with the daughter of Drupada.” The stunned silence turned to shouted protests and yells. Karna and Duhshasana laughed gleefully.
“I wager Draupadi with all the auspicious marks, our queen of utmost grace, virtue, and intelligence.” It was utter insanity. Before we could think of the implications, it was all over. Draupadi, our wife, the proudest of queens, belonged to Duryodhana who was even now shouting to Uncle Vidura in uncontrollable excitement.
“Summon the wife of the Pandavas here. She will be taken to the apartment for woman slaves and will be taught her duties: sweeping and cleaning.”
Bheema had laid his crown and sword before Greatfather. I took off my crown and sword and laid them before him too. With that all were slaves of a madman. Bheema strained forward suddenly, but I held him back.
“We will all be slaves together,” I said.
“Duryodhana, you imbecile, do you not see that you stand on the brink of doom?” shouted Uncle Vidura.
Impatiently, Duryodhana turned to the attendant at the door.
“Summon our slave, Draupadi.” Duryodhana, Karna, and Duhshasana whispered things which made them throw their heads back with laughter. The stricken look that our elders wore spoke plainly of their impotence. And that was worse than anything.
In another part of the palace, in the women’s quarters Draupadi, who was in her period, was being summoned. I felt ice in my veins and stared at the board on which lay the dice that had won her. Both had six dots on their evil upturned faces and the board glowed strangely like the moon of an inauspicious night.
Yudhishthira, our Eldest, stared at the board as though he did not know what was happening to Draupadi, and Greatfather was silent.
O Kr
ishna! Krishna! I knew this could only have happened with Krishna away.
The attendant came back trembling, unsure if it was still in order to call Yudhishthira “My Lord.”
“She…the Lady…My Lord.” He looked as though he were going to faint. “She wants to know if her Lord wagered himself first or her.”
Unable to look Eldest in the face, the man gazed down. Eldest stared at him expressionlessly. I felt my heart wring for him as though by hands of iron.
Duryodhana roared. “Bring her, so that she may question him herself and we may have the pleasure of hearing the answer.”
The poor man went out and came back into the Sabha with the same question: Had she or her Lord been lost first? Again, no answer. The attendant returned to Draupadi, and came back with her answer.
“Tell the elders that I am ready to do what they think is righteous,” was her message.
“Bring her,” screamed Duryodhana, now hysterical in his victory. Turning to Duhshasana, he said in a hoarse voice, “This fool is a coward. Drag her here.”
Shakuni was trying to look upset. The elders were weeping. Why did nobody protest? Only Uncle Vidura had spoken for us. It chilled my blood to hear Duryodhana’s voice and none other. I saw Ashwatthama’s eyes rain tears as we looked at each other; Dronacharya’s were closed now as though he waited for the end of the world, and when at last I heard Draupadi’s wounded cry I too closed mine. We all heard her clearly.
“Leave me, let me go,” she wailed softly. “I am in my period. I am in my period.” I sat petrified as the voice came nearer, interspersed with Duhshasana’s wild laughter. “I cannot be seen like this, I cannot be seen like this…in a single cloth with my navel showing. Let me change my cloth. It is stained.” She kept repeating the words as though she could not believe that she was not understood. As they approached the assembly her voice fell to a whisper. Not even Bheema could move when Duhshasana dragged her in by the hair and threw her on the floor. Her body trembled and she bent it this way and that to hide her condition. Then she swept back her hair, stared around, and rose slowly to her feet. She tried to straighten her dress. Then she turned to Duhshasana.
The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata Page 22