Parnada did as told as he travelled up and down the rivers Ganga, Yamuna and Saraswati singing Damayanti’s song. Everyone was intrigued by the lyrics but no one responded to it. Finally, in the kingdom of Ayodhya, ruled by Rituparna, the royal cook, an ugly dwarf called Bahuka, responded to the song with another song. ‘Despair not beloved of that unlucky soul. He still cares for you. The fool who gambled away his kingdom, whose clothes were stolen by a bird, who wandered off in the middle of the night leaving you all alone in the forest.’
Parnada rushed back and informed Damayanti of this incident. ‘That’s Nala,’ said Damayanti with a smile on her face, ‘He still cares for me. That is why he responded.’
‘But the man who responded is an ugly dwarf and serves as the king’s cook. Not at all like the handsome Nala I remember from your marriage,’ said Parnada.
‘No one but Nala knows of those birds that flew away with his garment. It must be him,’ said Damayanti, fully convinced.
She came up with an idea to get Nala to Vidarbha. She requested Sudev to visit Ayodhya and give the king there a message. ‘Tell him that since there is no trace of Nala, the king of Vidarbha has decided to get Damayanti remarried. He has invited all the kings of the land to his city so that she chooses a husband from among them. Tell him the ceremony will take place on the day that immediately follows your arrival.’
‘The next day! But how will Rituparna reach Vidarbha in one day?’
‘If Nala is in his kingdom, Nala will bring him here for he is the fastest charioteer in the world. And Rituparna will want to come at any cost for he was one of my suitors before I married Nala and still desires me.’
Sudev was not sure the plan would work but he followed Damayanti’s instructions. Sure enough, Rituparna offered a huge reward to whoever could take him to Vidarbha in one night. ‘I will,’ said his cook. ‘I will take you there provided you tell me the secret of rolling dice.’
‘So be it,’ said Rituparna, and the two made their way to Vidarbha, speeding through the forest like a thunderbolt on a chariot. Through the night, as they travelled, the king shared with Bahuka his secret knowledge of dice. By the time the chariot reached Vidarbha at dawn, Bahuka had become an expert in the game.
As soon as the chariot crossed the palace gates, Rituparna and Bahuka saw two children. Bahuka jumped off the chariot and hugged them and wept profusely. ‘Who are these children? And why are you hugging them? And why are you crying?’ asked Rituparna. Bahuka did not reply.
Damayanti observed this from afar and heaved a sigh of relief. ‘That man is Nala.’
‘But he does not look like Nala. He is ugly and short and deformed,’ said the maid.
‘I do not recognize the body but I do recognize that heart. Follow him and observe him. He may not look like Nala but he will behave like Nala. And the world around him will treat him royally for he has the soul of a king,’ Damayanti said with confidence.
The maid followed Bahuka and sure enough, saw the most amazing things. ‘The man has magical powers. When he passes through a gate, he does not bend; the gate rises so that he passes with head held high. When given meat to cook a meal, the meat almost cooks itself; the wood bursts forth with fire and water pours out of the ground.’
‘That man is Nala for sure. He may be poor and ugly, but even the gates of the palace, the firewood and the water in the ground acknowledge his royal aura. They rise up to greet him,’ explained Damayanti.
Without any consideration to those around, Damayanti ran to the stables and hugged Bahuka shouting, ‘Nala, Nala.’ Rituparna was shocked and her parents embarrassed. How could this ugly servant be Nala, the handsomest of men?
Bahuka then spoke up, ‘Yes, I am Nala. In the forest, after I left Damayanti, I came upon Karkotaka, a dreaded Naga, who with his venomous breath transformed me into the ugliest of men. He then advised me to gain employment with the king of Ayodhya, and learn from him the art of playing dice. My ugliness and my servitude were punishments to make me see the errors of my ways.’
Rituparna found all that he was hearing too fantastic to believe. So Bahuka pulled out a magic robe given to him by the Naga Karkotaka. He wrapped it around his body and was instantly transformed to his original beautiful self. With that there was no doubt in anyone’s mind: Bahuka was indeed Nala.
After thanking Rituparna for all his help, Nala hugged his wife and children. The terrible days of misfortune and separation were over. They were together once again.
A few days later, Nala visited what was once his kingdom and challenged his cousin to a game of dice. ‘If I lose, you can have my beautiful wife,’ he said motivating Pushkara to take up the challenge. This time, however, Nala won, thanks to the tricks Rituparna taught him.
Thus did Nala get back all that he had once lost—family and fortune.
‘So it shall be with you, Yudhishtira,’ said the sage Vrihadashwa, blessing the eldest Pandava.
The Rishis explain Nala’s foolish behaviour through the idea of Kali, the herald of misfortune. Kali is the ugly, misshapen carrier of bad luck who strikes those who do not observe rules of hygiene and those who touch polluted and inauspicious things. Kali is blamed for making Yudhishtira lose all good sense during gambling. This Kali needs to be distinguished from Kali, the wild goddess of the forest. Through the notion of Kali, the Rishis help Yudhishtira cope with shame and guilt: he can blame an external agency rather than himself for the Pandavas’ misfortune.
Damayanti comes across as a strong-willed woman who is unafraid of her husband’s misfortunes. She never stops loving him and always stands by him. Nala, on the other hand, is consumed by shame and guilt. His ability to cope with misfortune leaves much to be desired.
The story of Nala and Damayanti is told so that the Pandavas do not wallow in self-pity. It also gives them clues as to how they can spend their final year of exile in hiding. Like Nala, Bhima becomes a cook and Nakula becomes a stable hand while like Damayanti, Draupadi becomes a queen’s maid.
The story of Nala brings to light the concept of raj-yog or royal aura that some people possess. Even if they are poor, the cosmos acknowledges their royalty. In Nala’s case, the doorway would rise so that he need not bend and food would cook itself so that he did not have to dirty his hands.
In most retellings of Nala’s tale, he is described as the best cook in the world. In some retellings, Damayanti finds him by getting to know from travellers in which country they had eaten the tastiest of foods.
67
Servants in Virata’s court
Then came the thirteenth year.
In the dead of the night, the Pandavas hid their weapons in a bundle of cloth shaped like a corpse which they tied to the branch of a Sami tree.
Then they took various disguises.
Yudhishtira presented himself as a learned Brahman called Kanka well versed in the art of managing a kingdom. Bhima presented himself as a cook called Ballava. ‘Like Nala who served Rituparna, I will be the greatest cook in the world,’ he said. Arjuna wore the clothes of a woman and presented himself as an accomplished dance teacher called Brihanalla. ‘I have learnt the art of dancing from the Apsaras themselves,’ he said. Nakula presented himself as a groom of horses called Damagranthi and Sahadeva presented himself as a physician of cows called Tantipala. Draupadi presented herself as a beautician called Sairandhri.
All six of them went to the kingdom of Matsya and sought employment from its king, Virata.
So good were the disguises that Duryodhana’s spies found no trace of them when they reached Dwaitavana. All they found in the caves last occupied by the Pandavas were Dhaumya and a few Rishis performing yagna, praying for the well-being of the Pandavas.
Many loyal servants such as Indrasena followed the Pandavas into exile, serving them in the forest as they served them in the palace. It was these servants who acted as decoys to distract the Kaurava spies while the Pandavas made their way to the kingdom of Matsya, disguised as servants.
The hidi
ng of weapons in the form of a corpse tied to the branch of a tree suggests that in the period of the Mahabharata, the practice of disposing of bodies by exposing them to the elements was prevalent. Sometimes, this was done until a suitable time was found to cremate the dead.
The final year of exile is the year in which the Pandavas learn to acknowledge and respect the servants, the vast mass of the people, who are totally ignored in the Mahabharata.
One wonders, if the final year of exile turned out to be a blessing in disguise for the Pandava brothers who were finally able to live out their secret fantasies as a dice player, a cook, a dancer, a stable keeper and a cowherd.
The Indonesian telling of the epic suggests that Virata was a descendant of Satyavati’s twin brother. This suggestion has its roots in the name of Virata’s kingdom, Matsya, which means land of the fish, suggesting a strong association with the fisherfolk.
Bairat, located in the Jaipur district of Rajasthan, has been identified as Viratnagar or Matsya.
68
Kichaka
Virata had no clue that the man called Kanka who advised him on matters of dharma and often played dice with him was actually Yudhishtira, or that the man called Ballava who cooked so wonderfully in his kitchen was actually Bhima, or that the eunuch called Brihanalla who taught his daughter dance was actually Arjuna, or that the men called Damagranthi and Tantipala who took care of his horses and his cows were actually Nakula and Sahadeva. His wife, Sudeshna, did not realize that the woman called Sairandhri who made perfumes for her and styled her hair was actually Draupadi.
What the royal couple did notice was that their new servants were different: self-assured and dignified. They never ate anybody’s leftovers and each one had clear demands before they accepted employment. As the six never spoke to each other, neither Virata nor Sudeshna suspected they were related to each other.
Months passed without any event. Yudhishtira had to suffer watching a king who gave more value to his desires than to dharma. Bhima moaned the fact that he had to cook and serve food that he could never eat. Arjuna yearned to hold the bow but had to be content holding dancing bells. Nakula spent all day cleaning stables and Sahadeva spent all day with cows.
Then something terrible happened.
The queen’s brother, Kichaka, was an oaf with a roving eye. He found Sudeshna’s new maid, Sairandhri, rather attractive. Every time he saw her, he stared shamelessly making his intentions rather plain. When Sairandhri complained, the queen admonished her instead for she doted on her brother and refused to hear any criticism of him.
One day Kichaka asked his sister, ‘Can you send that arrogant maid of yours to my chambers?’
Not able to say no to her brother, the queen said, ‘I will surely try.’ She called Sairandhri later that day and asked her to deliver a jar of wine to her brother. Sairandhri tried to wriggle out of this chore, for she knew what would happen to her if she went into Kichaka’s chambers alone, but Sudeshna insisted.
Annoyed by Sudeshna’s casual attitude, Sairandhri went to Kanka, ‘Protect me from such harassment.’
‘I cannot,’ said Kanka, ‘I am helpless. Please understand. None of us can risk discovery. We must endure this humiliation and do everything in our power not to reveal our identity till the end of the year.’
Tears rolled down Sairandhri’s cheeks; while she understood Kanka’s argument, she could not forgive his not coming to her defence. Who could she turn to now? Brihanalla and the twins would always check with Kanka and never go against his wishes. That left Ballava who was always quick to temper and who, in rage, did whatever she asked him to.
She went to the kitchens and found him cooking yet another meal for the royal family. She told him everything and he reacted predictably. His eyes turned red in fury at the thought of his wife being touched by the lout. ‘I will teach him a lesson he will never forget. That I promise,’ he said grimly.
That evening, when Kichaka entered his chambers, he found all the lamps had been blown out. On the bed sat a lady with anklets that looked familiar. It was Sairandhri! He was pleasantly surprised to find her so willing—he had expected her to sulk and resist. The lady in bed welcomed Kichaka with open arms. Kichaka tumbled into bed and started to grope her when he realized the arms he touched and the thighs he caressed were rather thick and muscular, certainly not those of a woman. Before he could think another thought, he found himself being crushed in a bear grip. He tried to escape but in his drunken, lustful state he was no match for his opponent. Within a few minutes, Kichaka’s bones were broken, his flesh smashed and skull cracked.
The next day, the whole palace woke up to the wailing of the queen who had found her brother beaten to a pulp and literally reduced to a bundle of flesh and bones.
Sudeshna suspected that Sairandhri was somehow involved in this. When she told this to her other brothers, they decided to burn Sairandhri alive on Kichaka’s funeral pyre. As they dragged her towards the flames, she screamed for help. All the Pandavas heard her cry but only Bhima came to her rescue.
Uprooting a tree, he swung it around and smashed the skulls of Kichaka’s brothers. Soon, the funeral ground was strewn with the broken bodies of Sudeshna’s brothers. No one saw who did it. ‘I am the wife of the Gandharvas. They can appear out of thin air and protect those who harm me,’ explained Sairandhri. The queen of Matsya wailed in memory of her brothers and cursed her wretched maid, and ordered her to leave the kingdom of Matsya. Virata, however, did not want to annoy the powerful, invisible Gandharvas who had protected Sairandhri. So he allowed her to stay in the palace for as long as she wished.
News of the death of Kichaka and his brothers reached Hastina-puri. This was the work of Bhima, of that Duryodhana was sure. ‘Only one who has killed Baka and Hidimba and Kirmira and Jatasura could have killed Kichaka.’ He smiled. He knew the hiding place of the Pandavas. He was excited by the possibility of catching them before the end of the thirteenth year, which would force them to stay in the forest for another twelve years.
Caught in a bind whether to save his wife or keep their identity secret, Yudhishtira submits to dispassionate logic, outraging Draupadi who then seeks help from the blindly passionate Bhima.
Though expected to treat all her husbands equally, Draupadi favours Arjuna, who unfortunately obeys only his eldest brother. Draupadi knows that Bhima does have a mind of his own and loves her passionately. She can manipulate him to do her bidding for he is a lovesick simpleton.
Draupadi’s stunning beauty makes the best of men lose all good sense and constantly draws trouble. Even though she is innocent, her beauty arouses all men who end up wanting to hurt and humiliate her because she is chaste and unavailable. Kichaka, Jayadhrata, Karna, Duryodhana are all victims of her beauty. So are the Pandavas. Fear that she could disrupt the harmony between her sons, forces Kunti to get her married to all five of them.
In 1910, Maharashtra Natak Mandali’s play Kichaka-vadha by Krishnaji Khadilkar was a thinly veiled political commentary where Draupadi was presented as India, Kichaka as British imperial power, Yudhishtira as the moderate parties and Bhima as the extremist leaders who were unafraid to take a tough, even violent, stand against British rule. The play was attended by leading revolutionary leaders of the time, alarming the authorities who called for its ban.
69
Uttara’s bravery
On Duryodhana’s instructions, Susarma, king of Trigarta, attacked the southern frontiers of Matsya and stole Virata’s cows. Virata was at his wits’ end for without Kichaka or his brothers, he had no great warrior to lead his army.
‘I will help you for I am well versed with the spear,’ said Kanka.
‘I will help you too as I am well versed with the mace,’ said Ballava.
‘We are well versed with the sword,’ said Damagranthi and Tantipala.
‘But if we leave the city looking for the cows,’ said Virata, ‘who will stay back to guard the women?’
‘I will, father,’ said Uttara, the k
ing’s young son. ‘I am well versed in archery. I will protect my mother and sisters.’
Virata beamed with pride and rushed with his four servants and other soldiers in search of the missing cows.
No sooner did they leave than the Kaurava army appeared on the northern frontier of Matsya. ‘They will attack the city and raze it to the ground and drag the women away as slaves,’ cried Sudeshna in fear.
‘Don’t worry, mother. I will ride out and drive them away single-handed,’ bragged Uttara. He put on his armour, picked up his bow and arrows. But then he realized he had no charioteer for his chariot. ‘What do I do now?’
‘Maybe I can help?’ said the eunuch Brihanalla, smiling coyly, fluttering her eyelashes, ‘I was once a man and well versed in the art of charioteering.’
‘You will have to,’ said Uttara, sounding rather imperious, ‘since there is no other.’
Soon, the Kauravas saw a chariot coming before them. The charioteer was a eunuch and the warrior a young boy. They laughed and then blew their conch-shell trumpets. The sound was deafening. Suddenly, Uttara saw before him great warriors holding every kind of weapon, seated on horses and chariots and elephants. He was filled with fear. He realized talking bravely does not make one brave. He leapt out of the chariot and started running away. Brihanalla stopped the chariot, jumped out, ran after him and carried him back to the chariot. ‘I cannot fight them,’ cried a totally terrified Uttara, tears in his eyes.
Brihanalla comforted him and then took the chariot out of the battlefield into the forest and stopped in front of a Sami tree. On it were dead bodies wrapped in shrouds tied to the branches. ‘Climb this tree and bring that down,’ said Brihanalla pointing to one of the corpses. Uttara drew back in fear. ‘Don’t be afraid. The dead can’t hurt you,’ said Brihanalla reassuringly. Uttara felt his confidence return. He noticed that the eunuch was no longer feminine. Her mannerisms were confident and manly. When the corpse was lowered, Brihanalla undid the shroud. Wrapped within were not the remains of a corpse but weapons—spears, bows, arrows, swords and maces. ‘These are the weapons of the Pandavas,’ explained Brihanalla.
Jaya: An Illustrated Retelling of the Mahabharata Page 19
