‘But, Acharya, parting with a principality—it will cost Panchala her pride!’
Shikhandi sighed, signalling Upayaja to stop. ‘A bit of pride is worth a long-term friendship with the Kurus who are bound to feel apologetic for what their princes did to satisfy the preceptor’s whims.’
Disgust had not left Dhrishtadyumna’s face. Satyajit remained unconvinced too. But in the long wordless debate for a better solution, the sons of Drupada lost. ‘Get our father back, Shikhandi.’ Dhrishtadyumna’s shoulders slumped at last. ‘I shall relinquish the position of his heir in your favour. Do whatever but bring him back safe.’
Shikhandi’s eyes blurred for a moment. ‘Where did the relinquishing part come from, brother?’ He saw Dhrishtadyumna’s eyes soften for the first time. ‘It was never about the inheritance, brother. You shall remain the heir.’
Dhrishtadyumna, known to be stoic, needed all his strength to keep his tears at bay. ‘Welcome back, Shikhandi.’ He left abruptly and they all knew why.
Shikhandi saw Draupadi rise and follow Satyajit. ‘Little sister.’ Her footsteps showed no signs of slowing. ‘Unhappy to see me return?’ he called out but in vain. He saw Satyajit disappear into the adjoining corridor. ‘Why did you keep quiet when you knew?’
Draupadi halted. The masked traitor who gave away their father. She had known who it was, all this while! She pursed her lips for the words that raged in her would only hurt him. She wanted to hurry out but could not. Shikhandi had caught her arm.
‘Don’t you walk away, little sister.’
‘Don’t you call me that!’ she tried to break away.
Shikhandi did not let go and pulled her towards the empty room. ‘Draupadi, you need to hear me out!’
‘Another tale of assumed righteous revenge. Forgive me, Shikhandi, My heart can’t melt for traitors!’
‘It is not about revenge, sister. I can’t be angry with our father. I only wanted to come back home.’
‘Stop cheating yourself, brother!’ Draupadi shook his grip away. ‘Relationships—they don’t heal or build upon falsehoods, Shikhandi! Or upon treachery.’
Shikhandi dropped to his knees. ‘You don’t know what it means to be me, Draupadi.’ He tenderly brushed her cheek, her stern expression no longer bothering him. ‘And I wish you never know. But thank you for not blurting out the truth.’
‘I only saved a fight between my siblings,’ Draupadi remained unshaken. ‘You don’t know what this will lead to, Shikhandi.’
Four
The Fire Pledge
Three years had passed since Drupada’s capture and subsequent release. Upon intervention from the Kuru elders, Drona agreed to let him go in exchange for a principality called Ahichatra, carved out of the northern part of Panchala. Soon after his return, Drupada sent Draupadi to be trained under Upayaja in statecraft. Draupadi now saw her father less frequently. Even during their precious meetings, she could see that he was not himself. The wounds of insult and defeat refused to heal. Worse, they festered in his heart, giving rise to a dark side Draupadi never knew existed within him.
At the end of her training, she was given an affectionate farewell by the indulgent acharya and his wife. With Shikhandi being away from Panchala, only Satyajit arrived to take her back to the palace. She remembered the days of the past when Drupada would personally bring back his sons after the completion of gurukul training. She wondered why he hadn’t come for her.
‘Where are Father and Dhrishtadyumna?’ she asked Satyajit, unable to conceal her disappointment.
‘They await your arrival, Draupadi,’ Satyajit’s tone was graver than usual. Affection and the joy of reunion showed in his eyes, but clouding his characteristic tenderness was a dark tension. Knowing how Drupada and Dhrishtadyumna had become in the recent years, Draupadi could not help feeling sorry for Satyajit. The third son of Drupada drove the chariot towards the yajnashala, where she saw her father and brother dressed in red. A row of palace women waited to extend her a ceremonial welcome.
Ever since she remembered, Drupada would always stop her midway from touching his feet and would embrace her warmly. But today was different—he only stroked Draupadi’s head. There was no lack in the affection, but Draupadi could swear that something else had taken over her father. Dhrishtadyumna seemed the same.
Drupada turned around, leading her inside the yajnashala. Draupadi noticed his greying hair. In the past months, he had aged many years. She realized that irritability had become his second nature when she heard him chide the servants for delay in arranging the seats.
Taking her seat along with everyone else around the sacred fire, she sensed the grimness in the air rise. The palace attendants left without daring to seek any gifts on the occasion of her return. Soon, it was only King Drupada, his children, and the priests who sat in the yajnashala.
‘My children,’ Drupada started. The newly-developed hoarseness in his voice did not escape Draupadi’s attention. Something about it shook her from within. ‘It has been fifteen springs since the queen, your mother, left this world. I have tried to fill her place to the best of my abilities.’ He paused to suppress the lump in his throat.
Draupadi saw Satyajit’s eyes moisten at their mother’s mention. Even the ever-stoic Dhrishtadyumna’s face softened. Having been too young when she had lost her mother, Draupadi had only seen her father care for her and had always thought that he had done his best. Even the palace nurses, she remembered, were wary of his protective aggression for his children.
But why was Drupada talking about those times today?
Drupada continued, ‘I hope I get the opportunity to sire children like you in the coming life and the next. Perhaps, play the role of a parent better than I did in this life. But you make me proud, the way each of you have blossomed.’ His gaze lingered on Draupadi for a long moment. ‘Today, I ask of you, my children, to share my burden, to end what has been consuming me since the fateful spat with the Kuru princes.’ To Draupadi’s shock, his tone became harsher. ‘Unite with me in teaching those Kurus a lesson they will not forget. No, a lesson even their descendants will not forget for aeons to come!’
Dhrishtadyumna’s eyes turned crimson, mirroring Drupada’s rage. Satyajit nodded as if a ghost had possessed his body. Shikhandi was conveniently absent and Drupada did not even seem to care. She squirmed when he turned to her, seeking her affirmation.
What did he expect her to do?
Drupada beamed as if reading her thoughts. ‘The boys will do their bit when the opportunity graces them on the battlefield. But you, Draupadi, the dearest of my children, young as you are, your role is going to be critical. More critical than theirs.’
A sense of foreboding overcame Draupadi. She dearly wanted to support Drupada and help him rid all the worries. But the mention of a battlefield and her involvement in ‘more critical areas’ signalled something wrong.
Drupada stared at the delay in her affirmation and frowned. He then turned to Dhrishtadyumna, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. ‘Battlefield might or might not be a possibility. But if it is, will you two fight by my side and claim the lives of those who insulted your father?’
If there ever came a possibility of a battle, the sons of Drupada would undoubtedly fight by their father’s side. Any other possibility, Draupadi knew, was unthinkable.
Why was their father asking explicitly?
She saw Dhrishtadyumna move restlessly.
‘Would you pledge by the sacred fire, princes of Panchala? Will you end the life of the one who tore your motherland into pieces?’ Drupada roared.
Dhrishtadyumna could sit no more. Springing to his feet, the heir of Panchala strode towards the fire and extended his right hand towards the flame. The heat of the fire caught the hair on his arm. But neither the heat, nor the burning pain seemed to deter him. Draupadi winced, seeing his fair palm darken and shake. ‘I, Dhrishtadyumna, son of Drupada, take this oath in the presence of Agni, the eternal messenger of the gods. May the God of
Fire carry my words to the gods above; let those bear witness to my pledge to avenge my father, my motherland. Let them oversee my endeavour to restore the honour of Panchala by ending the life of that wily Brahmin, Drona. None of my other responsibilities shall come in the way of dispensing this duty of mine. Not even the sin of killing a learned Brahmin will deter me from keeping my word. I shall welcome and bear the consequences, but not let my father’s anguish continue. I shall not let my motherland remain unavenged.’
Draupadi saw her father smile in satisfaction, but only for a short moment. He turned to Satyajit, who repeated Dhrishtadyumna’s words, but with lesser intensity.
Drupada finally turned to Draupadi who looked at him with mixed feelings. It was endearing, the commitment that her brothers reiterated to regain their lost honour. Shikhandi would have probably laughed at the mention of motherland. But Draupadi knew that he had his own inexplicable ambition to beat the Kurus in some way, and spent any time he could, collecting information about each of the Kuru family members.
But would killing Drona really restore Panchala’s honour? Draupadi was not convinced. Drupada called her and she went to sit next to him. A pang of guilt shot through his dark eyes when he brushed her hair. It was a visible struggle between a vengeful king and a doting father. Draupadi dearly hoped that the fatherly side of him would win. But fate decided otherwise. Drupada’s festered anger got the better of him. ‘You, princess of Panchala, can wreak damage that these boys can’t even think of. You shall enter the Kuru household as their daughter-in-law. You shall have the power to shake the very foundation of their arrogance. You shall be the coal that will burn their peace to ashes. That self-righteous, pompous patriarch, Bhishma, will have a good reason to fear us.’
Draupadi felt words desert her at Drupada’s schemes, filled with bitterness. Every word of what he said was against the shastras she had learnt in the gurukul. How could she marry into the household that had insulted her home, her father, and her kingdom? Even if the call for vengeance had legitimacy, did it warrant subverting the institution of matrimony? Draupadi was not a believer of doctrines. But narrow-minded subversion of that which bound and propagated humanity and civilization sounded unbecoming of Drupada. It was even more disappointing to see such a downfall in the thought process of a man who had been a loyal husband and a doting father.
Draupadi rose to her feet and walked away from the yajnashala. She heard Dhrishtadyumna’s angry voice calling her back. She heard Drupada telling him to give her time. Boarding the chariot outside, she did not respond to the charioteer’s repeated question about her destination. The old charioteer sensed her daze and drove the chariot towards the royal mansion.
For the first time, Draupadi did not feel at home.
Five
Drupada and Jarasandha
‘Can we not restore the honour of Panchala without resorting to this?’ Draupadi had repeated this question to herself, her brothers, and her father, multiple times in the last one year. She had learnt to ignore Dhrishtadyumna’s pleas and taunts. The crown prince had initially made the grave mistake of thinking that she feared setting her foot into enemy territory. His presumptuous assurances of protecting her had only annoyed Draupadi further. Satyajit had gently tried to reason with her and the conversations had always ended without a resolution. Drupada alone had desisted from pressurizing her. But his continued agony worried Draupadi.
She had visited Acharya Upayaja multiple times to discuss the contents of shastras, revisiting the tenets of statecraft, diplomacy, governance, and even the social issue of wedlock. Everything seemed correct from each individual’s point of view. Draupadi empathized with Drupada’s boiling need for revenge. She understood Dhrishtadyumna’s absolute devotion to his father. She accepted Satyajit’s silent, unwavering desire to walk with his father, unmindful of the consequences. Yet, the fire pledge to destroy the Kurus seemed wrong. Upayaja could not support her beyond voicing the gravity of the situation and providing an occasional word of encouragement at her determined stance.
Sleepless nights had become a norm in Draupadi’s life. Even the senior women of the palace and their advice regarding her blooming youth did little to provide her the peace her mind yearned for.
Through their vast spy network, she also collected information about developments in the Kuru household. All did not seem well at Hastinapura too. She heard about the grand convocation ceremony of the Kuru princes that had taken place about two years ago. She heard about the duel between Prince Bhima and Prince Duryodhana becoming so bitter that they had to be dragged away from the arena and face ridicule by Drona. She heard about the skills that Arjuna had exhibited in archery and how the citizens of Hastinapura had been spellbound. She also heard about the inappropriate challenge he had faced from the son of one of the charioteers at Hastinapura. Vasusena was the name of the archer—popularly known as Karna—who had dared to challenge Arjuna. When his credentials, including his social status, had been questioned, Prince Duryodhana had grabbed the opportunity by making Karna the lord of one of the Kuru principalities, and in the process, he had won Karna’s loyalty for life.
Draupadi’s keen investigation went beyond what the common people saw. Karna had only a spring or two to go before he saw thirty. He had been an early student in Drona’s ashram and had even pursued advanced archery under the tutelage of Rama, the Bhargava himself. Did it seem fair on the part of an experienced archer like him to challenge an archer who was a good twelve or thirteen springs younger to him? Draupadi remembered that Arjuna was only a spring or two older than she was.
Draupadi’s interest in the Kuru dynamics grew. The growing hostility between the sons of King Dhritarashtra and the five sons of Pandu, the very princes who had defeated and captured her father, was a reason of worry to every elder in the Kuru household.
‘Pray, tell me more about the late King Pandu of Hastinapura,’ she asked Acharya Upayaja, one day. ‘Why do the spies of Panchala hold him in such high regard? They don’t show that kind of regard even for the current king!’
Impressed by the observation, Upayaja answered, ‘King Pandu was the hope this broken land of Bharatavarsha was looking for, Princess Draupadi. You have heard enough of Jarasandha of Magadha, who would be the undeclared emperor of this land if not for the vast kingdoms of Panchala and Kuru.’ He paused, seeing Draupadi frown. ‘King Pandu was a promising nemesis of Jarasandha. He had the charisma that could persuade other kings to grow a spine to stand against the imposing king of Magadha. He proved his valour through various campaigns, keeping death and defeat at bay on the battlefield…’ Upayaja sighed midway, betraying his own liking of Pandu. ‘As fate would have it, a pleasure trip changed his fortunes.’
‘And the five brothers are his sons.’ Draupadi continued, ‘No wonder the citizens of Hastinapura like them.’ It was difficult for her to express admiration for the very brothers who had captured Drupada. But Draupadi knew how to keep personal rivalry away when analysing people.
‘That is the mystery,’ Upayaja raised a finger. ‘They are not Pandu’s biological sons. But those begotten through the process of niyoga. Niyoga was an unconventional process of begetting children, sanctioned by the shastras under exceptional conditions. A childless couple could conceive an heir with the woman seeking the seed of another man and bearing the child who her husband would then take as his.’
Draupadi arched her brows. ‘So, did the sons of Pandu face resistance in being accepted by the Kuru household after King Pandu’s death?’
‘The elders, I hear, love the five brothers—Pandavas, as they are collectively known as—and so do most of the citizens,’ Upayaja narrated. ‘The resistance is from their cousins, the sons of Dhritarashtra, who see them as contenders to the throne.’ He shrugged, ‘Citing niyoga as a disqualifier sounds petty, given that Pandu and Dhritarashtra were obtained by niyoga themselves.’
Every detail about the Kuru past and present seemed to increase Draupadi’s fascination. But her enthusiasm
had to take a break when the chariot from the palace came to take her home. That day, Draupadi found it difficult to shake off thoughts about the Pandavas. When she shared pleasant moments over the evening meal with her brothers and father, Draupadi could not help wonder how the Kuru dining chamber was like, with the growing animosities.
On one such occasion, when Draupadi was too preoccupied to participate in the conversation between Drupada and Satyajit, they were discussing Jarasandha.
‘King Jarasandha seeks a free pass through the highways of Panchala to attack Mathura,’ Satyajit shrugged. ‘To avenge his dead son-in-law.’
‘One free pass, and you never know the damage he might wreak on the way,’ Drupada said. Drupada had always maintained his distance from the king of Magadha. Historically, his ancestors and the older rulers of Hastinapura had been allies and this alliance had kept Jarasandha from trying to increase his sway. But with Drona in the picture, Drupada hesitated going against Jarasandha. ‘Is that king of Magadha so drunk with vengeance that he wants to attack an insignificant city like Mathura?’
‘He has apparently asked the Yadavas of Mathura to surrender the killer of his son-in-law, Kansa. But they seem to love Krishna too dearly.’
Draupadi looked up, startled at the mention of Krishna. It almost never happened that somebody called her by this name. ‘Krishnaa’ was the fondest name she had been given, because of her dusky complexion. But due to Drupada’s extreme attachment to her, the palace nurses had started calling her Draupadi. The pride on the king’s face whenever she was called ‘Draupadi’ was visible.
It was only after some time that Draupadi understood that the subject of conversation was someone else.
‘Krishna?’
Satyajit beamed and then shook his head. Before he explained more, Drupada had made up his mind on how to tackle Jarasandha’s request. ‘The season of harvest is upon us. If we give a free pass to those barbarians from Magadha, they are sure to antagonize our farmers. Things might spiral out of control.’
Draupadi- the Tale of an Empress Page 3
