Draupadi- the Tale of an Empress

by Saiswaroopa Iyer

  Rukmini took a step backward, her gaze still fixed upon him. Then she retraced her steps towards the palace. She paused when she saw Draupadi but the latter found no traces of guilt on her face. Draupadi wordlessly gestured towards the palace and Rukmini left.

  Draupadi turned the other way and had the first glimpse of her namesake that Rukmini swore upon. She saw him smile at her. She was compelled to smile back.

  Like she would when she saw the dearest of her friends.

  Closing the distance between them with measured steps, she had to put an effort to look solemn. He shared not just her name but also her dusky hue. ‘Too brave for an intruder, aren’t you?’ she said.

  ‘Or too sure that a friend will not be harmed for trying to meet one, where someone like you are in charge, Krishnaa.’

  It was the first time that the stranger had taken her name—without a formal salutation. Instead of offending her, it only added to the cordiality between them. Draupadi grinned to herself. She glanced at the retreating form of Rukmini.

  Walking back without a care about what she would face at home once she returned.

  ‘What kind of a friend would risk sending back his beloved to face risks?’

  ‘The one who is confident that his beloved can tackle those risks, given her courage and will.’

  ‘Courage and will,’ Draupadi repeated, frowning. ‘Friendship with someone like you can only invite trouble, it seems,’ Draupadi teased.

  ‘You don’t seem to be someone who likes a boring life either, Krishnaa.’

  Flirtatious flattery was something Draupadi could immediately see through. But his words were much more.

  Like a challenge. A challenge she would enjoy.

  A thought struck her and her lips flattened. ‘If the utility of this friendship is to somehow block Jarasandha’s passage to Mathura, I have tried my best, Krishna. And failed.’

  ‘Heard of the folklore? Those with the name can’t afford to fail!’

  The quip failed to make Draupadi smile. A part of her was sadder than before for not being able to help him. ‘You should have instead taken Rukmini with you and left Panchala to deal with the consequences.’

  To her surprise, she saw his eyes turn grave. ‘A union causing loss of innocent lives cannot be dharma.’

  ‘Can a union against the wishes of the woman be dharma?’

  The response was an emphatic shake of his head. ‘I shall not take Rukmini with me before securing her future home from Jarasandha’s whimsical raids.’

  ‘I love Rukmini like a sister,’ Draupadi replied. ‘If there was a way to convince the king of Panchala…’

  ‘There is. I know that King Drupada is a reasonable negotiator,’ his frown was meaningful.

  Draupadi wondered if he knew much more than he seemed to. Before her lips parted, he added, ‘You love your father dearly, princess of Panchala. When he realizes that his partnership with Jarasandha caused only meaningless violence, his moral self will be broken. And you would want to do anything to save him from that.’

  Draupadi was convinced that he knew a lot about their private lives. That he cared for them as much as he did for his own. And that it was safe to lay bare details before him.

  ‘I don’t think you are ignorant about what I can offer him in return to convince him,’ it was her turn to sound grave. ‘And you just said that a union must not cause violence. It should also not cause a rift in a family, Krishna.’

  ‘King Drupada’s anger against the Kurus can be allayed. Only if we allow time to heal his wounds and empower him to see reason. And you, Krishnaa Draupadi, are a strong woman who can protect your home from the gravest of dangers,’ Krishna said.

  ‘Be clear about what you seek from me, prince of Mathura,’ Draupadi insisted.

  Her new friend said, ‘I desire that you consider not just Panchala, but the whole of Bharatavarsha as your home, Sakhi.’

  Eight

  House on Fire

  The large hall in Drupada’s mansion was quiet except for the rattle of the brass chains that held the huge swing. The king of Panchala had received news that had forced him to rethink all his plans. The five sons of Pandu along with their mother had perished in a fateful fire at Varnavata and rumours claimed that their own cousins, the sons of Dhritarashtra, were the culprits.

  ‘I release you from the pledge, little one,’ Drupada looked at his daughter who sat by his side, taking her hand. ‘I know about the eldest son of the blind Kuru king. He does not deserve your hand…’

  Draupadi held his hand tenderly. The release from the pledge should have relieved her. But the news of the fire accident at Varnavata saddened her. ‘They were famed warriors, the sons of Pandu. They did not deserve to die this way.’

  Drupada let out a deep sigh. He remembered the moments when the brothers, Bhima and Arjuna, had overpowered and captured him. Despite his best efforts, he could not remain too angry with the two chivalrous lads. His anger had been against Drona. Even against the Kuru patriarch Bhishma for letting the injustice happen. But beyond the initial indignation, he had taken a strong liking to the young warriors and had hoped to turn them to his side by offering Draupadi’s hand in marriage. But the death of the five brothers brought a slew of political uncertainties with it. He had risked his relationship with Jarasandha by refusing the king of Magadha a free pass. In turn, the act had won him a note of acknowledgement from Bhishma. But now, with the option of allying with the Kurus not available anymore, there was an urgent need to revive his worsening relationship with Jarasandha. Drupada realized, to his own dismay, he had unwittingly cast Draupadi’s future into a morass of power thirst. He looked into her understanding eyes, his chest constricting at the thought of how he had failed her as a father.

  And how she had stood by him as his daughter.

  Holding back the lump in his throat, he brushed her long curls. ‘Forgive me, little one.’

  Draupadi tried to respond with a playful pat on his arm, ‘You did not kill my future groom, Father.’

  Her father shook his head. ‘It took his death to make me realize how I used my little one’s future as a tool to achieve my shallow aims.’

  Draupadi looked up. She knew her father loved her dearly. She also knew that he often forgot himself in his frenzied emotions, be it rage or excitement. Yet, this was the first forgiveness he had sought from one of his children.

  ‘For once, forget the political struggle, Draupadi. Take charge of your future and carve it out to your fulfilment,’ Drupada declared. He had able sons who could take up the reins of power. He owed his daughter a life of her choice. But, unfortunately, there was little time left. Something had to be done before Jarasandha came up with another shady attempt to dictate the future, and dragged Draupadi into it. ‘How about a swayamvara? Say, a gathering of all eligible suitors where you can make your final choice—square and fair, without allowing for any speculations?’

  That very moment, a guard interrupted the conversation, informing them about the arrival of guests from the newly-built port city of Dwaraka.

  Draupadi beamed and took Drupada’s leave to welcome Krishna, and possibly, his newly wedded bride. A lot had happened since her last meeting with him. She rushed out of the royal mansion into the sprawling garden where the fragrance of seasonal blossoms greeted her along with the spring breeze. Her heart leapt when she saw the familiar figure alighting from the chariot, which was sporting the majestic eagle banner. Draupadi saw a couple of commoners as well as guards and palace folk, men and women, gather around the chariot. Krishna Vasudeva’s meteoric rise had made him a household name. He was heralded as a god, a hero, a leader, and a much-loved and loving friend.

  She stopped her guards from hurrying the little crowd and watched Krishna walk towards the mansion, talking to all who sought him.

  ‘Welcome, hope of the aeon,’ Draupadi grinned when he reached her.

  ‘Sakhi!’ he extended his right hand to brush her curls and held out an intricately crafted wris
tlet of pearls. ‘From your dear friend.’

  ‘Hope she is being treated well in Dwaraka,’ Draupadi mocked a frown, clasping the jewel. ‘Lest you think Rukmini is now estranged from her natal home, she has an elder sister in Panchala who will not hesitate to pummel down whoever causes her any pain.’ Her finger shot up in mock warning and they laughed. A thought struck Draupadi when she remembered the complex familial relationship that existed between the Kurus and Shoora Yadavas, Krishna’s family. ‘Sakha! You don’t look like someone who has lost a dear aunt and cousins to a horrible fire.’

  ‘If my mourning could bring back the dead…’

  ‘No, Krishna!’ Draupadi stopped him mid-sentence. ‘You have the right to hold back a detail you don’t wish to divulge. But pray, don’t try humouring me with one of your philosophical arguments.’ It was a request, earnest in tone, but firm in stance. The princess of Panchala would not appreciate anything less than an honest admission of what he knew.

  Krishna discretely signalled to her and she led him towards her chamber in the western wing of the mansion, out of the earshot of palace folk and possible spies.

  ‘Sakhi, they could be alive. They could be alive and in disguise,’ he lowered his voice to a whisper and saw relief in her eyes. But it was short-lived. ‘I expect that the king of Panchala is thinking of announcing a swayamvara for you?’

  This got Draupadi thinking and Krishna chose to not prompt her thoughts. Rays of the sun fell through the latticed window, making her dusky complexion glow against the reddening light. ‘If what you say is true and if there is a swayamvara…it has to have something that can draw them out of disguise. It has to be timed well, giving them a sufficient breather after this heinous attempt to kill them. But it has to be quicker than Jarasandha’s next attempt at his expansive ambitions. And if they don’t turn up, we have to ensure that undeserving hands don’t get to dominate the swayamvara.’

  ‘Should the contest not eliminate such suitors, Krishna?’

  Krishna tilted his head. ‘If skill and valour was the mirror of one’s character, Jarasandha would be a god equivalent, Sakhi. On the other hand, character without skill and valour…’ he shrugged, leaving the rest to interpretation.

  Draupadi frowned, thinking of the various contests that could challenge the valour of the Pandavas enough to make them come out. But stakes were high and Bharatavarsha had many warriors who equalled them in valour. It did not take her much time to think of the possibilities.

  ‘I should be able to stop a suitor from participating in the contest if I deem him undeserving.’

  ‘It is your swayamvara!’ Krishna raised his eyebrows. Sharing a knowing glance with her, he added, ‘And swayamvaras are meant to make the process of choosing easier. It will be you who will set the rules.’

  They were interrupted by Satyajit and Shikhandi, who took Krishna with them to the weaponry. A thoughtful Draupadi followed them. Often the power to choose made things more complicated. She was not petty-minded and could not see things just for herself. She had to keep in mind the long-term effects of the alliance.

  The men began to talk about the latest developments in forging and breeding of horses in Panchala. Draupadi kept examining the weapons that her brothers used. The mace was Shikhandi’s favourite. Even Dhrishtadyumna made efforts to excel at it. The warriors known to have mastered wielding the mace were Balarama, Krishna’s brother, and Duryodhana. The only other warrior who could equal them was Bhima, whose whereabout was unknown, and his coming to the swayamvara, almost improbable. The sword was a weapon which never lost its relevance, even in the era when the ability to fight on a chariot was the dominant war skill. The skill of the blade required ultimate courage to take on the enemy at close quarters. But this was a skill learnt by every warrior, right from emperors to foot soldiers. Selecting the best swordsman would be like searching for a garnet lost in a heap of stones.

  Draupadi’s gaze veered to the bow placed on a pedestal at the centre of the weaponry. It was her father’s. The last time he had used it was in the skirmish against the Kuru princes in which he had defeated them all with ease, only to get captured by deceit later. Arjuna. He was the one her father had hoped she would marry. Draupadi kept staring at the bow. If Arjuna really returned as Krishna speculated, she would make this difficult enough to exert his full mettle. Unknowingly, her lips curved while she planned the level of complication for the contest. That would also eliminate many mediocre warriors who would seek her with an intention to ally with Panchala. Standing in front of the bow, Draupadi lost track of time, until Krishna’s hand waved before her.

  ‘Decided already?’ he let out a gasp of surprise.

  She grinned. Jerking her head, she asked, ‘Are you planning to take part in the swayamvara, in case…?’ She shrugged, prompting him to comprehend her unspoken sentence.

  Krishna’s eyes widened; he pretended to consider. If Draupadi had not known him enough, she would have easily thought he was interested.

  She nudged him, ‘You lost it. Don’t even dare trying!’

  ‘Trying to make peace between you and Rukmini in case… no, not even in my dreams!’ he laughed, earning a glare from her. Sensing something beyond the façade of mock anger, he held her palms, almost cold with an unknown fear.

  ‘You will be here on that day, won’t you?’ she asked.

  ‘At all costs, Sakhi.’

  Nine

  Swayamvara

  The open court of Kampilya swarmed with royalty from various corners of Bharatavarsha. Decorated extensively for the occasion with exquisite clay art and floral frames, the venue of the swayamvara mirrored the importance of the occasion. A pair of detached eyes scrutinized the place from an overhead balcony, high enough to give her a view of every participant who vied for her hand. Draupadi’s gaze toured around the open court and then came to a halt at the centre. The matsya yantra. A dummy fish installed on a rotor, overlooking a pool of water reflecting the same. Any suitor who desired her hand in marriage had to string the bow placed there and shoot the moving fish, looking only at its reflection in the water below.

  A daunting challenge!

  Draupadi could not help but notice that she lacked the trepidation a bride in her place would have experienced. The news of the tragedy at Varnavata had, in a strange way, liberated her from her father’s expectation. She was not interested in accepting the alternatives, be it Jarasandha’s grandson or the Kuru Crown Prince Duryodhana.

  Magadha. Panchala. Kuru. The three powerhouses of northern Bharata. An alliance between any two could neutralize the third. For this reason alone, Draupadi hoped to not marry either of these suitors. But to her dismay, the other suitors failed. Some were not even able to lift the heavy bow provided for the purpose.

  Her gaze fluttered when it fell upon the less ostentatious retinue of Dwaraka, on the man who led the retinue—someone who could win the challenge if he willed so, but chose to remain a spectator today. She could not help but feel a pang of envy for Rukmini.

  Suitor after suitor tried and failed, some of them eyeing her with a mix of disappointment and vengeance. Like she was the reason behind the humiliation they faced, and not their desire. She stood there unflinching, a slight curve fixed on her lips. Krishna’s words rung in her ears. She looked like a coy bride under her heavily bejewelled attire, but she was seeking a groom who would take her to where she was meant to be—a position where she would stop being a tool and start being an inspiration.

  A sudden silence among the crowd shook her out of her reverie. Draupadi saw that the prince of Hastinapura had just retreated after an almost successful attempt at the matsya yantra. But the suitor who followed made her lips part.

  Vasusena. Radheya. Karna.

  The earls announced his exploits. The right hand of Duryodhana. King of Anga.

  The radiant archer betrayed his confidence and ease in the way he lifted the bow. But the kingdom he controlled was neither a result of his valour, nor his inheritance. It was a result o
f charity by the royalty of Hastinapura.

  Would he be able to…?

  Draupadi strained her eyes as she saw Karna examine the target and then proceed to nock the arrow. She had to act fast.

  ‘Stop!’ Draupadi’s words reverberated from the high balcony, moments before Karna drew the string. Draupadi exhaled, ‘I, Draupadi, cannot marry you, Lord of Anga.’ The might of Panchala could not ally with someone who was a shadow of his patron. Draupadi knew that only she could stop it. A murmur rose among the crowd as people exhibited a range of reactions.

  Karna froze in his position; his eyes were void of any expression, but his characteristic smile had faded.

  ‘You heard my sister, Sutaputra,’ Dhrishtadyumna stepped forward when he saw that the archer showed no signs of withdrawing.

  But contrary to his expectation, his words only infuriated Karna. Throwing a contemptuous glance at the crown prince of Panchala and the princess, he resumed his stance.

  Draupadi glared at his stubbornness. ‘I made myself clear…’ The rest of her sentence dissolved in an inaudible gasp at the sound of the twang. The arrow had missed the target by the breadth of a hair! Draupadi as well as the might of Panchala had been saved from allying with a mere yes-man.

  A maid came forward to wipe the beads of perspiration from her forehead. Draupadi frowned and fell back. The crowd was too distracted to notice her open relief. With Karna’s failure, there was little hope of anyone else succeeding in the daunting task. He was the best archer. The best archer alive. That’s what everyone at the swayamvara thought. Everyone except one. Draupadi’s eyes moved back to see his suppressed smile. He was the only person who was not shocked at Karna’s failure.

  ‘Stay seated, revered Brahmin,’ Dhrishtadyumna’s words drew Draupadi’s attention. She saw her brother call out to a youth clad in white. ‘Just because no suitor succeeded does not mean we will not host you for a sumptuous meal,’ Dhrishtadyumna grinned.