‘Your other son brutally raped my granddaughter!’ Aryaka had lashed out. ‘Who knows what this son of yours will do if I let him stay in my home?’
Aryaka had not budged when the woman had fallen at his feet. Draupadi would have concluded that Aryaka was a harsh and selfish patriarch had she not seen the terror that his family had been through earlier.
Who would risk the safety of his own family to rehabilitate the son of a sworn enemy?
But how could the son be responsible for the acts of his own father?
Perhaps, his tacit support of his father’s atrocities itself warranted this castigation.
The mental battle had raged within her until she had heard the hysterical cries of the woman who had been so heartbroken at Aryaka’s anger that she had chosen to run back into the flames.
Arjuna had caught Ashvasena from following his mother at the nick of time. But the woman could not be saved.
Despite trying as hard as she could, Draupadi could not shake away the image of the woman caught in the forest flames.
‘You haven’t eaten anything, Sister,’ Subhadra’s chirpy voice came from behind her. ‘I have prepared your favourite Kadamba delicacy!’
Draupadi forced herself to smile. Having never had a younger sister, she could not decide whether Subhadra’s frequent liberties with her were interferences or just expressions of familial intimacy.
‘How will you feed little Sutasoma if you do not eat yourself? And what if you are pregnant again?’ Subhadra gasped.
Suppressing her annoyance, Draupadi ate a little. But even the delicious preparation felt bitter to Draupadi’s tongue when she thought of Ashvasena’s wrathful face as he had walked away rejecting the Pandavas’ offer, asking him to stay in the palace.
Subhadra coughed uncontrollably when another strong gale blew in, carrying the burning stench. ‘So, we are building a new city!’
Draupadi beamed at Subhadra’s incessant efforts to take her mind off the morning’s tragedy. ‘Subhadra, do you think we can build a flourishing city upon the burnt corpses of those rebels?’
‘…robbers, molesters and other abominations of human race? Very well, yes,’ Subhadra replied with no hesitation. ‘When I spoke to brother Bhima earlier today, he told me about the incident at Lord Aryaka’s place. Why would we want to spare the lives of those monsters?’
It was not as straightforward as Subhadra felt, Draupadi knew that. But still, she could not help feeling envious of the way Subhadra stood by her view.
Subhadra smiled, reminding Draupadi of Krishna immediately. ‘Elder Sister, you are my brother’s best friend, I am sure you know how he had to kill our uncle Kamsa, fight Jarasandha, and then lead an exodus to Dwaraka.’ Pausing to see Draupadi nod, she continued, ‘I heard people decry his every decision and action. They decried him when he killed Kamsa. They decried him when Jarasandha fell upon us. They decried him when he spared Jarasandha’s life on the battlefield. They cursed him when they had to abandon the city of Mathura for a shore city that was still to be built. They owed their very existence and sustenance to my brother. Yet they denounced him at the first opportunity,’ Subhadra’s voice shook towards the end. ‘Now that the Yadava confederation has flourished on the shores, people sing paeans of praise for him. Because he saved the present for the future, Elder Sister.’
It wasn’t that Draupadi was not aware of Krishna’s exploits, but Subhadra’s passionate recounting of her brother’s life was charming. With an indulgent smile, Draupadi let her continue.
‘I meant to say, the future generations will respect those who take action. The present has to be saved for a future to exist. Had we let those forest-dwelling rebels terrorize the people of Khandava Prastha, limiting our action to just meek defence, it would have caused the population to either get disheartened or get influenced to join them.’
Draupadi chose to go with Subhadra’s explanation of what had happened. Subhadra suggested going through various plans for the city.
‘We should be ready with something impressive when our mother-in-law returns from her pilgrimage!’ she said, enthusiastically.
But contrary to their expectations, Kunti was less than impressed with the developments in her absence. Sending Subhadra away on some pretext, she stared at Draupadi, disappointed.
‘How did you let this happen, Draupadi? New city? Will that not tie down the five brothers to the barren lands of western Kuru Kingdom? Will that not make them look like mere recipients of their so-called uncle’s benevolence?’
Draupadi did not let her disappointment show. The decision to settle for the principality of Khandava Prastha, despite the region’s failings, had been taken so that they could secure a solution to the continuous clashes between the cousins. Furthermore, she was hopeful of the Pandavas’ ability to transform the region.
Kunti, though, was not in a frame of mind to appreciate the merit of the decision. ‘Secure a solution to the problem of continuous clashes? By Mahadeva!’ she exclaimed. ‘Their father was once an emperor of this land, Draupadi. Yudhishtira suffers from an obsession for peace. To the point of restraining his brothers from doing their best. I had hoped that you would remedy that…’ she paused when Draupadi held both her arms, breaking her volley of rants.
‘Mother Kunti, you were the one who inspired me to challenge the old order,’ she beamed like she would at a child. ‘That is exactly what I seek to do. But superfluously challenging and rebelling against the dynasty and their obsessions serves no purpose. We have to establish dharma, and emphasize to the world that the driving tenet of this land, dharma, is not a static code of unintelligent rules, but a dynamic counterbalancing force.’
Kunti heard her out and smiled sadly. Draupadi chose to not press further. Perhaps the older woman, too, was obsessed with seeing her son upon the very same throne on which her late husband had sat and ruled over the land.
Mahadeva willing, there would be bigger thrones!
Draupadi wanted actions and results to speak louder than just assurances. She knew her husbands would make it happen. She looked out the window, surveying the site of the erstwhile Khandava, now cleared of the waste, and presenting a magnificent golden sight under the midday sun. If only Kunti saw what she did. A city that would make the gods descend to be a part of the flourishing land. A city that would equal that of the gods! A city the true lord of the land would rule.
Indraprastha!
Sixteen
Jarasandha and Krishna
‘Not again!’ Draupadi sighed to herself when little Shatanika called out to her from his cradle. She had not expected that juggling the lives of a queen and a mother would be an easy task. But using motherhood as an excuse to postpone her queenly duties was not something she could come to terms with. By the time she hurried from the spacious portico back to the inner chamber, she saw her firstborn, Prativindhya, vigorously shaking the silver rattle to draw Shatanika’s attention. ‘He is a little too old to be interested in a rattle,’ she smiled and told the bewildered Prativindhya.
Having crossed a couple of months after his first spring, the son of Nakula had a reputation of being too agile, rebelling whenever he was put in a constrained place like a cradle. Prativindhya hurried to the corner of the chamber where a three-foot-high wooden horse was mounted on a frame of four wheels. After Draupadi securely placed Shatanika on the horse, Prativindhya obliged by taking the lead to engage the little brother. Smiling and shaking her head at the joy and bewilderment motherhood posed, Draupadi turned back to what she thought was the ‘easier’ part of her life—the life of a queen.
And the first intrigue of her queenly life awaited her around the corner.
The guard looked unsure when he sought permission to usher the ageing guest who wanted her audience in the absence of Yudhishtira. Draupadi waved her approval and realized the guard’s confusion. The guest introduced himself as Satyaratha, a warlord from the borders of Videha, now under the control of Magadha.
What does a remote w
arlord have to do with us?
Draupadi offered him a seat and planned to arrange for his meals when grief erupted in his eyes and he placed his silken headgear on the ground, a yard away from her feet.
‘No, Arya. You are of my father’s age!’ she stepped back in alarm.
‘Maharani!’ the voice broke at every syllable. ‘Save my sons. They are hardly of eighteen springs.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘People will call me mad to say this. But I swear upon my ancestors and my virtuous wife, who is in the high heavens, that emperor Jarasandha took them away!’
‘Why would he take them away? Pray, calm down and tell me everything,’ Draupadi said.
‘To sacrifice them in his gruesome ritual!’ Satyaratha could not speak more. ‘I tried to appeal to the kings of Panchala and Hastinapura…but in vain.’
Why would Father turn away an aggrieved father like him? And what had stopped Dhritarashtra from acting against it?
‘They didn’t believe that Jarasandha would engage in a ritual like Nara Medha. But I can bet my life, My Queen. He even has a goal! Of offering the lives of ten thousand princes and unmarried men of royal or noble blood.’
The prospect of any living king engaging in Nara Medha seemed distant. Even for a ruthless king like Jarasandha. Draupadi now realized why the rulers of Panchala and Hastinapura had not taken Satyaratha’s words seriously. But there was something about the old man’s claims that she could not dismiss.
Organizing a temporary residence for the weary guest, Draupadi began contemplating. Even Kunti noticed her distant demeanour during the afternoon meal the women shared. Upon Kunti’s insistence, Draupadi told her about Satyaratha. Contrary to her expectation, Kunti’s eyes spoke of a sad memory.
‘He is ruthless, that king of Magadha. Ruthless enough to indulge in something like this!’ Kunti sighed.
‘My foster father, Bhoja of Kunti kingdom, also lost a son. That was when he adopted me,’ Kunti recollected. Draupadi thought she saw a sense of bereavement shoot up in Kunti’s eyes. It seemed unnatural to grieve for a foster brother who Kunti had never met.
Perhaps Kunti loved her foster father so much that she had made his grief hers.
‘He suspected Jarasandha. But his own ministers and generals told him that it was far-fetched to blame Jarasandha when the province of Kunti had no enmity with Magadha. But I believed him. I had seen the evil that was Jarasandha far too closely.’
Kunti did not speak for long and Draupadi chose to not prompt her.
‘Even Pandu had wanted to put an end to Jarasandha’s sway and had undertaken great pains and campaigns to unite the Kshatriya world against that monster of Magadha!’
Draupadi frowned. Kunti was seldom herself when she spoke about her late husband’s unfulfilled aspirations. She knew where this conversation would go.
‘We shall take steps to ascertain the news and we will try helping Satyaratha, Mother Kunti,’ she squeezed Kunti’s shoulder.
The day’s activities failed to put Draupadi at ease. The ageing chief from Videha would not have come to the banks of Yamuna to Indraprastha if he had no faith in the rising Pandava strength. That itself, Draupadi felt, was an opportunity worth seizing. But where would this lead? How could they pursue the case with Magadha? Could they, with their current strength, take on the vast armies of Jarasandha on the battlefield? That too, on the basis of some speculation? For some reason, she felt it was premature to discuss the same with Yudhishtira. There was only one person whom she could bare her heart to. Draupadi decided to send a messenger to Dwaraka.
‘Bored with the city and your household so soon?’ the cheery voice almost startled Draupadi after her morning sun worship. ‘You must be, if the issues of the rest of Bharatavarsha have started to bother you!’
She beamed at the familiar visitor.
‘Someone had once exhorted me to consider the whole of Bharatavarsha as my home!’ Her eyes threw him a challenge, bringing back the memory of one of their earliest meetings. Her smile turned tender the next moment. ‘At times, I feel guilty to disturb you with my…ideas—what is the better word for it—vision.’
‘It is true, Sakhi!’ Krishna turned solemn. ‘The spies at Mathura, as well as Jarasandha’s own son, Sahadeva, confirm that the old king is engaging in gruesome rituals like Nara Medha.’
Draupadi stared at him, overwhelmed with the news.
How gruesome was the father if his own son was admitting to his wrongdoings?
She had seen the Prince of Magadha once or twice. Prince Sahadeva had not inherited any of his father’s characteristics. Neither his physical robustness, nor his ambition. ‘We can’t sit here, doing nothing now, Krishna.’ Nara Medha was an esoteric practice of the distant past, which had been banned by Brahmarishi Vishvamitra during the era of the famed King Harishchandra. Whether the ritual yielded the desired result or not, Jarasandha could not be ignored. A thought struck her. ‘Why did you never think of ending Jarasandha’s life, Krishna? I am aware that you met him more than once on the battlefield. You had even stopped brother Rama from killing him. Did you not?’
Krishna inhaled and nodded. ‘You are also not ignorant of the sway that Jarasandha holds over the countless provinces of Bharata, Draupadi. And they vie with each other to win his blessings.’
‘And his death will only cause a mad scramble amongst those minions to “inherit his dominion”,’ Draupadi nodded. ‘And who knows what that will lead to? We cannot end him unless we have an alternative.’
An alternative that would be accepted unanimously across Bharatavarsha!
A maid announced that King Yudhishtira awaited them in the Yajnashala. Draupadi glanced at Krishna. The same thought had struck them both.
When they met Yudhishtira and his brothers who had just concluded their morning rituals, Draupadi was surprised to find out that even the king of Indraprastha had received a cryptic message from Magadha.
‘It has to be my namesake,’ Sahadeva remarked after a second examination of the scroll, and they saw Krishna nod.
Yudhishtira’s eyes betrayed a desire to act. But his characteristic contemplation or what Bhima often termed as “needless hesitation” clouded the rest of his face.
‘People like Satyaratha from distant confederacies have started to reach out to us. It is a sign of the growing faith that they place upon us, Eldest,’ Sahadeva continued.
‘We are talking about an opponent like Jarasandha,’ Yudhishtira countered him. ‘As much as I would like to see him defeated on the battlefield, we have to be prepared for a situation where we might not receive military assistance even from the closest of our allies. While Magadha, on the other hand, will command the assistance of all its allies, minions, and possibly, even hired assassins.’
Draupadi seconded his deliberation. ‘Covert operation?’ These words drew stares of varied expressions from each of her husbands. She thought Yudhishtira’s eyes brightened for a moment before they settled back to their placid selves. Her gaze involuntarily turned to Krishna. She knew that the idea had its risks, the biggest being found out, which would expose them to a confrontation with Magadha on the battlefield as well as a loss of reputation among their dearest. But if everything went well, they would save the lives of countless innocent men being readied for the gruesome sacrifice! It was worth it.
Contrary to the expectations of his brothers, Yudhishtira responded with a nod. Draupadi leaned back in her seat, thoughtful. Executing her plan needed first-hand information about Jarasandha’s strengths, weaknesses, and more than anything, the predictable facets of his personality.
‘You have faced him on the battlefield time and again, cousin Krishna,’ Yudhishtira prompted. ‘Very few understand your wisdom behind relocating the Yadavas to Dwaraka. Even fewer see your thoughtfulness behind sparing his life! We rely on your experience and insight to proceed with this plan, Vasudeva.’
Krishna’s intense gaze acknowledged Yudhishtira’s request. ‘Killing Jarasandh
a needs to be covert enough to minimize the damage, but fair enough to hold his allies back in a moral stalemate. Jarasandha has his indulgences. Wrestling is one of them. Death in a bout of wrestling is considered fair. Fair enough for the prince of Magadha to let us escape unhurt as well as ally with us in future.’ Krishna arched his brows, seeking their reaction and pointedly looked at Bhima.
Not used to diplomatic conversations, Bhima leaned forward. ‘When do we start for Magadha?’
Draupadi grinned. Always the first one to put his foot forward, Bhima was a perfect contrast to Yudhishtira’s insightful hesitation.
Krishna, too, laughed and patted Bhima’s shoulder in a mix of affection and admiration. Gazing at the fire burning at the Yajnavedi, the fire altar, he added, ‘In addition to being covert and fair, the killing of Jarasandha should be accompanied by a vision to handle the power vacuum that his death will create.’
Feeling Krishna’s meaningful gaze rest upon him, Yudhishtira reassessed the might of Magadha. ‘Avanti, Chedi, Pundra, Vidarbha, perhaps even Kashi, and a considerable part of the southern provinces, have been loyal to Jarasandha. The princes of those kingdoms have gone out of their way to please him and “inherit” his sway.’
‘All they need is an acceptable alternative, Eldest.’
Draupadi took the cue and placed her palm over Yudhishtira’s. ‘I know that you have resisted Mother Kunti’s push to fulfil your late father Pandu’s dream of uniting Bharatavarsha. Your deliberation is well-placed, Arya. But now it is time to assert your rightful position as the worthy descendant of the great emperor Bharata. Perform Rajasuya, My King.’
Yudhishtira felt the sparkle of ambition in her eyes. Rajasuya was a yajna that followed a successful military campaign in four directions. Performing Rajasuya would raise him to the status of an emperor—a samrat. It would fill him with new-found faith in himself, in his brothers, and above all, in the path that he had always walked on—the path of dharma.
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