Draupadi- the Tale of an Empress

by Saiswaroopa Iyer

  Dhritarashtra stirred like a statue which had come back to life. ‘Daughter of Drupada, it is unfortunate that you have been wronged this way.’ Dhritarashtra’s voice shook with guilt.

  Draupadi’s contemptuous glance intensified.

  ‘Ask for a boon, my child! Ask for anything that I can do to undo at least some of the damage done this day in this unfortunate sabha!’

  Gandhari’s hand pressed upon her shoulder. Draupadi knew she could ask for Duryodhana and Dushasana to be put to death. But that would still not achieve anything.

  ‘Release Yudhishtira from the bond of slavery, king of Hastinapura! No one should dare call my firstborn, Prativindhya, the progeny of a slave.’

  ‘As you wish!’ Dhritarashtra uttered in a hurry. ‘But this can’t be all. Ask for something more, my child.’

  Draupadi gathered her thoughts. Asking favours from the blind king seemed insulting after what she had faced. But her work was only partly done. ‘Release Bhima, Arjuna and the twins along with their weapons.’ Dhritarashtra nodded readily, ‘That is the least I can do, Draupadi. But this is still not enough. Ask for something more.’

  Draupadi laughed, ‘I stepped into my marital home where my prosperity was only the valour of my husbands, king of Hastinapura. Besides, a woman with a free and valiant husband need not demean him by asking boons from someone else!’

  Dhritarashtra tried to offer more. But Draupadi turned away. Further proceedings and settlements were of little interest to her. ‘Uncle Vidura, take me to your home,’ she requested a tearful Vidura, who readily escorted her out of the sabha. There were praises from the very mouths that had jeered her ordeal. But Draupadi did not stop to hear anything else. She had fought like a tigress. She had enabled her husbands to fight against the wrong that had been done.

  Twenty-three

  Nakula and Draupadi

  The sounds of the night died down one by one. The noises from the city, footsteps of the maids from the corridor, and even the chirping of night birds died down. But ominous sounds echoed in her ears. Draupadi did not attempt to sleep. Visions of what had happened in the sabha replayed mercilessly in her mind.‘How could it happen?’ she questioned repeatedly. Her soul felt shattered into pieces, each of them pulling her in a different direction. Justice? Revenge? Wrong? Right? Each thought dragged her through an arduous journey to an uncertain future. A burdened future. It was past midnight by the time sanity prevailed.

  When she heard footsteps, she remained stoically seated, waiting for him to enter.

  ‘Nakula.’

  He approached her only after she called out to him. She silently stared into his strained eyes that clouded his otherwise handsome face.

  ‘Why, Draupadi?’ The two words seemed to drain him of all his strength. Draupadi stirred, seeing him collapse to the ground. ‘There was a second game of dice, upon King Dhritarashtra’s wish’, he narrated. She let out a sigh. ‘The loser had to go on an exile for a period of twelve years followed by a year of living incognito, the kind of incognito in which the detection of their identities would result in a repeat of the exile.’

  ‘When do we have to leave?’

  Something about her unaffectedness made him shudder. ‘As soon as possible,’ he said. ‘Not for the exile, but out of the unfair world of Kurus.’

  For the first time since he had entered the room, Nakula saw a movement on her face, even if it was a small frown.

  ‘You did not answer my question, Draupadi. Why did you stop us from…protecting…’ Nakula struggled for words. ‘… from fighting…for the last bit of honour that we could have guarded.’

  ‘What would have happened if I had not done so?’

  Nakula thought he saw her smile, though reproachfully. But only for a fleeting moment. ‘My own conscience would not have burned me the way it does now,’ he said. Her eyes narrowed, unimpressed.

  ‘You would have rebelled. They would have ordered one of your own brothers to fight you. The unity would have broken…’

  ‘For the sake of Rudra, let it break!’

  ‘Dare say that again, Nakula!’ her eyes turned crimson.

  ‘Draupadi! Pray, stop binding us together and leave this undeserving wedlock,’ Nakula said, in agony.

  Undeserving wedlock! Indeed!

  Draupadi’s fists curled. She had not cast herself into the vortex of a polyandrous life to see this day. She had not subjected herself to live with a different brother every year, just to see them break this way. She could not let the labour of years go waste at the first stroke of bad luck.

  ‘What will you do if I leave you all, Nakula?’ her tone got harsher.

  Nakula did not respond for a long moment and then sighed, throwing up his head. ‘Perhaps I might find courage to go my way,’ he saw her brows arch in further reproach. ‘Don’t take me for an ungrateful son, Draupadi. I shall take care of Mother Kunti with greater care than those three would ever do.’

  Draupadi turned away, dismissing the plea in his eyes, and rose to her feet. Her heart threatened to crumble. ‘You are free to leave, Nakula. I shall not bind you to your brothers.’ Her limbs grew limp. But she held on—to speak the most painful words he had heard in his life. ‘Do leave if you happen to concur with “noble” Karna’s opinion of my character.’

  Nakula’s face turned pale. Ever since she had entered his life, he had worshipped her. She knew that too well to throw this hurtful allegation at him! His fingers curled around the sharp edge of his dagger in a vain bid to redirect the pain elsewhere. But the blood that oozed out did nothing to assuage his numb heart. ‘You know me, Draupadi.’

  ‘I hope I do.’

  Nakula said, ‘Tell me what to do.’

  Draupadi turned towards the door. ‘We all leave together for the exile.’

  The rishis, headed by Dhaumya, had stayed up to chant hymns invoking the gods to protect them during the period of their exile. Draupadi stared at the humble ceremonial fire set up at the western outskirts of Kurujangala province of the kingdom. To her right was the beginning of Kamyaka forest. Draupadi stepped out to the portico of the rest house that the people of Kurujangala had lovingly provided them. Throughout the day, she had heard women of the province curse the Kaurava cousins, some of them asking her to stay with them in disguise, promising to protect her and her family with their own lives. She had thanked them and convinced the people to leave. But they had to wait for the Panchalas and Yadavas before entering the forests.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Shrutakarma’s murmur. She hastened to calm the child.

  They did not deserve this. But who did?

  Draupadi took a hand fan and started fanning the five children. It was after a while that her firstborn reached out to her, placing his hand in her lap.

  ‘Get some sleep, little one.’

  ‘How many days till Uncle Dhrishtadyumna comes?’ Prativindhya asked.

  ‘They should be here in a day or two,’ Draupadi stroked his hair. Her eyelids closed in a bid to hold back tears. ‘Take care of your brothers at Panchala, Prativindhya.’

  ‘May I stay with you, Mother?’

  Draupadi looked into his pleading eyes. Her sons had never been separated from her, even for the short visits to their maternal grandfather’s home. The prospect of not seeing them for thirteen long years broke her heart. She shook her head.

  ‘Great princes from history, Lava, Kusha, the sons of Sri Rama, and our own ancestor Bharata, were born and brought up in the forests. Why can’t we stay with you?’ he persisted.

  Prativindhya had inherited the trait of quoting historical instances from his father. Draupadi hoped that this was all he had inherited from Yudhishtira. ‘They were brought up under the protection of rishis in ashrams, son,’ she explained, ‘moreover, they did not have enemies in their pursuit. You, on the other hand, need to protect your brothers, and till you become capable, you need to stay at your grandfather’s home.’

  She could feel Prativindhya’s silent rebellion
in the way he clutched at her garments. She could also feel the obedient son in him quelling the rebellion within him.

  Just like his father!

  ‘When I see you again, I will be of twenty-five springs,’ his voice broke in the end. But Prativindhya hid his face in her lap, determined to not break down.

  ‘I know. And you will make me proud, son,’ she hoped that he would sleep soon. But whatever kept her awake kept him up too. Even the rishis completed their rituals and went to sleep. Draupadi could not move from her children’s side. Something about them helped her sanity prevail. Checking her emotions, she continued to fan Prativindhya until the boy held her hand again.

  ‘Are you angry with Father?’

  Draupadi’s hands froze. Anger had indeed managed to take root in her heart. A part of her wanted to vent it out. The rest of her questioned the very purpose.

  Does it even matter if she was angry or not?

  She found herself shaking her head. ‘Anger gives no solution in trying times, son.’

  ‘Have you forgiven him?’

  She shook her head again. She had not spoken a word to Yudhishtira since the fateful day. Even with the other brothers, her communication had remained limited. Would she let one bad day ruin the tender bonds that she had nurtured? She brushed the boy’s cheeks. ‘I shall, when I deem him worthy of it.’

  The boy realized that this was all he would get from his mother and resigned himself to sleep. Draupadi felt a shadow appear behind her. As if the person had overheard the conversation. But then, the shadow receded. Turning her head, she found Yudhishtira stare into the darkness, towards the city—the kingdom he had ruled so benevolently. Countless citizens had gathered in his support after the incident.

  How could he have gambled it all away—dealt the land they had all carved with their blood and sweat such a cruel blow? How had he dared to play with their emotions?

  But still, they seemed to love him!

  Draupadi leaned against the pillar, resigned to staying up the whole night. Perhaps there would be a day when he would unburden himself to her and she would do the same with him. But now was not the time. The distance would remain. For how long, she could not say. The only person to whom she could bare her heart was caught in a battle. She ached for his return.

  Twenty-four

  Meeting in the Forest

  Afortnight had passed since the Pandavas had fashioned a  residence for themselves in the wilderness of Kamyaka. The citizens of Kurujangala still visited them every day. They sought Yudhishtira’s judgement to resolve the issues they faced. Rishis and Brahmins, too, lingered, and feeding them had become a challenge. Draupadi arranged for food with the help of some women. But the continuous stream of visitors had begun to test their patience. The will to maintain the façade of unity had started to wither. Draupadi feared an unpleasant confrontation to break out anytime, given Bhima’s silent seething.

  One day, Draupadi saw a stream of new visitors headed towards their residence. When the dust settled, the sight of the eagle banner made her heart leap.

  He was safe.

  Draupadi kept aside the stone on which she was sharpening Arjuna’s arrows. She needed to speak to Krishna privately. Not because they had things they wanted to hide from the world, but because she felt the five brothers would not be able to face themselves if they had an inkling of what raged in her heart. Without a word, she hurried inside the hut. Even before the commotion of the Yadava visitors, she felt the presence behind her.

  He had not even bothered to exchange pleasantries with his own cousins!

  Before she knew, Draupadi felt a warm stream of moisture down her cheek.

  ‘Sakhi!’

  Grief threatened to break the dam she had built all these days. ‘Hold me, Krishna!’

  He turned her to him and she cried against his chest. His arms barely managed to steady her frame, which was shivering with her anguished sobs. ‘Pray, calm down, Draupadi. Your tears could claim lives!’

  She let Krishna wipe her tears. It was only then that she saw what her tears had done to him. They had turned his dusky skin crimson. Withdrawing from his comforting arms, she shared an understanding glance.

  They could not give up!

  ‘Thirteen years is a long time. Long enough for loyalties to change. Not just loyalties, but also the narrative of what is right and wrong. The narrative of what is dharma.’

  ‘It is a challenge that cannot be undermined,’ Draupadi agreed, wiping the last drop of tear from her eyes. ‘The future generations will even wonder why we stuck to the five brothers after the thoughtless gamble.’ In Krishna’s sharp gaze, she saw her own will manifest. ‘They told me I could choose another husband. They said I would cease being a “slave” even if one of my husbands rebelled against Yudhishtira.’

  ‘Not everything is lost, Sakhi!’ the curve on his lips suggested there was hope.

  Hope against hope!

  ‘Steel yourself against the twisted interpretations of dharma that Duryodhana will propagate with the help of his minions. They will try their best to weaken the support we have gathered. At the end of this trying period, all we will have is the stubborn persistence of staying united. Faith in nothing but our own selves and our commitment to dharma.’

  ‘The game of dice was a grave error of judgement, Krishna. An error that made a mockery of everyone who supported us,’ Draupadi stared into the expanse outside the window. ‘But that does not take away the core merit of the five brothers. I say this not as their wife, but as someone who considers the whole of this land as her home.’ She saw Krishna look at her with admiration that she had seldom seen him exhibit. ‘I see the reason behind Yudhishtira insisting on completing this period of exile. It is not his blind adherence to the conditions of the game. But his readiness to face the consequences of his own choices.’ Draupadi moved towards the lone wooden seat and collapsed on it. ‘Our choices. Whether or not the population of Bharata understands the same.’

  ‘Thirteen years, as I said, is a long time, Sakhi,’ Krishna leaned against the hand rest of the seat and stroked her hair. ‘Time long enough to prepare ourselves for whatever will face us at the end of it!’

  ‘One thing puzzles me, Krishna,’ Draupadi sighed. ‘Where did we go wrong? No amount of preparation will suffice if we fail to learn from our mistakes. Yudhishtira knew that the game would not be fair. He said so repeatedly before we left for Hastinapura. But we thought it would only cost us a principality or two in the worst case. None of us ever expected that it would result in…’

  ‘Underestimating the enemy,’ Krishna explained, his tone turning solemn. ‘Rajasuya was the kind of victory that graces us once in a lifetime, Draupadi. As an emperor, he could have initiated the change in the codes that undermine dharma. The delay in consolidating that victory has taken its toll.’

  ‘Complacency!’ Draupadi threw her head up. ‘If only we had realized that dealing with victory was as crucial as dealing with threats! Of course, thirteen years is a long time!’ After a long moment of silence, she placed her hand in his outstretched hand and rose to her feet.

  ‘Sticking together when time tears you apart is what makes a true winner, Draupadi,’ Krishna’s gaze turned towards the door, outside which he knew the five brothers waited to talk to him. None of them had dared to interrupt the conversation between dear friends.

  It was time to reunite to face what lay ahead.

  ‘Let them know you are with them, Sakhi. Not just in silent actions, but also in setting the direction. Their strength will get a new lease of life when they know that you are with them in your heart despite what has happened.’

  Draupadi nodded. Krishna turned to exit the hut and she caught his arm. ‘Grant me another wish, Sakha!’ she smiled, seeing his assent. ‘I shall send the message to Panchala myself. Let my sons grow under your care at Dwaraka. At Panchala, they will be guided by my father and brothers, who will only drive them to vengeance. The boys deserve better.’

  Tw
enty-five

  Journey to the Himalayas

  Life at Dvaitavana had not been the same after Arjuna’s departure. He had been the embodiment of poise who would moderate heated discussions. He had been the peacemaker between Yudhishtira and Bhima, who in the early phase of the exile, had been difficult with his temper. After Arjuna left for his tapasya, Draupadi had attempted to moderate once or twice but had ended up exhibiting her own emotions, further infuriating Bhima. The strain between her and Yudhishtira had continued for days. After the coldness showed little sign of dissipating, the rishis suggested they go on a pilgrimage and join Arjuna at the peak of the snow-capped mountains that lay on the northeastern borders of Bharata. It was an idea that they had unanimously agreed to—a rare occurrence after the fateful game.

  Trekking from the forests of Dvaitavana, they halted in the familiar wilderness of Kamyaka. Being acquainted with the forest and the rishis, their stay here continued for years. When Rishi Lomasa arrived, they travelled towards the northern hills. Draupadi found her own spirits lifting on the northbound travel. The dropping temperature was a welcome sign and so was the delightful topography that almost made them forget that they were serving a period of exile. The ever-meditative Sahadeva would spend hours staring at the sky. Nakula would gather bits of information about the fauna and flora of each place. Yudhishtira would seek information from other travellers about the mysterious Yaksha tribe that was believed to control the mountainous region.

  Often she was left in the company of Bhima, which she greatly enjoyed. In her presence, the giant would vent the suppressed agony the atrocities of the sons of Dhritarashtra caused him, and she would listen patiently. This often caused new troubles as Bhima went to unreasonable lengths to please her.