“You drag me thus before the Sabha! Before persons who know the Shastras and before my own Guru!” Her voice trembled with rage. “I hear not one voice raised against you. Can it be that they agree? Do Greatfather Bheeshma, Dronacharya, Uncle Vidura, and Uncle Dhritarashtra look on in silence?” Her words whipped the assembly.
“Well spoken, maidservant.” It was Duhshasana’s voice that was heard, followed by his mindless laughter. Karna joined in. The rest were silent as Draupadi turned to Greatfather.
“Greatfather, you are the wisest. Tell me: Am I a slave?” Silence. “Greatfather, answer me,” she screamed through her tears. There was silence from this old man who had been my Greatfather. Draupadi sank to her knees sobbing and made obeisance to him. “Please,” she said as she sat back on her heels.
With his lips quivering and his eyes still closed against this scene, he said, “There are shades of Dharma most difficult to decline.” His chin and white beard pressed against his chest. Krishna was to tell me later in my own moment of collapse before the war that we must have equanimity in suffering and joy. Perhaps Greatfather Bheeshma was struggling for this in his anguish, but when he managed to speak again his words sounded cold, not wise.
“It is true a man cannot rightfully gamble anything once he has gambled himself away. On the other hand, according to our Shastras, a man has all rights over his wife whether he is free or a slave. Thus it is difficult to say whether you are free or not, my daughter. Yudhishthira played knowing fully well that nobody has ever beaten Shakuni. It is all very difficult.”
I hated Greatfather. For me there would have been only one law and one goal: to kill Duryodhana. There was no doubt that Greatfather was tormented, but that excuse was no longer enough. Of course he was tied by his own law as we were by ours: our allegiance to Yudhishthira. Greatfather, when he had eschewed women, had married an abstraction: Duty, Dharma. Inadequate now. Surely someone in the whole assembly, Dronacharya or Ashwatthama, was preparing to release an arrow. Surely Krishna from the entrance would suddenly hurl his discus and Duryodhana’s laughing head would fall off his body, like Shishupala’s and roll to the floor. It did not happen and we had no right to ask of others what we had failed to do ourselves. Draupadi persisted, her outrage hardened by the cold legality of Greatfather’s answer.
“My husband wagered me after he had lost himself. Think well before pronouncing,” she said authoritatively. She stood proudly. She was after all the only person in the assembly whose inner dignity had not been damaged. I had always admired Draupadi; today she was a deity. The whole assembly listened to her every word.
“Yudhishthira had no choice,” she went on. “He knew it was an unfair game, but he could not protest. Not one of the elders, not one of you paragons of wisdom said a word to this evil Duryodhana. Now you, Greatfather, say that Yudhishthira played knowing what he was doing when he used me as a wager. Was it impossible for you to speak and point out that this was unrighteous? I ask you once more—and please be so good as to try and understand my words.” Here was Draupadi, carried in as a slave, judging the whole Sabha as none of us had had the courage to do. “Where there is no wisdom there are no elders. There is no truth nor righteousness here. I weep for Bharatavarsha, who on this day has lost her Dharma.” Draupadi had dared question Greatfather Bheeshma’s verdict and had done it so well that she had made everyone reflect.
Afraid of her effect on the Sabha, Duhshasana gave his dreadful whinnying laugh again. “Leave the subtleties of the law to others. You are a servant woman whose task it is to please her master, King Duryodhana.”
Bheema, trembling uncontrollably, shouted across the board at Yudhishthira the words that were in my own throat. “This is your insanity. Everything is gone. We endured your gambling us because you are Eldest, but you have caused Draupadi to be dragged in by the hair and to be thrown before this Sabha by that animal. Sahadeva, bring me fire,” he raved and the building shook with his words. “I must burn Yudhishthira’s hands.” I tried to calm him. I stroked his head and held his arms and put my cheek against his to let him feel my tears. “I will throw him and his burnt arms to the dust.” Turning to me in his torment he cried: “How can you stand it, Arjuna?” His neck was thrust forward. His veins stood out.
“Do you not see that he himself would burn his arms off if he could? He suffers more than we,” I shouted. We were grappling and yelling as the Sabha looked on. I hissed, “Duryodhana is watching. Our fighting will only amuse him.”
It was Vikarna, the youngest son of Uncle Dhritarashtra, and not I who saved Bheema from strangling Duryodhana. He jumped up and his voice rang out: “You are right, O Queen. There is no Dharma in this Sabha. We say we act here in the name of Bharata!” At last, one single conscience had spoken for all of us. “I cannot believe that I am witnessing this. I cannot believe that the great and righteous Greatfather, that Dronacharya, Kripacharya, my brother, or any king in this assembly speaks not one word against Duryodhana. Will no one speak?” For a moment it looked as though he might turn the tide, but though he was loved for his courage, the Sabha was full of silent ghosts.
No one spoke.
Vikarna clapped his hands loudly. “No? Then I will speak.” His voice was like a divine conch announcing truth. “It was Shakuni who suggested Yudhishthira wager his brothers and himself. It was Shakuni who provoked him to wager his wife. He had no right to wager her. He staked her after he had lost himself. I do not see therefore that Draupadi has been won. She has not been won.”
“Sadhu!” There were many voices now. The blood coursed through my veins again. Harsh names were thrown at Shakuni.
Vikarna was the youngest of the younger generation in the Sabha; he was the son of a concubine, and Karna had no intention of allowing Yudhishthira to forget that their faces would be blackened with shame to have such a one as their champion.
Karna spoke matter-of-factly:
“When all our guardians of Dharma have not spoken, it is obvious Draupadi is lost. She belonged to Yudhishthira like any of his other riches. It is no good whining about it. Staking her was Shakuni’s suggestion; it was only a suggestion and Yudhishthira agreed.” He continued, “As for Draupadi’s complaints about her being in a single garment, it is decreed that a woman should have only one husband, but she has five like a courtesan. How can she complain about being brought in a single cloth when we have the right to take her with no clothes at all.” His coolness lent his words a horror which silenced everyone again. He bowed about him with joined hands as though taking applause for casting new light on the matter. “All the Pandavas have been won. Their clothes are ours too. Duhshasana, go and get the clothes from the Pandavas and from Draupadi, for they are our clothes.” The full force of the hatred he bore us for refusing his challenge at the tournament was in this coldly calculated gesture. We all took off our upper garments. Vikarna’s words had brought us only a reprieve. The nightmare began again.
Duhshasana began pulling at Draupadi’s cloth. She held on to it. I knew that if Draupadi stood naked, we would kill Duhshasana. Suddenly, Draupadi joined her hands crying “Krishna! Krishna!” Nothing could stop us, but even as he pulled and the cloth came into his hands, Draupadi began to turn slowly as though in sleep. I could see the word on her lips again: “Krishna! Krishna!” Duhshasana pulled and pulled, and the cloth continued to unwind, but Draupadi remained covered. Her hands were folded and now we could hear her calling softly, “Krishna, Krishna.” A soft blue light had come into the huge hall. For a time I was elsewhere, floating. At last Duhshasana, tired and embarrassed, gave a savage pull. It made him sit down.
Bheema’s scream jerked me back, “If I do not rip open Duhshasana and drink his blood in battle, let me not go to the heaven of my ancestors.” The Sabha was with him and on its feet. Uncle Vidura seized the opportunity of pointing out that the question had yet to be answered by the Sabha. I had never heard such force in his voice.
“Therefore do you give us a righteous answer,” he insist
ed. A righteous answer would have implied a judgement on Duryodhana. Cries of “Sadhu” and murmurs of appreciation and approval were one thing, to challenge Duryodhana individually was another. It meant drawn swords and war. The kings in the Sabha said not a word.
“So you see,” said Karna, looking first at Uncle Vidura and then at Vikarna. “In this silence is your answer. Duhshasana, take the new servant Draupadi to the servants’ quarters.” Duhshasana moved forward and Draupadi stood firm, Krishna’s light still in her eyes.
“Draupadi, who is used to royal seclusion, is dragged into the Sabha! Panchali, hardly seen by the sun, is tugged at by this wild animal! You of the Kuru elders should say whether I am a servant or not. Whether I was won or not.” Duhshasana stopped.
That Draupadi should be able to hold on to her reason was a miracle. Greatfather Bheeshma repeated that the question was too subtle for a straight “yes” or “no”. “It is certain that the race will be ruined.” There was anger in his eyes. “It is Yudhishthira himself who should give the answer.”
Quick as an arrow, Duryodhana said, “Yes, yes. Let your other husbands answer that question and if they say Yudhishthira had no right to wager all of you, we shall know he is a liar and you are free.”
It was Bheema who yelled, “Yudhishthira owns us, we are completely his. His defeat would always be our defeat. You do not think,” he threw a look both incredulous and contemptuous about him, “that had it been otherwise we would not have avenged our queen in the first moment?” I could see Sahadeva tossing his head. We were all desperate because no final answer could be given to Draupadi’s question.
Finally, she had put us all to shame. She was the only one in the cataclysm, a horror that would have destroyed any other woman, to plead her case clearly and honourably. The rest of us, besides Uncle Vidura and Vikarna, behaved as though we were waiting for answers from the Dharmashastra.
Draupadi’s determination worked against her in the end. Karna began tapping his foot in irritation.
“You have no husband. Go to Duryodhana’s servants’ quarters. There you will get your orders and—try to have enough discrimination to marry next time someone who will not stake you as a wager.” He had never had a chance before to express his contempt for the Pandavas.
“I have no anger against this Sutaputra,” hissed Bheema at Yudhishthira. “It was not he who staked Draupadi.”
Now, Duryodhana leering at Draupadi drew his silk pitambar aside to expose his left thigh to her. It was shapely and he was inordinarily proud of his body. He patted it invitingly. By this obscene gesture he gave Bheema and himself to destiny. Bheema swore then to smash that very thigh with his mace. Uncle Vidura jumped to his feet. I had never seen his anger. Now it exceeded all of ours. His rage was cold and his voice rasped.
“This is beyond all bounds. When a man has lost himself as a wager, he cannot possibly wager anything else.” There were murmurs of approval.
Draupadi carried her folded hands to her lips and then to her head. In a release of tension her tears flowed, but it was too late. Above the hubbub Duryodhana shouted the question which stayed us all.
“Wait! It is still for Yudhishthira’s brothers to say if he had a right to stake them. If they say not I will release you.” We knew that Duryodhana was trying to drive a wedge between us. If he succeeded we would lose not only Draupadi and each other, but all our strength. So all we could do was to sit still and endure with knives turning in our entrails. With the desperate hope of a drowning man trying to climb the rocks against which he is smashed, I appealed to the Sabha, bowing about me with joined hands as humbly as I could in the hope that the elders would have drawn courage from Uncle Vidura’s outburst.
“It is for you, noble Elders, to decide whether Eldest had any right to stake Panchali, our wife, after he had lost himself.” I threw Draupadi a look into which I tried to put all my love and admiration and my pleas for forgiveness. Before anyone could speak Karna, who had taken over the proceedings, shouted to Duhshasana to take Draupadi away and added that Duryodhana might use her as he liked. Losing control, Shakuni cried, “Sadhu! Sadhu!”
In the chaos that followed with Duhshasana moving towards her, Draupadi cried, “Save me! Save me! Save me! Greatfather Bheeshma, Dronacharya, Ashwatthama, Kripacharya, Uncle Vidura. Save your daughter, Uncle Dhritarashtra.” I felt I had received a mortal wound and all my blood was leaving me.
Again Uncle Vidura shouted and again he stood alone, “Do not touch her. You court utter destruction.” Then, turning to Uncle Dhritarashtra and biting off his words, he pronounced, “Stop-this-or-all-your-sonseach-one-will-be-killed.”
Duryodhana exposed his thigh again and patted it. The excitement had put him into a condition beyond all propriety.
“I will kill Duryodhana,” Bheema screamed, moving towards him. I grappled to restrain him. “And jump on his head and drink Duhshasana’s blood.” The veins stood out on Bheema’s neck. “Arjuna will kill Karna, Shakuni is for Sahadeva.” I grew cool and deadly then.
“It is no boast. I shall kill Karna,” I said. I had never been so sure of anything. Sahadeva jumped to his feet vowing to kill Shakuni.
We did not kill them then, but we were not to break our promises either. A trembling started in me which nothing could stop. I imagined I was stringing Gandiva, which I had never strung before without shooting. It twanged in my head once, and Uncle Dhritarashtra quivered in terror as he heard strange noises.
“My son, you have insulted Draupadi,” he said, desperate in his sightless panic. “Draupadi, ask for any boon.” I felt the Sabha tilting. They told me afterwards that the earth really had trembled, and that where Uncle Vidura had failed to move the old blind fool nature had succeeded. In the pause a fox howled and at this bad omen our superstitious Uncle Dhritarashtra started babbling.
“You are my dearest and closest daughter, Draupadi. Request anything of me.” We were ready, at a look from Draupadi, to fulfil our vows there and then, but she said simply, “Release my husband Yudhishthira.”
There was a perceptible hush and then murmurs of admiration and sighs of relief. She had resolved all and dispelled the nightmare. By not asking for her own freedom or ours, she supported our position: if Eldest were free we all belonged to him and were consequently free. When our terrified old Uncle Dhritarashtra quaveringly granted her another boon Draupadi had us released—all five of us.
We were free! Uncle Dhritarashtra pressed another boon on her. Did he think he could wipe from her mind, or from ours, what had come to pass in this Sabha?
“I shall not ask,” she said in a tone which implied, “Keep your boons! We shall keep our anger. The shastras say boons come like this: one for the Vaishya caste, and two for Kshatriya women. Only kings and Brahmins can have more. My husbands need only freedom to prosper.” It was a reminder that we had managed well enough in the desert.
Karna sneered, “Oh, so the Pandavas have been saved by a woman.” Duryodhana stalked out and Karna and most of the king’s sons stalked out after him. It was as though the ghost which had sealed Uncle Dhritarashtra’s mouth followed them. The evil spirit which had filled the Sabha had evaporated, but not its memory. Uncle Dhritarashtra babbled with his blind face turned to us.
“You are so noble, so noble, all so noble. Your wealth is restored. Indeed it was never anything but a game. Forgive my poor, foolish Duryodhana.” A shrill, contemptuous laugh escaped somebody. “Yes, yes. You are humble and good not to have killed my sons today. You must overlook it all.” He was crying his usual sentimental tears. Waves of love for us, the sons of his beloved brother Pandu overcame him. “I beg you to go back to your Khandavaprastha.” He never had been able to remember its new name. His babbling was a plea for pity.
“Yudhishthira, my son, I am old and blind.”
“And foolish,” growled Sahadeva beside me.
“The dice game allowed me to see the flaws in my son and the nobility in you. I never thought that any warrior could be as forbearing
as Arjuna or Bheema, and all of you are so loyal to each other. Go in peace, prosper, and forget everything.” Somadatta gave us his blessing. At any other time the great compassion in his eyes would have softened me.
I hardly know how to recount what followed. We were certainly not going to linger. We observed the minimum of courtesies, but observe them we did, kneeling to our elders, with Yudhishthira leading us. Even so he was incapable of slighting the observances of Dharma. We knelt before Uncle Dhritarashtra, Greatfather, Dronacharya, and Kripacharya.
When we were out in the open under the clean sky with untainted air blowing on our cheeks, with the familiar touch of swords, the smell of horses, and tigerskin upholstery of our chariots, and our servants helping us up, we emerged from a nightmare. Draupadi had saved us, had knit us more tightly together than ever before. The wedge that Duryodhana tried to drive between us had turned into a sword pointed at him.
Yes, we had been saved by a woman—but not by any woman. Draupadi! If we had ever doubted it we now knew that there was no one like Draupadi. We were numb, and silent. If a man falls into a well or a deep pit he thinks he will die. When he is pulled out into the sunshine he cleans himself of slime and life goes on. If a man is attacked by a snake or a wild animal and survives, life goes on. We are Kshatriyas. We know what it is to be attacked by other men and even by Rakshasas. We draw our swords or string our bows with the hero’s smile on our lips, for if we die we find heaven—but what had happened to us today was a dark thing. It clung to us and could not be washed off.
The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata Page 23
