THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (49 page)

NINETEEN THE MIRACLE AND THE OATHS
 

Bheema’s chest still heaved. Arjuna would have found it impossible to contain his brother, but suddenly another voice spoke, clear and ringing, in the Kuru sabha. It was Duryodhana’s brother Vikarna.

He said, “Draupadi is right, dharma has left this sabha. And we will find hell as our punishment if we don’t answer her prudently and make amends for our crime against her.”

Duryodhana was taken aback; the elders and the Pandavas were amazed. Draupadi turned wonderingly to Vikarna, who went on, “Why did the Kuru elders not question Yudhishtira when he wagered Draupadi? How do they quibble about the subtleties of dharma, when nothing can be more sinful than their silence when Panchali was put up as a stake? How do these great men still keep silent, when this tormented woman pleads so desperately for some mercy?

Perhaps, their fear of Duryodhana outweighs their love of dharma. But I will say what I feel. Though I am afraid of my brother, I fear the consequences of our crime more.”

Duryodhana was too surprised to speak and Vikarna continued. “I will answer Draupadi’s question. She has not been lost; she is not Duryodhana’s slave. She is a free woman as she always was!”

There were astonished murmurs in the sabha. But Vikarna had not done yet. “Yudhishtira wagered Draupadi because he was maddened by the dice. He was not responsible for what he did. Besides, he never thought of wagering her, until Shakuni suggested it.

There are other reasons why the wager is not binding. One is that Yudhishtira had already lost himself when he put up his queen. But there is another, better reason why Draupadi is a free woman. A reason that sets Pitama’s argument at naught.”

“What is it?” someone asked.

“Draupadi is not only Yudhishtira’s wife. She is also the wife of Bheema, Arjuna, Sahadeva and Nakula. They were not asked before she was put up as a gambling stake. They haven’t wagered her and she is no one’s slave, but free.”

There was a small uproar and everyone seemed convinced by Vikarna’s reasoning. It was plain as day, but no one else had thought of it. Dhritarashtra froze on his throne. Bheeshma, Drona and Kripa were quiet and even Duryodhana seemed at a loss for words.

Then Karna jumped up and cried, “Vikarna, your chivalry is misplaced and your logic specious. How dare you question the wisdom of the king, of Bheeshma and Drona, who have all found that this woman is Duryodhana’s slave? How dare you air your callow opinion in front of these elders?

Do you think the Pandavas would have allowed Panchali to be brought into this sabha, if they were not convinced she had been fairly won? Who was it that sent for her, finally? It was Yudhishtira. Who are you to decide this thing better than he?

As for all this talk of dharma, I find it absurd. Dharma is not for these Pandavas. Have you ever heard of five brothers sharing the same woman? Is that dharma? Vikarna, you are bewitched by her beauty; but she is no chaste woman, that you should plead her cause so passionately. She is no virgin who has not seen men’s beds, that you should feel so pained at her being brought into this sabha, clad in half a cloth or none at all!

I find your concern laughable. She is a slut, shared already by five men; and now she will have more than five. To have been dragged into this sabha is no outrage to her modesty. You see, Vikarna, she has no modesty to be outraged.”

Duryodhana and brothers laughed at this and cried, “Well said, Karna!”

Karna had never forgotten how, when he took aim at the spinning fish, Draupadi had hissed, ‘I will not marry a suta!’ Sensing the sabha’s mood turning again, he pressed on.

“All six are slaves and I think that for slaves they stand too haughtily and wear too many fine clothes. Dusasana, strip them of their silks! Let them wear only what slaves should and let them be made over to their master.”

Dusasana licked his lips. He glanced at Duryodhana, who nodded. Grinning, Dusasana went toward the Pandavas. His cousins did not wait for him, but stripped away their upper garments themselves and stood bare-bodied like slaves before their masters.

Draupadi stood turned to stone. She wore just the single cloth of a menstruating woman. If Dusasana stripped that from her, she would stand naked before the Kuru sabha. She looked piteously at Yudhishtira, then, at Bheema, at Arjuna, her heart breaking and at Sahadeva and Nakula. They all avoided her gaze and she knew they would not help her, because of dharma. They, too, considered her fairly won. She was alone and Dusasana came leering at her.

Those moments, while the Kaurava covered the distance of a few paces, were an eternity. Panchali willed them to last longer than the stars. She had no one to turn to: this was the end. Then the beast was upon her; his brutal hands seized her cloth. Chuckling, he began to unwind the flimsy garment from her body; hell took the Kuru sabha for this sin committed in it, which would change the destiny of the world.

In a swoon, at that final moment, Draupadi’s lips formed a name.

“Krishna!” she breathed, frantically. At once, a tide of faith surged in her, making all that court and everyone in it, seem so small.

Draupadi stood with her eyes shut, her hands folded like a lotus bud. Her eyelids leaked tears of rapture, for suddenly she knew she was not alone. He whose name she called as her last resort had not deserted her. Meanwhile, Dusasana was stripping her garment from her and there was no man in that sabha who did not stare. She was so ravishing: which man could resist looking? It is told that even Bheeshma gazed.

As for Duryodhana, his eyes never left her for an instant, as his rabid brother tore at her cloth, hand over fist, twirling her round. But Dusasana’s laughter died in his throat; Duryodhana’s mouth was parched for strange oppression. Dusasana pulled on and the cloth came away easily in his hands and made a swiftly mounting pile at his feet. Yet, Draupadi was still clothed; she did not stand naked before their hot gazes.

The Kaurava spun her round like a top, unresisting; but there was no end to her uncanny garment. Quickly, there were three piles of shimmering cloth next to Dusasana and now he tore at it in frenzy, sweating, cursing, maddened by the miracle unfolding in that court. Reams of cloth came away from Panchali’s body, in brilliant colors, endlessly.

The others stood transfixed, sweat breaking on them; at last, with a curse, Dusasana gave up and sat on the floor, gasping. Draupadi stood in a trance in the court of the Kurus; tears still streamed down her face. She was lost to that sabha, to the very world. She was far away, borne on Krishna’s great mercy, enfolded in it.

An awestruck silence; then, Bheema’s voice said quietly and clearly as a bell, “I swear in the name of everything holy, I will tear his heart out from Dusasana’s chest and drink his blood for what he has done today. If I don’t, let me never go to my fathers in heaven, but find the naraka meant for the worst sinners.”

But seeking to turn the tide again, Karna laughed in his face. Karna said, “Dusasana, take the slave to the harem. She must learn her new duties, whatever they may be!”

With a start, Draupadi emerged from her trance. Terror took her again and she wailed, “I am no slave! O Elders, tell them I am a free woman.”

But no one spoke, until Vidura cried, “Haven’t you seen the miracle of the cloth? Heaven protects her! Vikarna is right, Draupadi is no slave.”

The cloth of many colors lay there for all to see. The miracle had shaken Duryodhana; but then, Karna had restored his gumption. The Kaurava said to Draupadi, “Stop repeating yourself, woman. The elders have spoken or held their peace, as they saw fit. But your husbands are here in this sabha; let Yudhishtira decide this thing. They say he is a man of honor and I will abide by what he decides. Let him say if you belong to him now, or to me.”

Yudhishtira stood bare-bodied, his head bent, not saying a word. An infinitely sardonic smile curved Duryodhana’s mouth. Softly now, he said, “Look, Draupadi, your husbands are silent; but you must have an answer.” His eyes were like black flames again, as he stared at her, unwinkingly. Moistening his lips, he said almost gently, “I will answer your question, Panchali.”

Duryodhana paused; the sabha held its breath. He continued, “Your husbands have forsaken you in your moment of need, so I will answer you. You were never born to be a slave, but the wife of a great king. Every bit of you cries out as much and he who cannot see it is blind.”

There was another murmur in the sabha: this from Duryodhana was the most unexpected twist of all. Shakuni turned in amazement to his nephew. Karna looked astonished and Dusasana’s mouth fell open. Even Draupadi seemed taken aback. Duryodhana smiled to see the surprise on her face, but he had not finished.

“Panchali, you are a free woman. These five are not your husbands now: they do not belong to themselves, any more, but to me. Look at them, they don’t say a word to guarantee your freedom.

But I, Duryodhana, say to you—you are free! Choose a husband for yourself from this sabha. Choose any kshatriya who is not a slave.” His hand swept around the court to show how wide the choice was and it came to rest finally on his own chest. “Yes, lovely woman, these are not free men any more and must renounce their right over you. Let Yudhishtira declare that he and his brothers are not your husbands and that you may choose a man from the rest of us.”

His very blandness was fearful and his eyes glittered with lust. Draupadi felt him strip her naked with his demon’s gaze and she shivered. She did not make any reply to Duryodhana and neither did Yudhishtira. Once more, it was Bheema who exploded, fierce as the tempest his father blows on mountaintops.

“Aaaaaaaah!” he roared, like a wounded lion. “You would all be dead, except that I honor my brother. He stands silent, accepting that he has lost himself at dice. So I also accept it. Otherwise, Dusasana, you would not breathe after you dared touch our queen with your filthy hands. I would have torn you to pieces.

Look at these arms, Kauravas! I could crush Indra with them. Be thankful for Yudhishtira and the dharma that binds me to his word.”

Some of the Kauravas trembled to see Bheema flex his muscles; the power of his elemental father rippled in them. His bare body filmed in sweat, the son of Vayu shook with the effort of restraining himself. He breathed heavily and his eyes were bloodshot. Bheema was a terrifying sight.

Ignoring him, Karna said coolly, “Listen to me, Panchali: the plain truth is you are a slave. No slave owns anything, even himself. Since your husbands are slaves, how can they own you? Dhritarashtra’s sons are your masters now. Take yourself to their harem and choose a husband from among them who will not wager you at dice!”

There was more laughter from most of the hundred. Flaming Bheema turned on Yudhishtira again. “Would he dare talk like this except for your foolishness?”

Duryodhana said, “Karna speaks the truth. Yudhishtira, since your brothers will not speak their minds, out of regard for you, I ask you once more: is Draupadi a slave or a free woman? Answer me.”

Still, Yudhishtira made no reply. Duryodhana exchanged a knowing grin with Karna. Keeping Bheema in clear view out of the corner of his eye, Duryodhana leaned back in his chair, exposed his thigh upto his manhood, patted the bared flesh and said obscenely, “You are a free woman, my love. Your husbands have lost you at dice. Come, sit here in my lap where you belong!”

Bheema sprang at Duryodhana with a howl and it was all Arjuna, Sahadeva and Nakula could do to hold him back. Then, all at once, a vision swept Bheema. It was as if his anger had steamed back a veil in his mind and now he saw through time. In a trance, he said, “I will break that thigh one day with my mace and kill you, Duryodhana. If I don’t, may I live in hell forever.”

Karna said, “Dusasana, why waste time? Take the woman to the harem. Duryodhana will enjoy her from today.”

Draupadi was a deer cornered by hunters; her breath was shallow, her eyes full of panic. She cried, again, to the Kuru elders, “Oh, save me, I am no slave!”

But not Dhritarashtra, Drona or Bheeshma said a word: as if they had lost their wits, their tongues; as if fate addled their hearts so they no longer knew right from wrong. But Vidura was on his feet once more, trying desperately to make his brother see reason.

Meanwhile, Bheema’s vision showed him a lucid glimpse of the future. In that court of shame in Hastinapura, speaking more like a prophet than himself, he said in the strangest voice, “I will kill Duryodhana at the great war on the crack of the ages. Arjuna will kill Karna and Sahadeva will kill Shakuni. I see it all happening before my eyes. Dusasana, I see myself holding your heart in my hands and drinking your blood.”

Then, by uncanny osmosis, Arjuna saw part of his brother’s vision. He breathed, “The war on the crack of the ages for which we have all been born! The earth will drink the blood of these beasts, Bheema. Duryodhana, Dusasana, Karna and Shakuni will be meat for scavengers on a sacred battlefield, where justice will be done for today’s crimes.

I swear I will kill Karna at the war. Why, we shall slaughter thousands and Yama’s gates will yawn open to receive them. Bheema, my brother, Himavan may move from his place, the planets may swerve from their orbits, the sun may lose his fire and the moon his cool luster, but Arjuna will keep the oath he has sworn today!”

Sahadeva shared their vision through time and he said, “Shakuni, you are a blot on the House of Gandhara. Your dice will turn into silver arrows and fly to drink your blood. I see myself killing you, Shakuni. I only wonder if you will take the field; if you do, snake, you shall die.”