I have won the Panchala princess!”
“Go, retainer,” said Duryodhana
to Vidura, “fetch Draupadi from her rooms.
They’re too good for her now—let her sweep the floor.
Let her move to the slave women’s quarters.”
“Wretched prince,” said Vidura, “don’t you know
that by today’s vile and unworthy actions
you are tying a cord round your own neck
and dangling above a dreadful chasm?
In any case, Draupadi is not a slave—
the king staked her when he had lost himself.”
“A curse on you!” shouted Duryodhana.
He turned to a lowborn page: “You go and fetch her
to serve the household of the Kauravas.”
Trembling, and with reluctant steps,
the messenger approached Draupadi’s door.
“O queen, you are summoned to the hall.
King Yudhishthira has lost his reason
and gambled every one of his possessions—
city, wealth, his kingdom and then, madam,
his brothers, and himself and, madam . . . you.
So Prince Duryodhana has ordered me
to escort you to his servants’ quarters
where you will be put to menial work.”
Draupadi was distraught and deeply shocked
but found the words to say to the page, “Go back,
and ask my husband if he gambled me
before he lost himself, or afterward.
Then come and tell me.”
The messenger obeyed
but could get no answer from Yudhishthira,
almost demented with despair and guilt.
“Let her be brought to the assembly hall,”
said Duryodhana. “She can ask her question
for herself.” And again he sent the page
to Draupadi. “I will not come,” she said.
“But say that I am willing to respect
what the venerable men in the assembly
may definitely tell me.”
Seeing the page
quaking with dread, this time Duryodhana
sent Duhshasana, his closest brother,
bloodthirsty and coarse, to fetch Draupadi.
“Come, my fine girl, you’ve been lost at dice
and are nothing but a slave. We own you now.
You’ll have to learn to love the Kauravas
and show us how you’ve made our cousins happy!
I’m here to fetch you, you’ve no choice. Be quick.”
She tried to run, hoping to find protection
in the women’s quarters. Duhshasana
followed, grabbed her, pushed her, dragging her
by the hair toward the assembly hall.
She whispered that it was her time of the month
when she should not be seen, when she was wearing
a single garment, but he laughed lewdly.
“Let everybody see you have your period—
wear what you like, or come to us stark naked.
Slave! You can’t be so particular.
Call on the gods until your voice is hoarse—
‘Nara, Narayana . . .’ They won’t rescue you!”
Soon she was flung in front of the assembly,
her long hair loose, her garment torn, disheveled
and stained with blood. Every decent man
lowered his eyes in shame, but none of them—
not the elders, and not her five husbands—
uttered a word of protest. They were silenced,
for to speak out would have been disrespectful
to Dhritarashtra; and some of those present
feared falling out with Duryodhana.
Draupadi stood upright in their midst,
glowing with anger. She glanced scornfully
at her husbands, and that one glance hurt them
more than the loss of everything they owned.
She addressed Duhshasana, “It is an outrage
for you to drag me here—a virtuous woman—
to a hall of men! I see before me
many elders well versed in propriety
and in dharma—yet not one of them
raises his voice at this disgraceful insult.
Do they lack courage? Or do they condone
your vile behavior? A curse on you!
My husbands will not pardon this offense!”
“Slave! Slave!” jeered Duhshasana, rubbing his hands.
Karna laughed, thinking of how Draupadi
had scorned him at her bridal tournament,
and Shakuni and Duryodhana cheered.
But everybody else was choked with shame
and sorrow, and stayed dumb.
Draupadi spoke.
“My noble husband is the son of Dharma
and follows dharma. Let no word of mine
be heard as blaming him in any way.
I wish to hear an answer to my question.”
Bhishma said, “Dharma is a subtle matter.
The answer to your question is not obvious.
One without property has nothing to stake
but, on the other hand, it is accepted
that wives are the chattels of their husbands.
Shakuni is an unsurpassed dice-player;
your husband played him of his own free will.
He himself has not accused Shakuni
of cheating.”
Draupadi replied at once,
“Great-spirited Yudhishthira was summoned
to this hall and, having no real choice,
was challenged to a shoddy gambling match
despite the fact that, as is widely known,
he has no skill at dice. Then his opponent,
Shakuni, took vile advantage of him—
how then could he be said to have lost?
My lord was caught up in low exploitation—
only possible because he cleaves
to principle. As I understand it,
when he put me up as his last stake
he had already gambled himself away
into slavery—is that not so?”
Draupadi again looked to Bhishma,
master of every nuance of the law,
for a clear reply. No answer came.
Seeing Draupadi weeping piteously,
Bhima, unable to contain himself,
leapt to his feet, his eyes blood-red with rage,
and shouted wildly at Yudhishthira,
“I never heard of a gambler who staked
even the life of a common prostitute,
let alone that of his wife! Oh! Shame on you!”
He made as if he would attack his brother,
but Arjuna restrained him. “Wolf-belly!
Never have you uttered such an insult
to our brother. In playing against his will
when invited by a respected elder,
he acted as a kshatriya should act.
You, though, by this rash outburst, are falling
away from the highest dharma; you’re matching
our enemies’ dishonor and wickedness.”
Then Vikarna, one of the younger sons
of Dhritarashtra, addressed the assembled elders,
urging those present to express a view.
There was silence, so he spoke himself.
“It’s deeply shameful for her to be dragged here.
Yudhishthira was under the influence
of an addiction; he had lost control
of his own actions, so should not be seen
as properly responsible. Furthermore,
it was not his own idea, but Shakuni’s
to stake his wife—this despite the fact
that Yudhishthira is not her sole husband.
In any case, it’s clear that the Pandava
could not lose his wife if he had lost himself,
since slaves can have no right to property.
Draupadi is no slave—it stands to reason.”
There were sounds of approbation in the hall.
Karna answered him contemptuously,
“You notice none of the elders speaks for her;
only you, you green, impulsive youth,
are swayed by sentiment. The fact remains,
we clearly heard Yudhishthira stake all,
all his possessions. That includes Draupadi.
As for her being brought into this hall
scantily dressed—if that’s what’s upsetting you—
that is not an act of impropriety.
Even to strip her naked would be no sin
since she has joined herself to five husbands,
flouting every law of decency,
and therefore is undoubtedly a whore
in the eyes of gods and men. Duhshasana—
make the Pandavas take off their clothes,
and strip this woman.”
At this, the Pandavas
removed their upper garments and flung them down.
Duhshasana then grabbed at the loose end
of Draupadi’s robe, and began to pull . . .
. . . Draupadi
closed her eyes in silent concentration.
Duhshasana brayed with triumphant laughter
as he twirled her round, unraveling
yard upon yard of cloth which pooled and pooled
on the marble floor, more and more of it.
His gleeful smile began to fade, as minutes
passed and more minutes, and the garment
covered her as securely as before,
though a stream of silk, a multicolored river,
shimmered and snaked around the assembly hall.
Everyone cried out in utter wonder,
and glowered at the sons of Dhritarashtra.
Duhshasana gave up, tired and angry.
Bull-like Bhima roared, his voice like thunder,
“As the gods are my witnesses, I vow
that, before I enter the halls of Death,
I will tear open this man’s wicked breast
and drink his blood, as a lion savages
a helpless deer, its eyes pleading in vain.
If I do not, then let me never reach
the pure and blessed realm of my ancestors!”
All who heard him shivered. The tide of feeling
was now increasingly behind the Pandavas,
and against the weak-willed Dhritarashtra
who was sitting, mute, stroking his chin.
Vidura addressed the gathering:
“Learned men, it is not right that Draupadi
stands here, with no answer to her question.
I urge you to speak.” But there was silence.
“Take this slave girl away,” ordered Karna.
But as Duhshasana was dragging her,
Draupadi cried, “Stop! I have a duty
which I neglected to perform before
through no fault of mine—to greet the elders
in this assembly in the proper fashion.
My lords, I do not deserve this treatment—
to be forced to stand before this court in shame
by you, members of the honored family
that is now mine. Since my svayamvara,
I have never been paraded in this way
for men to scrutinize. Lords of the earth,
where is honor in this hall? Where is dharma?
Time must be out of joint when such outrages
can be enacted unprovoked, unchallenged.
I am the wife of great Yudhishthira,
equal to him in rank. I am the daughter
of King Drupada, and the friend of Krishna.
I ask again for an answer to my question—
am I won, or not? Am I a lowly slave,
or am I a queen in a distinguished line?
You surely know the law. I will accept
whatever you decide.”
Bhishma answered,
“As I’ve already said, the law is subtle,
so obscure that even Drona slumps
with his head bowed. But this much is certain—
you are blameless. What has been done today
will bring disaster on the Bharatas.”
Duryodhana spoke: ‘This doom-mongering
is so much old man’s talk. Stick to the point.
Draupadi, the answer to your question
lies with your husbands—the four younger ones.
If they disown Yudhishthira and declare
that he is not your lord, then you go free.”
Duryodhana’s cronies applauded him,
while others shed tears at the Pandavas’
cruel predicament. But strong-armed Bhima,
quite clear on this, said, “Do you really think
that if high-souled and just Yudhishthira
were not our unquestioned lord, your ugly head
would still be sitting on your shoulders? Only
because I bow to his authority,
and because Arjuna tightly holds me back,
do I sit quiet, rather than littering
the floor of this assembly with the corpses
of you and your friends, killed with my bare hands!”
“Dark-skinned Draupadi,” said Karna, “notice—
no one here is speaking up to say
you have not been won. In fact Yudhishthira
had lost you when he lost himself. Accept it,
you are a slave’s wife—or, rather, former wife,
since slaves own nothing.
Go now to the quarters
of the king’s relatives; the Kauravas,
and not Kunti’s sons, are your masters now.
Choose another husband, one who will not
gamble you away—or shall we share you?
In slaves, a willing, sensual disposition
is always welcome. Show us what you can do.”
Duryodhana laughed, and bared his hairy thigh
obscenely to the weeping Draupadi.
At this, Bhima’s eyes blazed scarlet, “I swear
the day will come when I will break that thigh
in a great battle, and you will plummet then
into the deepest, darkest pit of Death!”
“Come, reply. I’ll abide by your decision.”
Arjuna said, “Our brother was our master
when he staked us. But when Yudhishthira
had lost himself, then whose master was he?
No one’s master—not even Draupadi’s.
It follows, then, he had no right to stake her.”
He turned to the assembly, “Now acknowledge
that the blameless Draupadi retains
her freedom, and her status, as before.”
Many agreed with Arjuna’s solution.
Just then, a jackal began to howl loudly
somewhere in the palace; asses squealed,
and frightful birds croaked. King Dhritarashtra
found the courage to address his son:
“Duryodhana, you have gone too far.
This blameless princess of the Panchalas
has endured the most grievous insults.
Virtuous Draupadi, ask me for a boon
and you shall have it.”
“My lord,” said Draupadi,
“free the dutiful Yudhishthira
from servitude, so that his son and mine
can never be taunted with the name of slave.”
“Let it be so,” conceded Dhritarashtra.
“And now let me grant you a second boon.”
“Then, my lord, let my other husbands go,
together with their weapons and chariots.”
“It shall be as you say,” said Dhritrashtra,
“Now, ask again.”
“My lord,” said Draupadi,
“greed is a threat to virtue. These two boons
are enough for me. My noble husbands
will make their own way, through their own good acts.”
“This is remarkable,” said haughty Karna.
“In Draupadi, the Pandavas have a boat
ferrying them across to their salvation.”
Bhima now leapt to his feet, on fire
to unleash on the Kauravas the fury
he had suppressed before. But Yudhishthira
forbade it and, approaching Dhritarashtra,
affirmed his loyalty. “Go now in peace,”
said the king, “and bear no grudge against us.
Look with indulgence on your old, blind uncle.
All you lost, I hereby return to you.”
With that, the Pandavas, somber and relieved,
mounted their splendid chariots, and left,
setting out on the road to Indraprastha.
18.
THE DICE GAME RESUMES
“How did the son of Dhritarashtra feel,”
asked Janamejaya, “when the Pandavas
rode away with all their wealth intact?”
Vaishampayana answered readily.
You can imagine Duryodhana’s rage
when he heard the king dismantling
everything he and Shakuni had achieved.
He and his uncle formed a simple plan.
He held his peace until the dust had settled
in the wake of the departing chariot wheels,
then went to Dhritarashtra.
“Do you think
that by restoring all their wealth and assets
to my cousins, all can be as before?
How wrong you are! The Pandavas will never
forget how Draupadi was insulted.
As we speak, the angry sons of Pandu,
before they have even reached Indraprastha,
are planning their revenge—Arjuna flexing
his bow, Gandiva, Bhima whirling his mace,
the others urging on their horses, eager
to gather an invincible fighting force,
summoning their allies from far and near
to march on Hastinapura.
“Remember,
a wise ruler deals with his enemies
before they grow in strength. Listen, Father,
our hope lies in the saintly Yudhishthira.
If you summon him to play another
game of dice, his honor won’t allow him
to refuse you. He’s bound to lose again.
This time round, we will propose new terms:
just one throw each, and let the stake be this—
that whoever loses will relinquish
his kingdom to the other. For twelve years
that loser will be exiled in the forest;
the thirteenth year must be spent in public,