Krishnavatara IV: The Book of Bhima Read online

  Draupadi’s heart bounded with joy. She had never expected that she would be the Queen of Hastinapura as soon as she was married to the Five Brothers. Both of them smiled at each other. No doubt was left in her mind that she had found favour with him.

  With delicious trepidation, she had looked forward to meeting her husband for the first time. His sedate, self-possessed behaviour during the days following the marriage had given her the impression that she might not be able to meet him on equal terms. Now she was sure she could. Yudhishthira was so kindly, so gentle. It required no effort on her part to ask the question: ‘Is your Grandfather so terrible as people say?’

  ‘He is terrible only to those who deviate from Dharma, Draupadi,’ he said as he looked tenderly into her eyes. ‘You will find no difficulty in getting on with him.’

  ‘And you have a grandmother too, whom they call the Venerable Mother. Will she be kind to me after our strange marriage?’ she asked.

  ‘The Most Venerable Mother is our great-grandmother; in fact we treat her as the Mother Goddess. Do you know that the Master is her son?’ asked Yudhishthira.

  Draupadi nodded assent.

  ‘Don’t you worry about her. She is a very wise and generous woman. My Uncle Vidura would never have come with the message if she had not approved of it,’ he said.

  ‘And Duryodhana……..?’ asked Draupadi. Her memory evoked the image of Duryodhana as he cast a malevolent glance at her after his failure at the swayamvara.

  ‘Oh, he appears to be reconciled to events, too,’ replied Yudhishthira. ‘He is an unfortunate man. He commits mistakes and lives to be sorry for them,’ he added generously.

  ‘Are you sure that he is reconciled, lord?’ asked Draupadi with a shudder. ‘His appalling look, after he failed in the contest, still haunts me at night.’

  ‘Draupadi, you must forgive him for his weakness. Poor man, he has been dealt with cruelly by evil planets,’ said Yudhishthira. ‘We have to treat him generously.’

  ‘And your Guru Dronacharya? Will he accept me? I am his enemy’s daughter,’ she said.

  Yudhishthira laughed frankly. ‘There is no difficulty on that score. Your Govinda had already overcome that difficulty when he sent to Acharyadeva, your brother Shikhandin — a woman — to be transformed into a man. You know how Krishna got Aswatthama, Acharya’s son, to give a promise to your father.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she said, smiling gratefully at the way in which Krishna had solved all the difficulties in the way of the swayamvara.

  ‘Acharyadeva is sure to be won over,’ said Yudhishthira and smiled broadly. Then he added: ‘On one matter, you and I are agreed: With Krishna as our guide, our path will always be thornless.’

  ‘Oh I know,’ said Draupadi, her eyes shining. ‘But for him I could never have faced the swayamvara. He gave me the strength.’

  ‘Yes. And but for him we would have been rotting in the Land of the Rakshasas,’ said Yudhishthira. Both laughed simultaneously.

  ‘Do you know the game of dice?’ asked Yudhishthira, glancing at the chequered piece of game-board lying near with pieces and dice.

  ‘I know it a little,’ replied Draupadi.

  ‘Shall we have a game?’ asked Yudhishthira. Saying this, he reached for the piece of deer-skin, spread it between them and began to adjust the pieces on it. Draupadi smiled and joined her husband in the game.

  ‘I am very fond of this game. It is a game for valorous Kshatriyas,’ said Yudhishthira.

  ‘Yes, my father and brothers also play it,’ said Draupadi.

  When they began to play, Draupadi was surprised at the change that came over her husband. He was no longer the detached, serene, meditative man that he usually was. His eyes glowed with enthusiasm. His brows were knit in concentration. He rolled the dice with a loving hand. When he moved the pieces, he caressed them with his long, slim fingers. He was joyous if the throw was favourable; pained when it was not. She had never seen her father or brothers taking such an absorbed interest in the game. To them it was a game. But, to her husband, it appeared to be a passion or, rather, a point of honour to play it skilfully and with scrupulous regard to the rules.

  After two games were over, both of which Yudhishthira won, he became his usual self, turned to her and said: ‘Now, Draupadi, let me tell you something before we retire. You have stood by us nobly. But for you, we would have been in serious trouble.’

  ‘The choice was not mine; it was preordained,’ she said modestly.

  ‘When the Master left the choice to you of marrying all of us or only Arjuna, I was afraid that you would not choose the unpleasant way. Then our whole life, which we have built on Dharma, would have fallen to pieces,’ said Yudhishthira.

  ‘Why? Was it so important?’ asked Draupadi.

  ‘Draupadi, you know Mother had said that we should all marry you. We wanted her word to stand as truth,’ said Yudhishthira solemnly. ‘From our birth, we have pledged ourselves to respect her word, whatever the consequences. And if we had disregarded it in this matter, it would have broken her heart.’ Then he added: ‘And broken the magic bond which binds us brothers.’

  Draupadi looked down. Her heart would have rebelled at the idea of her being sacrificed to a mother’s words spoken in ignorance, had she not seen what that love was during these fifteen days.

  ‘And again, what the Master said was right,’ continued Yudhishthira. ‘We can only face our enemies and our fate if we five stand together. With a common wife, we will be irresistible. One of us marrying you would have frustrated our destiny.’

  ‘What is your destiny, lord?’ asked Draupadi.

  ‘To live for Dharma,’ replied Yudhishthira.

  Draupadi laughed. ‘I too followed the advice of the Master. I accepted all five of you because it was my Dharma too.’

  ‘You are a wise woman, Draupadi,’ said Yudhishthira with a faint smile, almost like that of an indulgent parent. ‘But we should not take advantage of your goodness and force you to live with husbands whom you have not chosen. Arjuna is brave and generous. He has it in him to make you happy. You shall, in reality, be his wife.’

  ‘Would it be right to be only one brother’s wife when I am married to all five?’ asked Draupadi, boldly facing her husband. ‘I would be living in truthlessness.’

  ‘In a way you are right. But we have to take the way which is least sinful. I will take you to Arjuna,’ said Yudhishthira.

  Draupadi looked up. She had overcome her fear of Yudhishthira. ‘Forgive me, lord. I have accepted all of you. I will not deviate from my duty either,’ she said.

  ‘It will not be an easy task,’ said Yudhishthira warned her.

  ‘I too have wished to establish an empire of Dharma for myself; that is why I accepted all of you. And I cannot do that if I am not the loyal and dedicated wife of all of you,’ said Draupadi decisively.

  ‘That will be very difficult. You will always be oppressed by the thought of displeasing one or the other of us,’ said Yudhishthira frankly.

  ‘Then I will be on trial. And I am determined to succeed,’ she said.

  ‘How can you do so?’ asked Yudhishthira.

  ‘I may be young in experience, but I know what is due to you all. I hope to see that you will not find me wanting,’ said Draupadi.

  Suddenly Draupadi looked up as if she had had an inspiration, and with a challenging eye, faced Yudhishthira. ‘Lord, all four of you want to remain my nominal husbands. That is your suggestion.’

  ‘Yes, that is what we have decided. It is the proper thing,’ said Yudhishthira.

  ‘But that would deprive me of my decision to share the life of all of you,’ said Draupadi and added: ‘I know my way, if you will help me.’

  ‘You have a way of your own, have you? What is that?’ asked Yudhishthira, again smiling indulgently at this exhibition of spirit. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I can only achieve the building of an empire of Dharma for myself, if I am the wife of each one of you –loving you all fully an
d loved by you all. If you have no objection, I would like to be with each of you for one year in turn. During that time I will be his,’ said Draupadi.

  ‘It is very, very difficult to have the strength to maintain this discipline rigidly,’ said Yudhishthira, opening his eyes wide in appreciation.

  ‘Is it difficult for you?’ asked Draupadi.

  ‘No, for you,' replied Yudhishthira.

  ‘I can do it, if you have faith in me,’ said Draupadi. ‘At the end of each year, I will perform the Chandrayana Vrata’3 and then live with the next brother. But can you all accept this cheerfully? You will have to put it to your brothers,’ she added.

  ‘I am sure they will agree to it. Draupadi, you are a wise woman for your years,’ said Yudhishthira.

  ‘I chose you because I was wise,’ said Draupadi with a smile. ‘You are said to be Dharma incarnate. I want you to be your counterpart.’

  Yudhishthira surrendered to Draupadi. ‘Draupadi, we have to thank the Great God for giving you to us.’

  ‘…………….. and also Govinda’ she added. And they laughed.

  The distance between them dissolved.

  When Draupadi awoke in the morning, the tenderness with which Yudhishthira had treated her clung to her like the delicate aroma of a parijata flower.

  2. BHIMA TAKES OVER

  The next morning, when Draupadi joined her mother-in-law Kunti in the antahpur, the women’s apartments, she felt herself floating in air for sheer happiness.

  What added to her happiness was that at her father’s pressing request, Krishna, his elder brother Balarama and his inseparable friend Satyaki had moved to the royal palace next to where her husbands had their temporary residence. This enabled her to steal a few moments to meet Krishna.

  However, it was difficult to find him alone. His coming to live with her father had turned the palace into a popular shrine.

  Kings, princes and far-famed chariot warriors of the highest rank, atirathis, who had come for the swayamvara and stayed for her marriage, continually came in batches or singly to pay their respects to him or to ask his advice. Rishis and munis, hermits and ascetics, from all parts of Panchala, also came to bless him.

  The common people too—men, women and children – made their way uninvited into the palace courtyard; there was no keeping them back. And as they waited for Krishna’s darshan, they talked incessantly of him: what a god-like man he was; how he had got the King, her father, to hold the swayamvara; how, by his magic, he had driven away Jarasandha, the wicked Emperor of Magadha, who had come to kidnap her; how he had brought the Five Brothers back to life and had her married to all of them. In the very process of exchanging such talk, his exploits assumed miraculous proportions in the popular mind, making him an object of awed reverence.

  The crowds continued to sit in the courtyard, sometimes for the whole day and half the night, occasionally shouting Jayatu Jayatu Krishna Vaasudeva — ‘Victory to Krishna Vaasudeva.’ Sometimes they would clamour for his coming into their midst, and when he did so, they would touch his feet, and when he smiled at them, they would be filled with joy.

  Draupadi was also amazed at the way Krishna had fascinated the members of the two families which had now been allied by her marriage. Her father Drupada, stern and rough at all times, spoke of him with respect. Dhrishtadyumna, her brother, temperamentally so bold and self-confident, felt humble in his presence. Satyajit, her younger brother, worshipped the ground he trod on.

  Her mother-in-law Kunti, full of maternal affection for all who came to her, spoke of him as if he was her own son and the dearest. Yudhishthira, who himself was looked upon by his brothers as the godliest of men, invariably deferred to his opinion. Bhima, even in his most expansive moods, treated him with deference, though, in his unceremonious way he never failed to crack a joke at his expense. Arjuna followed him wherever he went. Even Nakula, who by nature was gay, and Sahadeva, the silent and wise, had learned to regard him with worship.

  This was not surprising. She had seen him as he was and wanted to be, at that memorable self- revealing moment when he induced her to undergo the swayamvara as part of her Dharma.1

  Since then she had felt that she was bound to him by spiritual affinity. His approbation had become a touchstone on which she had learnt to test all her thoughts and actions.

  She left the women’s apartments, crossed a small garden and entered the corridor which led to the veranda where Krishna generally sat. Softly she stepped up to the half-closed door and peeped through it. Krishna was not alone. Her husband Bhima and King Virata of Matsya were with him.

  Her admiration for Krishna had not abated by closer contact; if at all, it had increased. There he sat at ease, almost boyish-looking, graceful in every limb, his brilliant eyes gleaming as his mood kept changing.

  He sat, half-reclining on the pillow, his long curly hair sweeping down to his shoulders, his garland shifted on account of his position, exposing the birth-mark on his chest. His skin — was it dark or blue or cloud-coloured? — glowed as no one else’s did.

  She listened; Krishna was requesting King Virata to take an interest in the future of the Five Brothers. There was a sweet smile on his lips. His tone was confidential.

  Bhima, that giant of a husband of hers, that sturdy rock of humanity, with his bulging muscles and bold eyes, was caressing his luxuriant beard, now trimmed and glossy.

  When King Virata left, Bhima showed no sign of being in a hurry to depart, and after the vow that she had induced Yudhishthira to take, she did not like to face him. Often during the last few days, he had put his tongue out meaningfully whenever he came across her.

  However, before she could withdraw, Bhima saw her, stood up with a loud explosive burst of laughter, and throwing the door wide open, caught her by the wrist, and laughing with boyish glee, dragged her to the verandah.

  Brought up in royal dignity, Draupadi was not accustomed to being roughly handled. She felt humiliated to be treated thus, but did not know how to deal with such a mischievous husband as Bhima. She looked at Krishna. With a sly smile, he was enjoying her discomfiture.

  Bhima almost flung her to the ground, but before she fell, drew her up into a sitting posture. Her habitual dignity left her. She felt like a small girl. It was all fun. It would be stupid not to enter into it.

  With mock ferocity, the giant upbraided Krishna. ‘Look at the kind of wife you have forced on me, Krishna. She was hiding behind the door like a thief,’ he said. And the walls echoed with his laughter.

  Her ornaments were out of place; the flowers on her head had fallen off. She did not know what to make of a husband who showed his love in this way.

  Suddenly Bhima shot a protective smile at her. ‘Don’t get frightened, Draupadi,’ he said in a very joyful voice. ‘I don’t blame you for hiding behind the door. All women are thieves. Don’t you think so, Krishna? First they steal our hearts, then our youth, and then whatever else we have.’

  Draupadi looked at Bhima indignantly.

  ‘Don’t worry, Draupadi, Krishna knows all about women,’ added Bhima.

  Krishna laughed and said: ‘Bhima, you will frighten Krishnaa.’

  ‘Frighten the Princess of Panchala!’ protested Bhima. Then he gave her a sly wink. ‘On the contrary, she has been frightening all of us. Do you know, Krishna, last night she frightened our Eldest into making her a wicked pledge. Oh, Great God, what a terrible woman to have for a wife!’ Having unburdened himself he turned to Krishna. ‘Will you believe it, Krishna, she made us brothers quarrel, as we had never done before?’ And his laughter echoed again.

  Draupadi blushed in confusion. She wanted to keep the vow a secret between herself and her husbands, but here was Bhima announcing it in a voice loud enough to be heard even by her father in the throne room.

  ‘Draupadi, you seem to be very terrible, if what Bhima says is true!’ exclaimed Krishna, his eyes full of mischief.

  She pretended to look down bashfully, though smiling all the time.
r />   ‘Do you know, Krishna, what she has done?’ went on Bhima. ‘She has extracted a vow from Yudhishthira. The cunning woman!’ he added and pinched Draupadi’s cheek.

  Draupadi looked down with outraged modesty.

  ‘Don’t feel shy. Krishna is my baby brother. His presence does not count. Someday you will have to mother him,’ said Bhima and chuckled at his own joke. ‘He may be the great Vaasudeva to everybody else, but he has to prostrate himself before me every morning. Isn’t that so Krishna?’

  Krishna laughed and said: ‘Of course, it is true if I did not prostrate myself before him, he would embrace me, and then, even the Great God could not save my bones from being broken. But what is this vow about?’

  ‘This wife that you have given me, Krishna, extracted a promise from Yudhishthira that she should be the wife of each one of us for one year in turn,’ Bhima explained and then looked at the sky in despair. ‘For four years all but one of us will have to remain wifeless, or as good as dead.’ Then, tapping his forehead, he added: ‘King Vrikodara is thinking hard. He will now send for Hidimbi. She will never deny him anything any day.’ He laughed heartily.

  By now Draupadi had got over her confusion. She tidied her hair, took the flowers which had fallen on the floor and pointed them at Bhima threateningly. ‘All right, all right, do your worst,’ she said: ‘I am going to complain to Mother. You have dragged me by my hand, thrown me to the ground and flung my braid of flowers.’

  ‘Don’t you worry. Mother knows my ways of bringing a wife under control,’ said Bhima. ‘The first time I met Hidimbi, I lifted her, flung her high up in the air and caught her in my arms as she fell. That made her my slave forever. Oh, what a heavy woman she was!’

  Krishna burst out laughing. ‘Bhima, you only know how to make love to a Rakshasi. But Draupadi is a sensitive Arya princess.’

  ‘Sensitive! You call her sensitive!’ exclaimed Bhima again in mock indignation. ‘She is the most hardhearted woman alive. She is not going to keep company with me for four long years. Think of that. How am I going to live?’ Then he made a face as if he was going to burst into tears. The others laughed.