Krishna Sakhi

Another year unfurling, as full of uncertainty as of hope, and the strongest scriptural voice in one’s ear seems Draupadi’s. She’s inspiring across the aeons to both men and women because she sets an example of tough-tender humanity under perfectly awful circumstances. Born of King Drupada’s oblations to the sacrificial fire, Draupadi’s birth is fragrant and holy. A dark beauty, she walks in sweetness and grows up properly princessy, with terrific self-esteem. People now tick her off as politically incorrect for refusing to marry Karna because of his unknown birth. But even today democracy usually rebounds on the princess who marries the woodcutter, does it not, since it’s the man’s family that sets the template for life in traditional societies? Whereas, King Cophetua can marry the beggar maid and it’s easier for her to class up. (The ancients called this ‘anuloma’ and ‘pratiloma’. In real terms it’s actually a gender issue, related to modern notions of class, not caste: if you think about it minus the usual handy filters).

But though Draupadi’s hero husbands make out like they’re so sturdy, any woman would find them wussy. As does Draupadi. The empress, whose husband performed the Rajasuya sacrifice (think Maxwell’s Moroccan birthday bash or the Shah of Iran’s coronation — pure power parties), is hauled away by her hair to be lewdly mocked in public. But look at her nerve. Having got her husbands out of bondage, she forces them to grow up by refusing the kingdom offered by Dritarashtra. They’ll win it back, she says with terrifying calm. Male commentators love to nail Draupadi as a ‘krtya’ who brought doom on her clan. What was she supposed to do, take it lying down? One person bails her out, though. Her best friend and brother-by-affection, Krishna. He first saves the honour of his sakhi with the ‘akshaya vasana’ (endless robe), when she calls out: Govinda Dwarakavasi Krishna gopijanapriya/Kauravaih paribhutam mam kim na janasi, Keshava? (Govind, Dweller of Dwaraka, Beloved of the gopis, why don’t you save me, Keshava, from this Kaurava insult?). Again, he averts a curse on Draupadi when he feeds Duruvasa’s troop of hungry priestlets just by eating a grain of rice and a thread of spinach stuck to the ‘akshaya paatra’, the use-once-a-day vessel of endless food gifted to the Pandavas in exile by Surya: that’s why spinach is a holy offering to Mahavishnu even now!

God defends Draupadi like men do not, yet in human male form, which holds its own moral: there are plenty of wimps and rotters around, but there are always the good guys, too. Are our mythmakers, those weird and brilliant fellows who can’t say anything straight, urging us: ‘Hold on, hold on, to God the Saviour, who lives in us as our better selves’?