Flouting Of Dharma In The Mahabharata - Research Paper Example

Flouting Of Dharma In The Mahabharata The Ramayana and The Mahabharata are the two primers of Hindu philosophy, culture, mythology and religion. They are two of the most important influences on the Indian, specifically Hindu way of being. The Mahabharata is the longer and more exhaustive work. A text spanning over approximately one hundred thousand verses, with formal authorship attributed to the sage Vyasa, it is one of the longest and most complex epics ever to be written. There are two major contributing factors to its length. Although revolving primarily around the war of justice or “Dharma Yuddha” between the two rival princely clans: the Pandavas and the Kauravas, the epic has countless digressive shorter tales and didactic fables woven into its narrative fabric. Another reason being, that unlike other famous epics such as The Iliad, The Mahabharata does not begin in medias res or “in the middle of things”; it starts at the very beginning, describing Creation and tracing the genealogy and history of the primary players in the narrative. Priests and sages alike have over the years referred to The Mahabharata for instances of Dharma. Traditionally, the Pandavas have been considered the rightful heirs to the throne, the just rulers, and epitomizing Dharma in general. While the Kauravas and other rivals of the Pandavas are considered to be the Wrong party. In Post-Modern contexts however, thanks to Feminist and Sociologist critics, the text has been revisited and found to be faulty on more than one count. The Pandavas’ claim to propriety and justice is not as infallible as has been accepted traditionally by the general, pious Hindu. Yudhishthira, the oldest of the Pandavas, called “Dharma Raja” for his flawless sense of justice and fairness, was the son of Yama, the god of death and judgment. His sterling character and unfailing sense of morality was rewarded with a miracle: his chariot never touched the ground. Until, near the close of the war, Yudhishthira deliberately tells a lie that leads to the death of Dronacharya, one of the principal warriors on the Kaurava side.1 This and many other incidents lead the critical reader to question the true nature of Yudhishthira’s morality and detect a trace of duplicity therein. Arjuna, the third of the Pandavas, and one of the most beloved characters of the story, was famed for his complete dedication to his goals. The most handsome and desirable of the five brothers, Arjuna married several times over during the course of his lifetime. Draupadi, although the first wife, and considered to be officially the wife of all five brothers, was just another bride to him. Or so Saoli Mitra in her play Naathoboti Anaathbot (translated as Five Lords, Yet None A Protector by Rita Datta) reveals. From here on, the report shall explicitly focus on the play in question and implicitly deal with other sources. Mitra’s play begins with an informal introduction of the narrator, a rural but intelligent and probing young woman who recounts the tale of The Mahabharata as lived and experienced by Draupadi. The narrator is the only player on stage throughout both the acts as is the norm in the Kathakata style2 and acts out the role of each character, as and when required. However, the narrator’s voice returns at intervals, distinguished no doubt, by vocal nuances of the actor, Saoli Mitra herself. The character of Draupadi is introduced as: “A queen-yet not a queen. An empress-yet not an empress. Mistress of a kingdom. Yet a queen without a kingdom. The tale of a hapless woman who had everything yet nothing.”3 Right away she alerts her audience that this is not the usual tale of a wronged woman whose humiliation at the Kauravas’ court4 is finally redeemed by her husbands and the war of righteousness, the Dharma Yuddha. This is a history of suffering of one woman, who although married to five of the most virtuous, powerful and skilled princes of the era, had no one to shield her from the injustices that were meted out to her. The narrator makes her scorn for the male gender apparent right from the beginning too. “They are men after all!” she exclaims, “Each thinks he will come, conquer, slip on the garland, grab the bride and drag her off with him.” This is not just a facile insult to all of mankind, but a subtle critique of the very system of the “Swayamvara”, which etymologically means choosing one’s own partner5; but in practice meant the bride was to be given away to whomever who completed the assigned task. The bride, who was symbolically choosing her husband, had no real say in the matter at all. A famous instance of an unsatisfactory Swayamvara from The Mahabharata itself: is that of the three princesses Amba, Ambika and Ambalika, who were forcefully dragged away by Bhishma to get married to Vichitravirya, grandfather of the Pandavas. Amba, who was already in love with Salva, ended up being spurned by him as well as by Vichitravirya and Bhishma and consequently killed herself: vowing to kill Bhishma in her next birth.6 Returning to the play, the narrator describes the scene of the Swayamvara most poignantly. At first, none of the suitors are even able to lift the giant bow much less manage to actually strike the eye of the fish rotating overhead. Only Karna is initially successful in picking the bow up, but Draupadi refuses to even consider him for marriage and he does not proceed. Then, the competition is extended to include the audience as well, and it is then that a Brahmin youth, actually Arjuna, rises to attempt the impossible feat. He succeeds, and Draupadi who is completely overwhelmed by the striking good looks of this young man, puts her garland around his neck, symbolically making him her new husband. There are quite a few instances of social critique (not just feminist) here too. The kathak or the narrator first lampoons the rows of kings and princes who enter as suitors to Draupadi’s hand by mimicking them. She mocks the overfed, indulgent rulers; the mollycoddled princes; the brash and vain kings and treats all these scions of royalty with a sharp touch of irreverence, which would have been considered scandalous during the time-period of the narrative itself: a rural, lowly storyteller mocking the rulers of kingdoms was unheard of. The narrator also jokes about how the suitors, afraid of being the object of ridicule and public humiliation, find excuses like wanting water and pan to flee. Although the parodying of the kings is done in humor, the caustic wit and the use of critical satire are evident. For instance, the innate pettiness of the one of the rulers is displayed in the lines: “[The Chorus stops. The Kathak, as the fat king, scrutinizes the opulence of the assembly. Then, unable to bear the sight of another king’s wealth, exclaims:] My my! This seems rather hot, eh?”7 It is important to note here that these are not personal attacks aiming only to ridicule individual, overweight kings or pampered princes; these characters assume the roles of stereotypes. They are representative of inept rulers who engrossed in their own opulent lifestyles, overlooked the needs of their subjects. Class distinctions are also targeted as the narrator describes Arjuna to the audience. Tall and handsome, he is the cynosure of all eyes in the assembly; and yet, because of his humble mendicant’s clothing, he is scoffed at. The Brahmins are angered that one of them, a “Bamun bum”8, has attempted to interfere in Kshatriya affairs. While the Kshatriyas, occupying the second rung in the caste hierarchy, are aghast that where they, the warrior clan failed, a beggar was arrogant enough to attempt to succeed. When Arjuna does succeed, the furious Kshatriyas call him a “pauper from a lower caste”9, saying which the narrator herself bursts into laughter. The fluidity of these caste distinctions and how fallible they can often be is hinted at here, albeit in a subtle, tongue-in-cheek manner. Later, during the fallout between the Brahmins and the Kshatriyas at the gathering, Karna accuses Arjuna of lying about his identity and asks him who he really was. Arjuna answers wryly that he was a Brahmin and reminds Karna that he too had been trained by a Brahmin guru.10 Draupadi, the pampered daughter of a king, is by this time so infatuated with Arjuna that she does not mind leaving behind all her riches to live with this poor beggar in the forest. All she wants now is to serve him as his wife. And yet, even this was not granted to her, as the narrator reveals. Arjuna, Bhima and Draupadi return to their hut in the forest only to have their mother, Kunti, order them unknowingly to divide amongst themselves whatever they had brought back home. Draupadi is shell-shocked as is Kunti when she realizes the enormity of what she has done. Kunti tries to correct the mistake by leaving the decision in the hands of her sons. And Yudhishthira, the prince of Dharma, does what is “right” by allowing the decision to remain. The narrator here shows Yudhishthira lusting after Draupadi, along with his brothers; and without even consulting Draupadi herself, decides that they shall all be her husbands. Here, the narrator intervenes as herself and asks the audience to think about whether Draupadi herself was amicable to this proposition. True, she accepted it; but was it what she wanted? Did she really love all her five husbands equally? Kathak answers her own question saying that no one knew answers to questions like these, but corrects herself instantly as she remembers why Draupadi was not allowed entry into heaven: because she committed the sin of loving Arjuna more than her other husbands11. And it is here, that one of the most poignant moments of the narrative comes to the fore. Draupadi, a young girl who was not given the choice of marrying who she wanted, did fall in love with the husband who was chosen for her. She loved this man so deeply that she was willing to forgo the world of luxury that she was raised in, only to live with him. And yet, she has to share him with four other husbands. Accepting even this, and much more as the plot gradually reveals, she is still castigated for being partial to one: the first man that she fell in love with. The injustice of this double-standard for men and women is at the core of the play’s narrative, and yet it is not just gender that is at discourse. As we have noted earlier, caste distinctions and social hypocrisies are also criticized. The play then seeks to find newer, previously unheard voices of the wronged in the magnum opus called The Mahabharata. Having introduced the basic premise of the plot, the narrator from here on proceeds to point out, unflinchingly each and every instance of exploitation that Draupadi had to face: from her disrobing at the court of the Kauravas to the shameless advances of Kichaka, the brother-in-law of the ruler who had granted them sanctuary in the final year of their exile;12 and many other instances in addition to these. The infamous incident of the game of dice is presented next by the narrator. Yudhishthira, whose lapse of morality in this context leads to disastrous ends for all the Pandavas and Draupadi, agrees to play a game of dice with Duryodhana, oldest of the Kauravas and his uncle Shakuni, a sly and cunning man. Kathak again provides a commentary on Yudhishthira’s foolish behavior: “But Yuddhisthir, our Dharmaputra Yuddhishthir! Isn’t that painful to accept? How come he lost his head? Does it mean that society has always been like this? Like what it is today? When anybody who refuses to go astray even under group pressure is ridiculed as goody-goody? Or was it considered un-Kshatriya-like and cowardly to turn down an invitation to dice? Or could it be that the gambler that lurks deep down in all of us suddenly grew powerful within Yudhishthir? So that, even though he knew of the impending doom before him. he just could not stop himself, but went on staking pawn after pawn? Or could it be as a modern scholar has said, Yudhishthir was aching for freedom? Freedom from the Moy-made palace, from the stifling hold of luxury? Who knows? Yudhishthir kept staking one pawn after another, kept losing, and seemed to change before people’s eyes. Can you tell me what makes people change, Good Sirs? By their sins? Or by their sufferings? Or by being defeated? What changes them?”13 [Author’s spellings retained] The narrator discusses the various possible reasons behind the loss of Yudhishthira’s sense. And yet, none of them seem justification enough for pawning one’s own brothers and wife. As she continues: “You see, as younger siblings, they were the property of the eldest. Yes, that is what it was like in the days of the Mahabharata! Honest! The oldest could use his younger siblings as he wished. That’s why none of them protested.”14 The unfair patriarchal system too is criticized here. Bhima, Arjuna, Nakul and Sahadev have no say in the matter of their own destinies. It is Yudhishthira, the eldest brother who has the choice of deciding what it is to be their fate. The scene of Draupadi’s disrobing is presented in grim detail. Draupadi first refuses to be brought in to the court, in front of all those gathered, saying that she since was laid down as a pawn after Yudhishthira had already lost ownership of himself to Duryodhana, he no longer had the authority to stake Draupadi as his property. But this logical rebuttal is ignored and Dushasana, the second of the Kauravas, himself goes in to the ladies’ chambers to drag her out by her hair in front of the court. Draupadi, who is menstruating at the time, pleads with Dushasana and begs him to let her go, all to no avail. She is brought in front of the court as Duryodhana and Shakuni continue to encourage Dushasana. Only Bhima, among the Pandavas protest, to which Arjuna responds that it is futile to protest. Read More