Sita’s Trial By Fire
An introduction and contextualization of the Mahabharata, the character of Draupadi,
and her Vastraharan, or disrobing, in the court of the Kurus.
Written by Tanvi Bendigeri.
Considered one of the largest and most ancient significant texts in world literature, the Mahabharata is an ancient Indian epic that narrates the story of the intense and destructive Kurukshetra War between two sides of a royal family, as well as its moral and philosophical foundations. At its core, the epic is a discussion of dharma (duty, righteousness, or morality), karma (actions and their consequences), and the complexities of human relationships. The Mahabharata is set in a time when divine interventions were frequent, and its central narrative revolves around the conflict between the Pandavas, the sons of King Pandu, and the Kauravas, the sons of King Dhritarashtra over the rightful succession to the throne of Hastinapura, the kingdom ruled by the Kuru dynasty.
Draupadi, also known as Panchali, is a central and influential character in the Mahabharata, renowned for her beauty, intelligence, and complex personality. She was born from a fire ritual, or yajna, performed by her father, King Draupad of Panchal, in order to obtain a powerful ally against Drona, his former friend turned foe. This earns her the name Yagyaseni, which means “born of fire”.
After Arjuna, one of the Pandavas, wins her hand in marriage at her swayamvar, or marriage ritual, Draupadi becomes the common wife of the five brothers. This is a marriage arrangement orchestrated by their mother, Kunti, in order to fulfill certain prophetic conditions. Throughout the epic, Draupadi stands out as a figure of resilience and moral rigor and her character often propels the narrative forward. Her complex role challenges the conventional norms of the time and sparks discussions on dharma, justice, and the status of women in Vedic society.
A dramatic and pivotal moment in the Mahabharata is the Vastraharan, or disrobing of Draupadi in the court of the Kurus, which sets the stage for the main conflict of the story. Following a rigged game of dice in which Yudhishthira, the oldest Pandava brother, gambles away his kingdom, wealth, and even his brothers’ freedom, the Kauravas, led by Duryodhana, demand Draupadi to be brought into the assembly. She is dragged into the court by Dushasana, one of the Kaurava brothers. As Dushasana attempts to disrobe her, Draupadi prays to Lord Krishna, who miraculously makes her saree endless, thus protecting her honor. This act fed the fire between the Pandavas and Kauravas, eventually leading to the epic battle of Kurukshetra.
The Vastraharan is often considered one of the great shames of the Mahabharata, but it brings to light an important discussion. Is Draupadi, or any woman for that matter, considered the property of her husband? Is she considered a whore for sleeping with more than one man? These are the questions that Panchali poses to the Kuru court. “Am I a slave or am I free?”
Vastraharan
An excerpt from Vyasa’s Mahabharata, translated by Ramesh Menon. The excerpt was taken from Book 2, Chapters 17, 18, and 19.
The text is accompanied by Tanvi’s personal annotations.
As soon as Dusasana threw her down, Panchali screamed long and loud in primeval rage: a cry from her soul. A wild and cornered thing, she panted, “I curse you, sons of Bharata! I curse you a thousand times! That you allow this outrage in your ancient court of dharma.”
Her fury silenced the humming sabha.
Draupadi was known for being a very outspoken, opinionated woman with a temper similar to the fire she was born from.
She paused, breathless. Then she turned on Yudhishtira, “Here, in this court of righteous men, sits my own husband, who is the Lord Dharma’s son; and with him, his brothers, matchless kshatriyas and Devaputras, all of them my husbands.” There was such contempt in her voice and the Pandavas squirmed. “And a messenger from this sabha told me I must come here like a slave because my husband, who is dharma’s very image on earth, had lost me at dice.
I asked for an answer to one question before I came, half-clad and in shame. Instead of a proper reply, Dusasana burst into my apartment and dragged me here like an animal. And none of these great kshatriyas stopped him.”
More quietly, she said, “Dharma has left the Kuru sabha. But I would still like an answer from Pitama, Bheeshma, from Acharya Drona, from Kripa, Vidura and Dhritarashtra. My question is a simple one: am I Duryodhana’s slave or still a free woman?”
She looked directly at Bheeshma now. “Pitama, they say there is no one nobler than you, nor anyone more learned or wiser. You answer me, am I a slave or am I free?”
Bheeshma said gravely, “It is a fine point of dharma. On one hand, when a man has lost himself already he may no longer wager anyone else. On the other, a man has a right over his wife, whether he is free or not: our meanest servants do. It is hard to say if you are free or a slave, Panchali.
Yudhishtira knew that Shakuni is a master dice-player. Yet, he chose to play; and though he was losing, he continued until he lost everything, including you.”
Draupadi cried, “How can you say Yudhishtira played willingly? In Indraprastha, he told Vidura he did not want to play. Obviously, he was provoked into playing. You were here all the while, Pitama: didn’t you know how poor at dice my husband is? That he hasn’t the temper for it, that he is too noble, too innocent. Or didn’t you, perhaps, know there is no dice-player on earth like Shakuni? But you sat by without a murmur as Yudhishtira gambled away all that he owned.
Her delicate form shook and her wrath was that of an empress. Awesome destiny stood beside Draupadi in that court and anyone there who had been calm enough would have recalled the prophecy at her birth: that, one day, she would become the nemesis of the race of kshatriyas.
Panchali had not finished. “O Bheeshma, O Drona, O Kuru elders, Yudhishtira lost everything he owned and then he lost his brothers and himself. When he decided to wager me, at least then couldn’t one of you have stopped him?
Dharma is not merely the details of the law. That is not justice. Is it not clear to your wise old hearts what is just in this matter and what is not? Do you really not know on which side the truth lies? That you, Bheeshma, say to me you cannot decide if I am a slave or free. There is no sabha without its elders. But just being old does not make a man fit to be a patriarch, or deserving of the title of Pitama or Acharya. If the elders don’t speak out for dharma when they see it flouted so flagrantly, they are not elders but merely old men, of neither wisdom nor truth.”
She still shook with the terror of her plight. Staring at her with unspeakable lewdness, Dusasana taunted, “Who are you to speak of dharma? Your dharma now is to serve Duryodhana and I dare say your satisfaction lies there as well!”
“What have you done? Men who gamble every day have wives, but they do not wager them at dice. But the Pandava emperor does! You are mad. You gambled away all our wealth, our army, our kingdom, everything we had. I said nothing, because you are my older brother. I cared little for what you lost when I set it against my love for you.
Then, you gambled the five of us away and still I held my peace. I thought that you are our guru, our king. We all belong to you and whatever you did would be for the best.”
“Everything you did I bore in silence. But now you have gone completely mad. Did you see how that animal dragged Draupadi into this sabha of our fathers? Yudhishtira, I will never forgive you for wagering Panchali!”
His eyes were red and flecks of froth on his lips. Bheema turned to Sahadeva and cried, “Bring me fire, Sahadeva. I will burn the hands that lost Panchali at a game of dice! ”
The man who had been emperor of the world, an hour ago, sat with his head hung low. Arjuna pulled Bheema to a side and hissed, “What has happened to you? You have always treated Yudhishtira like a father. How can you speak to him like this at such a time?”
Bheema was in no mood to relent. “He was like a father till an hour ago and I respected him. But he has changed: he deserves to have his hands burned! Oh, Arjuna, look at Draupadi. Can you bear this shame?”
Restraining the titan somehow, Arjuna breathed, “Look at Yudhishtira; do you think he feels no shame? How bravely he bears it and his guilt. His spirit is already broken, Bheema. What will you achieve by burning a broken man’s hands?”
Bheema’s eyes still blazed and his great body shook. But he allowed himself to be led away to a corner, where Arjuna said, “There is one thing Duryodhana has not been able to take from us: our unity. Don’t complete the Kaurava’s joy by gifting him that as well.”
Bheema seemed startled. He looked around him and realized he stood on the edge of disaster. With an effort, he calmed himself.
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.
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?
The discussion in this excerpt mainly revolves around the principles of dharma pertaining to women and their place in society. Obviously, given the context that the Mahabharata was originally written in, their perspectives are a bit screwed up.
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.”
There were astonished murmurs in the sabha. But Vikarna was 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.
At the very least, many of the characters agree that gambling away one’s wife and publicly humiliating a woman is against the dharma that they are seemingly meant to uphold.
“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!
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.”
Every woman understands Draupadi’s fear all too well.
“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.
An analysis of Draupadi’s Vastraharan from the perspective of the modern Indian woman.
Written by Tanvi Bendigeri.
Like many other Indian children, I grew up learning about Hindu mythology. When I was young, I loved listening as my grandparents would tell me story upon story, over and over. I would spend my nights reading stories from the ancient epics, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata.
The part that stuck with me the most was the disrobing of Draupadi in the Kuru court. I remember asking my grandmother to tell me that story again and again, and never realized why I felt so strongly about it. Perhaps back then it was my fascination with the idea of a never-ending saree, but the older I got, the more I realized how truly horrifying and heartbreaking that story is.
Draupadi’s character was always such a vibrant part of the Mahabharata. She was not simply a passive figure subject to the whims of fate and the decisions of the men around her. Instead, Draupadi was a woman of strength and agency who voiced her thoughts and stood up for her rights, challenging the societal norms that sought to silence her. I have always been in awe of her power and resilience.
It is astonishing to me how something that was written as early as the third century BCE could retain such relevance and be so deeply relatable. Every woman understands what Draupadi was feeling in those few moments before Krishna’s divine intervention. That kind of panic and fear is something all women know firsthand; we have all felt it at some point in our lives.
The Vastraharan serves as a critical commentary on the concept of justice within the narrative of the Mahabharata. It is introspective and considerably ahead of its time. The humiliation that Draupadi faced in the court of the Kurus was not just an assault on her, but also on the principles of dharma itself, embodied by the very rulers who should have defended it. The silence of the elders in the sabha is a failure of moral duty that parallels contemporary issues of justice and the bystander effect.
Reflecting on this episode in the context of the current day, it becomes a powerful allegory for the struggles against the objectification and subjugation of women. It is a harsh reminder that the battles that Draupadi faced are not confined to the mythical past, but also continue in various forms in our present reality. As a society, we have clearly not come far enough in terms of dismantling the faulty systems of the patriarchy. Draupadi’s story urges us to consider each of our roles in upholding justice and supporting the dignity of all individuals in the face of societal and systemic challenges.
Glossary