Panchali
The idea comes from watching my friend Sakhi. Of all my ladies-in-waiting, she never fails to amuse me.
Our lanterns had dimmed and sputtered, their flames dying right before our eyes. Remnants of a filling meal lay spattered on my plate, but Sakhi was still licking the lentils from her fingers. Her hands zoomed in on her mouth, even in the darkness. I asked her how, and she simply said, “What is the secret in this, Princess Panchali? I know the origin, and I certainly know my goal. What more do I need?”
Artless as she is, she hits the right note without knowing. Also, I like the way she speaks my name.
I count the minutes after the lamps throughout the palace are snuffed out. When only the chirping of the crickets disturbs the stillness of the night, I toss aside the thin sheet draped over me, and creep out of the room. A candle cradled in my palm guides my every step.
Outside, the moonlight silhouetted the trees against the night sky. I position my arrow, raise it skyward, and point towards the topmost part of the tallest tree trunk I could find.
Miss.
A whoosh tells me I have merely ruffled the leaves. I take aim and shoot again.
Miss.
I lower my bow, and take a deep breath. Perhaps this wasn’t such a bright idea. But I cannot give up so soon.
Again. This time, I lift my arms straighter, my eyes narrowed and focused.
Hit.
I picture my guru-ji smiling, showering a thousand blessings upon one of his most talented students.
Dronacharya
After their morning ablutions and a light meal, Guru Dronacharya conducted all the princes, one-hundred and five of them, to the woodlands.
The princes, dressed in fine robes and armed with their weapons, lined up in a row when he raised his hand.
“On that gulmohar tree up there, you will find a bird perched upon one of its branches.”
Most of them shaded their eyes with their palms and squinted into the distance. Bhima muttered, “I see nothing, Guruji.”
“Then perhaps it would be prudent for you to watch from the sides, Bhima.”
To the others, he declared, “I want you to target your arrow such that you hit the bird’s eye.”
A murmur broke out among the lads.
“That’s impossible,” Duryodhana exclaimed.
“I don’t usually agree with my cousin, but even I have to concede it is a tough target,” Yudishthir chimed in.
The guru tapped his staff into the earth. “I will never set you a target so unattainable that you cannot achieve it without practice. It only demands one thing – your intense concentration and focus.”
The mutterings grew louder.
Dronacharya sighed. “Arjuna, come forward.”
His favourite student obeyed without question. Dronacharya said, “Tell me, what do you see?”
Arjuna narrowed his eyes. “I can see nothing but the eye of the – “
An arrow sliced through the air and hit the wooden bird in the eye, knocking it off its perch.
They all turned to the source. Dronacharya’s heart stilled when he glimpsed the warrior fluttering pink robes striding towards them.
A stunningly young woman, her skin the colour of tree bark, drew the eyes of every one of the princes. They gawked openly, and Nakul even tipped Sahdev’s chin up with his thumb, to close his mouth.
The woman, surrounded by her guards, joined her hands and bowed low before Dronacharya. His palm automatically rose in blessing.
“What is your name, child?”
“I think you know it already, guruji. What else could my father have named me? My name is Panchali, and I dream of becoming the greatest warrior of our time.”
A soft smile played on her lips. The guru might have found her insolent but for the twinkle in her eye and innocence in her dark face.
He smiled back. “I think what you have done is masterful, but not sufficient to earn the title you dream of. Would you agree to a little test of your skills?”
“As you command, guruji. I am sure that any test of your devising will be fair and above board.”
“Come with me then.” He conducted them all to the place where the targets were set up.
“Let us observe your aim. You and Arjuna will get only one chance each.”
Panchali said, “I don’t need more than that.” She made it sound like a statement of fact, rather than a boast.
When she assumed her position, Dronacharya smiled. “Not there, you will have to stand behind, at this mark, like your competitor. Observe where Arjuna is standing.”
A hint of dismay coloured her features, but no more. He commended her composure as she stood at the mark he indicated.
He said, “I will count to three. On one you will raise your bow. On two you will take aim, and on three, you will both shoot at your respective targets. Whoever gets closer to the bulls-eye will win.”
Both the contestants nodded. Murmurs had broken out through the rest of the group. The princess’s bodyguards looked ready to pounce if anything swayed from the plan.
“Silence!” Dronacharya raised a forbidding palm.
And he began the count.
“One…”
The warriors lifted their bows.
“Two…”
They both took aim.
“Three…”
Thwack.
Arjuna’s arrow hit the target seamlessly. The other target remained empty.
Dronacharya turned his attention to Panchali. The dart hadn’t left her bow at all.
“What is the meaning of this?” He demanded, unused to disobedience. Even the most royal of the princes he tutored never countered his word.
She lowered her weapons, and folded her palms. “Forgive me, guruji. But you wanted to determine who is the superior archer between the two of us. And I thought I would demonstrate this to you.”
The respectful tone and honeyed words melted him. “But how?”
“I will show you.”
She turned to Arjuna. “May I request…please move aside so I may stand in your place?”
Arjuna, young and twinkly-eyed, stepped to one side. Dronacharya watched in alarm as the princess glided over to face Arjuna’s target. As she raised her bow, the guru cried out in protest. “But…he has already hit the bulls-eye!”
She turned her piercing gaze upon him. “Precisely!”
Before he could forbid her, the projectile had left her bow. A familiar thwack, louder than the usual, disrupted the stillness of the morning.
In disbelief he stared at the target. The princess’ shot had sliced Arjuna’s arrow right down the middle, and pierced the bulls-eye at the exact centre.
All the princes stood motionless, seemingly stunned. Even Arjuna remained mute, his face inscrutable.
The words tumbled from Dronacharya’s lips. “Where did you learn the art of archery?”
“You ask too many questions, acharya-ji.”
“You have done such a thing that I must ask the question.”
“Indeed. Now, if you will permit me, I will take your leave.”
She bowed once more, and strode off, her band of guards flanking her. Dronacharya watched in amazement. He shook himself out of it, but turned to find Arjuna equally riveted. Arjuna must have felt his guru’s intense gaze, for he turned to face him. “Am I not the best archer then, guruji?”
“Certainly, you are, Arjuna. Certainly, you are.”
Had Arjuna caught the note of doubt in his voice?
Dronacharya
Many months later, when the memories of the princess warrior had all but receded to the edges of his consciousness, Dronacharya and his charges were walking through a forest. Dry leaves crunched under their feet, as they swooped under banyans to fend off the fiery warmth.
Suddenly, Arjuna cried out. “Acharya-ji, look!”
He pointed to a mongrel scurrying through the foliage, his mouth trapped shut by an incredible construction of arrows. As the dog bounded closer to them, Dronacharya sneaked a closer look.
The shafts had clamped the animal’s jaws together. The contraption had done little to harm the dog, but it had clearly caged his barks and his canine spirit.
Dronacharya raised a thoughtful finger to his temple. Which talented archer had conceived and executed this structure? Could it be –
“Oh, acharya-ji, we meet again!”
He knew who the silvery voice belonged to, even before he lifted his gaze. Princess Panchali stood before him in all her splendour, arrayed in simple clothes that covered her body. The quiver slung over her shoulder, and the enormous bow she carried with her, marked her out as unique.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“Of what, guruji?”
“Have you done this to the dog?”
The young woman pursed her lips. “My father has taught me never to answer a question with another question, so I will tell you my answer, but I will ask one in my turn. Yes, I did indeed stop the dog from barking. I do not take kindly to any creature, canine or otherwise, disrupting my practice.”
“This is not a good thing, what you have done.”
“If you please, acharya-ji, I will ask my question now. Why do you want to know who has shut the dog’s mouth this way?”
Dronacharya bit his lip. “Because I thought that whoever has done this is an excellent archer…”
Panchali beamed. Her eyes shone with pride at the guru’s praise.
“…but an immoral one.”
The same kohl-lined eyes that had radiated joy now flashed him a look of loathing. But apart from that she did not react to his statement. Her guards, however, stood their ground. The two next to her banged their staff into the earth.
She lifted a hand, and they stopped.
“Why immoral, guruji?”
“I too could answer your question with another one, but no, see for yourself. All you did was silence a living creature of God, for no fault of his other than his interruption of your practice. You may have closed his mouth without injuring him, but you also silenced his spirit. For dogs, barking is like breathing and talking, and if you wouldn’t smother another human being, then you shouldn’t have built this contraption out of arrows either.”
She held his gaze for a second, then lowered her eyes. “I am sorry you thought my actions were wrong. Please, forgive me.”
She folded her hands.
Perhaps a modicum of shame and decency did indeed course through her veins. He raised his palm to bless her. “Your sincerity is disarming. Tell me, from whom did you learn this technique? Where did you master this art of unique archery?”
A hint of a smile played on her lips. “If you come with me, I will introduce you to my guru.”
The princes glanced at their guru.
Dronacharya nodded. “So be it. Take us to your master.”
She bowed slightly, then turned and began walking in the opposite direction. The guru raised his hand, motioning the princes to follow.
They trudged through the forest, the princes murmuring among themselves. Their guru sensed the impatience and their eagerness to learn more, not just about the enchanting princess, but also her guru who had taught her things that even he hadn’t taught them. He had an inkling she was inventing her own.
The princess spoke little as she walked. Despite her youth, she had beauty and a graceful gait that became an adult woman.
After a long journey where she led the way, they stopped at a clearing in the woods. The princess turned to Dronacharya. “Guruji, please come.”
The princes stayed behind while he followed her.
“There, he is my guru.”
She gestured to a bust made of clay. He had seen that face reflected in the pond every time he went to bathe.
He felt her gaze upon him. She was watching him for a reaction, and he had to be careful not to betray any sign of either his approval or his displeasure.
She broke the silence. “From the first day, I have thought of you as my guru and master. I practice with my friends, but I absorb the divine learning from this avatar of you. I have been waiting for the day I could seek your blessing, so that I may become the greatest archer and warrior the world has ever known.”
Dronacharya sighed heavily. This was not how things were supposed to happen.
He shook his head. “This is not how things work.”
“Why not, guruji? Do you also think, like many others, that girls should not learn the art of war?”
“Perhaps, but – “
“Do you not think we have the right to protect ourselves just like everyone else? Have the deities not blessed us with the courage and skills to fight for our fathers and our land?”
His displeasure must have flashed in his eyes, for she piped down immediately.
“You know that whenever you learn from a guru, you have to pay something to them?”
“I know, guruji. I am ready to give you your guru dakshina. Just tell me what you want, and if it is within my means, I will certainly give it to you.”
Her words, delivered in a silky voice, did nothing to quell his spirit. The princes broke out in mutters again, and he had to raise his hand to quieten them down.
“That is not how it works either, my child. Whether it is in your means or not, you must give me whatever I ask. That is the first rule of guru dakshina.”
She glared at him briefly but then nodded. “As you wish, guruji. Tell me what you wish from this student of yours.”
He sucked in a deep breath. He’d have to phrase and choose his words carefully.
“I need you to take a vow, that you will lay down your bow.”
Her guards looked at him and then at her, confused. She glared at him. “What can you mean, guruji? Surely you are not suggesting – “
“You must promise, that you will not perform archery, that you will not try to become an archer, ever again.”
She flashed her eyes at him. He couldn’t understand her expression – was it anger, hatred, sorrow or worse – a mix of all three? The fairer sex had learned to secret away their defiance, but this one almost flaunted it.
“That is unfair, guruji. You know I cannot do that.”
This time he steeled himself, straightening his posture and adopting a hardened stance. “Do you understand the import of your words?”
She lowered her head.
“If you do not obey, if you do not give me guru dakshina, a curse and a blackened fate awaits you. I think you know that. Not just you, your brother, your father – “
“No! I cannot let that happen.”
Dronacharya shrugged. “Then you know what to do.”
She needed more than a few moments to gather her composure, but eventually she slid the quiver off her back and handed it to one of her guards. The bow earned a long hard gaze of admiration from her. Even the guru felt a pang, but he had no choice.
Both the bow and the quiver she handed over, one by one. She glanced at them longingly, as she stretched out her filled hands.
Dronacharya received them with grace.
Her lashes fluttered. She blinked back tears but her gaze held the same boldness as it always had.
Something within him, an instinct of the basest kind, compelled him to ask the question. “I hope you will keep your vow.”
“I have made a promise. I am a woman of my word, just as I hope you, and indeed, your princes are.”
He nodded.
Her bodyguards flanked her from all sides as they left. The princes rushed to Dronacharya when she drifted out of earshot.
Arjuna voiced what must have been uppermost on his mind. “Guruji, are you sure you have done the right thing?”
His master sighed. “I believe I have.”
He glanced at his favourite pupil, wondering if the boy could understand what he had done, and why.
Panchali
The day that has haunted my dreams has finally arrived.
My maidens and ladies-in-waiting prod me awake at dawn. I long to venture outside and practice my bow and arrow. That’s what all the men are out doing. They are not lying prostrate while helpers slather oil and massage turmeric paste all over their bodies.
The women bathe me in milk. My skin, the colour of plums, sparkles like never before.
I fidget while they drape all the finery on me. Yards of cloth wrapped around my hips and my bust, kohl lining my eyes deeply. Powder on the right spots amplifies my cheek bones and sharpens my nose. The maids whisper how my beauty is now magnified a hundred times over.
I’d roll my eyes but I fear the kohl might smudge. I would rather have lifted my weapons, and ventured out to hunt. The thought of waging war over neighbouring provinces excites me. I long to board a chariot and follow my brother into battle, mowing down soldiers of the enemy.
But here I am, inching down the stairs to the main court, where my father sits resplendent upon his throne, my brother standing proud and regal beside him. When the guard announces my name, I begin descending, my maids holding my veil and the train.
Royalty throngs the court. I don’t know how many of those princes and kings have come to claim my hand or lay claim to my father’s kingdom. Do they really covet me? Would they lust for me if they knew I could beat them in archery?
Among the crowd stands a group of brahmins dressed in white. Why have they come? Surely, they cannot expect to hold their own among warriors.
The muscled one in the center draws my attention. I have an inkling who he might be, and by extension, who the other white-clad brahmins sporting thick beards are, but I lock this knowledge inside my secret smile.
In a typical swayamvar, the prospective grooms queue up. The bride surveys them and chooses the one she likes best, signaling her approval by draping the garland around the prince’s neck.
But such an ordinary ceremony would not please Father. He has devised a special test for my groom. The victor will wear the garland that now weighs down my arms.
When I emerge into the main court, an audible gasp runs around the room. From the corner of my eye, I spot Lord Krishna and Balrama. I hold my nose high and avert my gaze from the remaining men gathered around. The murmurs have begun. Perhaps they marvel at my beauty, or perhaps they are indulging in gossip about my secret archery sessions in the woods. Would a prospective husband take kindly to my wielding an arrow with the same dexterity that I toss vegetables into a vat? Father and brother think not. Unfortunately, I agree with them.
The first part of Father’s test involves lifting up the bow. That itself will oust most contenders. Only that rare warrior would have the gift of strength and the requisite blessings to achieve it.
I know, because I’m one of them. I lifted it when no one was looking, least of all Father.
The second step, far more challenging, is to shoot a rotating fish by observing its reflection. The twist – the mirror image is moving faster than the actual fish.
This is even tougher than it sounds. I had forged a crude version of my own when I heard Father tell Brother the details of the test, and I could scarcely pierce the fish tail let alone the eye of the fish. I half-hoped my chosen warrior Arjuna would land better success than I would.
As for my promise to the guruji, I could no more shun the bow than I could stop breathing. My promise may have broken, but the heavens have not descended upon us yet, and this is enough to fuel my deception.
A courtier sounds the horn, bringing the prattle to an end.
My brother Drupad announces the name of the first prince, who flexes his muscle, and strides to the bow, radiating just the kind of foolish confidence everyone knew him for.
I suppress my grin when he fails to even lift the bow. He strains his body and his face, rather like he’s ejecting something but to no avail.
Brother Drupad calls the next name.
Duryodhana jumps to his feet. His gait baffles me. He emits an arrogance that transcends his abilities. Lord Krishna assures me he wields a mace with immense strength and power, but I doubt his skills in archery.
He stomps to the main area, and pauses barely a second before attempting to lift up the bow.
Prince Duryodhana’s cheeks puff and his eyes blaze red. A giggle escapes my lips, but one of the maids pinches the flesh of my upper arm. I morph it into a cough. One or two members of the court glance my way, but no one else.
His nostrils flare as he resumes his seat. He narrows his eyes at me. Why should I shoulder the blame for his poor show? I turn my gaze away – that neither his incompetence nor his anger affects me.
Every prince after him follows the same path – striding to the arena, squeezing their eyes shut in a show of strength to lift the bow, and slinking back in failure.
Before I know it, Drupad announces Karna’s name.
The man exudes confidence, not arrogance. In another life, I might have sought an alliance with him.
He mutters a prayer before the bow, and lifts it up in one movement, as if it weighs no more than a candle.
The gathered princes erupt in claps and cheers, Prince Duryodhana the loudest of them all.
My heart thumps so loud I worry that the assembly will hear. I glance over at Lord Krishna. My worry finds an image in his eyes. He shakes his head, his flat palm almost imperceptibly slicing the air.
A flurry of thoughts rush past in my head.
What if I married Karna? Would happiness still be mine?
Karna strings the bow, his eyes fixed upon the fingers.
What about his roots?
He strides to the platform.
Does it matter? He is a great archer and will be a great man.
Krishna’s eyes flash increasing urgency. Karna raises the bow and aims.
This is not my destiny.
I draw myself up to full height.
“Stop!”
The court falls silent. The cheers drown out abruptly.
“I will not marry a prince who does not come from royal blood.”
Duryodhana jumps to his feet. “But he’s a king.”
Brother says, “Because you made him one.”
Father drowns them both out. “It is Draupadi’s choice. I cannot and will not counter the wishes of the bride.”
Neither Prince Duryodhana nor Karna find an apt retort, and slump back onto their seats.
The whole exchange sparks a fire in Drupad, and he rises to command the court. “This is shameful. My father has welcomed the bravest most skilled warriors of the kingdom to win the hand of my most beautiful sister Draupadi. Does no one have the courage and strength to pass the test?”
The cluster of five brahmins stir. The one in the middle steps forward, and pays obeisance to my father and brother. They both motion him to proceed.
One of the many princes jumps to his feet. “Where stronger warriors have tried and failed to even lift the bow, how can a brahmin clad in pristine white robes do so?”
Drupad raises a forbidding palm, and the inept prince slinks back.
The warrior-brahmin strides to the bow, and arches his body forward to respect the weapon. He bides his time, almost prostrating himself. A cloud of tension hangs in the air. I stifle a laugh upon seeing their faces – furrowed brows, eyes wide in both anticipation of witnessing a miracle, and fear that a brahmin will do what they couldn’t.
Arjuna (for I am certain of his identity now – Krishna’s expression tells me all) pauses before the bow, and in one smooth movement he lifts it. The applause that explodes throughout the hall almost deafens me, a select group of supporters lauding his powers.
He threads the bow while the cheers vibrate through the court. Then he strides to the contraption, and raises his gaze to the rotating golden fish.
My fervour brings me to my feet. I hand over the garland weighing down my arms to one of the maids, and send the other scurrying to fetch my bow. Sakhi shakes her head, but I flash my eyes at her, as I stride towards my father.
“Father.” I bow down to him. “Please, allow me to join him.”
Drupad cries out. “No! How can the bride – “
Father raises his hand.
“Let her. Let the world witness the skills and bravery of Princess Panchali.”
Under Drupad’s unflinching gaze and the gaze of every person gathered in the court, I lift my bow and join the man who will be my husband.
He gazes at me, a mixture of pride and disbelief and admiration lining his face.
We stand beside each other as one.
He glances at me, his shaggy beard brushing the tips of the white robes draped around him. We raise our bows, my blouse cramping me just a little, but nothing could suppress the joy bubbling over in my heart. Nothing could hold down the spirit within me, the archer within me that had taken flight.
We twang our arrows, raise our bows in unison and release them as one.
They regale me with their tales on the way. I love them, my handsome husband and all his brothers. Yudhishthir – the oldest, the strictest follower of Dharma, but the love for his siblings shines through upon every strained line on his face. Bhim, the lovable giant, who toyed with his enemies but became a toy in the hands of his loved one. Nakul and Sahdev – strong but capable warrior twins in their own right.
A court artist might have captured Duryodhana’s reddened face when our arrows hit the target and the cheers erupted all around the court. Even those who disliked us applauded our union, but only after Bhim wrenched the trunk of a tree from its very roots and brandished it at the crowd. The eldest of the Kauravas stood there with his nostrils visibly faring while I cast off my bow and arrow, and gingerly placed the garland around Arjuna’s neck. I did not see Karna among the crowds. One of the maids told me he simply beat a graceful exit.
Father gave us a grand send-off. Everyone who had gathered, showered their blessings as Arjuna whisked me away.
My heart raced as my husband held my hand and led me. Soon I would become a warrior-wife and serve my family and protect them.
We travel for miles in the chariot. Current rushes through me every time our hands brush each other’s skin.
Before long, my new husband ushers me to the little hut where he and his family had been living while in exile.
At the threshold he hands me his bow and arrow. “Wait here. I wish to give Ma a surprise.”
He steps inside the hut where his mother toils over a stove. The familiar hiss and sizzle of the clay pot echoes from the kitchen.
From inside, his sweet voice rings out. “Mother, look at the gift that I have won for you.”
Before I can stir from my spot and effect a grand entry, she says. “Very good, but you must share it among your brothers.”
Her words freeze my insides.
I am not a thing to be shared. Arjuna has won my hand. He is the one I love.
How can I offer my heart to four others when another deserving hero has stolen mine?
Why doesn’t she meet me before uttering words that transform destinies? Especially the ones that are not her own?
I cannot hear what Arjuna replies. Is his tongue also tied in shock?
But then, it dawns on me – father said, whoever pierced the fish won my hand. By that reasoning, I had won my own hand. Because, I loved myself. Why not?
Only one thing remains. I must take control of my own destiny.
I step into the shadows at the entrance of the hut, draw an arrow from my quiver and nock it.
I draw my bow, and point it at my husband’s mother.