novelraw Arc 8 - Draupadī Haraṇa Parva Chapter 2 - Draupadī Kidnapped and Saved
Arc 8 - Draupadī Haraṇa Parva Chapter 2 - Draupadī Kidnapped and Saved
At the hermitage they found Dhatreyikā, Draupadī’s maid, fallen on the earth, weeping bitterly. Indrasena, the charioteer, sprang down and questioned her with anxious heart:
“Why weepest thou so, O girl? What harm hath befallen the princess—she who is as life itself to the sons of Prithā? Say quickly, for if she hath vanished into earth, or risen to heaven, or sunk into the sea, even there shall we pursue her. Who is the fool that would dare to seize that jewel among women, guarded by warriors like Indra himself?”
“O lords, forsaking the five Indra-like ones,
Jayadratha hath seized your queen by force.
The path he takes is fresh, unhidden—
See, the trees are broken, their branches torn.
Haste! for she cannot yet be far;
Follow the track with bow and car.
Else terror and shame may silence her breath,
Yielding to violence worse than death.
Let not ghee be spilt on ashes cold,
Nor garlands wasted in charnels old.
Let not Soma be licked by a prowling cur,
Nor lilies be torn by the jackal’s stir.
O princes, haste!—for time is swift.
Save her, your moon-faced queen, your gift.
Let not a dog defile with lips
The sacrificial butter of your bliss!”
Hearing these words, Yudhiṣṭhira said gravely:
“Peace, good woman. Curb thy tongue. Those who in pride of power transgress the path of dharma are doomed to fall.”
Then, sighing like serpents hissing, the sons of Pṛthā took up their bows, the twang of their strings resounding through the wood. They followed the broken trail, and soon beheld a cloud of dust rising from Jayadratha’s fleeing host.
There, amidst the enemy’s ranks, walked the sage Dhaumya, consoling Draupadī and exhorting the Pāṇḍavas to haste.
When Bhīma, Arjuna, the twins, and the king beheld Draupadī seated upon the Sindhu prince’s car, their fury blazed like wildfire. Their voices rang out:
“Stop, O Jayadratha! Stand and face us!”
Stricken with terror at the sight of those lion-like men, the Sindhu’s soldiers wavered, their sense of direction lost, as if the very sky had turned against them.
Vaiśampāyana said:
At the sight of Bhīmasena and Arjuna advancing, the hostile Kṣatriyas raised a fierce shout, yet Jayadratha’s heart quailed. Stricken with fear, he turned to Draupadī seated upon his car and said:
“Those five warriors advancing like storm-clouds must surely be thy husbands. Point them out to us, O slender-waisted one, and tell us who they are, and which car each doth ride.”
Draupadī, her tresses streaming, replied with contempt:
“Fool! Having committed this sin, thy life already wanes. What use now in knowing their names? For, as death hath drawn near, I will yet speak, since thou hast asked, and since truth must be told even to the doomed.”
“That prince of gold-hued form,
With eyes serene and nose well-shaped,
Atop whose flag resound forever
The tabours Nanda and Upananda—
That is Yudhiṣṭhira, son of Dharma,
Lord of virtue, foremost of men.
He grants life even to the foe who yields—
Run, fool, clasp his feet for pardon.”
“Tall as the śāla tree, with arms like clubs,
Seated upon his car with steeds like storms,
Biting his lip, his brow knit close—
That wrathful one is Vṛkodara!
Superhuman are his deeds,
Never forgotten is an insult,
His vengeance burns beyond appeasement—
When Bhīma strikes, none survives.”
“There rides Dhanañjaya,
Foremost of archers, my third lord,
Disciple and brother to Yudhiṣṭhira,
Devoted to dharma in lust, fear, or wrath.
The fire of his arms consumes all,
His bow darkens the sky with shafts,
Grinder of foes, son of Kuntī—
That lion is Arjuna.”
“Behold the youth of peerless form,
Sweet of speech, remover of fear,
Dearest to his brothers, dearer than life,
Handsome as the moon among men.
That is Nakula, wielder of the sword,
Swift and dexterous, wise in counsel.
Thou shalt see him whirl his blade,
As Indra scatters the hosts of Asuras.”
“And there, the youngest of all,
Eloquent, fierce, and ever wrathful,
Skilled in arms and wise in council,
Devoted wholly to Yudhiṣṭhira’s will.
Dearer to Kuntī than her very breath,
Faithful to dharma unto death,
Sahadeva would sooner perish in fire
Than utter a word against righteousness.”
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“O fool, thou hast dared defy
These lions, my lords, my strength, my life.
When their arrows fall like monsoon rain,
Thy host shall shatter like a wreck at sea,
Its jewels lost, its hull engulfed.
If thou escapest alive this day,
Count it a new birth, a gift from fate.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
So spoke Kṛṣṇā, fire-born, her voice like thunder. And the sons of Pṛthā, their wrath blazing, rushed like hawks upon the prey. Sparing the terrified infantry who begged for mercy, they loosed storm-clouds of arrows upon the charioteers, darkening the sky, their fury boundless at the insult to Draupadī.
Vaiśampāyana said:
On the battlefield the Sindhu king, giving hurried orders—“Halt! Strike! March! Quick!”—sought to rally his shaken host. The armies of Sivi, Sauvīra, and Sindhu, beholding Bhīma, Arjuna, and the sons of Madri advancing like raging tigers, lost heart and faltered.
Bhīmasena, mace in hand, charged like a tempest. Arjuna’s bow sang with deadly showers. Nakula and Sahadeva struck down men and beasts with sword and shaft. Yudhiṣṭhira, calm yet resolute, pierced the breast of Suratha of the Trigartas, who fell spouting blood like a tree uprooted.
The battlefield darkened with arrows, and brightened again with the glitter of steel. Heads fell like ripe fruit, elephants trumpeted their last, horses screamed, and vultures and jackals came to feast upon the slain.
In the midst of this carnage, Jayadratha, struck with terror, set Draupadī down and fled into the forest, abandoning his host. Sahadeva lifted Draupadī into a chariot with Dhaumya beside her, while Bhīma and Arjuna raged forward in pursuit of the fleeing king.
“As long as Sindhu’s wretch draws breath,
I will not rest, nor sheathe my wrath.
Though Indra himself should guard his head,
I’ll drag him down, alive or dead.”
But Yudhiṣṭhira, mindful of ties of kinship, spoke:
“O Bhīma, remember Duśśalā, our sister, wedded to this man, and Gandhārī, revered of us all. Spare him, even though his crime be dark.”
Hearing this, Draupadī’s eyes blazed with fire. With indignation mingled with modesty, she addressed Bhīma and Arjuna:
“If you would do what pleases me,
Then slay this wretch, this thief of shame!
He who steals a wife by force,
Deserves not life, nor noble name.
The robber of realms, the ravisher base,
Should meet his fate on battle’s floor.
Mercy is sin when justice calls—
Strike him down, forgive no more!”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Spurred by Kṛṣṇā’s wrath, Bhīma and Arjuna surged after the Sindhu king. The Saindhava was already two miles ahead, but Arjuna, invoking mantras, loosed a celestial arrow. Swift as Garuḍa, it struck, slaying Jayadratha’s steeds though they raced far away.
Bereft of horses, trembling, the king of Sindhu fled on foot, seeking the same forest path by which he had come. Arjuna and Bhīma overtook him swiftly.
Arjuna called out:
“Shame upon thee, coward! To seize a woman by force and flee when her lords appear! Turn, O prince, and face the sons of Pṛthā. Why abandon thy followers amidst their foes?”
But Jayadratha, unmanned by fear, dared not look back.
Then Bhīma rushed upon him like a storm. With arms outstretched, he seized the Sindhu king. Arjuna, ever merciful, restrained his brother’s hand from slaying him outright.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Jayadratha, fleeing with desperate swiftness, was overtaken by the mighty sons of Pṛthā. Bhīmasena leapt down from his chariot, seized the fleeing prince by the hair, and hurled him upon the earth with a crash. Raising him aloft, Bhīma smote him again and again, pressing knees upon his chest, pounding him with his fists. The Sindhu king groaned, swooned, and fell senseless beneath the storm of blows.
Arjuna, merciful, stayed his brother’s hand, reminding him of Yudhiṣṭhira’s command: “Remember Duśśalā, our sister; remember Gandhārī, the revered mother. Slay him not.”
But Bhīma, his eyes red as fire, answered with rage:
“This wretch hath sinned against Kṛṣṇā,
Our queen, our jewel, fire-born and pure.
Shall such an outrage go unpunished?
Is mercy stronger than honour’s cure?
Ever you speak of virtue mild,
Ever our king forbids my hand.
But dharma too hath teeth and fire—
The guilty must not spared stand!”
Vaiśampāyana said:
So speaking, Bhīma seized his bow and with its crescent-shaped arrow shaved Jayadratha’s head, leaving but five mocking tufts upon it. Then he declared before all:
“If life thou seekest, mark my word—
In every court, in public throng,
Thou must proclaim, ‘I am the slave
Of the sons of Pāṇḍu, fierce and strong!’
This is the law of conquest, fool!
Thus alone shall thy breath remain.
Forget it not, or death shall come
By Bhīma’s hand, with heavier pain.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Trembling, dust-stained, and senseless, Jayadratha bowed his head and whispered, “Be it so.” Bound in chains, he was dragged into a chariot and brought before Yudhiṣṭhira.
The eldest son of Pṛthā, ever merciful, smiled and said: “Release him.” Bhīma, still aflame, answered: “Then let Draupadī know at least that he is now the slave of the Pāṇḍavas.”
But Yudhiṣṭhira, gentle yet firm, said: “If thou hast love for us, Bhīma, set him free.”
Draupadī too, discerning the king’s will, spoke with mingled fire and grace:
“Let him go. He stands disfigured,
Five stunted tufts upon his head.
Shame enough for one so vile—
His slavery declared, his honour dead.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus released, crestfallen, the Sindhu king bowed to Yudhiṣṭhira, saluted the assembled sages, and departed, silent and shamed.
But shame soon turned to despair. Reaching the banks where the Gaṅgā descends to the plains, Jayadratha sought refuge in austerity. Long he fasted, long he stood in penance, imploring the three-eyed god, Mahādeva.
Pleased, Rudra appeared in person and asked his boon.
“O Lord of Uma, wielder of trident,
Grant me power over Pāṇḍu’s five.
May I defeat them all in war,
And from my foe’s hand still survive!”
But Śiva, lord of dharma, answered with truth:
“None may slay or conquer them,
For Nara and Nārāyaṇa are they—
Arjuna, incarnate of Nara the sage,
And Kṛṣṇa, Nārāyaṇa, endless in sway.
I have given Arjuna my own Pāśupata,
He holds weapons of every sphere.
No man nor god may conquer him,
His soul with Viṣṇu’s is clear.
Yet this boon I grant thee, fool:
Once only, on the field of war,
Shalt thou delay the sons of Pṛthā—
Save Arjuna, unconquered star.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus blessed and cursed together, Jayadratha rose from his penance, bearing in his heart both dread and hope. Yet fate already held him in its coils, for the promise of Śiva was but a thread in the great web of destiny woven for Kurukṣetra.
Vaiśampāyana said:
After his release, the Sindhu king, crestfallen and shamed, reached the banks where Gaṅgā descends from the mountains. There, his heart burning with humiliation, he took to penance, imploring the Lord of three eyes, Hara, consort of Umā.
Pleased with his austerities, Maheśvara appeared, terrible and radiant, attended by hosts of gaṇas with distorted forms, frightful eyes, and uplifted arms, and with the fair goddess Umā beside him. Śaṅkara asked: “What boon dost thou seek?”
Jayadratha, trembling yet desperate, said:
“Grant me power, O Lord, to defeat the five sons of Pāṇḍu upon their chariots.”
Śiva, lord of dharma, replied with truth:
“None may slay or conquer them,
For Nara and Nārāyaṇa are they.
Arjuna, born as Nara the sage,
With Kṛṣṇa, Nārāyaṇa, holds sway.
He bears the Pāśupata of mine,
The thunderbolts of every sphere.
With Viṣṇu’s soul within his heart,
No mortal hand may draw him near.
Yet once, O fool, I grant thee this—
One single day on the field of strife,
Thou mayst hold back the sons of Pṛthā,
Save Arjuna, who is life of life.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
So spoke the three-eyed Lord, and vanished with his spouse, leaving the Sindhu king in awe.
To strengthen his words, Mahādeva recalled the cosmic deeds of Viṣṇu, the Eternal:
When at the end of Yugas, fire consumed the world and waters covered all, Nārāyaṇa lay upon Śeṣa, the thousand-hooded serpent, resting upon the flood. From his navel sprang the lotus on which Brahmā was born, and from Brahmā the Rṣis, Yakṣas, Piśācas, men, beasts, and all creation.
When earth lay hidden in the sea,
The Lord became the boar divine.
With tusks he raised her from the deep,
And set her back in place and line.
When Hiraṇyakaśipu roared with pride,
Half-lion, half-man rent him apart.
With claws like thunder, the Daitya fell,
The Lord restored the cosmic heart.
As dwarf-born Vāmana he came,
With staff and water-pot in hand,
He begged three steps from Bali’s might,
And strode the sky, the sea, the land.
Vaiśampāyana said:
“Know, O king of Sindhu,” said Hara to Jayadratha, “that this very Kṛṣṇa, lotus-eyed, wielder of conch, discus, and mace, is that Viṣṇu whom all the worlds adore. He is the protector of Arjuna, riding with him in one chariot. Therefore none may touch Dhanañjaya, still less defeat him in battle. Leave him be. Yet for a single day you shall restrain the other four.”
Thus blessed and cursed together, Jayadratha returned to his realm, his heart heavy with shame but fortified by Śiva’s boon. And the sons of Pṛthā remained in the forest of Kāmyaka, Draupadī by their side, their honour preserved, their enemies foiled once more by fate.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Having subdued Jayadratha, shorn him of his pride, and rescued Kṛṣṇā, the virtuous king Yudhiṣṭhira sat again among the Ṛṣis. Around him the ascetics murmured in sorrow, grieving that Draupadī, fire-born and pure, had endured such violence.
Then Yudhiṣṭhira, son of Dharma, turned to the venerable Mārkaṇḍeya and spoke, his voice heavy with despair:
“O holy sage, revered among gods and seers,
Who knowest the past and all things yet to be,
A doubt consumes me like fire concealed—
Solve it for me, I pray, with thy wisdom free.
Behold this lady, born of fire,
Child of Drupada’s altar-flame.
Sinless, chaste, and ever true,
Pure in thought and deed the same.
Daughter-in-law of noble Pāṇḍu,
Faithful to us in every way,
Why then hath cruel fate assailed her?
Why must she bear such shame today?
If Time and Destiny, fruits of acts,
Are truly masters of all below,
Then even the blameless fall to grief—
What refuge, then, can mortals know?
Like one accused of theft unjust,
This queen, though stainless, bore disgrace.
O sage, hath any man or woman
Suffered more in time or place?
We wander here in forests deep,
Living by bow, by chase, by kill.
Our exile sprung from kinsmen’s fraud—
Is there one more wretched still?”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus spoke Yudhiṣṭhira, grief-laden yet calm, his words echoing the despair of exile. With folded palms he bowed to the immortal Mārkaṇḍeya, awaiting the sage’s reply, hoping to hear from his lips the consolations of dharma and the tales of those who, though virtuous, had endured trials as terrible as his own.