Yajnaseni & Others

Book Cover credits applicable here

Yajnaseni is the story of Draupadi who was born of the sacrificial altar, written by Sahitya Akademi Award winning Pratibha Ray in Oriya. The English translation is a bit hairsplittingly bookish but the content of the novel holds good on its own for you to be captivated by the strong characterisation and flow of Draupadi's life. I wish I could read Oriya as the translations never do justice to the original text.

It deviates from the original storyline in probably only 2 or three minor aspects wherein she is portrayed to have a soft corner for Karna and an infatuation for her sakha Krishna. The way it is woven, it seamlessly appears believable because somewhere deep down we can relate with the human depiction of her spiritual fascination with Lord Krishna, jealousy for Subhadra and Hidimba, sympathy for Karna, restrained respect for Kunti, dealing with five husbands who have difficult natures to please; anguish, helplessness and a quiet submission to fate despite having been a firebrand princess who doesn't hesitate to state the truth.

I bought this book six months back. When I started reading it, I was full of apprehensions. I had just finished a book on Oriya short stories. Most of the stories had a sad ending. So, to pick up another literary gem from Oriya literature needed courage. I found the way Draupadi explaines how the world saw her as a beauty to be a bit unabashedly outrageous. Which royal woman talks like, "people equated my thighs with the trunks of soft plantain trees" in first person? But as I read on, everything made sense. I am halfway through and can totally understand why this book is an award winner.

This is a book one must read if one is interested in the socio-political thread that runs through the whole fabric of Mahabharat. Especially gender dynamics and challanges of womanhood. Other three books which see the great epic from different individual and ethnic viewpoints are -

'The Second Turn' by M.T. Vasudevan Nair. Originally written in Malayalam as 'Randamoozam', it is the retelling of Mahabharat from the viewpoint of Bhima, the second Pandav brother.

'Triumph Over Death' by Shivaji Sawant. Originally written in Marathi as 'Mrityunjay', is based on Karna.

'Parva' by S.L. Bhyrappa in Kannada. Tanslated in over 7 languages it also won Sahitya Akademi Award for translation for K. Raghavendra Rao. The uniqueness of this book lies in the 'monologue style' where few principal characters of the epic narrate it from their points of view.


All these four derivatives are masterpieces in their own right.

(Note : This post doesn't talk about innumerable re-tellings of Mahabharata. Only the books which bring in a fresh new perspective by weaving a storyline on individual characters have been mentioned here. If you know of any such books, please do tell me about them. Would love to read.)

Hands Up

The moment anyone says 'Hands Up', an image of someone holding a firearm at a bank robbery crosses my mind. This image of someone holding a gun to your back at point blank and asking you to raise your hands is so etched in our minds that I forget endless hours of punishment (for constantly talking while the class was on) where I had to kneel down and hold my hands up in school.

Another memory of holding our hands high were the weekly yoga lessons in school. While doing 'tadasana/urdhva hastasana', "Stretch them high enough to touch the sky", our teacher used to say. It increases blood circulation in the body by giving the vital organs free space to work more efficiently,  they preached as we stood on our toes, trying to reach the ceiling if not the sky

Then there is the Mexican wave. A totally different version of 'hands up'. Adrenalin, happiness, jubilation!

Kavita Dwibedi & team performing at DODACON 2012

Yesterday I saw another example of 'hands up'. I saw a beautiful Odissi dance recital by Kavita Dwibedi. The theme of one of the dances was 'Draupadi Vastraharana' where Draupadi is being forcefully disrobed in a court full of Kings, courtiers and relatives after she was dragged around with force by pulling her hair.

Dushassana kept unwrapping Draupadi and she helplessly sought the help of all elders, her husbands, her in-laws and all present in the court by pleading with one hand and clutching her saree with the other, no one came forward to help her.

She even falls down on the feet of her aggressors. They just laugh and continue stripping her.
She is humiliated beyond words.

Draupadi calling out to Krishna - A madhubani painting

She closes her eyes. Folds her hands and prays to Lord Krishna. After salutations to him, she throws up both her hands in despair and lets this heinous act continue without any resistance from her anymore. 

That is when Lord Krishna comes to her rescue by miraculously extending her saree into reams which Dusshasana gets tired of pulling and finally gives up.

Most of the Indians know this story but very few are aware that as per the legend, only when Draupadi throws up both her hands in surrender does she get help. Why didn't Krishna help her before? Why didn't she get help when she pleaded. Why only when she gave up?

What is it with us and raising our hands up in praise, prayer, surrender, happiness? Abandonment or submission, it does give us a sense of letting go. A sense of release. It symbolises our connect with forces outside of us for help or expression. Hence the hands up I guess.

But whenever we are scared, worried, thoughtful, ashamed etc., we want to curl up. That is for affirmation, expression for seeking of help from within. That is a whole different story about why we curl up?


Note: This Madhubani painting is courtesy dollsofindia.com 

Secret Language

I wish there were a language so secret that only me and the universe understood it. So that I could put it forth without the worry of anyone interpreting it in their own way to mean what their minds want it to mean.

Dear Universe,

I just sent out a whole lot of thoughts to you. Hope you get them in their purest form.
No questions, no answers, no complaints, no gratitude. I just wanted to communicate. That's all.
Going to sleep now. Talk to me in my dreams.

From Me.

Man in an expensive coat

“Will you please pass my empty Pepsi can and sandwich pack to her”, I asked my husband so that he could give them to be put into the collection bag the air hostess held in the aisle. He was uncomfortably parked between a sleepy me in the window seat and a very sophisticated man in the aisle seat. It was 3:00pm.

He picked up my empty sandwich box and passed it over to the air-hostess. As she took the contents, a few residual drops of Pepsi fell out of the can on the man in the aisle seat.

Hubby took out his handkerchief and apologised profusely. The man didn't turn around. Hubby tried to dab it with his hanky, the man refused the help (still not making any eye contact). The air-hostess handed the man some tissues. He began cleaning the spillage (which I am sure was not more than 5 or 7 drops max). We tried to apologise once again but he didn’t turn around and never spoke to us in the whole journey. He looked extremely disgusted with us.

We felt bad for having spoilt his coat with our drops of Pepsi. But after sometime I got thinking. (In the meanwhile I checked the brand; it was a Pringles’ and most probably a merino jacket)

What was this man so uptight about? Was it a very expensive coat (around $400 - $500 I guess) that had sustained irreparable damages? Or was it the fact that it came from us who looked dishevelled and not so proper as we had been travelling for 300 kms since 4:00am? I know we were at fault but did it really merit such behaviour from a fellow passenger? We didn't expect him to turn around and smile or say, “Oh it is ok. It happens” and felt awful about the way he ignored our apologies.

What was it that made him sulk for the next two hours, harbour negativity within and make such a herculean effort to avoid eye contact with two people crammed so close to him? 

I am home now. Safely tucked in my razai. Surrounded by all things precious to me which I am sure will get damaged at some point or the other, sooner or later. I still cannot understand why was he so terribly annoyed? And why am I thinking about it so much?

Episodes like these always remind me of ‘The Eternal Lightness of Being’ by Milan Kundera. A book I never understood when I read it but over the years it has slowly shaped the way I think.

I will let that man out of my head now but I do thank him. For, he has reminded me that next time someone steps on my prized Sambalpuri saree, I must make an attempt to address the person first and the tear later.