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Hinduism
Panchkanya: Women of Substance - 3
by Pradip Bhattacharya
Panchali
is fully conscious of her beauty and its power, for she uses it in
getting her way with Bhima in Virata’s kitchen (Virata Parva 20)
and with Krishna in turning the peace-embassy into a declaration of war
(Udyoga Parva 82). The captivating pose she strikes when alone in
Kamyaka forest, which enchants Jayadratha is a telling instance of this.
Leaning against a kadamba tree, holding on to a branch with an
upraised hand, her upper garment displaced, she flashes like lightning
against clouds or like the flame of a lamp quivering in the
night-breeze.[[1]]
Lovely as Sita left alone in the wilderness, no Ravana would have
succeeded in spiriting Draupadi away. When Jayadratha seizes her, she
repulses him so hard that he falls to the ground! Retaining full control
of her faculties, she mounts his chariot on finding him bent on forcing
her, calmly asking the family priest to report to her husbands. No
Sita-like lamentation here, nor shrill outcries for succour! As her
husbands close up on Jayadratha, she taunts him with an elaborate
description of the prowess of each and the inevitable trouncing that
will follow.
The manner in which Draupadi manipulates Bhima to destroy Kichaka is a
fascinating lesson in the art and craft of sexual power. She does not
turn to Arjuna, knowing him to be a true disciple of Yudhishthira as
seen in the dice-game. Then Bhima alone had roared out his outrage. Now
she seeks him out in the dark of the night. Finding him asleep in the
kitchen, she snuggles up to him like a woman aroused, as a wild
she-crane presses close to its mate and a three-year old cow in season
rubs against a bull. She twines herself round Bhima as a creeper
entwines a massive shala tree on Gomati’s banks, as a lioness
clasps the sleeping king of beasts in a dense forest, as a she-elephant
embraces a huge tusker. As Bhima awakens in her arms, Draupadi
administers the coup-de-grace by addressing him in dulcet vina-like
tones pitched at the gandhara note, the third in the octave. To
rouse his anger, she narrates all her misfortunes, even how she, a
princess, has now to carry water for the queen’s toilet and particularly
mentions how she swoons when he wrestles with wild beasts, giving rise
to barbed comments from maids. Finally, in an ineffable feminine touch
she extends her palms to him, chapped with grinding unguents for the
queen. His reaction is all that she had planned for so consummately:
“Wolf-waisted foe-crushing Bhima covered
His face with the
Delicate, chapped hands of his wife,
And burst into tears.” (Virata Parva, 20.30)
Kichaka’s
death is sealed. When Kichaka has been pounded to death, instead of
hiding in safety she recklessly flaunts the corpse before his kin,
revelling in her revenge. They abduct her and she has again to be saved
by Bhima from being burnt to death.
Earlier, in
the dice-game Yajnaseni shocks everyone by challenging the Kuru elders’
very concept of dharma in a crisis where the modern woman would collapse
in hysterics. Instead of meekly obeying her husband’s summons, she sends
back a query which none can answer: How could Yudhishthira, having lost
himself, stake her at all? She has a brilliant mind, is utterly
“one-in-herself” and does not hesitate in berating the Kuru elders for
countenancing wickedness. As Karna directs her to be dragged away to the
servants’ quarters, she cries out to her silent husbands.
Finding no response, with quicksilver presence of mind she seizes upon a
social ritual to wrest some moments of respite from pillaging hands. Her
speech drips with sarcasm. The elders whom she ceremoniously salutes,
deliberately using the word “duty,” have remained silent in the face of
Vidura’s exhortation to do their duty and protect the royal daughter-in-
law.[[1]]
Look at her choice of words:
“One duty remains, which
I must now do. Dragged
by this mighty hero,
I nearly forgot. I
was so confused.
Sirs, I bow to all of you, all my elders
and superiors. Forgive me for
not doing so earlier.
It was not all my fault,
gentlemen of the sabha.” (Sabha Parva, 67.30)
It is a “mighty hero” who is dragging his menstruating sister-in-law, clad in a single cloth, by her hair. She has “nearly forgot” her duty, while the elders are wholly oblivious of theirs despite being reminded by a servant-maid’s son. It is surely not her fault that she is being outraged, and certainly it is not she who is “so confused” but rather the Kuru elders of whom Bhishma says,
“Our elders, learned in dharma,
Drona and others, sit
Here with lowered eyes like dead men
with life-breaths gone.” (ibid, 69.20)
Yajnaseni
succeeds in winning back freedom for her enslaved husbands. Karna pays
her a remarkable tribute, saying that none of the world’s renowned
beautiful women have accomplished such a feat: like a boat she has
rescued her husbands who were drowning in a sea of sorrows (Sabha
72.1-3).
With striking dignity she refuses to take the third boon Dhritarashtra
offers, because with her husbands free and in possession of their
weapons, she does not need a boon from anyone. No twenty first century
feminist can surpass her in being in charge of herself. Can we even
imagine any woman having to suffering attempted disrobing with her
husbands sitting mute; then facing abduction in the forest and having to
countenance her husband forgiving the abductor; be molested again in
court and be admonished by her husband for making a scene; then be
carried off to be burnt alive; thereafter, when war is imminent, witness
her husbands asking Krishna to sue for peace; and finally find all her
kith and kin and her sons slain-- and still remain sane?
An illuminating contrast can be seen in Shaivya, wife of Harishchandra.[[1]]
She does not utter a word when Vishvamitra drives her out of her
kingdom, be-labouring her with a stick because she is too exhausted to
move swiftly (VII. 29).
She herself suggests to Harishchandra that since she has fulfilled her
function by presenting him with a son, he should sell her to pay
Vishvamitra what he requires (VIII.
30-31). When the Brahmana to whom she is sold drags her by the hair, she
remains silent (VIII.
56). This is precisely the conduct of a sati who utterly wipes
out her own self and lives only in, through and for her husband. The
kanya’s personality, on the other hand, blazes forth quite
independent of her spouse and her offspring. She seeks to fulfil herself
regardless of social and family norms. Thus, Draupadi does not
rest till the revenge for which her father had invoked her manifestation
is complete and the insult she suffered has been wiped out in blood.
Through the thirteen years of exile, she never allows her husbands and
her sakha to forget how she was outraged and they were
deceitfully deprived of their kingdom. When she finds all her husbands,
except Sahadeva, in favour of suing for peace, she brings to bear all
her feminine charm to turn the course of events inexorably towards war.
Pouring out a litany of her injuries, she takes up her serpent-like
thick glossy hair and with tearful eyes urges Krishna to recall these
tresses when he sues for peace. Sobbing, she declares that her five sons
led by Abhimanyu and her old father and brothers will avenge her if her
husbands will not. Krishna’s response is all that she has been aiming
at:
“Consider those you disfavor
As already dead!…
The Himavant hills may move, the
Earth shatter
In a hundred pieces, heaven collapse;
My promise stands…
You will see your enemies killed.” (Udyoga Parva, 82.45, 48)
The course of
the epic is determined by the dark five and Kunti, of whom three are
kanyas: Gandhakali, Krishna Dvaipayana Vyasa, Vasudeva Krishna,
Yajnaseni, Arjuna, Kunti. The first three are further linked by the
black waters of the Yamuna, while Satyavati, Kunti and Draupadi are
prototypes of one another.
Draupadi is the only instance we come across in epic mythology of a
sati becoming a kanya. The Southern recension of the epic
states that in an earlier birth as Nalayani (also named Indrasena) she
was married to Maudgalya, an irascible sage afflicted with leprosy. She
was so utterly devoted to her abusive husband that when a finger of his
dropped into their meal, she took it out and calmly ate the rice without
revulsion. Pleased by this, Maudgalya offered her a boon, and she asked
him to make love to her in five lovely forms. As she was insatiable,
Maudgalya got fed up and reverted to ascesis. When she remonstrated and
insisted that he continue their love-life, he cursed her to be reborn
and have five husbands to satisfy her lust. Thereupon she practised
severe penance and pleased Shiva, obtaining the boon of regaining
virginity after being with each husband.[[1]]
Thus, by asserting her womanhood and refusing to accept a life of blind
subservience to her husband, Nalayani the sati was transformed
into Yajnaseni the kanya.
According to the Brahmavaivarta Purana (4.116.22-23), she is the
reincarnation of the shadow-Sita who, in turn, was Vedavati reborn after
molestation at Ravana’s hands, and would become the Lakshmi of the
Indras in Svarga. As far back as in 1887 the great Bengali litterateur
Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay[[1]]
drew an illuminating distinction between Sita and Draupadi, noting that
while the former is chiefly a wife in whom the softer feminine qualities
are expressed, the latter is pre-eminently a tremendously forceful queen
in whom woman’s steel will, pride and brilliant intellect are most
evident, a befitting consort indeed of mighty Bhimasena. He also pointed
out that Draupadi represents woman’s selflessness in performing all
household duties flawlessly but detachedly. In her he sees exemplified
the Gita’s prescription for controlling the senses by the higher
self.
Since a wife is supposed to present her husband with a son, she gives
one to each of the Pandavas, but no more, and in that exemplifies the
conquest over the senses, as in the case of Kunti. Once this duty is
over, there is no sexual relationship between her and the Pandavas. That
is why, despite having five husbands, Draupadi is the acme of chastity.
Akin to sakha Krishna, lotus-like she is fully of this world of
senses, yet never immersed in it. The bloom of her unique personality
spreads its fragrance far and wide, soaring above the worldly mire in
which it is rooted.
Ultimately, the fact that Draupadi stands quite apart from her five
husbands is brought tellingly home when not one of them— not even
Sahadeva of whom she took care with maternal solicitude, nor her
favourite Arjuna— tarries by her side when she falls and lies dying on
the Himalayan slopes, nathavati anathavat
[[1]]
(husbanded, yet unprotected). That is when we realise that this
remarkable “virgin” never asked anything for herself. Born unwanted,
thrust abruptly into a polyandrous marriage, she seems to have had a
profound awareness of being an instrument in bringing about the
extinction of an effete epoch so that a new age could take birth. And
being so aware, Yajnaseni offered up her entire being as a flaming
sacrifice in that holocaust of which Krishna was the presiding deity.
This feature of transcending the lower self, of becoming an instrument
of a higher design is what seems to constitute a common trait in these
ever-to-be-remembered maidens. Remembering them daily, learning from
them how to sublimate our petty ego to reach the higher self, we
transcend sin.
These maidens provide a parallel to the three forms of the ancient
Arcadian goddess, Hera: maiden, fulfilled woman and woman of sorrows.
Hera, too, would emerge from her bath in the spring Kanathos as virgin
anew. As Hera is also her daughter Hebe and Demeter is also Kore-Persephone,
so is Satyavati also Kunti and Kunti also Draupadi. Like Demeter-Nemesis
and the “awful” Persephone queen of Hades who arouses both admiration
and fear, Draupadi is Krishna, the dark goddess, the virgin Vira-Shakti
whose cult still exists in south India, a manifestation of the goddess
Kali, supping full of horrors on the battlefield at night, the primal
uncontrolled, chaotic persona of Prakriti.[[1]]
Draupadi, like the Kore Helen, appears with the skiey announcement that
she will be the destruction of warriors. Draupadi, like Demeter and
Helen, is always subjected to violence: her svayamvara ends in
strife; a fivefold marriage is imposed upon her; she is outraged in the
royal court twice over; Jayadratha and Kichaka attempt to rape her; the
Upakichakas seek to burn her alive. Like vengeful Demeter Erinys and
like Helen, Draupadi seems to attract rape and to wreak vengeance
thereafter. Again, like the vengeful Amba, whose suicide in flames
represents the inner anguish consuming her, and who takes rebirth to
exact blood-price for her outraged femininity by causing Bhishma’s death
on the battlefield, Draupadi is also veritably a virgin goddess of war
like Artemis and Athene.
A common feature these maidens share is “motherlessness.” The births of
Ahalya, Satyavati and Draupadi are unnatural, none having a mother. We
know nothing of Tara’s mother. Mandodari’s mother is Hema, who remains
just a name. The motherless Gandhakali and Pritha, as adolescents, are
left by their foster-fathers to the mercies of two eccentric sages and
become unwed mothers with no option but to discard their first born.
Pritha’s mother is never mentioned even when she is given away by her
father. As Kunti, she finds no foster-mother either and her only succour
is an old midwife. If Draupadi had hoped to find her missing mother in
her mother-in-law, she is tragically deceived as Kunti thrusts her into
a polyandrous marriage that exposes her to salacious gossip reaching a
horrendous climax in Karna calling her a public woman whose being
clothed or naked is immaterial. As if that were not enough, Kunti urges
her to take special care of her fifth husband, Sahadeva, as a mother! No
other woman has had to face this peculiar predicament of dealing with
five husbands now as spouse, then as elder or younger brother-in-law (to
be treated like a father or as a son respectively) in an unending cycle.
Simultaneously, we notice that Ahalya, Satyavati and Draupadi are not
known for maternal qualities. Ahalya’s son abandons her and lives
comfortably in Janaka’s court, expressing relief that she is finally
acceptable in society following Rama’s visit. Valmiki has not a word to
say about the mother-son relationship between Ahalya and Shatananda.
Vyasa is abandoned by both parents and attributes his survival to
chance. Draupadi’s five sons are mere names and are not even nurtured by
her. She sends them to Panchala and follows her husbands into exile to
ensure that the wounds of injustice and insult inflicted upon them
remain ever fresh. Indeed, scholars, beginning with Bankimchandra over a
hundred years ago, have questioned the very fact of her maternity since,
unlike the other Pandava progeny (Ghatotkacha, Abhimanyu, Babhruvahana)
the five sons are nothing more than names and might have been
interpolated. The Draupadi Cult specifically states that her sons were
not products of coitus but were born from drops of blood that fell when,
in her terrifying Kali form, her nails pierced Bhima’s hand.[[1]]
These kanyas remain quintessentially virgins and, except for
Kunti, hardly ever assume the persona of mother. In this, as in much
else of her flaming character, Draupadi reminds us of the ancestress of
the Kuru clan, Devayani, wilful, assertive of her demands, her father’s
darling, with no mention of her mother, soliciting Kacha, virtually
hijacking Yayati into marriage, flouncing off in fury to get her father
curse Yayati with senility, and showing no evidence of any maternal role
beyond producing a couple of sons. Indeed, the similarity goes deeper.
In the Maitrayani and Taittiriya Samhitas, Devayani is the
name of the fire-altar. Yajnaseni gets her name from having been born
from this altar.
This feature of being rejected-and-rejecting-in-turn that is a recurring
leit motif with the kanya is not just of antiquary
interest. It recurs in one of the most significant explorations of the
Bengali woman’s struggle to step into the modern age by experimenting
with new ways of motherhood: Ashapurna Debi’s trilogy Pratham
Pratisruti, Subarnalata and Bakul Katha. The heroine,
significantly named Satyabati, is “abandoned” by her father who gives
her away in child-marriage at the age of eight. When she gives birth to
her son, she simultaneously receives news of her mother’s death. She
struggles to educate her children in a new urban milieu of a nuclear
family, but her daughter Subarna is also married off at the age of
eight. Thereupon Satyabati physically turns away from the wedding,
abandoning her daughter on the threshold of motherhood, repeating the
desertion she herself had experienced. The pattern repeats itself when
Subarna, receiving news of her mother’s death, finds herself unable to
think of her own daughter.
It is a patriarchal society’s tradition of enforced motherlessness that
is sought to be challenged at the cost of being regarded as an aberrant
mother. Ashapurna Debi questions the traditional concept of motherhood
which confines woman to the role of a biological parent with no hand in
shaping the future of the girl child. This is precisely what we notice
in the case of the five kanyas.[[1]]
This, again, is where the kanya is distinct from the apsara,
the heavenly hetaerae to whom the maternal instinct is foreign.
Urvashi makes this amply clear to King Kukutstha when he reproaches her
for deserting their daughter: “O King, my body does not change when
offspring are born and true to my nature as a courtesan, I do not rear
children I give birth to.”[[1]]
The same characteristic is seen in Menaka abandoning her new-born
daughter Shakuntala.
The theme of loss is common to the kanya. Ahalya has no parents,
loses both husband and son and is a social outcast; Kunti loses her
parents and then her husband twice over (once to Madri and then when he
dies in Madri’s arms); Satyavati loses husband and both royal sons.
Seeing her great grandchildren at each other’s throats, she realises,
“the green years of the earth are gone” (Adi Parva, 128.6) and
leaves for the forest so as not to witness the suicide of her race (ibid.
128.9). Vyasa tells us nothing of her end. Mandodari loses husband,
sons, kinsmen. Tara loses her husband. Both have to marry their younger
brothers-in-law who are responsible for their husbands’ deaths. Draupadi
finds her five husbands discarding her repeatedly: each takes at least
one more wife; she never gets Arjuna to herself for he marries Ulupi,
Chitrangada and has Subhadra as his favourite; Yudhishthira pledges her
like chattel at dice; and, finally, they leave her to die alone on the
roadside like a pauper, utterly rikta, drained in every sense. In
her long poem “Kurukshetra”, Amreeta Syam conveys the angst of Panchali,
born unasked for by her father, bereft of brothers and sons and her
beloved sakha Krishna:
“Draupadi has five husbands — but she has none —
She had five sons — and was never a mother…
The Pandavas have given Draupadi…
No joy, no sense of victory
No honour as wife
No respect as mother —
Only the status of a Queen…
But they have all gone
And I’m left with a lifeless jewel
And an empty crown…
my baffled motherhood
Wrings its hands and strives to weep.”[[1]]
Among the five it is Ahalya who remains unique because of the nature of her daring and its consequence. She is the only one whose transgression becomes known and is therefore punished for having done what she wanted to. Because of her unflinching acceptance of the sentence, Vishvamitra and Valmiki both glorify her.
Chandra Rajan, another sensitive poetess of today, catches these nuances:
“Gautama cursed his impotence and raged…
she stood petrified
uncomprehending
in stony silence
withdrawn into the secret cave
of her inviolate inner self…
she had her shelter
sanctuary
benediction
within, perfect, inviolate
in the one-ness of spirit
with rock rain and wind
with flowing tree
and ripening fruit
and seed that falls silently
in its time
into the rich dark earth.”[[1]]
None of these
maidens breaks down in the face of personal tragedy. Each continues to
live out her life with head held high. This is another characteristic
that sets the kanya apart from other women.
There is an aspect of exploitation that we notice about the kanya.
Sugriva hides behind Tara and uses her to calm the raging Lakshmana.
Kunti is used by Kuntibhoja to please Durvasa. Draupadi is used first by
Drupada to take revenge on Drona by securing the alliance of the
Pandavas and then by Kunti and the Pandavas to win their kingdom thrice
over (first through marriage; then in the first dice game when she wins
them their freedom; finally as their incessant goad on the path to
victory).[[1]]
Unknown to her, even sakha Krishna throws her in as the ultimate
temptation in Karna’s way when seeking to win him over to the Pandavas
before the war, assuring that Draupadi will come to him in the sixth
part of the day, shashthe ca tam tatha kale draupadyupagamisyati
(Udyoga Parva, 134.16).
This is followed by Kunti urging Karna to enjoy (bhunkshva)
Yudhishthira’s Shri (another name for Draupadi) which was
acquired by Arjuna (ibid. 135.8). There is an unmistakable
harking back to her command to her sons to enjoy (bhunkteti) what
they had brought together when Bhima and Arjuna had announced their
arrival with Draupadi as alms. No wonder Draupadi laments that she has
none to call her own, when even her sakha unhesitatingly uses her
as bait! We cannot but agree with Naomi Wolf’s condemnation of masculine
culture’s efforts to “punish the slut”, the sexually independent woman
who crosses the ambiguous lakshmana-rekha separating “good” from
“bad”[[1]].
The kanya, despite having husband and children, remains alone to
the last. This is the loneliness at the top that great leaders bear as
their cross. The absence of a mother’s nurturing, love, modelling and
handing down of tradition leaves the kanya free to experiment,
unbound by shackles of taught norms, to mould herself according to her
inner light, to express and fulfil her femininity, achieving self-actualisation
on her own terms. One is tempted to use a modern cliché to describe her:
a woman of substance.[[1]]
An invaluable insight into what is so very special in being a
woman—virgin, wife and mother— is found in what an Abyssinian woman told
Frobenius. In her speech we find the reason for our kanyas
remaining such an enigma to men throughout the ages: “How can a man know
what a woman’s life is?…He is the same before he has sought out a woman
for the first time and afterwards. But the day when a woman enjoys her
first love cuts her in two…The man spends a night by a woman and goes
away. His life and body are always the same…He does not know the
difference before love and after love, before motherhood and after
motherhood…Only a woman can know that and speak of that. That is why we
won’t be told what to do by our husbands. A woman can only do one
thing…She must always be as her nature is. She must always be maiden and
always be mother. Before every love she is a maiden, after every love
she is a mother.”[[1]]
We have only to recall the encounters of Surya, Dharma, Vayu, Indra and
Pandu with Pritha, of Parashara and Shantanu with Gandhakali, of
Draupadi with her husbands, of Ulupi with Arjuna, of Indra with Ahalya,
to realise the profundity of this utterance.
C.G. Jung, while discussing the phenomenon of the maiden describes her
“as not altogether human in the usual sense; she is either of unknown or
peculiar origin, or she looks strange or undergoes strange experiences.”[[1]]
This fits the kanyas as a class. The maiden represents the Anima
archetype in man in whose realm the categories of good and bad do not
exist: “bodily life as well as psychic life have the impudence to get
along much better without conventional morality, and they often remain
the healthier for it.”[[1]]
So long as a woman is content to be just a man’s woman, she is devoid of
individuality, and acts as a willing vessel for masculine projections.
On the other hand, the maiden uses the anima of man to gain her natural
ends (Bernard Shaw called it the Life Force). Amply do we see in the
cases of these maidens that, “The anima lives beyond all categories, and
can therefore dispense with blame as well as with praise.”[[1]]
The anima is characterised not just by this zest for life, but also by
“a secret knowledge, a hidden wisdom… something like a hidden purpose, a
superior knowledge of life’ laws”[[1]]
which we see in this group of epic women. That is why Shantanu, Bhishma,
Dhritarashtra, Pandu, the Kaunteyas, Surgriva can never quite come to
grips with Satyavati, Kunti, Draupadi and Tara and are ever in awe of
them.
One of the
finest instances of the working of anima is found in the Ganga-Shantanu
relationship. Ganga is yet another kanya, wedded to both Vishnu
and Shiva in their realms and also to the human king of Hastinapura, but
utterly independent in everything that she does. On her first
appearance, she seats herself on Pratipa’s right thigh and demands that
he take her:
“It is improper to refuse a woman in love…
I am not ugly, she said,
I do not bring ill fortune,
No one has cast a slur on me,
I am not unfit for sexual enjoyment.
I am celestial, I am beautiful,
I love you. Take me, my lord.” (Adi Parva, 97. 5, 7)
This is the
quintessential kanya that we find also in Devayani soliciting
Kacha and Yayati, in Ulupi spiriting Arjuna away and in Urvashi
approaching Arjuna. After being turned down, Ganga enchants Pratipa’s
son Shantanu, extorting a promise that he will never interfere in
anything she does. Behind the puzzle of the heartless sport of drowning
her new-born sons lies a deeper meaning that, when understood, divests
her of chaotic capriciousness and gives rise to a new cosmos of
understanding. That is precisely what Veda Vyasa does, creating a new
archetype of meaning, which the spouses of these wondrous maidens fail
to achieve.
Going to the
root of the modern problem of insecure marriages, Jung pinpoints the
cause as the desymbolized world we live in now in which man struggles to
relate to his anima “outside” himself by projecting her on numerous
women although, paradoxically, she is the psyche within that he must
commune with. That is perhaps the message hidden behind the hint to keep
ever fresh the memory of the five maidens so that we become conscious of
the anima-projection.
In this
context Nolini Kanta Gupta’s study of these maidens is of importance and
tallies quite remarkably with the Jungian insight into the meaning of
being a virgin. He points out, “In these five maidens we get a hint or a
shade of the truth that woman is not merely sati but
predominantly and fundamentally she is shakti.”[[1]]
He notes how the epics had to labour at establishing their greatness in
the teeth of the prejudice that woman must never be independent, but
always be a sati, known for her single- minded devotion to her
husband. This he describes as the subjugation of Prakriti to Purusha,
typical of the Middle Ages. The most ancient relationship, he says, was
the converse: Shiva under the feet of his goddess-consort. In
Mahabharata we find confirmation of the freedom enjoyed by women in
the past. In the Adi Parva Pandu tells Kunti:
“in the past, women
were not restricted to the house,
dependent on family members;
they moved about freely,
they enjoyed themselves freely.
They slept with any men they liked
from the age of puberty;
they were unfaithful to their husbands,
and yet not held sinful…
the greatest rishis have praised
this tradition-based custom;…
the northern Kurus still practise it…
the new custom is very recent.” (122.4-8)
Pandu narrates the story of Uddalaka explaining to his outraged son Shvetaketu, when his mother is taken away by a Brahmana in their presence,
“This is the Sanatana Dharma.
All women of the four castes
are free to have relations
with any man. And the men,
well, they are like bulls.” (122.13-14)
The account
of Ulupi’s and Urvashi’s behaviour with Arjuna and of Ganga’s with
Pratipa are instances of the type of freedom characterising the kanya’s
nature. In these kanyas we find the validation of Naomi Wolf’s
celebration of women as “sexually powerful magical beings”.[[1]]
By the time of Pandu, however, the Aryans settled around Sarasvati-Yamuna
had started looking down upon their Northern brethren and even classed
them—such as the Madras—with Mlecchas, non-Aryans. Karna lashes back at
Shalya criticising the loose morals of Madra women who go as they will
with any one they fancy.
“We moderns
also”, continues Nolini Kanta Gupta, “instead of looking upon the five
maidens as maidens, have tried with some manipulation to remember them
as sati. We cannot easily admit that there was or could be any
other standard of woman’s greatness beside chastity… Their souls did
neither accept the human idea of that time or thereafter as unique, nor
admit the dharma-adharma of human ethics as the absolute provision of
life. Their beings were glorified with a greater and higher capacity.
Matrimonial sincerity or adultery became irrelevant in that glory… Woman
will take resort to man not for chastity but for the touch and
manifestation of the gods, to have offspring born under divine
influence… a person used to follow the law of one’s own being, one’s own
path of truth and establish a freer and wider relation with another.”[[1]]
At the
opening of the new millennium are we too not moving cyclically towards a
similar condition where the relationship between a man and a woman is
not permanent and exclusive externally, where the sexes mingle freely,
expansively, on equal terms, progressing towards fulfilling one’s
potential as in the pre-Shvetaketu days? That is why the exhortation to
recall the five virgin maidens is so relevant now. The past does,
indeed, hold the future in its womb.
March 22, 2001
Now also in Hindi at
http://www.hindinest.com/visheshank/01stri/panchkanya1.htm
Now also in French at http://www.neurom.ch/mbh/kanya.pdf
See Also : Panchkanya of Indian Epics : A Critique by Saroj Thakur
References :
[[i]] P. Bhattacharya: The
Secret of the Mahabharata (Parimal Prakashan, Aurangabad, 1984), p. 3.
[[i]] Harivamsha, Vishnu Parva 90.76-77.
[[i]] P. Lal: The Mahabharata (verse-by-verse transcreation) Writers
Workshop, Calcutta, 1968 ff. All translations are from this version
unless otherwise specified. References to the Sanskrit text are to the
Aryashastra (Calcutta) edition.
[[i]] M. Esther Harding: Woman’s Mysteries, Rider, 1971, London, p. 103
[[i]] She is of the Dasa race. Bhishma explains in the Anushasana Parva
48.21 that offspring of a Nishada and a Sairandhri (an orphan working as
a servant maid) of Magadha are called Madguru or Dasa and their
profession is plying ferries, which is precisely what Gandhakali was
engaged in.
[[i]] Pradip Bhattacharya: Themes & Structure in the Mahabharata
Dasgupta & Co., Calcutta, 1989.
[[i]] Iravati Karve: Yuganta— the end of an era (Deshmukh Prakashan,
Bombay, 1969).
[[i]] P. Lal: Introduction to fascicule 19 of Mahabharata (Writers
Workshop, Calcutta, 1970).
[[i]] A.C. Bose: The Call of the Vedas (Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, Bombay,
1988, p. 262).
[[i]] In the Bengali tele-serial Draupadi (1999) this is precisely what
Draupadi does, brilliantly portrayed by Roopa Ganguli. Also see Dr
Nrisingha Prasad Bhaduri’s excellent study, Karna Kunti Kaunteya (Ananda,
Calcutta, 1998).
[[i]] I am indebted for this insight to Smt. Suprobhat Bhattacharya, MA
(Applied Psychology).
[[i]] M. Esther Harding op.cit.
[[i]] ibid. p. 125.
[[i]] ibid. p. 126.
[[i]] Pratibha Ray portrays this at length in her novel Yajnaseni: the
story of Draupadi (Rupa, New Delhi, 1995).
[[i]] Alf Hiltebeitel: The Cult of Draupadi, University of Chicago
Press, Vol. I, 1988 p. 438.
[[i]] ibid. p. 220, 290.
[[i]] A. Hiltebeitel: The Ritual of Battle, Cornell Univ. Press, 1976,
p. 222-4.
[[i]] Vana Parva 264.1.
[[i]] Significantly, it is only Vikarna and a servant-maid’s son who
voice their outrage. The epic also says that it was Dharma who protected
Draupadi when she was sought to be stripped. Dharma is Vidura’s other
name.
[[i]] Markandeya Purana VII-VIII.
[[i]] Vettam Mani: Puranic Encyclopaedia (Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi,
1975, p. 549. He does not provide the reference to the source of this
story). M.V. Subramaniam: The Mahabharata Story: Vyasa & Variations (Higginbothams,
Madras, 1967, p. 46-47).
[[i]] Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay: “Draupadi” in Bibidha Prabandha Part
1, 1887.
[[i]] A term used by Dhritarashtra to describe Draupadi in his lament in
the Anukramanika Parva, sloka 157.
[[i]] Hiltebeitel, op.cit. p. 291, Vol. 2, 1991, p. 400.
[[i]] Hiltebeitel op.cit. vol. I, p. 293
[[i]] Indira Chowdhury: “Rethinking Motherhood, Reclaiming a Politics”,
Economic & Political Weekly, XXXIII.44, 31.10.1998, pp. WS-47 to 52
[[i]] Kalika Purana, 49.67, Nababharat Publishers, Calcutta, 1384 BS,
p.462.
[[i]] Amreeta Syam: Kurukshetra (Writers Workshop, Calcutta, 1991, pp.
38-9)
[[i]] Chandra Rajan: Re-visions (Writers Workshop, Calcutta, 1987, p.
12)
[[i]] The Bengali tele-serial Draupadi dwells upon this issue.
[[i]] Naomi Wolf, best-selling feminist author and advisor to the
American President and Vice-President, in Promiscuities quoted in TIME,
8 November, 1999, p. 25.
[[i]] Barbara Taylor Bradford: A Woman of Substance (Granada, 1980)
[[i]] Quoted in “Kore” in Introduction to a science of mythology, C.G.
Jung & C. Kerenyi, Routledge, p.141-2.
[[i]] C.G. Jung: “The Psychological Aspects of the Kore” in ibid. p.222.
[[i]] ibid. p.239.
[[i]] C.G. Jung: The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious,
Routledge, p. 28-29.
[[i]] ibid. p. 31.
[[i]] Mother India, June 1995, pp. 439-443.
[[i]] Op.cit. Note 32.
[[i]] ibid.