Draupadi's five husbands

"यदिहास्ति तदन्यत्र यन्नेहास्ति न तत् क्वचित् |"

 "Whatever is here is found elsewhere, but what is not here is to be found nowhere else' claims the Mahabharatha (Mbh) about itself. True to its rhetoric, for generations now, the epic has continued to enchant, enthrall and intrigue us at the same time.

Talking of the intriguing aspects of Vyasa's epic, the one that has possibly been debated the most is the case of Draupadi's five husbands.

Not surprising though, considering that through large parts of our social history, we have been known to be a largely polygamous, and in very recent times,  a monogamous society. We don't find mention of too many instances of polyandry in our stories. Although it is believed that women in the early vedic age were free to take any man besides their husband, that practice apparently was brought to a stop by a sage, who could not tolerate seeing his mother go away with a man who was not his father. So, one woman having multiple sex partners was probably not very common in the later vedic period.

Social historians too opine that polyandry as a system was not prevelant among Aryan tribes.

But there are other scholars who point out that Draupadi came from Panchala desha, where polyandry could have been an accepted social practice.  Panchala desha is today identified as the area around present day Himachal Pradesh and Nepal. And in these mountainous regions where land is scarce, fraternal polyandry was  common and is believed to be in practice even today among Tibetans, the Nepalese and the Paharis of Himachal.

The idea behind fraternal polyandry was simple - it was to prevent the division of the limited land available in the mountainous regions. By marrying the same woman,  brothers managed to keep the land together and avoid fragmentation.

This explanation would have been perfectly satisfactory to justify Draupadi's marriage, but for the fact that Pandavas had no plans of settling down in Panchala and rule over it; instead, they wanted to go back to Hastinapura to stake their claim to the Kuru kingdom. While they might have wished for a powerful ally in Drupada, they  did not show any interest in his kingdom.

Nor did their marriage to Draupadi gain them instant lordship over Panchala as  the Parshatas (Drupada's tribe) were not  matrilineal. This is clear as Dhrishtadhyumna, Draupadi's brother, is identified as the king's heir apparent (although he was not the eldest of Drupada's sons, but that's another story!).

If this seemingly plausible explanation is ruled out, how then do we explain Draupadi's five husbands?

Of course, the epic itself offers several explanations for Draupadi's 'vichitra vivaha' in the form of backstories.

On hearing the suggestion by Yudhishtra that Draupadi marry all the brothers, King Drupada's initial reaction is one of shock. The king counters the suggestion by saying that such an arrangement is unheard of in the society.  Yudhishtra disagrees and cites the case of Jatila who married the saptharishis. But this does not satisfy Drupada.

Subsequently, the revered Krishna Dvaipayana himself enters the scene to convince Drupada to accept the marriage by narrating two stories that explain why Draupadi was destined to be the wife of five men.

The story wherein Draupadi in her earlier birth sought five boons from Lord Shiva asking for five elevated qualities in a husband is quite well known. In the other story, the sage tells the king that the Pandavas were actually Indras in their previous birth and Draupadi was goddess Shri. The Indras were ordained by Lord Shiva to be born as Pandavas and marry Shri who was to take birth as Draupadi.

Although, details of the second story are sketchy, both these stories nevertheless make it clear that Draupadi's marriage to the five brothers was pre-ordained, had divine sanction and was hence acceptable. And more importantly, the marriage was to be considered a unique arrangement and was not to become a societal norm.

Of course, one is not sure if these stories were part of Vyasa's original epic or if they were later day additions. As the popularity of the epic spread, it is believed that several layers of content were added to it to make the epic appealing to a wide audience with diverse cultures.

Some scholars are of the opinion that several backstories in the text as we know it today, including probably Draupadi's, were not part of Vyasa's original epic.

And some have even taken the explanation beyond stories to give it a metaphysical perspective by comparing the Pandavas to the five elements which converge into the kundalini shakthi, namely Draupadi.

How do we make sense of all this rationale? How do we interpret this idea if one were to approach it rationally and stripped off its different (desperate?!) justifications?

To me the explanation that the polyandrous marriage was actually Kunti's idea (as suggested by some) seems the most plausible one. 

Kunti, like her grand mother-in-law, Satyavati, was a very smart woman. After the incident at the lac house at Varanavrata, she was probably convinced that the Kauravas were a formidable force to be reckoned with. If at all the Pandavas had the faintest chance of regaining their right to rule, it was possible only if they stayed united. So, when opportunity came knocking in the form of Draupadi, she seized it. What better way to keep the brothers together than for them to have a common spouse? So it is quite possible that it was a deliberate decision by Kunti to have Draupadi marry all her sons. In any case, it  certainly was not the result of a misunderstanding on her part as it is made out to be.

Interestingly, even as Kunti implicitly suggests the idea, she goes against her own stance not to unite with more than three men in order to beget sons.  Earlier in the epic, she turns down Pandu's request asking her to invoke the mantra (given to her by Durvasa) for the fourth time (after the birth of Arjuna), citing that a woman having a relationship with more than three men is considered a woman of loose morals. Going by her own definition, Draupadi becomes a fallen woman by marrying five men.

In other words, Kunti deftly bent the rule of chastity for the women of those times (making Draupadi a scapegoat in that course!) in order to keep her sons together.

But Kunti was not the lone decision taker here. Yudhishtra had a role to play too. According to the epic, Kunti wanted Yudhishtra to endorse her decision. She consulted him and urged him to think of a way her directive that Draupadi (as the bhiksha) be shared could come true. This set Yudhihtra thinking, for he possibly found some merit in her suggestion.

Here, we must remember that the brothers had been roaming the forest for a long time without a consort (except Bhima who took Hidimbi). And their chances of getting back to civilisation looked bleak at that time. So when the lovely Draupadi was asked to be shared among the brothers by their mother, the idea was far from repulsive for them. According to the epic, 'one look at the radiant Draupadi put the brothers' senses on a turmoil.'

The wise Yudhishtra could make out what was running through his brothers' minds. He, as advised earlier by Vyasa, wanted to avoid any conflict among the brothers. So, he pronounced, "this fortunate Draupadi will be a wife to all of us'",  rendering him equally complicit in the decision.

And so, just as the Tibetans and Paharis adopted polyandry to keep their lands from division, the Pandavas took a common wife to stay united and consolidate their collective skills that would eventually help them win the war.

Thus, one finds that the reason for Draupadi to take five husbands was a practical one grounded in the harsh and cold reality of the day. The Pandavas were wifeless, landless and titleless, and desperately needed each other to reclaim their rights to the throne of Hastinapur. Towards that end, Draupadi was to be the thread that was to keep them bound together.




P.S: The views expressed here are mine unless stated otherwise, and are based on a reading of Bibek Debroy's translation of the critical edition of the Mahabharata.

Celebrating(?!) Diwali : Gujarati vs Tamil style

It is 14 years since I moved to Mumbai and this will be my 13th Diwali here.

The first few Diwalis were spent in Chembur, essentially the domain of South Indians, especially the Tamils.

And that meant I could continue to follow the Tamil customs and traditions even in distant Mumbai, thus making my great grandmother in heaven very proud.

Thus passed a few years, and some uneventful Diwalis. But it was only five years back when I moved into an essentially Gujarati locality that I came face to face with an entirely different way of celebrating Diwali.... and it would be an understatement to say the frugal Tamil in me was more than shocked!!!!

To tell you why, you must first understand how we Tamils traditionally celebrate Diwali.

Actually, to even say we 'celebrate' the festival is bit of a stretch.

Unlike in the north, Diwali for Tamils is a one-day affair. Ok, granted, it is a one helluva long day that starts at 3.30 am....(this annoying habit of waking up at insane hours of the morning is something that I strongly hold against my community.)

But if you are someone like me, who would rather link her Aadhar card to the bank account cheerfully than wake up early, then the harsh truth is, you have little choice. For, there is this whole community out there that takes upon itself the onerous responsibility of waking up the entire neighbourhood, which it does by firing a thousand-walah firecracker at the unholy hour. While every dog on the road thinks that the apocalypse has arrived, soporiphic denizens like me wake up from our beds quivering like Trump did when Kim Jong Un fired his missiles over Japan!!

Suffice to say our celebration of Naraka Chaturdashi starts with a bang!

After being woken up at the wickedest of the wee hours, slyly nicknamed, Brahma muhurtham, we are herded off to have the mandated oil bath.

As a wise man (in a movie) once pointed out, the oil bath bears a morbid resemblance to the bath ritual mandated for a shraddha. 'Are we actually mourning the death of narakasura in the guise of celebrating it', the wise man asked?! Something to be mulled over....yes! 

In any case, not a happy thought - this abhyanga snan - for the people on the east coast, because Diwali often  coincides with the north-east monsoons that brings rains in its most violent form - the cyclonic storms. Certainly, not the fairest of weathers for the firecracker enthusiast!

Sadly, even after we endure the early morn bath ritual on probably the wettest day of the year, our ordeal is far from over.

Instead of being treated to all the goodies that wait to be devoured, we are treated to a bitter-sweet dose of 'deepavali marundu' or medicine!!! Can you imagine a more cruel tradition where you kick-start a festival by consuming a medicine?!!!

The 'deepavali marundu' is a brownish-black gooey substance that is made up of a variety of herbs and spices such as jeera and ginger cooked by melting gud. It is believed(?!) that the medicine is consumed to pre-empt any gastronomical disturbances that may be caused by the untimely bath and the much promised feast that follows.  Whatever be the explanation, to many, the idea is weird, and the dish, unpalatable!!

Although the much promised feast does happen, the size of the celebrations comes nowhere close to the festivities that one sees up north. In short, the ornate gagra cholis and dry fruit burfies beat the grandest of kanjeevarams and the humble mysore-pak hands down!!

So you can imagine why my jaw scraped the floor when I was exposed to the Gujarathi style, four-day-long, stupendous Diwali, where, to start with, no expense is spared to give the house, and its members a new look. The festival is celebrated with sheer, unadulterated and unabashed abandon, and on a scale unfathomable for a traditionally groomed Tamil....And, the festivities only keep getting bigger every year, what with the 'great indian festival' and 'unbox zindagi' adding to the  dham, dhama, dham, dham!!

But there is one area where we Tamils undercut the Gujaratis - and that is in how we refer to the festival  by its actual longish name -  Deepavali.

Deepavali = deepa + avali- meaning a series of lamps. But the funny part is the Tamils dont light lamps for Deepavali. Instead, they choose to do so in the month of 'karthik' in a manner of paying obeisance to their favourite god Muruga aka Karthikeya. Yet another case of' being same, same but different'!

Deepavali, according to one school of thought, was not part of the ancient Tamil culture at all, till the Jains brought it along when they migrated from the North. (For the Jains, Deepavali is the day Mahavira attained Nirvana.) And the Jains were a dominant political and religious force in ancient Tamilagam even during the Sangam era. So it is quite possible that their customs were assimilated into the local culture. With time, the gods changed, but popular traditions apparently didn't.

Pan-religious it may be, but Diwali is not a pan-Indian festival as it is often made out to be. Large populations in the country, including the Keralites, Bengalis and people from the north-east don't bother to celebrate it.

And that is what makes Diwali aka Deepavali a fascinating festival - the innumerable ways we choose to celebrate it, or don't!!

Kandapuranam and Ramayana: Some stunning similarities

In India, a story is never told for the first time said eminent scholar and folk tale enthusiast AK Ramanujan. Every story there is, has been told so many times over (with some minor variations to fit regional requirements), that every story you hear reminds you of another. Thus we find the same thread running through the stories of Tenali Raman in Telugu, tales of Birbal in Hindi, fables of Mariyadai Raman in Tamil, stories of Gopal the maverick from Bengal and the stories of Sanathkumara in Sanskrit.

Or, take for example the two epics, Ramayana and Mahabharatha. These two epics are believed to have been composed a few centuries apart, with Ramayana’s oral version preceding its loftier counterpart. Yet they share several common motifs  - they both dwell on the concept of a king’s duty and they both have powerful women characters who perform the role of a catalyst in the elimination of evil. At a more basic level, they deal with the problems of heirless kings and even share similarities in linking physical handicaps to a crooked mind (Shakuni limped and Manthra was a hunchback).

What is even more remarkable is the stunning similarity that one finds between the Ramayana and a 17th century Tamil epic Kandapuranam (KP), an adaption of the Sanskrit work, Skandapurana, believed to have been composed a millennia earlier.

What is singularly intriguing about the stories of Rama and Murugan is that both these compositions choose to elevate deities from two (once) opposing sects – the Vaishnava and the Shaiva schools.

Before proceeding with identifying the similarities between the two epics, here is the story of KP in a capsule.

The story of Kandapuranam

Surapadman and his two brothers Tarakasuran and Simhamukhan gain the boon of invincibility from Shiva - they cannot be defeated by anyone other than a force of Shiva. Predictably, the boon makes them arrogant and all powerful. The three asuras invade Amaravathi, capture and enslave the devas and the sages and deploy them to do menial tasks. They also capture and imprison Indra’s son, Jayantha in their capital city, Veera Mahendrapuram.

Rendered powerless by the malicious asuras, the devas led by Brahma seek Shiva’s help to rein them in. Shiva creates Skanda who assumes the role of Senapathi of the deva armies, and with the help of Veerabahu (his confidant) and his men, decimates the three asuras and restores order to the establishment.

Uncanny similarities with the Ramayana

Let’s now go about identifying the similarities this story has with the pan-Indian epic, the Ramayana. To begin at the beginning, let’s take the reason for Skanda’s birth.

In the original Sanskrit text, Skanda is conceived by Shiva to destroy the evil Tarakasura. (There is no mention of Surapadman or Simhamukhan here.) In KP, Murugan alias Karthikeya is born to eliminate three asuras, namely Surapadman, Tarakasuran and Simhamukhan. These three asuras happen to be the sons of Sage Kashyapa.  Ravana, Kumbhakarna and Vibhishana are also sons of a seer - Sage Vishrava. In both the cases, their mothers Kaikesi (Ravana) and Maya (Surapadman) were asura women who chose to seduce and marry old, wise Rishis, with a specific agenda, namely to bear powerful offspring.

In the Ramayana, Rama wages war on Ravana to free his wife Sita, who is held captive in Lanka. In KP, Surapadman holds the devas and Indra’s son Jayantha captive. Murugan leads an army to free the celestials.

Ravana’s kingdom is the island city of Lanka whereas Surapadman’s kingdom is the city of Veera Mahendrapuram, also an island.

Both Ravana and Surapadman are ardent devotees of Lord Shiva and both are well versed in occult and magic, thanks to their asura geneology.

Incidentally in both the epics, the three asuras have a sister who has a critical role to play in the story. The Shurpanaka equivalent in KP is Ajamukhi. While Shurpanaka incites Ravana to kidnap Sita, Ajamukhi desires Indra’s wife Saachi for her brother, Surapadman. In the process, Ajamukhi loses her hands and Shurpanakha, her nose.

Again, among the three asuras, Simhamukha is portrayed as a moderate who warns Surapadman, his elder brother, against taking on the force of Shiva, i.e., Murugan. Similarly, in the Ramayana, Vibhishana advises Ravana to return Sita to Rama, whom he identifies as a divine and undefeatable force. However, the similarity ends there. Simhamukha is no deserter, and unlike Vibhishana, loses his life fighting for his brother.

In Kamban’s Ramavataram, as Kumbhakarna proceeds to the battlefield, he has a premonition that he may not return alive. However, he commits his life to his brother’s cause, namely to defeat Rama and his forces. A similar dialogue takes place between Simhamukha and Surapadman before the former leaves for the battlefield to fight Murugan’s armies.

Talking of family members, Surapadman has a son called Banugopan, just as Ravana has a son, Indrajeet. Both Banugopan and Indrajeet are killed in the war against the divine forces. 

In the Ramayana, Hanuman carries Rama’s message of peace to Ravana’s court. In KP, it is Veerabahu, Murugan’s confidant, who goes as the messenger to Surapadman’s court. Similar to Hanuman, Veerabahu is blessed with the ability to change form according to his wish. Just as Hanuman meets Sita to pass on the message of Rama’s wellbeing and his plans to free her, Veerabahu takes the form of a flying insect to visit Jayantha (Indra’s son), who is languishing in the prison. To him, Veerabahu announces the arrival of Murugan, and his plans to destroy Surapadman and his men.

And finally in popular culture today, just as Ramleela is celebrated with pomp and splendor, the slaying of Surapadman is celebrated with revelry at the Murugan temple at Thiruchendoor, a coastal town in southern Tamil Nadu. The festival is called Surasamharam in which the battle between Murugan and Surapadmam is enacted and thousands throng to watch the performance which culminates in Murugan slaying the mighty Surapadman.

Final thoughts on the striking parallels

It will not be an exaggeration to claim that the Tamil text composed by the Shaivite, Kachiappa Shivacharyar bears a stronger resemblance to the Ramayana than it does to its mother text, the Skandapurana.

Considering that Kachiyappar’s composition came some 4-5 centuries after Kamban’s Ramavataram (12th century), it is not surprising that KP was heavily inspired by Kamban’s hugely popular magnum opus.

In other words, KP once again reiterates the huge popularity of Ramayana as a story that has captured the imagination of the people of various cultures, across a very wide geography. Kachiappar could not have found a better vehicle to carry his story than the Ramayana whose structure was already familiar among people.

Or, was the similarity a deliberate attempt to integrate the two rival sects, the Shaivites and Vaishnavites under one umbrella......only Kachiappar can tell. 

Funnily enough, most people listening to the Kandapuranam hardly recognize the similarities between the two epics, and therein lies the success of the story-teller!

Three-hundred Ramayanas, yes, but, 300 Mahabharathas?! Maybe!!

Students of mythology have read and reread AK Ramanujan’s essay, ‘Three-hundred Ramayanas’ that identifies and discusses the numerous retellings of the epic found across the entire Indian sub-continent and beyond.

While the Mahabharatha could never claim equal appeal, its pan-Indian influences have been considerable. The epic did apparently elicit a lot of interest in southern India in the ancient times.

Pandiyan era copper inscriptions dated to 10^th century AD make a specific mention of the ‘Mathurapuri Sangam' that translated the ‘Mabharatham’.  Similarly, inscriptions dating to the Pallava period tell us that arrangements were made to narrate/read the story of Mahabharatha across the kingdom. It’s not surprising then that ‘Arjuna’s penance’ finds a place in the famed rock-cut carvings of Mahabalipuram, the pinnacle of Pallava architecture.

Based on literary evidence, scholars point to strong connections established between the Pandavas and the kings of the South, mostly in the form of political alliances through marriage. These connections subsequently found their way into the public imagination in the form of folk lore.

Thus, in these stories, we find the characters from the epic engaging and interacting seamlessly with the local characters  - both mythical and historical.

Folk lore in the ballad form called ‘Ammanai’

These stories have been narrated in a ballad form called ‘Ammanai’.  The ‘Ammanai’ is in the form of questions and answers. A poet by the name of Pugazhendhi is believed to have composed several such ballads. These ballads, which primarily existed in the oral tradition, were brought to print in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries.

Arjuna as the son-in-law of a Pandiya king

As already mentioned, although the folk versions of these stories adhere to the basic plot of the epic, they take a lot of liberty with the sub-plots by introducing several new characters, alien to the epic but intrinsic to the local milieu. Most of the stories are thus set in the Pandiya kingdom and the local stories are cleverly intertwined with the characters from the epic.

Arjuna is a central character in several stories and is often referred to as Vijayan. He is shown as establishing political liaisons through marriage with the princesses from the Pandiya kingdom. A scholar named Ramanujachari, in his Tamil translation of the Sanskrit work ‘Vyasa Bharatha’, quotes verses from Tholkaappiyam (the oldest known work in Tamil) which mention Arjuna as being the son-in-law of a Pandiya king.

While many stories acknowledge Arjuna as a warrior par excellence, he is also often shown to be lusting after beautiful women. Most of the new characters introduced into these retellings are women he married while on his exile including Alli, Pavalakodi and Min Oliyaal.

In one such story, Arjuna desires the daughter of a Pandiya king, Alli. Alli is depicted as a warrior queen who killed a man when she was just 7 years old. (The character of Alli is modelled on Madurai’s iconic goddess Meenakshi.)

One day when Alli was sleeping, Arjuna tied the mangalsutra (thaali) around her neck. When she woke up, Alli was livid. She immediately took her weapons to fight Arjuna. In the combat that ensued, Arjuna was defeated. But even when defeated, Arjuna continued to pine for her love. Even Bhima, with all his might and prowess could not help Arjuna, and fled from a battle with Alli. Finally, with the help of a plan suggested by Sahadeva, Arjuna captured and confined Alli to a tiger’s cage, where he managed to marry her.

Centred around man-woman relationships and sexually explicit

These stories are mostly centred around man-woman relationships, and unlike the epic, don’t bother to dwell much on the subject of dharma. Thus, most of the stories are about the romantic liaisons of Arjuna or his exploits of adventure. These stories can thus be seen as a continuation of the literary legacy inherited from two key Tamil works belonging to the Sangam era – Aga Naanuru and Pura Naanuru. (Aga Naanuru are primarily love poems whereas Pura Naanuru deliberates on the war exploits of the man.) For instance, the concept of marriage by abduction/eloping (kalavu) is a recurring theme in Sangam literature.  This idea is repeated in some of the folk tales too.

The other thing about these stories is that they are sexually explicit. The folklorist does not shy away from recounting in detail the sexual encounters of the men.   

Karna’s longing for sexual intimacy with his wife

In a ballad based on Karna’s life, he is shown as being married to a woman by the name Ponnuruvi. Taking Karna to be from an inferior caste, Ponnaruvi does not allow Karna to have a sexual relationship with her. But Karna wants to leave behind a progeny before he leaves for Kurukshetra.

So one day, on the advice of Krishna (Mayon), when Ponnaruvi is lying unconscious he has intercourse with her. When Ponnuruvi realises that she has been violated, she is extremely upset.  She tries to abort her child but is unsuccessful. Eventually she delivers Karna’s child. Karna’s inferior caste comes to the fore yet again when Ponnuruvi refuses to bid farewell to him before he leaves for the war. It is at this juncture that Karna reveals to his wife his identity as Kunti’s son. On coming to know of Karna’s true birth status, there is a sudden shift in Ponnuruvi’s attitude towards her husband. She then bids him a cheerful adieu, but not before Karna warns her of his imminent death on the battle field. He also cautions her not to go join the Pandavas after his death, but to leave for her father’s house. Karnas’s distrust and hatred for the Pandavas and his loyalty to the Kauravas comes through in this story.

Interestingly, the folk lore is more sympathetic to Karna’s identity crisis than the epic itself. There is a moving expression of Karna’s personal tragedy in this ballad.

The revenge of Draupadi

While the epic itself may not have dispensed satisfactory justice to Draupadi in the case of her disrobing, the folk lorist tries to make amends….to a certain extent.

In a ballad that is dedicated to Draupadi, there is a story about her disrobing. During the shameful act, Draupadi’s honour is saved by Krishna who covers her body with unending length of silk sarees.  After the Pandavas accompanied by Draupadi leave the court, Duryodhana has the sarees sent to his harem which is then divided among the hundred wives of the Kauravas. Wearing these silk sarees, the wives parade the streets of Hastinapura. Seeing this, Draupadi is very upset. With her magical prowess, she turns the sarees into birds, which fly off leaving the Kaurava wives stark naked in public. The onlookers laugh while the Kaurava wives are shamed. Thus does Draupadi have her revenge on the Kaurava men for whom their honour lay in the honour of their women.

Above all, what I found most charming thing about these stories is that they are unpretentious and supremely expressive, much like our ‘Bambaiya Hindi’, but without compromising on the literary value.

Of course, these stories have to be understood in the context of the times they were told. If we are willing to approach these stories with an open mind, there are many more waiting to be told…...

Stories extracted from Aa.Ka. Perumal’s book – Arjunanin Tamil Kaadaligal

(Arjuna’s Tamil Lady Loves)

Gems & Jewellery in Indian mythology

Indians have always been the largest consumers of gold, even from the days of the Roman Empire (around the first century BCE), when the Romans filled the coffers of the Indian kings with gold in exchange for exotic animals and spices, sugar, dyes, pearls and fine muslin cloth. Endowed with superior metallurgical skills, Indians turned the gold into beautiful pieces of jewellery that adorned the bodies of men and women.

Not surprisingly then that jewels and ornaments have been an indispensable part of Indian mythology.

A sweeping view of the instances where gems and jewellery feature prominently in our stories throws up a few recurring patterns on how they have been used as common motifs to convey certain ideas.

One major idea that ornaments have been used to convey is that of purity and virtuousity.

For instance, in the most famous story about ornaments and indeed named after one - Silapathigaaram (literally meaning the chapter/episode of an anklet), Kannagi the protagonist uses her anklet to prove her husband’s innocence. Her anklet is filled with rubies whereas, the one that her innocent husband Kovalan is charged of stealing (a crime for which he is wrongly convicted and killed) has pearls in it. She breaks open hers in the court of the Pandya king and the blood-red rubies falling out from the broken anklet serve to uphold her husband’s integrity.

Although, in Kannagi’s story, her anklet could not help bring her dead husband back to life, in the story of Abhirami Bhattar, the earring of Goddess Abhirami (an incarnation of Parvathi) actually saves his life. Once, Abhirami Bhattar a great devotee of Goddess Abhirami, while meditating on the moon-like lustrous face of the goddess, mistakenly told his king that a particular day was a full moon day when it was actually a new moon day. The king of course took the Bhattar's statement as wanton dishonesty and sentenced him to death if the moon did not rise in the sky as predicted. Cornered by the turn of events, the Bhattar fervently appealed to the goddess who saved the day and his life by throwing her dazzling earring into the sky where it shone like the full moon. Thus did the goddess prove her devotee's virtuousity to the world.

In another test of purity, this time of friendship, there is an interesting story about Karna in the Mahabharatha. One day, in Duryodhana’s absence, Karna was playing dice with Bhanumathi, Duryodhana’s wife, in the harem. Just as the game got very exciting, Duryodhana entered the harem. Seeing her husband walk in, Bhanumathi sprung up from her seat to go receive him. But, Karna who had not seen Duryodhana enter, was surprised to see Bhanumathi leap up suddenly. In a swift act to stop her from walking away from the game, he made a grab for her waistband (mekala). His tug at the band caused it to snap and the pearls to scatter all over the floor. Bhanumathi froze in confusion and fear. Only then did Karna take note of Duryodhana’s presence there. And when he did, he shrunk back with shame and horror over what he had done; his had been a deplorable and discourteous act, even if spontaneous! No friend would ever pardon such misdemeanour!

But the honourable Duryodhana remained unperturbed by what he had seen. Without blinking an eye but with a smile on his face, he calmly addressed the two and asked them if he should help them collect the pearls or help in stringing them back!!

Such was the purity of Duryodhana’s friendship with Karna, brought to the fore by the episode of the pearl-studded mekala.

Apart from serving as a touchstone for a person’s culpability or otherwise, ornaments have also been used to establish one’s identity as seen in the cases of Karna’s earrings and Rama’s ring.

In the show of skills organised at Hastinapura, it was Karna’s earrings (along with his armour) that helped Kunti identify him as her forsaken son.

The Ramayana extensively uses ornaments like we use our Aadhaar J, as unshakeable proof of one's identity. While being carried away by Ravana, Sita shrewdly used her ornaments to leave a trail of her abduction by scattering them on the ground below all the way to Lanka. This (expensive!) trail was later picked up by Rama and Lakshmana who followed it all the way to the Rishyamukha mountain, where they met with Hanuman. Later, at Kishkinda, Sugriva handed over some more of Sita's ornaments, that he had retrieved, to Rama.

Interestingly, in one of the versions of the Ramayana, Lakshmana’s chastity is demonstrated when he fails to recognise any of Sita’s ornaments other than her anklets because he had never seen Sita’s face or any part of her body but had always sought blessings at her feet and could thus recognise only her anklet!

And later in the story, as Sita sat grieving her fate in Ravana’s palace garden, ironically called the Ashokavana (a forest without sorrow), Hanuman dropped Rama’s ring on to Sita’s lap from the tree above before presenting himself to her. The ring helped prove Hanuman’s identity as Rama’s messenger to Sita. In return, Sita handed over her sudamani another of her ornaments (apparently, she still had some stock left with her even after jettisoning several!) to Hanuman, to convey her wellbeing to her husband.

In Kalidasa’s epic, Shakunthala is given a signet ring by Dushyantha that helps the king remember her when suffering from a memory lapse caused by Durvasa's curse. Yet another case of identity, lost and found!

Well, these were some instances where jewellery helped bring about positive twists in the stories. But, that was not always the case. Remember the picture of Kaikeyi, who lay on the floor, shorn of all ornaments, sulking away, waiting to place her demands before Dasharatha? A woman who shed some miscellaneous jewellery so she could gain the kingdom for her son – that’s some return on investments!! Anyway, the picture of Kaikeyi denuded of ornaments rattled Dasharatha so much that he agreed to change the course of Ayodhya’s royal history.

Apart from jewellery, gems too have had a considerable role to play in our stories. While they have been frequently referred to as having life giving properties and as bestowers of prosperity, sometimes, they also brought on ill-luck to their owners.

A classic example of the former is the Mritasanjivani gem and that of the latter is the Syamanthaka gem.

The Mritasanjivani gem was used by Ulupi, the Naga princess whom Arjuna married, to revive the Pandava’s life when he was killed by his son Babruvahana's in a battle. In line with the common belief that snakes are the guardians of gems, the Mritasanjivani was owned by the Nagas and had the power to bring back the dead to life.

The Syamanthaka mani on the other hand gem bestowed mixed fortunes upon its owners. Although the gem that gave the sun god Surya his exuberant brilliance had the power to bring prosperity to the place of its residence, its journey through the various hands it passed into was mostly tumultuous and bloody. At a point in the gem’s journey, even Lord Krishna was suspected of coveting it. And desire for the gem eventually led to the death of its original owner (Satrajit) and those who tried to wear it (Prasen and a lion). In short, the gem brought on only misfortune for those who tried to possess it – not surprising then that the Syamanthaka mani is believed by many to be the infamous Kohinoor diamond!!

Yet another story, where a jewel that had the power to bestow prosperity and good health but was sadly lost to human frailties, is that of Ashwathama. Ashwathama was born with a jewel on his forehead, which kept fear, disease and hunger at bay. But after his brutal murder of the unsuspecting sons of the Pandavas at the end of the war, Lord Krishna took the jewel away from him causing the dent on his forehead (where the jewel lay embedded) to rot with blood and pus. Additionally, Ashwathama was cursed to spend eternity on the earth in that repulsive condition!!

There are more stories of jewellery waiting to be told from Greek and Norse mythology too. Will keep that for later….

Were Gandhi and Marie Curie avatars too?

Joseph Campbell is a hugely popular name among the students of mythology, for whom his model on the hero’s journey is nothing short of holy verses to be learnt by rote.

To the uninitiated, the Hero’s Journey is a seminal piece of work by the famed mythologist Joseph Campbell that is actually a template of the adventurous journey charted by the mythical/fictional heroes of the world from the point they leave their homestead in pursuit of the elusive elixir/boon till they return again to their natural domain. <Click link to know more about the Hero’s journey>

Conceptually, the Hindu mythological idea of Avatar runs parallel to Campbell’s hero’s journey. The avatar is also a hero who arrives in the world, for the sole purpose of accomplishing a predestined goal, which is often the elimination of evil. To borrow Nehru’s words, the avatar comes like ‘a breath of fresh air’ to pull the world out of the utter crisis he finds it in. And finally, like Campbell’s hero, the avatar returns to the pavilion after his mission is accomplished.

In Hindu mythology, avatars refer to reincarnations of Lord Vishnu, who descends on the earth, time and again, taking different forms each time, to decimate evil and to protect and save the good.

All the avatars are thus aspects of the divine that descend on the earth (the Sanskrit word ‘avatar’ means to descend/cross) with the sole resolve to rid it off its evil forces.  Towards this end, the incarnations thus redefine the world around them, leaving it a better place. We also observe that once the purpose of the incarnation is fulfilled, the avatars, either explicitly or symbolically, exit the world. (For example, in the Ramayana, although Rama does not die after killing Ravana, the prominence of his role diminishes significantly after the death of Ravana. What happens thereafter in the Uttara Kanda is mostly the story of Sita and her sons.)

Interestingly, the above common motifs associated with the mythological avatars, are also found to repeat in the lives of certain historical figures we know.

But first, to summarise the set of criteria that mark out a personality as an avatar.

Markers of an Avatar

Now, think of historical figures who fit into this template, meeting most if not all criteria.

Gandhi, Ramanujan (mathematician), Vivekananda, Adi Shankara, Martin Luther King Jr., Marie Curie are some names that come to my mind.

Most of these personalities, save for Ramanujan and Marie Curie were religious/social reformers who were extremely successful in bringing about a big social change in the world around them. The achievements of Curie and Ramanujan are no less wonderful. Even as Marie Curie’s contribution to medicine continues to save millions of lives today, the world is still struggling to fully comprehend the overwhelming implications of Ramanujan’s gift of 3,900 theorems in the field of number theory.

Whatever be the nature of their contribution, it cannot be denied that each of them relentlessly strived to pursue his/her ordained goals, leaving behind an unparalleled legacy for humanity.

Further, the above personalities had some kind of tryst with divinity. Gandhi was expressly devout, while Ramanujan (in his own words) credited his mathematical acumen to his family Goddess, and Martin Luther King was a Minister in the Baptist order. Only Marie Curie was an exception; she remained a catholic till some personal tragedies turned her into an agnostic.

Needless to add, Adi Shankara and Vivekananda (whose mothers begot them after praying to Lord Shiva) transformed the religious discourse of their times.  If the lives of these two Sanyasis were extra-ordinary, their exit from the world, albeit at a very young age, was equally dramatic. Adi Shankaracharya is believed to have disappeared into a cave in Kedarnath, never to return, and Vivekananda passed away while meditating. Though both these men of God left behind institutions (the Ramakrishna Math and the Sharadha Peetam) to carry on their legacy they never identified or anointed a protégé.  

On the other hand, Marie Curie, Martin Luther King and Gandhi proved to be true ‘karmaveers’ who lived and died fighting for their respective causes. And of course, the episode of the Hardy-Ramanujan number (1729) that Ramanujan uncovered for the world, while he was undergoing treatment for his illness in a London hospital, speaks volumes of his unwavering quest to unravel the mysteries of his mathematical universe.

Above all, what makes a person an avatar is that his/her life is inseparable from his/her message or contribution to the world.

So, friends, here’s my list of avatars:

Avatar	Message/Contribution
Adi Shankaracharya	Advaitha: We are all part of the same divinity
Mahatma Gandhi	Ahimsa and Satyagraha
Marie Curie	Use of radium in cancer treatment; x-rays
Martin Luther King	Equal rights for all mankind
Ramanujan	Using numbers to better understand our universe
Vivekanada	Service to Humanity is service to Divinity

Who is on your list...?

Did somebody just say James Bond…?! J

On Sita's chastity and Tara's....

I'd never been a big fan of Sita, nor have I really appreciated the idea of her being upheld as the epitome of chastity among Indian women. Disregarding her avatar status, to me, she had always come across as a somewhat timid woman, who chose to be known as Rama's wife, all her life. Her martyrdom on the altar of royalty-politics only annoyed me. In other words, I perceived her as a woman who did not stand up for herself.

And I was surely not alone in thinking so. Modern women are still unwilling to take Sita as their role model for obvious reasons. Fans of Nirbhaya would rather identify themselves with the fiery Draupadi.

This was until I came to know more about two other women characters from the Ramayana, namely Tara and Mandodari.

Both Tara, the wife of Vali, and Mandodari, the wife of Ravana are counted among the five panchakanyas - the eternal virgins - whose names when invoked is believed to cleanse one of all sins.

The curious thing common to these two beautiful and wise women (and to the other panchakanyas including Kunti, Draupadi and Ahalya as well) is that they have 'known' other men besides their own husbands.

Tara, who was married to Vali, became Sugriva’s consort after the death of her husband at the hands of Rama. According to some versions of the Ramayana, she was actually Sugriva’s wife who was appropriated by Vali over a matter of misunderstanding between the two brothers <<click link for the story>. She lived peacefully with Vali and even had a son through him, Angad, who was crowned the heir apparent of Kishkinda. After Vali’s death, Tara returned once again to live with Sugriva. Similarly, Mandodari married Vibhishana after the death of her husband, Ravana, on the advice of Rama and retained her status as the queen of Lanka.

Scholars believe that the marriage of these women to the newly crowned kings of Kishkinda and Lanka was one of convenience aimed at ensuring the stability of these kingdoms. Thus Tara and Mandodari, it appears, allowed themselves to be used as pawns in a larger political game.

Now, contrast these two women to Sita. While, Tara and Mandodari (and for that matter the other 'panchakanyas' as well) had more than one man forced upon them, Sita refused to take any man other than her own wedded partner. Her refusal to comply with the misplaced desires of a lusty man and her heightened sense of dignity and self-respect point to Sita's independent spirit – a rare privilege for women to have in those days when they were merely treated as property to be usurped and enjoyed as the spoils of war.

It may be argued that the accepted moralities of that era were different for different people and that among the vanaras, the multiple partners that Tara took may have been perfectly acceptable. In the case of Mandodari’s marriage to Vibhishana, scholars argue that Ravana’s line may have been matrilineal and only through his marriage to Mandodari could Vibhishana claim rights to the throne of Lanka.  Whatever the case may be, it appears that neither Tara nor Mandodari expressed their dissent or showed resentment to being played around with by the men. On the contrary, it appears that they simply reconciled themselves to the life choices others made for them.

And that’s where Sita differs from them. She had a mind of her own. She chose dignity over damnation by rejecting Ravana.

During the few months she spent at Ashokavana, she was repeatedly tortured by Ravana into submitting to his will. But she remained unmoved to his repeated cajoling and threats. Even in the direst of circumstances (when she is shown the beheaded head of Rama, created by Ravana’s magic) and in the absence of any information on her husband's whereabouts, she chose to put up a fight, refusing to budge to Ravana’s coercion. (Sarga 56 of the Aranya Kanda in the Valmiki Ramayana is dedicated to the arguments that Sita had with Ravana, while fending off his advances, which throws light on her character.)

Of course, it helped that Ravana had a curse on his head that would not let him touch any woman without her consent. But, nowhere does it appear that Sita was aware of Ravana’s curse. Thus, Sita could have easily gone the way of Tara, reconciling herself to a destiny with her abductor. Even if she had, she'd not have belied the expectations her society had of her.

But the fact remains that she did not.

By rejecting the powerful Ravana's advances, Sita proved that a woman was not all body but had a mind of her own too.

In this context, I also wonder if the Agnipariksha episode that is held against Ram by the feminists of today was actually meant to prove Sita’s superior character to the world where women were considered nothing but wealth to be garnered and enjoyed as 'bhogha'. By taking the fire ritual and coming out unscathed, Sita proved to the world that she was a cut above the rest...one who travelled her own path.

Viewed from this angle, Sita stands tall among the mythological figures, not for her chastity, but rather as a woman who fought to uphold her right to dignity, the right to choose her partner and the right to consensual sex.

Why Karna remains our favourite mythological character

Recently there was a poll in my mythology class on the most favourite mythological character. And the result came as no surprise! It was Karna, the half- brother of the Pandavas and the eldest of Kunti’s sons who was voted the most favourite by the discerning students of mythology.

But, why? What is  it about Karna that endears him to everybody?

Is it because he was a brave and skilled archer, a great warrior? Which he was, but so was Arjuna, who according to the epic was the better archer of the two. In fact, through the epic, Karna could never defeat Arjuna, whereas Arjuna defeated Karna many times, even without the help of Krishna.

Or, can Karna’s popularity be linked to his famed generosity, for, he would never deny anyone anything, even if it meant staking his life to oblige? Maybe. But then Puru, Bhageertha and Bheeshma of the Kuru clan too have an equally strong, if not better, track record of magnanimity.

Or, was it his unflinching loyalty to his friend, Duryodhana, even it meant certain defeat and death at the hands of the Pandavas?

Or, is Karna’s popularity attributable to the fact that he was a tragic victim of a young unwed mother’s act of desperation that denied him forever the royal lineage that he well and truly deserved?

I guess most of us would go with some or all of the above. As for me, I’d bet on the last.

To me, Karna is the archetype tragic hero whom we Indians love to grieve for.

Our obsession with Karna also shows in the movie personas we Indians adore, be it the Vijay of Deewar, Vijay (yet again!) of Agnipath (old) or Shakthivelu of Nayakan (Dayavan).

All these heroes either have a childhood tragedy that somehow pushes them into wrong company, which eventually becomes their nemesis, or they become martyrs on the altar of fraternal affinity, as was the case with Govind of Khuddar.

More importantly, circumstances pitch these heroes and their mothers on opposing sides of a conflict.  And conflict  with one’s own mother is the ultimate tragedy for Indians, especially males, who crave for maternal attention and approval all their lives.

Karna is rejected by Draupadi too in her Swayamvar, where she cites his lowly status as a disqualification for his candidature as a prospective groom.   In some versions of the epic, more pathos gets added to Karna’s life when, after his marriage, his wife too refuses to accept him because of his lowly social status.

Spurned by the two key women of his life and cursed by his guru, Karna’s life assumes the proportions of a Shakespearean tragedy.

Interestingly, like all the heroes of a Shakespearean tragedy Karna’s character too had a fatal flaw. And that was ‘status anxiety’ as Gurucharan Das labels it in his book on the epic, The Difficulty of Being Good.   In order to gain the elevated status that was denied to him by his mother, Karna ended up siding the wrong team in the war, and for this and this act alone he gets further and further embroiled into the vicious web of hatred and vendetta.

On the battlefield, while Dronacharya himself transgresses the code of conduct imposed by his caste with impunity (a Brahmin was disallowed from taking up arms), and so does Kripacharya, ironically, Karna, who is a Kshatriya by birth, is discouraged from doing the same on the basis of his supposed varnashrama dharma.

And lastly, while we like our heroes to win and live, we are morbidly happier when they die. Only in death are they deified. If Karna had lived, would we have been the hero of our hearts as he is now? Maybe not, for only in his death does he gain the status of a martyr.

That leads us to an interesting question, “what if Kunti had not abandoned Karna as a child?”. How would this change the plot of the epic as we know it?   Well, that is the subject of another post….

Wit and Wordplay in Indian Mythology

On the 15th  day of the war, the sun was at its zenith, burning down on the Kurukshetra battlefield. The Pandavas were suffering severe losses; the Kauravas were clearing winning, and how?!! The Kaurava general, Drona was wreaking havoc on the Pandava armies. Kunti’s sons realised, the only way they could cut their losses was to rein in Drona’s ferocious advance. And there was only one way to do it. Attack his weakness – his son, Ashwattama!!

The rest, as they say,  is history, eh…well, mythology!

For the first time in his life, Yudhishtra was asked to speak a half lie! He managed to convince Dronacharya that his son was dead- ‘Ashwathama hatha’, (Ashwathama is dead) he announced loudly, following  it with a muted utterance of ‘kunjara’ (elephant) that Drona could not hear. Extremely aggrieved to hear about the death of his son from none other than the virtuous Yudhistra, Drona gave up his life. His death became the game-changer  in the war that eventually led to Pandavas' victory.

Of course, everyone  knows this story.

But the interesting thing to note here is how the Sanskrit language and its syntax have been cleverly used to communicate varying ideas. It is wonderful how the syntax of Sanskrit lends itself to tremendous opportunities for word play, which it is said, were well exploited by Kalidasa in his literary works to add glitter to his language.

Sanskrit’s rich vocabulary and unique syntax led to the composition of works such as Raghavayadaveeyam, a composition comprising 30 verses that tells the story of Rama (Ramayana) when read from top to bottom, and the story of Krishna (Bhagavatha) when read in the reverse order.

In mythology too, wordplay was used to give stories a tangy twist.

For instance, in the Ramayana, when Kumabhakarna seeks a boon from Brahma, he mistakenly asks for Nidrasana (a state of sleep) when he actually wanted to ask for Indraasana (the seat of Indra) and instead of Nityatvam (immortality), he asked for Nidratvam (state of sleep). Thus, the poor fellow was condemned to deep slumber and had to eventually pay a price with his life for his 'lapses lingua'.

In yet another story from the Ramayana, Ahalya, sage Gautama’s wife has a consensual sexual encounter with Lord  Indra when her husband is out to have his holy bath. But when Gautama returns, Indra turns himself into a cat and runs away. Seeing this, Ahalya exclaims, 'Maarjaara' meaning cat in Sanskrit. But, with a slight variation, her words could turn into 'mama' (my) 'jaara' (friend – boyfriend?!), a damning but unlikely confession by Ahalya!

Another story from the Bhagavatha Purana tells the story of sage Narada, who, owing to an intense desire to marry a princess,  asks Narayana for the face of 'Hari', meaning the handsome face of Narayana alias Vishnu. Naughty Narayana, to teach the lusty sage a lesson, gives Narada the face of a monkey, as the word 'Hari' also means monkey.

Wordplay was not confined to Sanskrit alone,  it thrived and flourished in Tamil too. In the Sthlapurana of Pazhamudircholai, one of the six heavenly abodes of Lord Muruga in Tamil Nadu, one can find evidence of it in the story of young Murugan’s encounter with Avvaiyar (Avvai), an old lady, who was both a  scholar and poet.

One hot summer day, after a long and tiring walk, Avvai reached a grove and sat under the shade of a tree. She was very thirsty. Looking up at the tree above, she found a boy sitting on one of the branches of the tree that was laden with jamun fruits. She asked the boy to throw down a few to her so she could quench her thirst. The boy agreed to help her but asked if she wanted her fruits hot or cold (sutta pazham venuma, sudatha pazham venuma?). 

Avvai was puzzled. How could fruits ever be hot or cold, she wondered. Maybe, the chit of a boy was playing pranks on her, she thought. She sternly ordered the boy not to ask silly questions and to simply throw down a few fruits for her from the tree. Chastised by the old lady, the boy did as he was told. Picking up the fruits that the boy threw down, Avvai started to blow at them to get rid of the sand and dust sticking to the fruits. Seeing her blow at the fruits, the boy asked Avvai if she was finding the fruits too hot? Avvai was stunned by the boy’s word play. Hot fruits meant the ripe ones, to which the dust sticks and had to be 'blown away' (as if in a gesture to cool them) cold fruits meant the unripe ones to which dust does not stick. 

Of course, it turns out that the boy was none other than Lord Muruga and the story is narrated in the context of how he humbled the complacent Avvai.

It is told that Max Mueller, the much-revered Indo-German scholar firmly believed that mythology was 'the disease of language'. Surprising! When these stories actually tell you the contrary!!

Myths & Mythology - What, Why & How

Why?
In 2016, among the top selling books on Amazon's environment section was The Myth Gap, authored by Alex Evans. Interestingly, the tagline of the book reads: What happens when evidence and arguments aren't enough.
(http://mythgap.org/)
And that's precisely why mankind needs myths - to explain the world around us when evidence and arguments are not enough. Myths are the stories we tell ourselves that help us navigate the infinitely complex world we live in.

What?
Myths could be elusive religious beliefs such as Karma or Moksha (that the followers of Indic religions - Hindus, Buddhists, Jains- believe in) or secular beliefs such as democracy, socialism and free trade, or even political/economic concepts such as that of a state, government, nationhood and currency.

Israeli social scientist Yuval Noah Harari refers to these myths as 'fictional realities' and attributes the success of our species on this planet to our mutual agreement to believe in these 'fictional realities'. (Ted talk by Yuval Harari) Contemporary Indian mythologist, Devdutt Pattanaik labels these myths the 'subjective truths' of a society.

So, mythology is not merely about stories from the Ramayana and Mahabharatha or Iliad and Odyssey; it is all those stories on which our civilizational edifice is built. As Alex Evans says, "without shared myths to bind societies together, the risks of fragmentation, polarization and conflict increase dramatically - just as we see all around us today."

How?
So it is important we tell stories to each other. After all, one key reason how India as a 'union of states' has survived despite its tremendous cultural and geographical diversity is because of its shared interest in our epics, especially Ramayana (Refer Three hundred Ramayanas - An essay by AK Ramanujan for the different existing versions of the epic), apart, of course, from cricket and Bollywood.  The fact that we are able to identify specific sacred geography associated with each and every episode from the epic across the length of India is proof of our belief in the shared myth.

In the following posts, I hope to engage you with interesting myths about ourselves, our gods, our rituals & practices, and our cultural expressions through symbols and art.

But learning is enriched only when there are debates and discussions. So, hope to hear your view points too, that'll make the myth-sharing an exciting experience for all of us!!


Note: The idea of this blog is to admire and appreciate the beauty of the stories we share, and to explore the various possibilities that could have led to their formation and dispersion.