day. Yudhishtra did not speak a word. As they turned a bend on the royal highway, he paused to look back at the palace for the last time.
“Why look back now? You gambled and lost everything.” Draupadi’s words furrowed his heart. “Never forget, Yudhishtra, never forget my shame, now or ever,” Draupadi said clearly as she walked past. His brothers followed her.
The crowd that had tagged after them at first had long dispersed to their mundane routines. Yudhishtra stooped to gather a fistful of earth. He caught the eye of the beggar who had been singing, sitting under a tree close by. He felt embarrassed by his action. Did the beggar shake his head in disapproval? Yudhishtra could not be sure. When he looked back, both the beggar and the dog had vanished.
***
Vidhura coughed, masking his hesitation. “Devi, I will send the priests to perform the ritual cleansing of this house.” He knew the rituals were essential to make a Shudra home fit for a Kshatriya lady. Kunti nodded silently.
As Vidhura began walking away, Kunti said softly,” I do not know how to thank you, brother, but when my son Yudhishtra becomes King, I will ensure you are sufficiently rewarded.”
Until that moment, Vidhura had not known that so much frustration lay dormant within him. He turned back, suppressing the retort that rose unbidden to his lips. “I am always at your service. I but do my duty.”
Vidhura gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the anger he felt. When he had returned home from the Sabha, he had found Kunti waiting for him. She did not wish to live in the palace, she said. He knew what she wanted. Without a word he had ordered his wife to pack up. They would move to their unfinished home in the woods. He had not even allowed his wife to voice her dissent.
“God bless you,” Kunti said again.
Vidhura felt pity for her, mingled with contempt. He did not wish to embarrass her further. The pride in the sacrifice he was making was exhilarating. His family were already far ahead on the road and he hurried to join them. As he walked, dry leaves cartwheeled in the breeze, dancing in the dust that swirled around him. A blush tinted the eastern sky. The birds had begun stirring in their nests. The street was deserted, though he could hear the sounds of cooking from a few homes. Vidhura felt overwhelmed by the events of the day. He had tried his utmost to stop the shaming of the Princess Draupadi. Why had even Bhishma remained silent, and why had he reacted so violently to Suyodhana once the event was over? There had been no need to sacrifice Karna. Was he seeing another side of Bhishma, a ruthless streak which Bhishma had kept hidden from him? The more he thought of the incident in the Sabha, the angrier he became. No one had listened to him, and no one would be spared.
More than the incident itself, it was the fact that he had been ignored that upset Vidhura’s normally calm mind. All his self-consciousness about being the son of a dasi, all the insults, big and small, that he had faced from childhood, and all his fears of becoming irrelevant in the coming age, added to his frustration. What right had men like Bhishma, Drona, Kripa or Dhaumya to rule over him, when they behaved in such a cavalier fashion when a woman was insulted in public? They were proud to be Brahmins and Kshatriyas, yet they had not had the courage to speak out against adharma. Only the son of a dasi had spoken out against Suyodhana, there had been no dissent, except for the meek voice of young Prince Vikarna.
Vidhura now felt a rising contempt for all the men he had held in high esteem before. He, a Shudra, would observe dharma more perfectly than all those highborn men, he vowed. He had even given up his home for Kunti to live in. He would show the world nobility lay in one’s thoughts and deeds and not in belonging to a particular caste. He would show them by his deeds who was superior – the Kshatriyas who gambled and fought, or the Brahmins who
“Why look back now? You gambled and lost everything.” Draupadi’s words furrowed his heart. “Never forget, Yudhishtra, never forget my shame, now or ever,” Draupadi said clearly as she walked past. His brothers followed her.
The crowd that had tagged after them at first had long dispersed to their mundane routines. Yudhishtra stooped to gather a fistful of earth. He caught the eye of the beggar who had been singing, sitting under a tree close by. He felt embarrassed by his action. Did the beggar shake his head in disapproval? Yudhishtra could not be sure. When he looked back, both the beggar and the dog had vanished.
***
Vidhura coughed, masking his hesitation. “Devi, I will send the priests to perform the ritual cleansing of this house.” He knew the rituals were essential to make a Shudra home fit for a Kshatriya lady. Kunti nodded silently.
As Vidhura began walking away, Kunti said softly,” I do not know how to thank you, brother, but when my son Yudhishtra becomes King, I will ensure you are sufficiently rewarded.”
Until that moment, Vidhura had not known that so much frustration lay dormant within him. He turned back, suppressing the retort that rose unbidden to his lips. “I am always at your service. I but do my duty.”
Vidhura gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the anger he felt. When he had returned home from the Sabha, he had found Kunti waiting for him. She did not wish to live in the palace, she said. He knew what she wanted. Without a word he had ordered his wife to pack up. They would move to their unfinished home in the woods. He had not even allowed his wife to voice her dissent.
“God bless you,” Kunti said again.
Vidhura felt pity for her, mingled with contempt. He did not wish to embarrass her further. The pride in the sacrifice he was making was exhilarating. His family were already far ahead on the road and he hurried to join them. As he walked, dry leaves cartwheeled in the breeze, dancing in the dust that swirled around him. A blush tinted the eastern sky. The birds had begun stirring in their nests. The street was deserted, though he could hear the sounds of cooking from a few homes. Vidhura felt overwhelmed by the events of the day. He had tried his utmost to stop the shaming of the Princess Draupadi. Why had even Bhishma remained silent, and why had he reacted so violently to Suyodhana once the event was over? There had been no need to sacrifice Karna. Was he seeing another side of Bhishma, a ruthless streak which Bhishma had kept hidden from him? The more he thought of the incident in the Sabha, the angrier he became. No one had listened to him, and no one would be spared.
More than the incident itself, it was the fact that he had been ignored that upset Vidhura’s normally calm mind. All his self-consciousness about being the son of a dasi, all the insults, big and small, that he had faced from childhood, and all his fears of becoming irrelevant in the coming age, added to his frustration. What right had men like Bhishma, Drona, Kripa or Dhaumya to rule over him, when they behaved in such a cavalier fashion when a woman was insulted in public? They were proud to be Brahmins and Kshatriyas, yet they had not had the courage to speak out against adharma. Only the son of a dasi had spoken out against Suyodhana, there had been no dissent, except for the meek voice of young Prince Vikarna.
Vidhura now felt a rising contempt for all the men he had held in high esteem before. He, a Shudra, would observe dharma more perfectly than all those highborn men, he vowed. He had even given up his home for Kunti to live in. He would show the world nobility lay in one’s thoughts and deeds and not in belonging to a particular caste. He would show them by his deeds who was superior – the Kshatriyas who gambled and fought, or the Brahmins who
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