When Draupadi meets her long-lost sibling Sikhandi (the reincarnated Amba), he tells her his history and about how he came to be a man: No, I didn't pray to the gods to be changed. I lost faith in them a lifetime ago. This time I invoked a yaksha. He appeared in the sky with his burning demon sword. When he heard what I wanted, he laughed and plunged it into me. The pain was unbearable. I fainted. And when she woke up, she'd gotten her wish. There are plenty of interesting details here, like the demon's response to the wish or the way he used his sword to grant it, but I think the most striking detail is in Sikhandi's personality—in the fact that she didn't even bother going to the gods with her wish, but instead went straight to the demons. Because she knew she knew not to like them or trust them, but it's like that in itself made them more trustworthy—she knew what she was getting with them, and she knew exactly how much it would ruin her. Like I said: interesting.
I was also really intrigued by Sikhandi's relationship with the rest of his family. He's the long-estranged son returning home, black sheep of the family, but Drupad has to at least go through the motions of welcoming him back to save face. There's a lot of tension there, and a lot of history to go with it: King Drupad had invited Sikhandi to stay with him, but Sikhandi politely excused himself. (Drupad tried, unsuccessfully, to disguise his relief at this.) However, when Sikhandi said that he would like to stay with my brother and me instead, I sensed our father's uneasiness. Perhaps he was worried that Sikhandi would be a corrupting influence! But I was delighted. Something about Sikhandi drew me to him... He bore his destiny so casually, it made me worry less about Dhri's and mine. I love this idea of the black-sheep, no-good, supposedly bad-seed older brother coming home despite his dad's wishes, and shaking up the whole family order, changing how the younger sibling sees the world and his dad and himself.
That said, because I'm a sucker for sibling dynamics in general, I really loved the one between Sikhandi, Dhri, and Draupadi—Divakaruni develops it so efficiently and seemingly effortlessly, till it feels like Sikhandi has always been part of the group: We whiled away his short visit in eating and storytelling and playing at dice (for Dhri had taught me this most unladylike pastime). We laughed a great deal, often at the littlest things. I composed poems and riddles to entertain my brothers and watch as they practiced with swords.
Then there's this little gem, in an exchange between Dhri and Sakhandi: Dhri bested Sakhandi easily, then asked with concern, "How are you going to defeat Bheesma?"
"I don't have to defeat him," Sakhandi said. "I just have to kill him." Let's just make it clear once and for all: besides being a compelling character study, Sakhandi is just plain awesome.
Finally, as my last Sakhandi note, there's the fact that he refuses his siblings' nice parting gifts, because he explains that he's got to take up his penance. They protest, saying that if anybody owes penance, it's all the people who've wronged him. But no. Sakhandi says that he's going to kill Bheesma, the greatest warrior of their time, and that that's a big sin: "It's worse when it's done through trickery—and that's what I'll have to resort to, because I certainly don't have the skill to achieve it otherwise. I'm atoning for it in advance, as it's very likely that I, too, will die in the process." There are a lot of things I love about this—the flat-out acknowledgement (and acceptance) that he won't be able to fight fair and still achieve his goals, the plans for trickery—but more than anything else, I love the fact that he's starting his penance now, atoning for the kill in advance. A downpayment on his sins. There's something slightly Matt Murdock about it, if Matt had become a rough-and-tumble hitman instead of a masked do-gooder, and I'm a fan of everything about it. That's a fascinating character, and one I'd like to get to know. So that's probably one of the strongest story seeds I've been drawn to all semester.
Moving on to other characters now, I was also really interested in Draupadi's reflection on her dad's outlook, and on what a good king but terrible dad that would make Drupad: "Power—that's all he cares about, not his children.... Why won't you ever admit the truth?" I spoke bitterly. "We're nothing but pawns for King Drupad to sacrifice when it's most to his advantage." I think, if spun off in a slightly different direction, with a different perspective and different trappings, that could be a pretty interesting story in its own right. The kids of a chessmaster king, cold and calculating, raising himself an army of kids and doomed heirs to wield like weapons. Collect 'em all, then divide and conquer.
I'm also a fan of this thought Draupadi has about her brother's eventual fate, and think it could make for the great core of a character: I wondered if it would break him or harden him, and which would be worse.
Already, this book has already made me view Kunti differently, and definitely with more respect: Kunti, devastated though she must have been by both her husband's death and his last act, gathered all her willpower. She brought the five princes back to Hastinapur, making no distinction between her own children and those of her rival. She was determined that no one would cheat them out of her inheritance. For years she struggled, a widow alone and in disfavor, to keep them safe in Dhritarashtra's court until finally, now, they were grown. A matriarch like that—all jagged edges and flint soul—would raise such a strong, interesting family, and probably wouldn't have many qualms about doing whatever she has to to claw her clan's way to the top. It makes me think of the mom from Sons of Anarchy or even Animal Kingdom, and I think the whole thing's worth considering through a genre bent.
This makes me think of Ozymandias from Watchmen, and in my book, interpreting it as a very intentional act makes the whole thing that much more worth investigating: "Too few [good kings]," she said, "and they're tired with fighting. In this Third Age of Man, the good are mostly weak. That is why the earth needs the Great War, so she can start over."
Also, I think this could be really promising interpreted in a witchy/supernatural way: Still others whispered their discontent into their sleeping husbands' ears all night, so that the men, waking in the morning, acted out the anger that festered within their wives.
I taked in my previous post about the tight bond between the fire-twins, but it's worth noting again how well Divakaruni makes that clear not only through Draupadi's explanations, but by Dhri's actions, too: "He's old!" I whispered to Dhri in distaste....
My even-tempered brother shrugged.... "But he's no danger to us. He's not going to win."
I appreciated Dhri's choice of a pronoun that coupled our fates, but I found slim comfort in his confidence.
Also, a king like this is just dying to get the spotlight in a spec-fic story: Jarasandha, king of Magadhi, with his live-coal eyes. (I'd heard Dhri's tutor say he kept a hundred defeated kings in a labyrinth under his palace.)
This one's short and random, but the phrasing of it caught my imagination: when the portrait artist is unveiling all the suitors' portraits to Draupadi, he describes Duryodhan's as including the crown prince, plus "the scions of his court."
Since Karna's my favorite character from any of the epics, it's probably unsurprising that this snippet caught my eye. But really, it interests me more for the potential of becoming something else: For the first time, I was unconvinced by [Krishna's] words. A man who sat with such unconcern among princes, a man who had the power to perturb Krishna, had to be more than merely a chariot-driver's son. Because I love the idea of some kid from a petty-crime scumbag family raised cocky enough to think he can steal himself the world, and strolling right into a room full of princes despite (and because of) that upbringing.
Then there's also this line, which made me imagine a king sending out all his lower-ranking sons out to test rumors and traps, enemies and potential allies for him: "Princes must not panic until they've tested the truth of a rumor for themselves."
I'm also digging the idea of this road-not-taken option for Gandhari, the blindfolded queen: I wondered if there were days when she regretted her decision to opt for wifely virtue instead of the power she could have had as the blind king's guide and adviser. I get serious Victoria Vinciguerra vibes off this, and they're perfect.
I also loved this exchange, because of the image of the world it paints: "The palace was in an uproar," Dhai Ma said, "people running around wringing their hands, crying thatches was the work of demons... And that's how Duryodhan and his brothers—and their sister Duhsala—were born. Maybe that's why he's such great friends with Karna, who also came into the world in a strange way."
...I quipped, "Doesn't anyone have normal births anymore?"
Dhai Ma gave me a sharp glance... "You're one to talk!"
As always, I still find the story behind Duryodhan and his brothers' birth really compelling—because if people were sure from your birth that you were the product of demons and devil-work, what chance did you ever really have of being anything else? Born under a bad sign, almost literally. Duryodhan was never going to be the good guy, even if he'd tried.
Speaking of, I find it really interesting that despite all his flaws, Duryodhan has some really positive, admirable qualities, too. It's probably highlighted most clearly at the events of the tournament between the cousins. First, there's: Some cry out Duryodhan's name, for he is dashing, brave, and generous to a fault. Even today, riding to the tournament, he threw handfuls of gold coins into the crowd until his purse was empty.
The generosity mentioned above also makes it easier to believe that he genuinely did want to help Karna, even beyond his ulterior motives/personal benefit. When Drona and his pals try to come up with reasons Karna can't fight Arjun, just to save face, they insist that only a prince can fight another prince, and silkily ask which princely house Karna comes from.
The stranger's face flushes. My name is Karna, he says. Then, so softly that all in the assembly must strain to hear, But I do not come from a princely house.
And so Drona and Co. insist that he can't take on Arjun, then, but—
Wait! cries Duryodhan, springing up in outrage. Clearly this man is a great warrior. I will not let you insult him like this, using an outdated law as your excuse! A hero is a hero, no matter what his caste. Ability is more important than the accident of birth.
The citizens approve of these sentiments. They cheer lustily.
Duryodhan continues, If you insist that it is necessary for Karna to be a king in order to battle Arjun, then I'll share my own inheritance with him! He calls for holy water and pours it over the stranger's head. To the cheers of the crowd, he says, King Karna, I now pronounce you ruler of Anga, and my friend.
Also, as compelling as I find a good case of fictional daddy issues, this also really makes me want to focus on a positive father-son relationship in a story: ...[T]he people's attention is caught by an old man who limps into the arena. From his clothing it's clear that he belongs to a lower caste. Is he a blacksmith? No, say those who know such things. He's a chariot driver.
He heads for Karna and—wonder of wonders—Karna sets aside his bow to touch the old man's feet.
Son! cries the newcomer. Is it really you, back after so many years? But what are you doing here, among these noble princes? Why is there a crown on your head?
With infinite gentleness, Karna takes the old man's hand and guides him into a corner, explaining as he goes.
Karna's essentially the ultimate underdog here, plus really skilled and worthy at what he does, and those are both proven character traits to win a reader's loyalty and sympathy. But what really kills me is that this top-fighter, battered-knuckled fighting machine is so gentle about taking his dad aside and claiming him and explaining to him, even though it gets him all kind of mockery and jeering.
I'd also be 100% down to frame a story around a character with a similar curse (and reaction) to this one, because it's got all the right elements to induce doomed attachment and long-simmering dread and a sense of painful inevitability: I shut my eyes. I didn't wish to hear any more of this story. I willed Karna to walk away from the fallen animal before he was discovered as its killer. I knew he wouldn't.
In the morning he finds the owner of the cow, confesses his deed, and offers compensation. But the enraged brahmin says, You killed my cow when she was defenseless. You, too, will die when you have no means of protection. Karna pleads with him to change his curse. I'm not afraid of dying, he says. But let me die like a warrior. The brahmin refuses.
Also, is it just me, or are all brahmins judgmental, self-righteous jerks? Totally not impressed by the representation we've seen so far.
I love the contrast between the twins, too—especially how straight-laced Dhri is compared to his sister and her nurse. Like in this scene, on Draupadi's ceremony morning: Dhri was waiting outside my rooms to walk me to the wedding hall, where the kings had already gathered. He looked severe in his ceremonial silks. I noticed the scabbard on his hip, carved with flying beasts.
"Why the sword?" I asked.
Dhai Ma said, "What a question! Don't you know it's the brother's sacred duty to protect his sister's virtue? He'll have his hands full today, with all those dirty old men drooling over you."
"Your vulgarity never ceases to amaze me," Dhri told her. She laughed ad gave him a cuff on the ears, then hurried off to bully her way into the best seat in the royal attendants' area.
But I knew the real reason for the sword. He expected trouble.
Also, I just really love Karna and Duryodhan's friendship, okay? Duryodhan made a comment—probably about me—and his companions slapped their knees and guffawed. Karna alone (I noted with gratitude) sat still as a flame. Only the slightest thinning of his lips indicated his disapproval, but it was enough to silence Duryodhan.
Anyways, all in all, it's probably fitting that my last note is about the King of Anga himself: Dhri unsheathed his sword and braced his shoulders. Karna leveled his arrow—the one he'd chosen to pierce the target—at my brother's chest. His eyes were beautiful and sad and unfaltering, the eyes of a man who always hits what he aims at. Interestingly enough, that last line reminded me so much of S.E. Hinton's Dallas Winston, another of my favorite characters: "I knew he would be dead, because he wanted to be dead and Dallas Winston always got what he wanted." Kind of a bummer, I know, by which I mean mildly soul-shattering, but hey—a lot of the time, the saddest stuff is also the strongest stuff.
Bibliography: The Palace of Illusions, by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni.
Image Credit: Watching Audience, by Unsplash. Source: Pixabay.
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