AN EPIC, HUMANISED

Being dragged into the royal court of Hastinapura by Dushasana was not the only instance when Draupadi was let down by her gallant husbands, who remained mute spectators even as the vile Kaurava tried to disrobe her in the full assembly. In Kannada writer SL Bhyrappa’s novel ‘Parva’, which is a modern retelling of Mahabharata, after the Upa Pandavas – Draupadi’s five sons – were beheaded by Ashwatthama at the end of the battle, their fathers, the five Pandavas, sit around the bodies, albeit at a distance. They silently watch their grief-stricken wife roll over the torsos but don’t go near her to comfort her.
If it was ‘helplessness’ that prevented Yudhisthira, Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva from rushing to the rescue of a humiliated Draupadi at the royal assembly, what is it that keeps them from hugging and consoling her at the war camp when her sleeping sons have been so mercilessly killed? After all, aren’t they their sons too? Earlier, when his son Abhimanyu was killed, had not Arjuna wept inconsolably, taking his wife Subhadra in his arms? When Ghatotkacha was done to death, had not Bhima brought his mighty son’s body from the battlefield on his shoulders, washing the blood with copious tears? But now? Why this indifference? Well, the fact is that the Pandava brothers are not sure who of them have sired which of those Upa Pandavas. Who knows whose father is who? Does even Draupadi know? So whom should they grieve for?
“Let go of that wretched Ashwatthama,” a disgusted Draupadi tells Krishna as she notices the apathy and mean-mindedness of her husbands. “Release him from captivity. Let him go. Today, not only has he brought me immense sorrow by beheading my sons but also shown me the darkest truth of my life.”
The stunning acuity and brutal practicality with which Bhyrappa unravels the minds and souls of the characters of Mahabharata make Parva stand out among the other versions of the ancient Sanskrit epic. Written in 1979, Parva is a watershed in reconstructing Mahabharata. It continues to be widely read and debated even after forty years of its publication. The 619-page book in Kannada is a literary gem, an epic in itself, as the author retains the characters and original framework of Vyasa’s Mahabharata but narrates the story in the most believable way.
Non-mythological approach
The author’s extensive study of the historicity of Mahabharata and social and anthropological aspects of the time have given incredible authenticity to the narrative in Parva. The novel is unique in a number of respects. It offers logical explanations to glorified exaggerations in Mahabharata, completely divesting the epic of its mythical, divine, superhuman and magical powers. Krishna here is no incarnation of god but a friendly, wonderful human being, a statesman with foresight, who intelligently counsels the Pandavas through difficult times. In Duryodhana’s court, Draupadi saves her modesty with her own courage. Devas, rakshasas and gandharvas are different tribal communities. Gandhari has only 14 children, not 100; the rest of them are born to Dhritarashtra through maidservants. The great teacher Drona is basically an insecure man, more concerned about securing a position for his son in the Kuru kingdom. ‘Dharmaraja’ Yudhistira often uses dharma as a shield for his inaction. Karna is bestowed upon a 15-year-old Kunti not by the solar deity Surya, but by the handsome sage Durvasa, whom she happens to ask out of curiosity ‘How are children born?’ Later, after her marriage, when Kunti to her dismay learns that her husband Pandu is impotent, she wistfully remembers Durvasa. Her co-wife Madri is fascinated by the Deva tribe in the Himalayas, who share husbands and wives. “Look at those women,” she tells Kunti in awe. “All of them roam around with babies on their backs! Not childless like you and me.”
“Sex and death are the most recurring themes in Bhyrappa’s novels. They reach their zenith in Parva. While the first is the basic instinctive drive that can turn humans into beasts, the second is the ultimate truth of life,” notes writer Uma Rao in her recent book ‘Parva – Aayama Mattu Ananyate (Dimensions and Uniqueness).’On this spectrum unfolds an intricately woven human drama of love and hatred, virtues and vices, noble thoughts and bloodshed. Kunti and Draupadi are the towering female personalities in Parva, with all their strengths, weaknesses, frustrations and ambitions. They are also the victims of circumstances, worst-hit by the evasive nature of dharma and changing definition of morality. With no holds barred, the author lays bare the sensuality of these female characters, thereby questioning the hypocrisy of the patriarchal society.
When all medications fail, Pandu, worried over the possibility of losing the throne to his brother Dhritarashtra’s heirs, invites five leaders from the Deva tribe to impregnate his wives, through ‘niyoga,’ a practice considered to be permissible to perpetuate the lineage. After Pandu and Madri’s death in the Himalayas, Kunti returns to the kingdom with the five kids in tow. When they all grow up, Duryodhana throws a basic question on which the war is to be fought: How can Pandavas, born to outsiders, be considered part of the Kuru lineage? This sows the seeds of doubt even in the mind of grandsire Bhishma about the legitimacy of niyoga.
War and devastation
How is it that the clash between two families for the throne of Hastinapura assumes the proportion of such a major war, encompassing kingdoms of the entire Aryavartha? The reason, as Draupadi puts it, is the weakness of the Aryan men for ‘gambling, alcohol, women and war.’ Besides being a great psychological epic and a social commentary of the bygone age, Parva is also an excellent treatise on politics and war. The novel opens with preparations for the war and progresses through a series of personal reflections of the principal personalities. In terms of storytelling, Bhyrappa broke a new ground in Kannada literature by effectively using the ‘stream-ofconsciousness’ technique of writing where the thought processes of the characters are often addressed to oneself rather than to readers, in fragments of sentences. One of the small drawbacks of the novel is repetitiveness at places. But this very style of saying things again and again also serves to help readers vividly picturize the sights and sounds of the settings, especially the battlefield of Kurukshetra.
After the bloodshed haunts the dark emptiness. The soon-to-be king Yudhisthira gets into a state when hundreds of women raped by soldiers come to him, asking him who will take care of their illegitimate children. A metalsmith goes about collecting broken metal arrows lying all over the battlefield to prepare ploughs and artefacts. The Pandavas have won the kingdom but lost their heirs. Abhimanyu’s pregnant wife Uttara, the last hope of the dynasty, delivers, but it is a stillbirth. At the same time, the wife of the metalsmith gives birth to a child, live and kicking, symbolizing the propensity of life to spring amid gloom, and foretelling the imminent fall of dynasties and rise of commoners in the time to come.