Mythic hues to free will

This retelling of a little-known story from the Mahabharata is a compelling exploration of the limits of freedom.

Several writers have attempted to interrogate and reinterpret the epics, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, one of the most prominent among them being the anthropologist Irawati Karve in her work Yuganta. It is this book that another celebrated writer, Shashi Deshpande references in the Afterword of her collection of short stories, The Stone Women, which evokes the dilemmas of the women in the epics. “The basic problem,” Deshpande says, “is that not only have myths originated with men, their interpretation has also been in male hands. … all women in myths have been created by men to fulfil their various needs.” She adds, “What women writers are doing today is not a rejection of the myths, but a meaningful and creative reinterpretation of them.”

In this vein, Madhavi Mahadevan chooses to tell the little-known story of Yayati’s daughter. Yayati is an illustrious king from the Mahabharata, sirer of sons, ancestor of the Pandavas. His daughter, a by-blow of one of his many dalliances, says with perspicacity, “I am his seed, not his child”, and with this, Mahadevan succinctly sums up her predicament and her destiny. So dismissive is Yayati of his daughter that when he finds her given name, Drishadvati, too much of a tongue-twister, he renames her Madhavi.

Thick with intrigue

Mahadevan abides by the conventions of the epic where the lives of men, women and even gods are ruled by a preordained fate, where codes of caste, community, lineage and honour are set in stone. Yet, lives are thick with intrigue, deceit and forbidden lusts; rishis and gurus expend their hard-earned mystical powers on ill-judged boons and curses, which once pronounced can only be mitigated, not erased.

Into this world blunders Gaalav, an overcompensating young scholar, who has committed to a gurudakshina of 800 horses, “white as moonlight … with one black ear”, the shyamkarni. He approaches the mighty king Yayati, who is known never to turn down a request. But Yayati’s circumstances are now straitened. He offers instead his daughter “a true gem”, who, apart from being beautiful and sweet-tempered, is destined to have four sons, chakravarti samrats, who will extend four lineages. “If that were to become known, kings will offer entire kingdoms as bride price — what to speak of shyamkarni horses! Accept this daughter of mine, O brahmin”, Yayati urges.

True to her father’s word, Drishadvati bears each of the four men to whom Gaalav leads her in turn a son, regaining her immaculate self after each conception.

This, in the main, is the story. Poised at a juncture in the narration, Drishadvati asks, “A man wants sons, but what does a woman want?”, a question that one would have to beg if one were to approach it with today’s sensibility. Instead, what Mahadevan does is make her point quietly but tellingly, even as she remains faithful to the myth and its predetermined trajectory. She steers her story skilfully, lyrical in parts, wry, sympathetic, reflective and questioning in turn, doing justice to the thrust of her story and her raft of characters.

She develops an interesting sidebar; the growing attraction between Drishadvati and Gaalav, who spar like teenagers even as he escorts her to her next king. “I take a secret inventory of him. A brahmin. Thin but not frail. A coiled strength in his arms. Clean-shaven, with the tuft of hair atop the tonsured head, symmetrical narrow face with high cheekbones that emphasize the austere look. Dark melancholy eyes, the colour of warm melted jaggery.”

Power of the myth

Mahadevan spreads the honours even-handedly. Yayati is shown to be as much a prisoner of his fate as his daughter. When the guru Shukracharya upbraids him for being prey to his lust, Yayati remonstrates: “The external world, the one I govern, is understood only through the senses. Prosperity must make itself visible in the pursuit of pleasure, celebration, the sweet life you hold in such disdain. To you, my lifestyle may have seemed profligate, but for me it was important to live as befitted my status…I am a samrat!”

When all is done and dusted, after Drishadvati has lived out the promise of her “boon”, Mahadevan leads her into answering her own question: What does a woman want? We see a foreshadowing of the answer in the cameos of Shandili, who has wrested her right to live in solitude in the wilds, and Supriya, courtesan and royal favourite, who has to manipulate her way to selfhood.

Finally, Drishadvati gets to choose a life on her own terms, a choice she exerts by spurning a swayamvara of princes to embrace the forest. This novel, a compelling exploration of freedom and free will, owes as much to the power of the myth as to Mahadevan’s artistry in redrawing its contours.