Hiya, people! I’m back with another outpouring of thoughts! I bet you missed my ramblings, yes? Well, don’t worry—this post is going to be a looong ride!
I’m currently enjoying my
summer vacation, which means I have a lot of time on my hands. To use it
constructively, I’ve been watching the 1988 serial Mahabharat, produced
by B.R. Chopra. I already know the story [I grew up listening to, and reading,
these tales], but it is nevertheless an amazing experience to watch one of our
greatest epics unfold before my eyes, even if it’s on television. My entire
family looks forward to these sessions, and after each episode, we discuss and
analyse the important events.
These last few days, a
persistent thought has been nagging at me. I never liked Gandhari--Queen of
Hastinapur, wife of Dhritrashtra, and mother of the 100 Kauravas [she had one
daughter too, Dushala, though she is barely remembered anymore]. In case you’ve
forgotten, Gandhari is the woman who blindfolded herself for life after
learning that the prince she was marrying was blind—an utterly foolish gesture,
in my opinion. No one truly knows her motivations for doing so, but she
explained it by saying that a good wife should always share her husband’s lot,
whether it be joy or sorrow. Only twice in the entire epic does she use her
sight—and I’ll come to that later.
So, her blindfold
suddenly reminded me of the way Lady Justice is represented—with a blindfold.
A pair of weighing scales, too, but that’s not relevant to this discussion. The
concept of this physical representation of justice as a woman is ancient, possibly
influenced by the fact that the Greeks, Egyptians, and Romans all saw justice
as a Goddess—Themis/ Dike, Ma’at, and Justitia respectively. The weighing scales
and sword have been used as Justice’s symbols since antiquity, but the
blindfold, it appears, is a far more recent addition—it is recorded to have
appeared around the 16th century. It is said to have had highly
satirical connotations initially—the interpretation is that law is selective,
and has so many loopholes that crimes are easily committed. However, the
current interpretation has evolved in an entirely new direction, painting the
blindfold in a positive light and claiming that it represents the legal
system’s impartiality, as well as the idea that everyone is equal in the eyes
of the law [pun intended]. Well, the first interpretation smacks strongly of
Gandhari, doesn’t it?
First off, it’s a really
weird decision to blindfold herself— it’s a wasted opportunity to have seized
power as not just Dhritrashtra’s queen, but his eyes. She probably did not have
the foresight to realize this, and thus set in motion a lot of events that
could have been prevented. I despise Dhritrashtra—he was physically as well as
metaphorically blind, and using it as an excuse besides—but his physical
blindness was a birth defect. Gandhari’s ‘blindness’ was a conscious choice,
and both she and Dhritrashtra paid for their obstinacy and blind adoration of their
sons [you can decide whether the pun was intended or not] dearly.
Gandhari made an
innumerable number of mistakes during her time as queen and mother. It wouldn’t
be an exaggeration to say she was no good at either of these
things—interpretations can vary, but I always considered her a weak,
vacillating woman, never truly knowing what she wanted and always giving in to
the audacious and downright unrighteous demands of her sons, especially her
eldest, Duryodhan. When Duryodhan was born, he brayed like a donkey—an
extremely inauspicious sign—and Dhritrashtra’s half-brother, Vidur, who was
also the Prime Minister of Hastinapur, advised that the child be abandoned or
put to death immediately, because surely he would grow up to wreak havoc on the
dynasty—a very clear foreshadowing of what was to come. Now, I can’t really
fault parents for doting on a new-born babe, but it would certainly have been
in their best interests to have listened to Vidur’s words, especially because
the warning was so graphic. Instead, they spoilt Duryodhan rotten, turning him
into the vile, cruel, arrogant man we all know and hate.
Gandhari may have had
hidden ambitions and a deep-seated resentment for Kunti and her five shining
sons—all just speculation, of course, although she masked it by loudly
declaiming that her sons were unrighteous and that she loved the Pandavas very
much, and Kunti was her dear sister. I don’t think she was fooling anyone—the
day she blindfolded herself, the day she and her husband chose to ignore
Vidur’s warning, was the day she doomed herself.
Gandhari failed in her
duty as a mother because she wilfully ignored the brewing signs of discord and
discontent—she knew Duryodhan and her brother, Shakuni, hated the Pandavas and
were trying to kill them through a list of long and complicated conspiracies,
but she pretended to be completely out of the loop. She began using
Dhritrashtra’s excuse—that she couldn’t see. Goodness, the pair of them—they
were blind, not deaf or brainless! They were wearing this infuriating banner of
‘helplessness’, and that’s why we blame them.
Gandhari, as a woman, a
queen, and a mother, should have made more efforts to prevent Draupadi’s
disrobing in court. She should have given her horrible husband a good
tongue-lashing, punished her sons severely, and comforted Draupadi, but she did
not. The only reason she stepped in was because Draupadi threatened to curse
her sons; she said something along the lines of “I know this is horrendous,
daughter, and unforgivable, but I beg you, do not curse my sons. They may be
unrighteous, but they are still my sons.” Exactly, foolish woman, they are your
sons. And you’re going to suffer heavily for letting such a shameful and
horrible event happen.
During the Kurukshetra
war, she was lost and helpless. It’s said that when Duryodhan came to her for
her blessings, she responded with ‘may the righteous always win,’ but it’s
clear that she was still rooting for her unrighteous sons. Towards the
end of the war, despairing over the loss of 99 of her sons, she angrily cursed
Lord Krishna when He came to visit her—insisting that He could’ve stopped the
war had He wanted to [He did try, by the way], she declared that His Yadava
clan would perish in the same brutal way that hers did. This struck me as
absolutely ridiculous, but well, I don’t expect intelligence or sensibility
from Gandhari. In a bid to protect Duryodhan from facing certain defeat and
death at Bheem’s hands, she commanded him to bathe in the holy waters of the
River Ganga and then appear before her stark naked. Lord Krishna thwarted her
plans, however—He waylaid Duryodhan, convincing him that a grown man could not appear
before his mother so immodestly.
Suitably ashamed,
Duryodhan wrapped a banana leaf around his thighs before presenting himself in
front of Gandhari. For the first time since her marriage, she took off her blindfold,
concentrating all her devotion to Lord Shiva in her glance and giving Duryodhan
a body made of steel—except his thighs, which were covered and protected from
her gaze. This would cost her and Duryodhan a heavy price, as Bheem broke his
thighs and killed him the very next day.
The second time her eyes
play a significant role is when, after the war, the Pandavas approached her to
seek her blessings. It is said that when Yudhishthir, trembling with guilt and
fear, stood before her, her blindfold shifted a bit, and her hot, vengeful gaze
landed on his feet, turning his pretty toenails blue. Had Lord Krishna not been
watching, her eyes could’ve wreaked more havoc, but overwhelmed with her own
emotions, she began sobbing and reluctantly blessed the Pandavas.
After this, Gandhari more
or less faded into the background. Unable to stay on in the palace, she quickly
retired to the forest with Dhritrashtra, Kunti, and Vidur. This may have been
an attempt to save her dignity-- maybe she just couldn’t stand being offered
charity in the palace where she’d once reigned as queen, and Kunti and her sons
were the supplicants. Or perhaps she was haunted by nightmares of her sons’
deaths, and her own silent, guilt-ridden complicity in their behaviour. Who
knows, really?
Hence, Gandhari is the
quintessential satirical representation of blindfolded Justice—selective,
wilfully ignorant, weak-willed. She may have had extreme power in her eyes, but
ultimately she was unable to change anything, and she and Dhritrashtra are held
largely responsible for their sons’ arrogance and cruelty. What use is such a
life?
What do you all think?
Food for thought, right?
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