Indian epics continue to attract writers, theatrepersons and filmmakers not just for plot points but also new interpretations. Among them is author Madhavi Mahadevan whose “The Kaunteyas” (Westland) is an engrossing read recasting Mahabharat from Kunti’s point of view. “Reinterpreting mythological characters to create contemporary fiction is one way of linking the past with the present and providing a sense of continuity in our literary tradition,” comments Mahadevan who has earlier penned two collections of short stories.
Having heard Mahabharat stories, Mahadevan states she started reading them very late. “I began to devour its many different versions and modern retellings, particularly the classics translated from regional languages like Shivaji Sawant’s ‘Mritunjaya’ , MT Vasudevan Nair’s ‘Randamoozham’ , S.L. Bhyrappa’s ‘ Parva’ . I found only a few examples of female perspectives aside from Chitra Divakaruni’s ‘Palace of Illusions’, Pratibha Ray’s ‘Yajnaseni’ and some short stories by Shashi Deshpande but it appeared almost as if other than Draupadi, the epic had no major women players.”
According to Mahadevan, she zeroed on Kunti since despite being central to the story, not much was known about her. “To me, she was a game changer. Given away by her birth father, Shura to Kuntibhoja, she loses her husband, is rendered homeless by her relatives and forced to live on their charity when her sons lose their kingdom. Despite enduring pain, she gets the upper hand over fate and plays a major role in restoring the fortunes of her family and egging her sons to live with dignity and honour. She is perhaps the only one with the ability to fight and bear pain,” observes Mahadevan. Placing Kunti in the backdrop of the society then, primarily the world of the Kshatriyas, the novel brings to fore her sufferings due to two factors – absence of a male anchor (father, husband and son) to protect her in various phases of life and the absence of a place she could call her home.
Creative license
Laced with numerous astute comments, Kunti’s fine characterisation is bound to touch readers. For example, Kunti says to Krishna, “Whether man or woman, if one is forced to be dependant, relying on other’s charity for food and shelter, what is the purpose of living at all?” Likewise, when Gandhari insists that women must follow their dharma, Kunti retorts, “Dharma! What is it but a weapon to bludgeon us into submission?”
Keeping Kunti as the pivot, Mahadevan finely etches other characters like Dhritarashtra, Pandu, Bhishma, Madri and Dronacharya among others bringing key aspects of their personality. Dhritarashtra’s anger at not being crowned as king and his bias in favour of Duryodhana are obvious but while grieving Pandu’s death, he recollects the time they spent together providing a glimpse of his humane side.
Similarly, comprehensive description of Draupadi, Satyavati, Ambika and Ambalika reflect the status of women in that age. “I was more familiar with the oral narrations which were always more layered in meaning. When one listens to Mahabharat one finds its echoes in real life. It resonates so closely that replicas of nearly all the characters can be found in one’s own circle. Durvasa and Drona, for instance, have always reminded me of some of my uncles. My interpretation of the characters is perhaps the creative license I have allowed myself,” she explains.
Mahadevan avers, the gender indoctrination prescribing girls to be good and dutiful wives is common even today but there is a difference. “There are more educated and economically independent women than ever before, they have more career opportunities, can choose their own partners and are allowed property inheritance and alimony in divorce. All this is indicative of a change for the positive. It is slow and uneven, but it is there.”
