Sexual Life in Ancient India: A Study in the Comparative History of Indian Culture v2.c18.65

v2.c18.65

to doubt and brooding hair-splitting—this the fiery Draupadī argues in magnificent phrases. “It is armoured in deeds that we must go through life, he that is bent on action is prized; he is a fool who speaks of blind necessity and lays his hands in his lap. To him that lies there a sluggard, comes only evil, but the active man has happiness. Now we are in the depths of wretchedness; it would undoubtedly not be so, if thou didst act energetically. And if success does not come after all, yet a man has tried his strength, and finds a proud self-reliance and honour in this.”¹ “The husbandman breaks up the ground with the plough and sows the seed, then quietly waits; the rain must do its share there. If the rain does not favour him, yet no blame falls on the husbandman in this matter: ‘I have done all that another man would do.’ Therefore we must act with zeal and wariness; let manly energy point the way, even though a mountain or a river have to be put out of the way, to say nothing whatever of a mortal man. He that earnestly strives does his duty towards others and himself. Let a man assert himself, and then fortune smiles on him. The patient man must bear with any and every mortification. Grief sheer weighs my heart down, when I think of all the former magnificence, and look on the wretched plight of us all to-day. Thou art a calm witness of it all, dost seem to be utterly incapable of anger, and wouldst be called a warrior! Fiery strength, a soaring will, an ever-lively feeling of honour—these are what the warrior must show, wherever needful” (iii, 27, 28; cp. e.g. iii, 32).² For her friend Kṛṣṇa she clothes her anger and sorrow with eloquent words, paints to him all the shame that was done her in the gambling-hall, how, while her husbands were still alive, the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra had wanted to make use of her as a slave, even for the quenching of their lust. She, the noble daughter of a king, and born in wondrous wise, the daughter-in-law of a great prince, she, the friend of Kṛṣṇa, the wife of five such heroes, had to put up with all this! Shame! she cries on her husbands, and their much-praised greatness. “When a man wards his wife, then he has warded himself; for from her his own self is born (anew). But how should a husband that must be warded by the wife be born from my body? They take the shame put on me and my ill-treatment calmly, and I glow with anger against our evil foes, who are weaker than we.” With her hand she covers her face, and with her tears moistens her firm-standing, swelling, well-shapen breasts. Kṛṣṇa consoles her and promises that all this shall have its punishment; but she looks sideways at Arjuna to see whether he also gives his assurance (iii, 12.61 ff.). She then accompanies the whole course of events with her flaming zeal and the full weight of her determined activity, presses and drives on with every means; her thirst for revenge can only be quenched by blood. As we so often find with the women of the Epic, she takes part in the men’s discussions; even where it is a case of deciding on war or peace she has her say like the most important of the heroes and great men; and her words are not a whit less of weight. So in v, 82 (cp. also e.g. x, 16.26 ff.). Once more there has been much talk of what must be done. The question now is about sending Kṛṣṇa as an envoy to the cousins and foes. In what wise is he to make his appearance