Jstor Article

Clearing Sacred Ground: Women-Centered Interpretations of the Indian Epics
Author(s): Rashmi Luthra

Source: Feminist Formations , Summer 2014, Vol. 26, No. 2 (Summer 2014), pp. 135-161
Published by: The Johns Hopkins University Press
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/43860745
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Clearing Sacred Ground:
Women^ Centered Interpretations
of the Indian Epics
Rashmi Luthra
This article examines a few appropriations of the main women characters in the
Indian epics, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, by ordinary women in their
folk songs , as well as by women writers and artists in the feminist domain. The
appropriations dip into already existing associations about the epic heroines, but
rearticulate these to create greater space for the elaboration and positioning of
postcolonial Indian feminisms. While the appropriation of the epics carries certain
risks, such as unintentional complicity with right-wing conservative projects and the
positioning of Indian feminism as exclusive of caste and class concerns, it is contended
here that the risk is worth taking because the epics continue to be an important and
contested part of the cultural field, and because the feminist appropriations are able
to absorb and respond to the critiques to some degree. The appropriations in the
folk domain are juxtaposed with those in the feminist domain: those of Sita from the
Ramayana are juxtaposed with those of Draupadi from the Mahabharata. In addi-
tion, all appropriations are placed within the debate in Indian feminism over the use
of traditional narratives in order to garner insight into the potential of the narratives
as a resource for feminist projects.
Keywords: Draupadi / feminist appropriation of epics / Indian epics /

Indian feminism / Mahabharata / postcolonial feminism / Ramayana / Sita,
Surpanakha
The appropriation and reworking of traditional narratives has been an impor-

tant strategy for women to interrogate dominant ideologies and articulate
emergent and resistant ideologies and identifications. For example, it has been
©2014 Feminist Formations, Vol. 26 No. 2 (Summer) pp. 135-161

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136 • Feminist Formations 26.2
important for feminists in a variety of Arab contexts to reinterpret and extend

the legacy of Scheherazade (Gauch 2007; Mernissi 2001), for Chicana feminists
to reclaim the legacy of La Malinche as a cultural intermediary (Alarcón 1989;
Romero and Harris 2005), and for feminists in the US suffrage movement to
reinterpret the Bible to account for women's positions (Stanton [1895, ï898]
1993)-
The current article is concerned with gendered and feminist reworkings of
the central women characters in two main Hindu epics, the Ramayana and the
Mahabharata . These epics continue to exert influence at the level of everyday life
within India and beyond, particularly among Hindu communities (Bose 2004;
Richman 2001). Their centrality in the Indian cultural context makes them a
key site of contestation, as evidenced by their use within political projects as
disparate as the recasting of Sita (the central woman character in the Ramayana)
by Gandhi to persuade women to join the struggle for Indian independence
against British rule (Lai and Gokhale 2009; Som 2009), and the use of various
aspects of the Ramayana by the extreme-Right Hindutva movement to create a
Hindu state in India (Sarkar and Butalia 1995). The epics' continuing and wide
resonance is also evidenced by the huge popularity of their televised versions
in the late 1980s and early '90s (Mankekar 1999).
While recognition of the popularity and power of the narratives that stem
from Hindu religious texts exists within the feminist movement and progres-
sive movements in India, there is continuing debate about the wisdom and
usefulness of reinterpreting and rewriting traditional narratives, particularly
Hindu narratives. As Rajeswari Sunder Rajan (2004) points out, focusing on
archetypical female figures from traditional Hindu texts, whether goddesses,
epic heroines like Sita, or viranganas (women warriors), is problematic because it
excludes women from the minority religious communities, as well as excluding
dalit (lower-caste) women.1 In addition, the terrain of the archetypal women
figures has been seriously tainted by having been appropriated by Hindu
right-wing forces in service of communal projects.2 The use of both goddess
(Durga, Shakti) and woman warrior ( Rani ofjhansi) traditions by the Hindutva
movement to inculcate the participation of women is well-documented (Sarkar
and Butalia 1995). The use of these symbols by Indian women's movements,
therefore, carries the risk of projecting the movements as either narrow and
exclusivist or as complicit (even if unintentionally) with reactionary forces
within Indian society. Sucheta Mazumdar (1994, 269) says that "[r]eligion is
now ineluctably the property of right-wing forces," and, therefore, using such
iconography as an entry point is a sterile strategy. However, as Maitrayee
Chaudhuri (2004, xxvii) concludes: "If culture is built and made and deployed
from a contemporary vantage point, feminists, secularists and democrats too
need to actively engage with the rich multiple cultural resources that exist
in the everyday lives of people." Based on a close reading of multiple epic
narratives from woman-centered and feminist starting points, I agree with

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RashmiLuthra • 137
Chaudhuri. Further, I argue that rather than being a dead-end, the epics and
their characters are fertile ground for the enunciation of multiple feminisms
and their various contradictions within the Indian context, and for the ere-
ation of common ground between feminists and Indian women at large. The
appropriation of the epic narratives by both nonfeminists and feminists, and
the critique of these appropriations from within feminist movements, serves to
open up an important space for elaborating the meaning of feminisms within
the current Indian context.
In terms of the strategic use of tradition for the purpose of enunciating
feminisms, Norma Alarcon's (1989) insight from Chicana feminist movements
is instructive:
It is through a revision of tradition that self and culture can be radically reen-
visioned and reinvented. Thus, in order to break with tradition, Chicanas,
as writers and political activists, simultaneously legitimate their discourse by
grounding it in the Mexican/Chicano community and by creating a "speak-
ing subject" in their reappropriation of Malintzin from Mexican writers and
Chicano oral tradition - through her they begin a recovery of aspects of their
experience as well as of their language. (71)
The complexities and contradictions of invoking tradition while infusing it

with new meaning are part and parcel of the postcolonial feminist condition
in a number of contexts. This contradiction plays out both internally, within
feminist movements, and externally, in terms of how feminist movements are
positioned within a particular postcolonial society. Uma Narayan (1997) and
Ania Loomba (2005, 189) point out the ways in which "colonial and anti-
colonial histories complicate feminism" in a number of postcolonial contexts.
Although the relationship among the social reform movement, the nationalist
movement, and the women's movement in India is far too complex to explore
here, one key aspect of this relationship that is important to this article is how
"the woman question" and attendant to it "tradition" and "religion" became
key sites of contestation as new understandings of community and nation were
forged, and how they continue to be key sites of contestation today (M. Chaud-
huri 1993; Loomba 2005; Mani 1989; Sangari and Vaid 1989). Loomba notes that
the legacy of colonialism complicates the relationship between feminisms and
women who do not identify as feminists, women of lower castes and classes, and
women of minority religions. This is quite true of Indian feminisms (M. Chaud-
huri 2004; Kumar 1993; Omvedt 1980). As Indian feminists negotiate these key
forces, the appropriation of epic narratives is one of the resources they can use
to position themselves. By interjecting themselves into the contest over tradi-
tion, not only do feminists make this resource available for their own projects,
but they also make visible the selective appropriation of traditional narratives
and constructs by nationalists, the religious Right, and others (Narayan 1997;
Richman 2004; Tharu and Lalita 1993).

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I start by exploring the appropriation of Sita, the main woman character

in the Ramayana, by rural women in their folk songs. I next take up one of
the first gender-conscious appropriations of the Ramayana by a woman writer,
Chandrabati (Sen 1997). For both of these aspects of my analysis, I have relied
mainly upon the research done by Indian scholar Nabaneeta Dev Sen. I then
look at the contemporary appropriations of Sita by one writer and one dance
artist operating within a feminist framework. For this aspect of the analysis,
I have relied mainly upon a collection of writings and reflections on Sita, In
Search of Sita (Lal and Gokhale 2009), published in India. I also take up the
critiques of the representation of a minor woman character in the Ramayana ,
Surpanakha, because of their importance in relation to questions of women's
sexuality. Next, I analyze the appropriation of Draupadi, the main woman
character in the Mahabharata , by two women writers and one performance
artist, all writing and performing in the contemporary Indian context. I look
at the various works in juxtaposition with one another and with debates within
the Indian feminist movement on the use of epic heroines in contemporary
politics to derive insight into the potential of the traditional narratives for the
elaboration and positioning of postcolonial feminisms in India.
I am building crucially on the insights of others, particularly Nabaneeta
Dev Sen and Paula Richman as I examine the potential of feminist appropria-
tions of the Ramayana and Mahabharata for elaborating feminisms within the
current Indian context in ways that creatively respond to internal critiques, and
that help keep feminisms relevant to, for example, women of different classes,
castes, in rural versus urban locations, and to Indian women generally. Rich-
man (2001, 2004) has eloquently made the case for the fluidity and dynamism
of the Ramayana tradition in oral folk traditions, as well as in regional literary
interpretations, including gendered interpretations, in contrast to the static and
univocal use of the narrative and characters by Hindu religious-Right forces. Sen
has forcefully shown how both women's folk traditions and literary renderings as
early as the sixteenth century have retold the Ramayana from Sita's perspective
(1997, 2009, n.d.). Both Sen and Richman have delineated the techniques that
are used in gendered reworkings of the Ramayana , such as: the domestication
of the epic; the rescue and amplification of aspects of the epic that have been
sidelined or neglected in the classical tradition; the contemporization of the
epic in reflecting women's current concerns; and reinterpretation of the rela-
tionships among women characters, such as those between Sita and her foils
Surpanakha and Ahalya. Many of these techniques are apparent in the analysis
that I advance here as well.
I attempt to build on earlier insights by examining some of the feminist
reworkings of the epics that continue the dynamic tradition of the Ramayana
and Mahabharata , while also using the epics to work through and enunciate
the ongoing and evolving concerns of contemporary Indian feminisms. One of
these crucial concerns is the ability of current feminisms to be broadly relevant

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Rashmi Luthra • 139
to "ordinary" women who might not identify explicitly with feminist projects,
and the ability of current feminisms to be inclusive of caste, class, and ecological
concerns, among others. My concern here is not primarily with offering fresh
readings of the gender-conscious renderings of the epics per se; rather, I juxta-
pose different kinds of gender-conscious interpretations to explore the potential
of the epics in elaborating and working through some of the central questions
facing Indian feminisms today. In the same vein, rather than confining myself
to interpretations of Sita, I have found it useful to examine interpretations of
Sita and (secondarily) Surpanakha from the Ramayana and Draupadi from
the Mahabharata because together, these allow us to see the struggle of Indian
feminisms to negotiate different modalities and languages of protest. Feminist
interpretations of the two epic heroines locate the presences and absences in
each, the contradictions in each, and, in doing so, enunciate their own concerns.
Sen (n.d.) alludes to the tension between what Sita and Draupadi represent
when she says: "With her unconventional lifestyle and thirst for vengeance,
Draupadi inspires awe. Sita is a figure closer home, the girl next door, a person
they know too well, a woman whose pain they can share." The question of what
each heroine represents for the larger population, and how feminists negotiate
these popular sentiments, is a recurring one; therefore, I thought it useful to
include interpretations of both Sita and Draupadi here.
Appropriating Sita from the Ramayana
As a preamble to the discussion of the appropriation of Sita, I give here the

briefest sketch of the Ramayana story, including aspects shared by most, but not
all, versions in the classical tradition. Dashratha, king of Ayodhya, appoints
his oldest son, Rama, by his senior wife, Kaushalya, as heir to the throne. His
junior wife, Kaikeyi, prevails upon Dashratha to make her son Bharata heir
instead of Rama, and to banish Rama to the forest for fourteen years. Rama's
wife Sita insists on accompanying Rama and his younger brother Laxmana
into exile. While in exile, demon-king Ravana's sister Surpanakha attempts to
seduce Rama. The rebuffed Surpanakha attempts to attack Sita, whereupon
Laxmana cuts off her nose. In rage, she appeals to her brother Ravana, the ten-
headed demon-king of Lanka, to take revenge. Ravana then tricks Sita into
being alone in the forest and abducts her to Lanka. Rama teams up with the
monkey-god Hanumana and his kin to defeat Ravana and rescue Sita. However,
he demands that Sita undergo trial by fire (agni pariksha) to prove her chastity,
to prove that she has remained untainted despite her captivity by Ravana. Sita
complies, coming out unscathed from the fire and thereby proving her purity.
Upon the return to Ayodhya, Rama is enthroned king. After some time, he
begins to hear murmurings from his subjects that they are unhappy about his
taking Sita back after her abduction. In response to public opinion, he decides
to banish Sita to the forest while she is pregnant, where she is given refuge by

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I40 • Feminist Formations 26.2
the sage Valmiki. She gives birth to and raises her twin sons Lava and Kusha.
While conducting the horse sacrifice as a culminating point of his kingship,
Rama and his brothers are defeated by his sons Lava and Kusha. He then comes
to know of their identity. Realizing that Sita is alive, he asks for her. When she
appears, he asks her to prove her chastity once and for all by performing another
trial by fire. Sita refuses to go through the humiliation of another trial, asking
her mother the earth to take her back into the womb if she indeed has been
true to Rama throughout her life.
Research on women's Ramayana folk songs and stories in a few Indian
languages provides a glimpse at the ways in which women have appropriated
the epic at the ground level, and in so doing, offered alternative interpretations
(Jassal 2009; Kishwar 2001; Nilsson 2001; Paul 2009; Raju 2009; Rao 1991;
Sen 2009, n.d.). As Sen points out from her research on contemporary rural
women's Ramayana songs in the regional languages Bengali, Marathi, Maithili,
and Telugu, the women's intention is not to change the world. Rather, they are
merely retelling the Ramayana in a way that gives their own sentiments and
preoccupations voice, and they are using Sita as the vehicle for that voice. The
women hone in on episodes from the two books, Balakanda and Uttarkanda ,
whose contents relate to Sita's birth, marriage, and her return to Ayodhya after
the war with Ravana. These two books, focusing on her ordeal and suffering, are
considered spurious within the dominant paradigm, and yet they are central to
women's concerns as incorporated into their work and ritual songs.
Sita takes center stage in the women's folk songs. When singing of Sita's
birth, the women focus on the fact that she was found by King Janaka in a field
at the tip of a plow. She is depicted as the essential orphan (Sen 2009). The
theme of abandonment resonates with women's own experience in a largely
patrilocal society where the girl/woman has no real home - not belonging
completely to either her birth family or to her husband's family - and where
neglect and abandonment are experienced all too often. Women's shared sense
of suffering with Sita comes through most intensely when they sing of Rama's
testing of her through a fire ordeal (the agni pariksha ), his banishment of Sita
to the forest, his demand that she undergo a second fire ordeal to prove her
chastity, and Sita's final act of asking her mother the earth to take her back.
They detail every aspect of Sita's physical and emotional hardship and are direct
in their condemnation of Rama. From a divine being vested with great nobile
ity, as in the dominant interpretations, Rama becomes a man whose flaws are
glaring - a man who inflicts great suffering and cruelty on Sita. They do not
hesitate to call Rama such names as papishthi (sinner) or madman. This is in
complete contrast to the classical and mainstream versions of the epic, which
tend to deify Rama and offer all kinds of alibis for his abandonment of Sita.
The women's songs focus in on the quotidian, domestic aspects of the story,
as well as Sita's suffering (Nilsson 2001; Rao 1991). While in most of the songs
a scathing critique of Rama is leveled in the voice of the women themselves,

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in a few of them, the condemnation is made in Sita's voice. Another strain in

many of the women's folk Ramayanas is the attribution of Sita's abandonment to
Rama's jealousy as a husband rather than to his need to satisfy public opinion.
In the classical versions, Rama is considered exemplary for putting his kingly
duty before his love and passion for Sita; upon hearing rumblings of dissatisfac-
tion from his subjects because he has taken back a tainted Sita, he is forced to
abandon her. In the women's songs, however, the blame is placed squarely on
Rama as a jealous husband (Chakravarti 2006).
As early as the sixteenth century, the woman writer Chandrabati pro*
duced one of the first literary appropriations of Sita. As do the folk songs, she
challenged dominant versions of the R amayana by retelling the story from
a woman's point of view. As Sen (n.d.) notes in her study of Chandrabati's
Ramayana , although Sita herself remains the docile wife, the narrator's voice
is used to issue a scathing critique of Rama as the embodiment of the wrongs
of patriarchy, thus echoing the women's folk songs in this aspect. As in the
songs, Chandrabati marginalizes the aspects of the Ramayana focused on in
the classical tradition, including those of the war and other heroic exploits of
the godly man Rama, thereby displacing these entirely with Sita's travails and
sorrows. Another similarity is the attribution of Rama's banishment of Sita to
his own human jealousy rather than to godly wisdom in performing his duty
toward his subjects. For example, Chandrabati describes how Rama goes insane
with jealousy of Ravana, with "his boiling blood rushing to his head" (Sen 1997).
Sen has surmised, from the significant echoes between Chandrabati's version
and the women's songs, that she relied upon the women's oral tradition when
composing her Ramayana . The thread that ties the two is the recognition and
voicing of Sita's suffering at the hands of Rama, and the dictates that his rule
represented.
This thread of Sita's suffering is picked up by some of the feminist appro-
priations in In Search of Sita (Lal and Gokhale 2009). In these, Sita is seen as
signifying both the suffering that women endure within patriarchal systems
and their ability to protest the unjust demands and strictures emanating from a
male-dominated system, albeit protest that takes a self-abnegating form (because
she is swallowed by her mother the earth). A case in point is Nilimma Devi's
choreography of the dance From the Diary of Sita (Lal and Gokhale 2009a,
1 1 4-15). In its musical score, Sita intones:
Born of Mother Earth

I dance to the pulse of my gurus,
Vast oceans, venerable trees,
Rama, archer prince, pierced my heart
I followed him into exile
Abducted by Ravana
Rama came to the rescue

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Not me but his pride

I walked through flames to prove my chastity
But not my love
Yet Rama abandoned me to the forest
These mute memories
These tears of stone Mother Earth called me
"Return Daughter"
I entered her depthless embrace
Everyone calls me "Sita"
But I have other names too: Seema, Sara, Sophie
0 my mother
1 shall be born again and again
And in every breath
In every voice
In every woman
I manifest
For I am free.
Here, Devi individuates Sita while retaining the dignity and selflessness that
endear her to so many women in India and beyond. Sita is an emblem of suf-
fering, shedding "tears of stone,1 " but she is also a figure of protest, condemning
Rama for not recognizing her personhood and sacrificing her for his own pride.3
The chain of pativrata (worshipful devotion to husband) is broken here, while
still retaining the connection with other women's suffering. Sita makes it clear
that she agreed to the trial by fire to maintain her own dignity and not out of
love for Rama, thereby asserting her autonomy. Devi is also recovering a sense
of Sita's asking her mother the earth to take her back as an act of agency and
ultimate rejection of an unjust husband and unjust society. Sita's final act is
here interpreted as freedom and transcendence rather than self-abnegation.
Finally, by connecting Sita to every woman, Devi is making a statement about
women's specific suffering at the hands of society, but also about their innate
Shakti - their inner strength.
Mallika Sengupta, in her short story "Sitayana" (Sita's journey) (2009),
further amplifies Sita's protest. The story opens as the scene is set for Sita's
second agni pariksha. The narrator provides the frame of feminist critique from
the outset; she shows a huge, expectant crowd gathered to watch an act through
which Rama would outdo all other men by demanding a trial by fire "merely
on the basis of suspicion," thereby setting "an example for all women" (218).
Very early in the story, Rama's younger brothers Shatrughana and Laxmana are
also made to embody social critique, as they place the blame for the impending
ordeal on the writers of epics and on their brother Rama, both of whom use
women/Sita as a pawn in their own designs. Shatrughana says, "Heaven knows
why our elder brother is dragging Janaki through all this again" (218). Laxmana

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answers: "Behold how the Brahmins are gleefully rejoicing. They themselves keep
several wives over whom they have little control. The youthful girls fall for the
young disciples and these loose-skinned pundits compose derogatory verses on
women" (ibid.). Here, Sita is seen as not only getting a raw deal from Rama, but
also from the dominant patriarchal versions of the epic, providing compelling
reason for feminist reworkings, such as Sengupta's.
The beginning also sets the stage for Sita's own vociferous critique later in
the story of a moral code that subjugates the weak and defenseless, including
women and lower caste people. Because the second agni pariksha was meant to
set "an example for all women," Sita cannot remain silent in the face of this
injustice. She also has a duty larger than the one to her husband: the duty to
uphold justice toward women and other subaltern people. She is shown to be
more than capable of carrying out the feminist dharma . When Sita first appears,
she is led by Valmiki, the hermit who had given her refuge when she was aban-
doned by Rama while pregnant and who is also the first writer of the epic in
the classical tradition. He vouches for her rectitude and purity, adding, however,
that if Rama still harbors suspicions, Sita will undergo the trial. Rama responds
that he is convinced of Sita's purity, but cannot risk public censure. Moreover,
by taking the oath of purity, "Sita too will be regarded as the paragon of virtue
for all women" (220). Sengupta makes us conscious at this juncture that the
two men discuss Sita's fate with each other, not once addressing her directly,
perhaps alluding as well to the way in which Surpanakha was tossed back and
forth between Rama and Lakshmana when she expressed her desire for Rama.
The climactic moment of the story is reached when Sita forcefully rejects
the pernicious bargain being offered to her by Rama and the writer of the epic:
self-abnegation in return for a chance to redeem herself and gain immortality as
a pativrata . This Sita is not the innocent Sita who agreed to the first fire ordeal;
this is a Sita with an evolved consciousness and great inner strength, whose
gaze "bore a masculine determination" (219) and who "after long deliberation
. . . had learnt to think on her own, and had comprehended the tyranny and
thoughtlessness of Rama's maxims" (221). This Sita asks Shatrughana indig-
nantly about Rama: "Where was his sense of duty when he killed an innocent
Shudra [member of what were historically referred to as the untouchable castes]
at the instigation of the Brahmins for practicing austerity? Is a Shudra not a
subject? Are women not subjects? Fie on such kingly ethics. Fie on the rule of
Rama!" (ibid.). Sita goes on to question the very premise of the fire ordeal by
introducing the idea that even if she had been molested by Ravana when she was
in his captivity twelve years ago, that would still not justify the injustice meted
out to her. Rejecting the patriarchal norms that insist on control of women's
sexuality, she categorically refuses to go through the agni pariksha . As Sita makes
these pronouncements, Rama, in turn, collapses on the ground bewildered and
reaches out to the sky like a drowning man. This satiric rendering is used to
interrogate patriarchal norms, as well as to link feminist concerns with concerns

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144 ' Feminist Formations 26.2
of the anti-caste movement. Women of the lower castes, as well as tribal women,
do not have the luxury of being protected by their husbands or of upholding the
codes of honor imposed by the upper castes; they are expected to be sexually
accessible to men of the upper castes and classes. Moreover, women in the dalit
movement recognize that their distinct sexual codes offer greater freedom of
movement and greater freedom of choice within their own community than
upper caste women have, and they do not wish to adopt the sexual codes of the
upper classes and castes (Geetha 2004; Rege 2004). Therefore, feminist inter-
rogation of the Kshatriya's (warrior caste's) sexual codes offers the possibility of
linking the mainstream feminist critiques with dalit feminist critiques.
That these feminist appropriations of Sita tap into a much wider popular
perception is evident from Madhu Kishwar's (2001) interviews with a number
of women and men in Delhi. From these, she has surmised that Indian women's
reverence for Sita is more complex than at first appears.
Indian women are not endorsing female slavery when they mention Sita as
their ideal. They do not perceive Sita as a mindless creature who meekly suffers
maltreatment at the hands of her husband without complaining. Nor does
Sita as an ideal mean endorsing the husband's right to behave unreasonably
and a wife's duty to bear insults graciously.
Instead, she is seen as a person whose sense of dharma [duty] is superior to
and more awe-inspiring than that of Ram - someone who puts even maryada
purusottam Ram - the most perfect of men - to shame. (304)
Many women that Kishwar interviewed saw S it a's refusal to do the second agni
pariksha as a protest against injustice; on this issue, both women and men sided
with Sita against Rama. This is resonant with the women's folk songs discussed
earlier, where Rama is clearly indicted as a sinner and Sita is regarded as being
above criticism. These feminist appropriations connect with the wide sympa-
thy for Sita's suffering, as well as the admiration for her fortitude and dignity.
However, the feminist versions of Sita are generally more vocal and forthright
in their protests, which incorporate contemporary understandings of patriarchy
and its effects. In these versions, Sita is given a voice rather than having others
speak for her. The feminist versions also attempt to respond to critiques of the
feminist project within India, such as its insularity from the concerns of dalit
and tribal women, by appropriating religious symbols to strategically position
themselves vis-à-vis women of different backgrounds and the larger society.
These interpretations attempt to retain the aspect of Sita that connects with
women's sense of the injustice meted out to them, while filling a void in the
classical versions by allowing Sita herself to voice a challenge to this injustice.
Here, she speaks against the injustices toward women and low-caste people.4
I will now make a purposeful detour to feminist appropriations of a minor
woman character in the Ramayana, Ravana's sister Surpanakha, to show how
fertile the ground of the myths is in terms of feminist appropriation. In a number

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of ways, she is depicted as the foil of Sita. In her rakshasa (demon) form she is
shown as physically grotesque - in direct contrast to Sita, who possesses ideal
beauty. Surpanakha is also sexually aggressive, unattached, and deceitful,
whereas Sita is gentle, devoted to Rama, and morally scrupulous. Surpanakha
tries to seduce Rama during their exile in the forest, at which point he suggests
that his brother Laxmana is a more suitable prospect. Rama and Laxmana then
playfully toss her back and forth (metaphorically speaking), goading her in the
process. Surpanakha, enraged, attempts to attack Sita, consequently Laxmana
cuts off Surpanakha's nose (and, in some classical versions, her ears as well).
Kathleen M. Erndl (1991, 83) says of the contrast between Sita and Surpanakha:
"She [Sita] is a source of power, shakti . In other words, it is her auspiciousness
and nurturing that keep things going, but her power must be controlled to suit
the purposes of a patriarchal society." On the other hand, "[t]he bad woman
[Surpanakha] is unattached and wanders about freely ... it is Surpanakha's
status as an independent woman which is denounced" (83-84).
The feminist appropriation of Surpanakha becomes a vehicle for the cri-
tique of the control of women's sexuality and the justification of violence against
them on this basis. Amit Chaudhuri's short story "An Infatuation" (2009) puts
Surpanakha at the center, empathizing with her plight. The story begins during
Rama's exile in the forest, with Surpanakha surreptitiously watching Rama
and Laxmana and becoming infatuated with the former's physical beauty and
bearing. Instead of being depicted as a devious, conniving she-demon, as in
the classic versions, here, she is shown to be a vulnerable, sensitive adolescent
who is self-conscious of her monstrous looks and, yet, aware of her physicality
and strength, as someone who has internalized the colonizing Aryans' story
about the rakshasas . She says of herself: "The face reflected on the water filled
her with displeasure. How lovely his features were in comparison!" (247). It is
this self-loathing that leads her to change to a human form. She is sexually
aware though untested, and this sense of longing for Rama is a new and painful
sensation for her. In this vulnerable state, she approaches Rama tentatively and
asks him to go away with her where they can be alone. Having recognized that
she is a rakshasi , Rama and Laxmana decide to toy with her, feigning interest
in her. Soon after, Rama becomes bored with her advances and asks Laxmana
to "[t]each her a lesson for being so forward" (249), and Laxmana dutifully
slices off her nose with his knife. When he relates his exploit, Rama chuckles
at the image of Surpanakha screaming with pain. As at the beginning of the
story, Surpanakha's point of view is again assumed at the end, and her sense
of betrayal and both physical and emotional hurt is palpable. Of Surpanakha
after the mutilation, Chaudhuri says: "Even when the pain had subsided a little,
the bewilderment remained, that the one she'd worshipped [Rama] should be so
without compassion, so unlike what he looked like" (ibid.). The stark contrast
between Surpanakha's vulnerability and Rama's callousness highlights the
fact that as a rakshasi and a sexually assertive woman, Surpanakha could be

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viewed as less than human, and therefore the cruel behavior toward her was
considered justified.5
Stories like these are an important corrective to the silence that has
attended Rama's and Laxmana's cruel behavior toward Surpanakha; they render
visible the patriarchal norms embedded in the Ramayana , as these relate to
women's sexuality. Uma Chakravarti (2006, 235) puts it aptly: "That the pun-
ishment is regarded as justified is an index of how successfully the ideological
premises of patriarchal violence have been incorporated into everyday life by
the stereotypes of good and bad in the Ramayana , of which the Surpanakha
episode is a structural component." The appropriation of minor characters
like Surpanakha is an excellent entry point to locate the blind spots at the
very center of the epic, including the legitimization of the control of women's
sexuality and of gender, class, and caste inequalities. By the same token, it is an
appropriate entry point to use the traditional narratives to respond to critiques
of Indian feminisms as exclusivist. Exposing the injustice of the Kshatriya's code
with its strictures on women's sexuality - a code that results in the mutilation
of Surpanakha as the "Other" - opens the possibility of dialogue with dalit -
based understandings of women's liberation. Women within the dalit movement
view issues of sexuality as central to an analysis of oppression, but regard the
mainstream feminist movement's understandings of sexuality as limited and
limiting (Geetha 2004; Rege 2004). Acknowledging alternative understand-
ings of sexuality is one possible starting point for discussions across caste and
class divides.
Appropriating Draupadi from the M ahabharata
Before discussing feminist appropriations of Draupadi, it will be useful to briefly

relate the narrative. The M ahabharata is divided into eighteen parvas , or chap-
ters, dealing with the lineage of the Kuru clan: the division of the lineage into
the Pandavs and the Kauravs; the developing rivalry between the cousins; the
ascension of the Pandavs through their marriage to Draupadi; the building of
the palace of Indraprastha and the alliance with the Yadavs (Krishna's clan);
the game of dice at the Kaurav court at which the eldest Pandav, Yudhishthir,
loses his kingdom, his brothers, himself, and his wife Draupadi to the Kauravs,
and the ensuing attempt to disrobe her in front of the court; the Pandavs'
twelve-year exile in the forest as a consequence of the dice game; the Pandavs'
thirteenth year in disguise at the court of their ally Virat; efforts at peace
between the Kauravs and Pandavs in which Krishna plays an integral role, and
the subsequent failure of peace efforts and the preparations for war; five chapters
devoted to the devastating war, at the end of which the Pandavs are victorious,
although it destroys nearly all of Bharat (India); the lamenting of the women
for their war dead; the consolidation of the Pandavs' power, while at the same
time showing their complete emotional desolation; the withdrawal of the Kuru

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elders to the hermetic life and their willing self-immolation in a forest fire; the
destruction of the Yadav clan; the final journey of the Pandavs in the Himalayas
in which Draupadi and all the Pandav brothers (there were five in all), except
Yudhishthir, fall to their death; and the return of the Pandavs to their spiritual
world, svarga (heaven).
The Mahabharata narrative is so complex, structured by stories within
stories, that I will elaborate on each story as I discuss the women characters.
Because the episode in the Kaurav court where an attempt is made to disrobe
Draupadi is crucial, I will describe it briefly here. When Draupadi is lost in
a game of dice, the eldest Kaurav, Duryodhan, asks a servant to bring her to
the court as their newly acquired possession. Draupadi begs to remain in the
women's inner quarters, but she does not lose her nerve; she sends the servant
back to the sabha (gathering at the court) to ask whether Yudhishthir had
staked himself before or after he staked her. Draupadi argues that, if after, he
had already lost the right to stake her and, therefore, she was not bound to go
to the sabha . She throws this challenge again, directly after she is dragged by
her hair to the court by Dushasan (who is next in line to Duryodhan among the
hundred Kaurav brothers). She also challenges the elders to stop this injustice.
Dushasan then proceeds to disrobe Draupadi. No one in the court comes to her
aid. In desperation, she prays to Krishna. To everyone's amazement, as Dushasan
pulls on Draupadi's sari, the cloth multiplies endlessly, until he finally gives up.
The episode culminates with Draupadi seething in anger, vowing revenge on
the Kauravs.6
Draupadi has caught the imagination of a wide array of scholars and artists
and especially feminist writers. She has also been adopted by Indian people
more generally, although not as widely as Sita. One such manifestation is the
existence of Draupadi cults in South India in which she is worshipped in her
goddess form (Hiltebeitel 1988). Draupadi is also considered to be one of the
Panch Kanyas (five virgins) who, if one takes their name, leads to absolution
from all sins (Bhattarcharya 2007).7 In many ways, Draupadi is unique, and this,
as well as her fiery character, has endeared her to many writers and artists, most
pertinently to feminist writers and artists. She is the only main character in
the epics who is simultaneously married to five men (the five Pandav brothers);
she is the only one to have a male sakha (close friend), who also happens to be
one of the most beloved gods in the Hindu pantheon, Krishna. She was born
directly from a yajna (fire sacrifice - therefore her other name, Yajnaseni) not as
an infant, but already at the threshold of puberty. She is structurally essential
to the epic: her birth, her marriage to the Pandavs, and her later humiliation
at the Kaurav court provided the instigation for the great war, the end of the
last epoch of righteousness in Bharat ( Dvaparyuga ) and the beginning of the
dark epoch of moral turpitude ( Kaliyuga ).
Draupadi provides a different, although still useful, entry point for femi'
nist appropriation than Sita. While Sita is a bridge to nonfeminist women's

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understandings of their common predicament of suffering in a patriarchal

society, Draupadi provides a window to other possible ways of protesting the
injustices heaped upon women by that society. Moreover, the central problem
facing feminists as they appropriate Sita is different from the one when appropri'
ating Draupadi, and I argue that each presents a unique opportunity for Indian
feminists to enunciate their contemporary concerns and position themselves in
relation to other movements. Whereas Sita has been idealized as the perfect wife
and woman, resulting in feminist attempts to deconstruct the patriarchal aspects
of her representation while retaining admiration for her resilience and dignity
and rescuing aspects of her autonomy and voice, with Draupadi, the problem
has been to create a wider appreciation of her assertiveness and vocal protest,
as well as her anger and thirst for revenge. Feminist writers have attempted
to rectify the generally ambivalent attitude toward her as misplaced. Sally J.
Sutherland's (1989, 72-73) observation captures the representational problem
related to Draupadi: "The character of Draupadi has a special appeal, I feel, for
coupled with her actual victimization is a strong realization of her victimization
. . . On the other hand, it is this same aggressive behavior and outspokenness
of Draupadi - coupled with the inability of her husbands to protect her - that
prevents her . . . from being idealized" as the perfect woman.
Pratibha Ray's Yajnaseni: The Story of Draupadi was originally written in
the early 1990s in the Oriya language for a regional readership, then translated
into English in 1995 for wider readership. It is written in the first person, with
Draupadi narrating her story to her best friend Krishna. Combining feminist,
humanist, and ecological sensibilities with Hindu philosophy, Ray creates in
Draupadi a very sympathetic persona grappling with the meaning of her life.
She acknowledges Draupadi's strength of mind, unrelenting courage, and spirit
of protest, while also viewing her through a prism of love and compassion for
the psychological pain she had to suffer throughout her life.8 Draupadi's is an
ironic and double-edged voice here, conveying the hypocrisies, double standards,
and terrible effects of the Kshatriya upper-caste warrior code on women, while
at the same time upholding and working within this code. Ray's Draupadi is
acutely conscious of being an instrument in the hands of fate: an instrument to
avenge her father's defeat at the hands of his own former teacher, and, even more
profoundly, an instrument to vanquish evil and injustice that was pervading
her epoch, the Dvaparyuga. And yet, as the Draupadi of classical versions, this
one attempts to actively respond to her circumstances and to question them,
especially when insulted as a woman. She uses every resource at her command,
especially her powers of intelligence and elocution, to confront injustice, in
however circumscribed an arena. On women being used by patriarchal agendas
not in their own interest, Ray's Draupadi asks: "Should only woman be forced
to be the medium for preserving dharma and annihilating evil throughout the
ages?" (8). In other words, should women be made pawns in the designs of a
patriarchal world?

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Draupadi is conscious that she has been placed in the predicament of shar-
ing five husbands through no fault of her own; yet, her reputation has become
vulnerable as a result - not only within the epic itself, but for posterity. Within
the epic, her vulnerability becomes acute in the climactic scene in the Kaurav
court. When one of the Kauravs attempts to take her side, Dushasans friend
Karna says that there should be no objection to disrobing Draupadi because "by
accepting five husbands she has discarded her modesty, shame and womanhood"
(240). At another point in Ray's novel, Draupadi decries the double standard
governing women's sexuality, saying: "Chaste woman! Unchaste woman! In
the same way why don't the scriptures speak of chaste men and unchaste men?
Are men's hearts made of gold that sin cannot tarnish them?" (94). While the
classical Draupadi levels her protest against the males in the Kuru clan (both
the Pandavs and the Kauravs) for allowing her to be insulted in public, Ray's
Draupadi goes further to question the injustice against women inherent in the
Kshatriya moral code itself. Draupadi also asserts the appropriateness of voie-
ing indignation against injustice rather than protesting silently against it. She
says to Krishna:
When that wicked man [Dushasan] was stripping me, helpless like chaste Sita
I could have disappeared into the depths of the earth to hide my shame. If
I had prayed, would not the earth have opened? But I did not do so. If I had
done so my modesty would have been protected but the wicked would not
have been punished. In the future this problem would remain unresolved for
women. (251)
She says that her angry and vocal protest against injustice lays the groundwork
for women's collective protest against sexual violation. Ray is contemporizing
Draupadi's vocal protest against sexual violence, showing this to be an appro-
priate mode of protest for women in the current times, in contrast to Sita's
more inward-facing and silent mode of protest. Ray is conscious of the fact
that not only in the larger population, but also in feminist treatments of the
epic, admiration for Draupadi's intelligence, wit, and courage sits side by side
with ambivalence and condemnation of her actions, particularly in the Kaurav
court. Ray is answering this ambivalence by allowing Draupadi to defend her
mode of protest.
Saoli Mitra conveys a feminist sensibility with regard to Draupadi's story
through a play written and performed in Bengali (the language spoken primarily
in West Bengal and Bangladesh) in 1983, with the script being published in
Bengali in 2002 and in English in 2006 as Five Lords, Yet None a Protector. In
the play, there is a layering of song, dance, and narration, as well as the narra-
tor's voice with the characters' voices and the chorus. This allows the narrator
to insert current feminist and humanist concerns in the narrative, and also
allows the audience to be addressed directly so that the narrator may ask the
audience to reflect on the implications of certain actions. For example, after

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Yudhishthir stakes Draupadi, the narrator covers her ears with both hands at
the horror of the possible outcome of the throw of dice. When the Pandavs and
elders remain speechless through the incident, the narrator's stance becomes
one of outrage. She turns to the audience and says: "Good sirs, there are times
when the wise and the learned keep mum, while the weak go on being tortured
endlessly! Endlessly!" (32). At another point in the play, Mitra has Draupadi
defend her desire for revenge for the insult heaped upon her not only in the
Kaurav court, but in other incidents of attempted sexual assault. Draupadi says
to Krishna: "If I forget the humiliation inflicted on me, dear friend, will it usher
a Dharmarajya, the rule of Virtue, into this world? Can you promise that in
the future no woman will ever be persecuted and demeaned like I was?" (60).
This utterance is framed by the narrator's own ironic address to the audience,
saying: "Convenient, isn't it, Good People? Private emotions? Forget them - for
the sake of political expediency" (ibid.). Here, she is mimicking the smugness
of a patriarchal and class-based system and its emissaries who would ask sub'
altern people to just grin and bear the injustices wrought upon them. In these
instances, the voice and emotions of the narrator (the kathak) begin to merge
with those of Draupadi, thereby conveying a strong message about the injustice
experienced by women, and about the inappropriateness of silence and inaction
in the face of this injustice.
Both Mitra and Ray are also highly sympathetic to Draupadi being played
as a pawn by others, with no regard to her own wishes and desires. In Mitras
performance, when Yudhishthir decides that Draupadi should be shared among
the five brothers to preserve their unity, the kathak asks, "Did she want this, or
didn't she?"; then, after a pause, not finding an answer, says: "No one knows,
Good Sirs" (24). Both also defend Draupadi's more intense desire for Arjun
than for the other Pandav brothers as entirely human, and judge as unfair
Yudhishthir's accusation at the end of the epic that Draupadi is not worthy of
heaven because she loved Arjun the most. In addition, Ray explores Draupadi's
desire for Karna, the illegitimate son of her mother-in-law Kunti (unbeknown to
the Pandav brothers) and a sworn enemy of her husbands.9 Both are also highly
sympathetic to Draupadi's utter desolation, her utter loneliness, at key moments
in her life. The title of Mitra's performance, Five Lords , Yet None a Protector
(a translation of the Sanskrit nathavati anathavat , or as having husbands yet
a widow), provides the basic premise for the entire piece. At every important
juncture, although wedded to five husbands, Draupadi receives very little, if
any protection from them and has to resort to her own faculties and devices to
save herself. Finally, in both, she is shown as recognizing at some level that her
thirst for revenge had devastating consequences. Mitra, in Brechtian fashion,
has the narrator say to the audience regarding the war: "Where was Dharma
[duty]? On whose side? Where would she be reinstated with honour, Gentle Sirs?
Here, in this great graveyard, where you could only see bereaved mothers and
widows? . . . This is not what she had wanted!" (61).10 Ray's Draupadi, in her final

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moments of life, asks Krishna to give her a chance at a next life, and one of her
wishes for the next life is that she could use her considerable talents and energy
to wage peace instead of war. In both, Draupadi is conflicted between her desire
to avenge the wrong done to women on the one hand, and the utter desolation
brought about by war on the other. Here, a feminist consciousness grapples with
the complex intersections among gender, violence, and ecological devastation.
1 think that Mahasweta Devi's (2006) interpretation of Draupadi in her
story of that name, originally published in Bengali and later translated into Eng'
lish in 1987, shows most clearly how the epics can be appropriated to enunciate
an Indian feminist politics that is conscious of the way that multiple vectors,
such as class, caste, and religion, interlock to create the grounds for the oppres-
sion and exploitation of women. Devi's longstanding commitment to tribal and
dalit people's struggles is what gives her ironic use of the Draupadi figure its sharp
edge. Her Draupadi is the tribal dissident Dopdi Mehjen, a fiercely courageous
woman whose husband had been her comrade in the Naxalite struggle against
the landed castes/classes - a struggle that was at its peak in the 1970s, during
which the story is set. After her husband is killed by the police, Dopdi continues
as a key local figure in the struggle. Devi's Dopdi/Draupadi both echoes and
inverts certain aspects of the original Draupadi from the Mahabharata , and in
doing so delivers a scathing critique of both patriarchy and the state's raw power
over the weakest inhabitants of the "nation." Like the Mahabharatďs Draupadi,
she issues a challenge to the patriarchal codes that would use women as pawns,
yet she is even more alone than Draupadi in facing the brutal power of the state
in the form of direct violence by male functionaries. She has no Krishna, no
sakha upon whom to call. Her husband has already been killed and, in keeping
with Naxalite tactics, she has cut off all communication with her comrades so
as to keep them safe. Her reliance upon her own agency is more complete at
the moment of her greatest abjection than Draupadi's, and she is more devoid
of illusion than Draupadi because of having gone through the brutal physical
violation that Draupadi was spared. At the climactic moment of the story, after
Dopdi has been apprehended by the police and tortured, she insists on being
taken naked to Senanayak, the police officer who coordinated her pursuit and
ordered her torture. She refuses to hide her mangled breasts in the name of
false codes of modesty, forcing the police to face and acknowledge the effects
of their actions on her body. In contrast to the Mahabharata's Draupadi, who
could not be disrobed because of Krishna's protection, Dopdi refuses to robe,
thus directly critiquing, through her body, the patriarchal codes of honor and
modesty, as well as the violence of the state on vulnerable populations. The
starkness of the scene and the directness of Dopdi's speech make the point.
Approaching Senanayak's tent, "Draupadi stands before him, naked. Thigh and
pubic hair matted with dry blood. Two breasts, two wounds. 'What is this?' He is
about to bark. Draupadi comes closer. Stands with her hand on her hip, laughs
and says, The object of your search, Dopdi Mehjen. You asked them to make

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me up, don't you want to see how they made me?"' (269). Elements of the epic
Draupadi are here both echoed and inverted to deliver a scathing critique of the
classist, casteist, and patriarchal underpinnings of the state. In addition, Devi's
Dopdi/Draupadi casts light on the privileges upon which the original Draupadi's
ability to challenge the men in the court rested and that saved her from sexual
violation not once, but at least three times in the epic. The tribal Draupadi also
shows, through ironic inversion, the narrow bounds within which the original
Draupadi's protest occurs. As Rajan (2000, 148; emphasis in original) observes:
"It is, of course, [the epic] Draupadi's virtue as a chaste wife that produces the
miracle . . . But the tautology of the virtuous woman who is saved because
she is worthy to be saved has its inexorable logic: raped women, that is, those
that are not saved, were unworthy. We can admire the feminism of Draupadi's
exceptional salvation only at the cost of the misogyny of that logic." As Rajan
points out, Devi, in the figure of Dopdi Mehjen, probes this very logic: Dopdi
cannot be spared by virtue of her class or caste associations, and she is vested
with dignity despite being disrobed and raped.
The varying interpretations of the connection between Dopdi and Drau-
padi point to the great richness of Devi's story and its wonderful possibilities
for feminist appropriation. While Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (2006) warns us
against taking the significance of the name too seriously, she adds that, at the
level of the text, the name does play a role. She says further that in rewriting
the episode of Draupadi's attempted violation in the court, Devi is insisting
that "this is the place where male leadership stops" (252). Spivak also points
out that, although both Dopdi and Draupadi are equally heroic in their respec-
tive contexts, Dopdi, because she is penned by Devi, could be what Draupadi,
penned into a patriarchal text, could not be. She offers the brilliant observation
that "Dopdi is at once a palimpsest and a contradiction" (ibid.). It is precisely
this double-edged aspect of Dopdi that makes her fascinating for rich feminist
interpretation.
Another interpretation is offered by Ranjana Khanna (1997), noteworthy
because it plays on and elaborates both Devi's story and Spivak's interpretation
by probing more deeply into the question of agency. While in Spivak's interpret
tation Dopdi can do what Draupadi cannot, Khanna suggests that by reading a
patriarchal text against the grain, we can as well arrive at the conclusion that
Draupadi could do what Dopdi cannot. In Khanna's words, "[t]he tribal Dopdi
cannot step out of her wounded, humiliated, and mutilated status because the
words of Senanayak, the army officer, have controlled her. The mythical Drau-
padi/Krishnaa cannot be named, finally, because she refuses to be the object of
search: her body belongs to no one. Whilst Dharma sustains her, no one present
can adequately answer the question she poses" (113). Further, Khanna suggests
that if we look deeply enough, we can see beneath Draupadi a dark, polygamous
tribal Other interred by the Sanskritization of the epic, and in doing so, we
create new openings for Dopdi/Draupadi to speak. These varied interpretations

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suggest that feminist questions of agency are not definitively settled, and that
the epic heroines provide useful grist for working out these key questions.11
Appropriating the Epic Heroine: Concluding Notes
Appropriations of Sita and Draupadi, whether in the folk domain or by feminist

writers, use the epic women characters to enunciate their own concerns as women
in a male-dominated system. They do so by focusing on aspects of the epics that
are marginalized in the dominant versions, and by emphasizing the physical and
emotional effects of a purportedly just king, just system, or just war on the central
women characters. While the degree of explicit intent by which this is done might
vary between the folk and feminist versions, both kinds of creations challenge
the dominant notions of Ramrajya (the rule of Rama) and the Kshatriya's ethical
codes by showing the injustices heaped upon women. Feminist appropriations
build on the folk versions by sharpening the critique of patriarchy as embedded
in the ethical codes of earlier eras. By doing so, feminist critics unhinge classical
interpretations of the epics, while at the same time using the epics to enunciate
feminist concerns and elaborate on the meanings of feminisms in the current
context. These feminist appropriations also unravel the deeper meanings of the
responses that the women characters make to the suffering inflicted upon them,
thus attempting to recuperate the agency of the women characters in the epics.
These women characters are seen as signifying both the suffering instilled by
patriarchy and the possibility of women protesting against a system that would
put them in such a position. These feminist appropriations also grapple with some
of the debates within the feminist movement, such as whether Sita or Draupadi
serves as a more appropriate role model for Indian women. Other appropriations
appear to be absorbing and responding to the critique that feminist concerns
are exclusivist by addressing these aspects in their narratives. The reference by
Sengupta (2009) to the effects of kingly ethics on Shudras (lower castes), the cri-
tique of the Surpanakha episode by several feminist writers, and particularly the
creative inversion of the Draupadi disrobing episode by Devi show the potential
of the epics to be appropriated to link the concerns of the mainstream feminist
movement with caste, class, and tribal people's struggles.
While feminist appropriations dip into an already-existing pool of associa-
tions and sympathies, they provide inflection to certain aspects of the women
characters that accord with current feminist sensibilities, and develop certain
aspects of the narrative that were only incipient in the classical versions or in
the popular domain. For example, as Kishwar (2001) points out, many women
and men see Sita's final act as a protest against injustice, but it is also the case
that Sita is often held up as a role model of wifely devotion, chastity, and
patience (Desai 2009; Som 2009). By amplifying the aspects of Sita that show
the injustices of a male-dominated society and by valorizing her final act as a
protest against injustice, the feminist appropriations attempt to bring together

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154 * Feminist Formations 26.2
certain chains of meaning, while unhinging others. Draupadi offers a different

beginning point because she is both more and less available as a signifier; she is
more available in the sense that there are fewer already-existing associations and
valences deeply embedded into the popular psyche, and less available because
feminists cannot tap into a wide sympathy and admiration for her in the same
way as they can with Sita. The approach of a number of feminist creations,
therefore, has been to demonstrate the uniqueness and strengths of Draupadi
in terms of her articulateness, forthrightness, and propensity to question the
impotence of her husbands in the face of multiple attempts to assault her sexu-
ally. Many of these feminist interpretations also highlight the psychological
pain that Draupadi experiences as a pawn in the designs of her male kin and
by the Kshatriya moral and ethical codes. Draupadi is also used as a mouth-
piece to critique the ills of patriarchy more broadly. Collectively, the feminist
interpretations of the epics' women characters point to different modalities of
protest against patriarchy, and also create greater space for the elaboration of
women as subjects in the postcolonial context.
It is clear from the folk songs and feminist appropriations that Sita and
Draupadi represented different modalities of critique and protest, each of which
can be strategically used as a resource as the occasion demands. While the
feminist appropriations of Draupadi often defend her directness, vocality, and
desire for vengeance as appropriate avenues to confront injustice, those of Sita
usually work to recuperate the strength in Sita's final act and to interpret it as
a form of protest. As Kishwar points out, for Gandhi, "Sita was the incarnate
of a true satyagrahi . . . the essence of satyagraha is that one does not fight back
with the same weapons as those of the oppressor. It takes much greater strength
to offer dignified non-violent resistance to oppression and injustice than to
retaliate with violence" (qtd. in Lai and Gokhale 2009b, 108). In using this
aspect of Sita, Gandhi was tapping into a much greater reservoir of admiration
and affection for her. On the other hand, Purnima Mankekar's (1999) ethno-
graphic analysis of women viewers' interpretations of the disrobing episode in
B. R. Chopra's M ahabharata, televised in India from 1988 to 1990, revealed
that Draupadi s disrobing became a metaphor for women's acute vulnerabilities,
especially to sexual harassment, in their own daily lives. But at the same time,
Draupadi's rage gave the women courage to confront the harassment they
experienced; further, her vocal and angry response to her attempted violation
occasioned discussion among the women about whether Draupadi or Sita was
the more appropriate role model for Indian women. While opinions varied, the
younger women, in particular, felt that while Sita represented the ideal model
of womanhood, Draupadi represented the reality of contemporary womanhood,
a reality mandating that tolerance be tempered with the ability to speak up.
This suggests that ordinary Indian women have a nuanced understanding of
agency as represented by the epics' heroines, an understanding that can and is
being tapped by feminist interpretations of the epics.

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Even though in the current historical juncture an appropriation of the

epics' women characters carries political risks, such as unintentionally becom-
ing complicit with the politics of Hindu right-wing groups or appearing to be
exclusivist of class and caste concerns, abdicating the cultural ground of the
epics to inimical forces plays into the right-wing's hands as well. Hindutva
groups would like nothing better than an exclusive claim to tradition and
authenticity, projecting their version of history as the truth. Feminists have,
therefore, appropriately continued the long and dynamic tradition of rewriting
the epics to reflect their current concerns, as well as using the epics to work
out those concerns and respond to debates internal to the women's movements
themselves.
A critique from within the movements that needs to be taken quite seriously
is that the appropriation of the epics narrows the orientation of feminist projects,
leaving out both the concerns and insights of other communities of women,
such as dalit women, tribal women, and women of other (non-Hindu) religious
communities. But rather than giving up a rich resource for the enunciation of
feminist concerns, it might be more productive to facilitate the proliferation of
multiple appropriations from a number of narrative traditions stemming from
different caste, class, tribal, and religious communities, as well as creatively
hybridizing elements of the different narratives to incorporate the insights
of various communities. Rajan (2004, 329) points to alternatives, such as the
dalit goddess Pochamma who, she says, "is more in consonance with the goals
of a secular and democratic feminism" than are Hindu goddesses. Alternative
traditions will certainly broaden the conversation, and dialogue among the
traditions will serve to complicate feminist projects in productive ways. And
yet, acknowledging Pochamma's worth does not necessarily entail excluding the
epics' women characters, just as validating Draupadi need not entail casting
aside Sita. In a society as complex and multiple as India's, the feminist movement
would do well to use a multiplicity of narrative resources to speak imaginatively
and persuasively to women of all castes, classes, regions, and religions.
Rashmi Luthra is a professor of public communication and culture studies at the

University of Michigan-Dearborn. She has published articles on gender, media, and
culture ; postcolonial feminisms, media, and culture; and women and development
communication. Her work has been published in Women's Studies in Commu-
nication; Communication, Culture and Critique; Knowledge: Creation, Dif-
fusion, Utilization; Gazette: International Journal for Mass Communication
Studies; Feminist Issues; Communication Yearbook; Journalism and Mass
Communication Educator, and in several edited collections. She was also honorary
editor of the theme " journalism and Mass Communication ," in the Encyclopedia
of Life Support Systems, published by UNESCO. She can be reached at rluthra @
umich.edu.

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Notes
1. Although discrimination against what were historically referred to as the

"untouchable" castes is outlawed by the Indian constitution, the caste structure is
still extant and continues to have material consequences, such as discrimination and
violence against low-caste people, or dalits. The dalit movement, dating back to at
least the late nineteenth century, has leveled numerous challenges against caste-based
institutions and structures and the resulting discrimination and oppression, including
the brahmanical (stemming from the uppermost castes) social and cultural institutions.
More specifically, by the 1980s, dalit women's testimonies (testimonials) had broken
into the public sphere, leading to a critique leveled against the univocal history both
of the dalit and the women's movements, and a recognition of a distinct dalit feminist
standpoint as potentially providing a more emancipatory feminist position than the
mainstream, upper-caste feminist position (Rege 2006). Although caste and tribal
politics are not the same, there are enough similarities in the oppression experienced
by tribal and low-caste populations, and in the contradictory position of the feminist
movement vis-à-vis these populations, that I feel justified later in the article to use
Mahasweta Devi's (2006) Dopdi as an appropriation of the epic's Draupadi that creates
potential for dialogue with dalit feminists.
2. There is a long history of communal tension in India, particularly between the
Hindu and Muslim communities. This tension intensified during the movement to
gain independence from Great Britain, leading ultimately to the partition of India and
Pakistan. Within independent India, communalism has continued be part of the social
formation, threatening to subvert the organizing principle of India as a "secular democ-
racy." In the last quarter of the twentieth century, with the rise of the Hindu nationalist
Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) within India and the global resurgence of radical Islam,
it has become rather complicated to appropriate Hindu epics for feminist purposes.
3. It is interesting that Nilimma Devi locates the problem as Rama's pride (Lai and
Gokhale 2009a). This is distinct, but also related to the interpretation in the women's
folks songs that Rama banished Sita because of his jealousy of Ravana. Both pride and
jealousy are individual human emotions, and, in both versions, what is being suggested
is that the idea that Rama acted out of duty is simply a cover for flaws in his character,
such as pride or jealousy. This may be contrasted to feminist appropriations that locate
the problem in the whole idea of duty, and the dharma (moral code) within which it is
held in such high regard, the price women have to pay for the upholding of the dharma ,
and/or the uneven way in which the code is applied to different kinds of people. Mal-
lika Sengupta (2009), in "Sitayana," the short story taken up here, makes reference to
the uneven application of the moral code: Sita asserts that it does not seem to apply
to women or Shudhras . Shashi Deshpande (2000a), in her beautiful short story "The
Day of the Golden Deer" in The Stone Women (which I am not able to take up here for
lack of space), also offers a powerful deconstruction of Sita being "crushed under the
chariot of his [Rama's] righteousness" (68). Her Sita also comes to realize that Rama's
abstract passion to never do any wrong is actually worse than Ravana's concrete, bodily
passion is for her.
4. While I do not have the space to take these up here, two other important inter-
pretations of the epic from Sita's perspective are worth mentioning, not least because
they show the dynamic connections among folk interpretations, feminist interpretations,

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and popular sentiment, each of which, in their own way, seeks to understand Sita's per-
spective on events that affected her, and each of which has influenced the others. One
is the collection of stories Sita Theke Shuru (It all began with Sita) (1996) by Nabaneeta
Dev Sen, which is deeply influenced by her work on women's folk songs on Sita; the
other is a graphic novel, Sita's Ramayana (201 1) by writer Samhita Arni and Fatua artist
Moyna Chitrakar ( Fatua is a folk art form in West Bengal that combines scroll paint-
ing, performance, and storytelling). Both are particularly noteworthy for innovatively
fusing the folk and literary traditions in ways that further bolster the argument that
the feminist reworking of the epics holds potential for connecting Indian feminisms to
ordinary women within Indian society.
5. There have been a number of other interpretations of Surpanakha. The ones
taken up by Paula Richman (2004), such as Ranganyakamma's Marxist interpretation,
draw a parallel between Sita and Surpanakha as the targets of Rama's unjust actions
and showing a bond between the two, including Surpanakha's admiration for Sita,
and Sita's admiration for Surpanakha. As another example, in Ami and Chitrakar's
graphic novel (201 1, 17), Sita, hearing Surpanakha in distress, says "I can never forget
that scream. It still echoes in my ears."
6. The image of Draupadi vowing to keep her hair unbound until she has bathed
it in Dushasan's blood has been an enduring one, and she is seen to exhibit different
tonalities of anger at different points in the epic. This anger has inspired awe as well as
ambivalence, and it is an aspect addressed sympathetically in the feminist interpreta-
tions, with the recognition that both publicly exhibited anger and publicly exhibited
laughter were generally proscribed for women of Draupadi's station. In the feminist
interpretations, Draupadi's anger is legitimized, and Sita is made to embody the anger
that is absent in general understandings of her. When Sengupta's (2009) Sita exhibits
anger and when Deshpande's (2000a) Sita exhibits anger, Rama and Laxmana, respec-
tively, are aghast. It is precisely this aspect of Sita that the feminists seek to amplify
and recuperate.
7. Although I am not able to take up Pradip Bhattarcharya's (2007) work in any
detail here, it is worth mentioning that he offers diverse interpretations of Draupadi, and
also of Sita - interpretations that draw on, but also provide space for, further elaboration
in both the folk and feminist domain. For example, in his extensive analysis of Draupadi
in " Pancha Kanya: A Quest in Search for Meaning," he describes her full consciousness
of her sexual power, her unique relationship with her sakha (close friend) Krishna, and
her superior intelligence and forceful personality, aspects that he says have been valued
in folk memory. These aspects are also evident in Mitra's Five Lords , Yet None a Protector
(2002) and Ray's Yajnaseni (1995), which I take up in greater detail in this article.
8. Even though Irawati Karve's (1969) analysis of the epic's characters in Yuganta:
The End of an Epoch is widely considered to be one of the most sensitive and insightful
and acknowledged to take humanist and feminist approaches, I am not able to include
her analysis of Draupadi here for lack of space. It is pertinent to mention, however, that
while sympathizing greatly for the insults heaped upon Draupadi and the unjust accusa-
tions made in relation to her, as well as appreciating her earthiness, Karve also judges
her harshly for the challenge she threw to all gathered in the court, particularly to the
elders. She considers this challenge to have been completely misguided. It is also worth
mentioning that Mitra's Five Lords, Yet None a Protector (2002) was inspired by Karve's
analysis and stays close to it in spirit. For example, while the kathak in the performance

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praises Draupadi's "sagacity" and "intelligence" in articulating the challenge, she also
says that hair-splitting debates were not the appropriate weapon at this juncture. Ray
rearticulates this challenge as one that is well-suited for collective feminist protest
against sexual harassment and violence.
9. Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni (2008), in The Palace of Illusions, which I am not
able to take up here in detail for lack of space, also fully explores Draupadťs desire for
Arjun, as well as for Karna. Deshpande (2000b), in "And what Has Been Decided?"
in The Stone Women , also affirms Draupadťs desire for Arjun. Deshpande's Draupadi,
after learning that she must be wedded to five husbands, says in her mind to Arjun: "I
hammered my heart into submission, I bore with the others for the little time I could
get with you" (32). Draupadťs feelings for Karna have been controversial, even within
feminist interpretations. For example, Karve pointed out that the authoritative versions
do not include any hint of such feelings, and that these have later been interpolated into
the epic. In other quarters, the suggestion that Draupadi desired Karna is considered
slanderous because it undercuts the idea of Draupadi as a chaste woman.
10. In a number of the feminist interpretations of both Draupadi and Sita, we see
the heroines taking responsibility for their own mistakes and acknowledging their
own shortcomings as part of the process of individuating them and allowing us to see
them more fully as subjects. While both Ray's and Mitra's Draupadi acknowledges the
devastation that was brought on partly as a result of her desire for revenge, Deshpande's
Sita acknowledges her mistake in sending Laxmana away to look for Rama, thinking
he had been hurt (and in using cruel words to persuade Laxmana to leave), an action
that resulted in her abduction.
11. A little context is required here for a fuller appreciation of Khanna's (1997)
intent. Krishnaa, meaning the "dark one," is one of the many names given to Draupadi,
expressing her dusky beauty. Also, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (2006) and others point
out that polygamy was very uncommon among Kshatriyas of the time, thus making
Draupadi's situation unique, although polygamy was common among tribal populations.
Draupadťs darkness, combined with her polygamous relationship, lends plausibility to
the possibility that the original Draupadi was, in fact, a tribal woman, and that she
was later made to conform to Kshatriya and Sanskritic high-caste codes as the epic was
changed to suit the times. By broaching this possibility and playing on the contradiction
between Dopdi/Draupadi, Khanna hopes to release potentialities of agency in both the
classical Draupadi and Devťs tribal Dopdi.
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Clearing Sacred Ground: Women-Centered Interpretations of the Indian Epics

Author(s): Rashmi Luthra

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Keywords: Draupadi / feminist appropriation of epics / Indian epics /

The appropriation and reworking of traditional narratives has been an impor-

©2014 Feminist Formations, Vol. 26 No. 2 (Summer) pp. 135-161

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important for feminists in a variety of Arab contexts to reinterpret and extend

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The complexities and contradictions of invoking tradition while infusing it

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I start by exploring the appropriation of Sita, the main woman character

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Appropriating Sita from the Ramayana

As a preamble to the discussion of the appropriation of Sita, I give here the

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in a few of them, the condemnation is made in Sita's voice. Another strain in

Born of Mother Earth

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Not me but his pride

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Appropriating Draupadi from the M ahabharata

Before discussing feminist appropriations of Draupadi, it will be useful to briefly

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understandings of their common predicament of suffering in a patriarchal

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Appropriating the Epic Heroine: Concluding Notes

Appropriations of Sita and Draupadi, whether in the folk domain or by feminist

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certain chains of meaning, while unhinging others. Draupadi offers a different

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Even though in the current historical juncture an appropriation of the

Rashmi Luthra is a professor of public communication and culture studies at the

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1. Although discrimination against what were historically referred to as the

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Alarcón, Norma. 1989. "Traddutora, Traditora: A Paradigmatic Figure of Chicana

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In Search of Sita: Revisiting Mythology, edited by Ma

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Loomba, Ania. 2005. Colonialism/Postcolonialism. New York: Routledge.

Maitrayee Chaudhuri, 318-33. New Delhi: Kali f

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Telugu Short Stories." http://new.oberlin.edu/dot

Boundaries , edited by Geeti Sen, 163-77. New Delh

ing Mythology , edited by Malashri Lai and Namit

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