SERIES INTRODUCTION

The Pancha Kanyas of Hindu mythology are Ahalya, Kunti, Draupadi, Mandodari and Tara – while the five Satis are Sita, Sati, Savitri, Damayanti and Arundhati. The distinction of two different titles arose primarily because various versions of the epics have taken the liberty to celebrate women as per the popular beliefs of an era and, of course, those of the translators. A school of thought defines ‘Sati’ as the women’s unconditional devotion towards and dependence on their men. It casts the women as loyal followers, strongly supporting the vision of the men around them or helping them overcome social and emotional complications. These women are depicted as sacrificing and selfless, yet invincible in drafting their own position of strength and supremacy.

Various senior scholars have also translated the Pancha Kanyas as five virgins. Thus, based on textual evidence, the Kanyas and Satis are different women. However, in the earliest versions, there is no mention of the Pancha Satis; they only talk about the Pancha Kanyas who are deemed as the Maha Satis. Even in regional interpretations, especially in some eastern and southern states of the country, this division is blurred. This could be due to the difference in the spread of the Mahabharat of Vedavyasa versus the dissemination of Valmiki Ramayan. The former specifically mentions the Pancha Kanyas.

The Valmiki Ramayan discusses the Satis in terms of loyalty and physical chastity, and such women, including Sita, aren’t restricted to only five. But it doesn’t club them under the umbrella term, Pancha Sati. In my own studies, I came across some scholarly assumptions that the Satis were reborn as Kanyas, and research has tried to draw parallels!

An ancient shloka establishes reciting the names of Pancha Kanya can dispel sins, which again confirms the ‘Sati’ status of these women. Sati, meaning pure, devoted and fair. Purity can refer to the transparent water, which clearly reflects every pebble and weed below the surface. In the Sati series, I follow this meaning of ‘purity’ while retelling the stories of the five illustrious women – Ahalya, Kunti, Draupadi, Mandodari and Tara. The purity that is brave enough to present itself the way it is – sans any cosmetic cover – and mirrors the mind unpretentiously as much as it exposes the politics of a society.

The Sati series, though, is not meant to be biographical. The purpose of the series is to draw attention towards a part of the journey of these legendary women, which has been grossly overlooked. Identities have been imposed based on incidents that the patriarchy considered criminal, shameful or irresponsible. When these known events adopt the narrative voice of a feminine titular character, the stories change. The world expands. The Sati series not only presents an inclusive overview of the protagonist’s own life but also dives deep into the suppressed pain of those around them – be it a man or a woman.

In the first and fourth book of the series, Ahalya and Mandodari, the entire narrative had to be recreated. For Kunti and Draupadi, a lot is known already. These stories bring into the spotlight the making of these characters, albeit from a non-traditional perspective, which ushers the readers into a new era of thinking and reimagining.

Ahalya introduced the woman as a lover. Ambitious, futuristic, royal and calculative, Kunti called for a relook at the patriarchal origins of ‘Mata’ and, in relation, the pervasive sociopolitical image of the sacrificing Indian mother. Draupadi’s story is far more complicated than Ahalya’s or Kunti’s because it shines light on the social reaction of many generations regarding crimes against women, especially when she is strong and successful.

Mandodari’s story sparks yet another powerful discourse in which a talented woman must make a critical choice between the calls of her mind and heart. Lanka, of which Mandodari was queen, was famous for its magical constructions. Mandodari was the daughter of Mayasur, a divine architect. This connection was conveniently overlooked by patriarchal storytellers who celebrated Lanka as the inspiring manifestation of Ravan, Mandodari’s husband. Ravan was simultaneously erudite and controversial as the greatest antagonist in Indian history. The book takes a close look into the idea of shaitaan (evil) as well as the circumstances that give rise to a shaitaan! The story opens up the scope of revisiting the relationships between strong women in Indian culture – be it their interpersonal conflicts (Surpnakha) or women empowering women (Sita, Sarama, Trijata) – all in the presence of a charismatic villain. Ravan is called an Asur in some texts and Rakshas in others. For the purpose of this story, I am considering both as the same. Also, for the same purpose, Shiva has been called Mahadev, Shankar and Rudra. Mandodari’s narrative presents a tragic tale of love and empathy conflicting with a practical queen’s sense of duty, as her extremely talented husband has committed a terrible sin.

PROLOGUE

On the darkest of nights, when everyone was asleep, the sea was awake. The jingle of multi-layered anklets resounded through the black sandstone stairs of the commanding edifice, in absolute disharmony with the echo of turbulent waves. The creatures of the sea looked up. Into the playful water where my feet were immersed, I dropped a few grains. The greedy red fish lapped them up. Before moving away, they deftly cleaned with their tail the slippery algae coating the lower steps. A blue mountain of granite, cobalt spinel and silica rooted deep within the sea spread its generous hue, cradling a mystical prison in its womb.

I couldn’t see well in the darkness. Only a vague masculine frame was visible, his neck and body confined with thick iron chains against the wall. A part of the torso was above water. Beneath, slimy creatures wrapped around his waist and legs. The raging waves churned fog and foam. A wispy curtain of smoke denied the pleasure of determining how intimidated he was by my ghastly prison.

Many flights of steps had brought me to this vestibule. Each layer I left behind returned my excitement with congratulatory applause. Fire danced on the walls from earthen holders. The path gleamed with distorted seashells inscribed graphically, petrifying the ripples with their reflections. Every corner of Lanka rejoiced at the incarceration of the chronic menace abhorred by their glorious monarch, finally handcuffed after many failed wars.

I had specially prepared for this meeting. The finest gold adorned my hands and waist. My drape was woven with rare threads sourced from ace artisans across the country. I was the queen of the land. And he, no more than a lowly prisoner. Indra was the captive of my son Meghnad, now known as Indrajit!

‘Welcome to Lanka,’ I said with a smirk, standing on the stairs. ‘This humble earthly prison is honoured to host the Devraj.’

The metallic chain clanged against the wall as Indra made an effort to look up. After a pregnant pause, his voice lashed like the baffled waves. ‘In the mortal and immortal worlds, nothing is permanent.’

Ah! Indra was trying to pull me into his illusion. What else could he do? I was not falling into that maze. Neither would I allow him to dismiss his defeat.

‘Mortal and immortal worlds! Well said, Devraj.’ It was fun to call him ‘Devraj’ again and again. Why should I not? Hadn’t Indra and his privileged clan always been dismissive and sarcastic towards a large section of us Mortals? I wanted to insult our prisoner. His snobbery, born out of the celestial throne, was known to prick the pride of many young talents attempting to uncover their brilliance. ‘Everything on earth is black or white, good or bad, sinful or virtuous, dharma or adharma. In the immortal world, however, the rules are reversed. Everything unfair is a philosophical metaphor – glorified as the magnificence of the Divine. A toxic discrimination distances the essence of existence. Yet, fools continue to pray.’

The iron chains must be hurting. Indra craned his neck to take a proper look at me. I could feel his eyes traversing my body. Expecting a lewd remark, my right toe was ready for action. One signal to the automated system would compress the place, bringing the thick walls closer to Indra, shrinking further his already compromised comfort. But the prisoner restrained, unlike the lech I had expected him to be.

‘Is this you or Ravan speaking?’ he asked, astonished. ‘Queen Mandodari, I respect your love for Dashanan. But I don’t understand your blind support for his stubborn irrationality!’

‘Do yourself a favour and don’t ever try to understand,’ I blurted out. Was this Immortal remotely qualified to comprehend the unfathomable? These silly beings didn’t know the language of splurging or preserving. They couldn’t love completely; they didn’t know hatred either. The Immortals evaluated actions on the scale of rewards and punishments. Punishments that often targeted not only the offender but also the fraternity, whether or not they were at fault.

‘Explain, Queen Mandodari,’ Indra pressed on. ‘I want to understand this love. Why do you partner with an abusive king? How did you lose your logic to the Lankan coasts? Is Ravan that wonderful a husband?’

I looked down at the sea where a swarm of creatures had flocked, splashing water with their tails and releasing bubbles through their gills. I threw the grains in my palms at them. They dispersed. Where was the haughty Indra, for whom I had come to the sea all the way from my palace? Was this even Indra? I had come to further destroy the one whom my son, Meghnad, had conquered. He was guilty of being Ravan’s biggest enemy.

‘Who are you? You don’t seem like Indra,’ I uttered, wondering if Meghnad had been tricked.

‘Who do you think is Indra?’

Here, this was the playful tenor typical of the Devraj. Before I could thwart his ramblings, the music in his voice whipped across the water. ‘Indra is an illusion, queen. Indra is your impulse. Nebulous, undefined. How you perceive him is reflective of your character, not Indra’s. It will take a lot from you to analyse the other world with mortal consciousness.’

I frowned. Through the clear ocean water of the night, lit up only by the flickering torch hanging from the high roof, I could see large fish gobbling up smaller ones. The huge universe was ridiculously enclosed within this tiny truth. The smaller fish would be swallowed by the larger ones, leaving behind bubbles in the memory of the deceased, which would eventually burst. The ultimate battle is to ascertain who is the smaller fish, what bubble it can create and how long will the bubble sustain! The mortal world is that simple. In my heart, I agreed that Indra’s immortal world, where no one dies, would be far too complicated.

Should this imply that Mortals cannot attempt to untangle the complications? Why was access restricted? The agitation had disappeared for a while, it was coming back again. Ravan’s battle, and mine with him, was against the entitlements of the immortal world, which deprived the talents everywhere else.

‘I am a master illusionist too, in case you have forgotten. From me has Indrajit,’ I relished calling Meghnad by the new name, ‘inherited his power of illusion that could defeat Indra’s.’

Startled by so many simultaneous attacks, Indra kept quiet before laughing his heart out, irritating me further and sending the marine creatures to clash against each other in their hurry to rush out. ‘Queen, you have only imprisoned Devraj, the keeper of Indralok. Indra still resides in your senses, in your love for Ravan, in his arrogance and in the way you both view the world – aligned yet distinct. That Indra will always be free.’

I clenched my teeth. He was right. Why else would I feel this intense frustration brewing inside? Even if I killed Indra right now, he’d still be alive. Such were the perks of the Immortals. Mortals could object, but the objection would be overruled. Challenging the order was supposedly self-destructive.

Intimidations motivated Ravan. He refused to give in; I refused to leave him alone. We had vowed to walk through this fire together, whatever it took.

This anger could be a trap!

I rubbed my hands against my arms to calm myself. Indra shouldn’t overpower me. After a few moments, I smiled.

‘The earth has a paradise of its own, Devraj. I have created it. It is called Lanka. The country exemplifies a fantastic fusion of the Asur excellence in making profitable use of nature. Here the residents are not reminded every day that nature is more powerful. Hierarchy prevails based on aptitude. A labourer is distanced from the king, but we are united as a clan.’

‘What is your friction with nature, Queen Mandodari?’ Indra sounded frustrated.

‘We have nothing against nature, Devraj. Our friction is with the Immortals who have acquired complete possession of nature and inflicted the earth with consequences every time there is disobedience,’ I slashed his superiority.

‘Agreed that the Immortals control nature. But who bears the fruits?’ He tried to sound generous.

I laughed at his political chicanery. ‘Nature should report to both the mortal and immortal worlds. Come share the responsibility. We are happy to share the fruits.’

‘Immortals are not unfair, queen,’ Indra said grimly. ‘We retaliate only when the Mortals fiddle with nature to an extent that it merits punishment.’

‘Who are you to punish?’ I thrust upon him. ‘Brahma created both Mortals and Immortals. If the design merits unequal privileges for either, then that design is flawed and the designer partial.’

‘You believe Brahma is biased?’ Indra fired back. ‘Is that why you decided to penalize nature?’

‘Penalize? No, we don’t intend to penalize. We are on our onward journey. We created our industries, developed our centres of science and innovation. We expect the nature to cooperate, instead of feeling insecure,’ I snapped at him again.

This time, Indra remained silent, perhaps lining up the next round of negotiations. There were none left.

‘Why do you question the established rituals of the Brahmand? What will you get out of this?’ he asked finally.

How long I had waited for this question. I had even rehearsed my response, expecting this opportunity. ‘We believe Ravan is far more deserving of reigning over the cosmic systems than Indra,’ I said slowly. ‘If Ravan rules, destiny will be well-governed, and more people will