Dear Jeyamohan sir,
I am writing to share my thoughts on your short story Padmaviyoogam, which was published in Telugu in “Eemaata Web Magazine” last month, translated by Avineni Bhaskar.
Right from the opening lines, when Subhadra says, “It felt like a cold metal knife has pierced my abdomen,” the reader starts to gets shaken. Her pain immediately becomes our pain. The distance between the character and the reader disappears, and we are pulled straight into her grief.
One of the most powerful moments in the story is Subhadra’s cry, “I longed to cry aloud, to let my tears wash away the unbearable sight of my young Abhimanyu lying lifeless on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. Yet even my grief is denied—my tears are unworthy, silenced under the cruel mantle of the label of veera maata, a ‘brave kshatriya mother”.
Born a woman in royal families is a curse—bound by duty, denied of all freedom. They lose their loved ones to war, yet they are not allowed even the comfort of tears. Even the basic right of a mother to grieve her child is suppressed. Their lives are filled with silent sorrow.
In the middle of this painful narration, the story shifts to Subhadra’s early days with Arjuna. At first, even though I wondered do anyone in such deep grief would really think of such memories. But then I realised—it is human to get these flashes while facing unbearable pain. Maybe it is a way to rise above suffering, or a way to understand the purpose of life itself.
Subhadra’s long‑standing jealousy toward Draupadi also comes through. In such tragic times, her envy grows, yet she also feels a moment of pity—after all, Draupadi lost all five of her sons. But Subhadra quickly reminds herself that it was Draupadi’s pride that helped set the war in motion.
At the start of the story, Subhadra speaks as if she hates Krishna, who had been everything to her since childhood. But by the end, she understands the deeper meaning of Krishna’s philosophy—perhaps the true dharma of life. The ending carries your unmistakable touch.
The Mahabharata has always been a powerful reflection on dharma and war. Even today, the Indian Army displays the Bhagavad Gita in their “karma kshetra” painting in the Chief’s Lounge.
I remember reading Women in Mahabharata, a TTD publication, when I was young. The roles, strength, values, and suffering of women in the epic have always fascinated both writers and readers.
Your portrayal of Subhadra as a naive, subdued woman—and the absence of the pregnant Uttara—seems intentional. Subhadra is not strong‑willed here; she is overwhelmed and shaped by grief. This weakness is new to Telugu readers, for whom, Subhadra is a warrior herself, never a weak person. She’s is not jealous of anyone, she won’t be angry/she’s as good as her brothers. However, this story is clearly not centred on her alone.
After the war, mothers, widows, and sisters rush to the battlefield searching for their loved ones. War is an explosion—its effects are endless. Time may heal, but humans continue to fight again and again in the name of “dharma,” which keeps changing with time.
Thank you for reminding us of this truth. Krishna—whom we call ‘kapata naataka sutradhari’—receives a curse from a grieving parent in this war. This is a powerful message for our world today, where war is constant somewhere on the planet. Whether it is a war for resources or survival, no one truly wins.
Telugu people have always had a deep connection with Mahabharata. We have embraced it through literature, theatre, folklore, cinema, comics, and animation like in all cultures world over. Padmaviyoogam adds a new layer to this great epic by giving voice to Subhadra, who is rarely highlighted in traditional re-tellings. As a Telugu reader and lifelong admirer of the Mahabharata, I hope to read your magnum opus ‘Venmurasu’ in Telugu someday, so its grandeur can reach even more hearts here in our land.
My best regards to you Sir,
Sujata
Dear Sujatha,
Thank you for your letter. I am pleased to know that my story has been well received in Telugu as well.
There are three ways to read the Mahabharata. The first is the regular bhakti approach, which believes that the events of the Mahabharata are some kind of supernatural incidents and activities of God. The second approach is historical, involving research on the text to determine its historical background and relevance.
The third approach, which is my own, interprets it through archetypes. The characters and incidents of the Mahabharata serve as powerful symbols and images that resonate within the collective mind of our society.
We need to explore and interpret it freely, as this process allows us to rediscover and redefine ourselves. It provides a profound way to examine our subconscious, given that our collective mind comprises these fundamental archetypes.
Therefore, the result of the renarration—what is emerging from it—is really important.
je
