For centuries, Indian mythologies have celebrated kings, warriors, and sages in grand narratives, while women’s stories have remained brief and marginalised — often relegated to mere footnotes. Exploring this marginal space and turning it into the main narrative, author Srilata K lends a voice to some of the lesser-known and spoken-about women in the Mahabharata in her latest poetry collection titled Footnotes to the Mahabharata. In this candid interview, she reflects on her creative process, choices, and the meanings behind her work.
Excerpts follow
Why did you think it was important to approach the Mahabharata from the perspective of its female characters?
It is an age-old narrative and something we have all grown up listening to in some form or the other. Because of its ubiquitous nature and the fact that we are all surrounded by epics such as the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, we need to understand it better and sometimes change the lens through which we view or understand the stories. I believe, as a writer and an academic, that we should never take something that is given to us as it is. We need to pay attention to see if there are different ways to think about stories. So, I think a feminist lens is a very important way of doing that. To me, that just came naturally.
Could you take us through your writing process for this collection? How long did the book take to come together?
Footnotes to the Mahabharata was written over four-and-a-half years. You might wonder why such a slim book took so long. When I began, I had just left a 20-year career as a full-time professor at IIT Madras because I didn’t have the mind space or time for my writing — I was greedy for it. Suddenly, I felt a big emptiness and was confused about what I wanted to do with the time. The answer wasn’t immediate, though I kept writing. When I was de-cluttering bookshelves, I found retellings of the Mahabharata by Bhyrappa and others, which I read and got absorbed by. I decided to use these retellings as a base to write poetry from the perspectives of its women characters. It began as a game, but it grew on me. Personal difficulties interrupted the work, and I almost returned a grant I had from the India Foundation for Arts, but they were supportive. Life sorted itself out, I returned to writing, and the poems deepened and changed over time.
During one of your readings, you mentioned exploring additional characters who ultimately didn’t make it into the final collection. Could you tell us who they were and why they were left out?
Any serious writing is built on the “corpses of words” that don’t make it in. A lot of work is done that readers won’t see. As a writer, you have to ruthlessly discard what doesn’t meet your standards. When I was younger, I was very attached and submitted almost everything I wrote. Now I’m wiser. I wrote about 35 to 40 poems on characters that didn’t fit the book’s vision — including Madhavi, Subhadra, and even some men like Bhima and Yudhishthira. Though these came to me naturally while reading their stories, they didn’t fit the overall vision, so I left them out.
What stereotypes about women were you keen to challenge while writing this book?
Many stereotypes have already been broken by other writers, but a few stood out for me. For example, Draupadi had a life before becoming the wife of the Pandavas. She was a young scholar, poet, someone who liked to read and write. But we mostly know her through her suffering and marriage. With Kunti, we usually see a mature, chaste mother, but maybe there’s an unexplored aspect of female desire in her story. Hidimbi is seen as a fierce Rakshasi wife, loyal and strong, but we don’t often recognise her tenderness and love for Bhima and her son Ghatotkacha. These are some of the stereotypes I wanted to break.
Why did you choose Alli, who is a character in the epic’s Tamil oral tradition and folklore?
Alli is not mentioned in the written versions. She is a South Indian Mahabharata heroine, little known beyond Tamil Nadu. Even within the state, many don’t know her. The phrase Alli Rajyam is used sarcastically for a female-dominated household, showing cultural traces of her. I thought it was important to bring her story into the wider Mahabharata canon. She was able to balance boldness and courage and was able to fight with a deeply vulnerable, soft side. That duality endeared her to me.
Coming to Hidimbi, her character is often overlooked in the Mahabharata. What drew you to her?
Because she’s barely spoken of, almost a footnote. The story we know is that Bhima kills her brother, she falls in love with him, they marry, and have a son. But what happens after? The Pandavas leave, and she raises the son alone. The story is usually followed from the Pandavas’ perspective — how they reclaim kingdoms, their wives’ stories — but what about Hidimbi? How does she feel about being left behind? How does society view her relationship with a Kshatriya man? Those questions needed exploring.
In Yajnaseni, Draupadi’s love for Krishna takes a romantic turn. Why did you choose to explore the reimagination of this original work?
We know Draupadi had a deep friendship with Krishna, but romance isn’t often discussed. Yajnaseni shows a romantic relationship, which is uncomfortable because Draupadi is married to five men. It’s interesting to explore the split in her mind and how she processes this love.
Was your depiction of Gandhari intended to highlight the lack of purpose of self-sacrifice in a world governed by male decisions?
Yes. Gandhari blindfolded herself after discovering her husband was blind. Traditionally, this is seen as virtuous. But there is another narrative: she was resentful and stubborn, choosing to blindfold herself in defiance and refusing to take it off. It becomes a purposeless, sad self-sacrifice.
How is Kunti’s bond with Maruta explored?
Bhyrappa’s Parva sort of depicts all these characters as human characters, and there are no supernatural elements. In that retelling, Pandu tells Kunti to bear sons with a man from the Deva clan to secure the kingdom, but demands she leave the man afterwards. This contract leaves no space for Kunti’s own desire. She falls in love with Maruta, but this love can never be legitimate in a patriarchal society. The poems explore what Kunti does with this forbidden desire.
How do you connect these mythological women to contemporary struggles?
Some things have changed; for example, I don’t think we would find ourselves in Draupadi’s situation, having to marry five men. But other experiences persist, we look at Alli’s story, even today, sort of rape is common, that’s kind of what happens to her. Many women still give up their previous lives after marriage, like Draupadi. So while times have changed, many feelings and lessons from these epics remain relevant.
Most of the poems in Footnotes to the Mahabharata are conversational. How did you imagine creating a dialogue between characters who have never met or know only a handful of information about?
I chose dramatic monologues to explore the minds of these women — what they think but may not say publicly. Women often confide in close female friends or sakhis, so these poems take the form of conversations with the heroine speaking and the friend listening or replying.
Could you give insights into your upcoming works?
I’m co-translating Subramania Bharati’s poems with poet Shobana Kumar. I’m also translating poetry by Vatsala, a Tamil poet and my mother. These are my main projects, but other book ideas keep buzzing in my head.
Watch the full interview on The New Indian Express’s YouTube channel.