The Mahabharata’s Game-Changer: Shikhandi and the Battle for Identity

An ancient tale of transformation, vengeance, and radical truth.

“Whenever there is a decline in righteousness and an increase in unrighteousness, O Arjuna, at that time I manifest myself on earth." — Bhagavad Gita, Chapter 4, Verse 7

Every June, rainbow flags go up in cities and across timelines, marking Pride Month—a time to celebrate LGBTQIA+ lives, identities, and the long, ongoing fight for dignity and recognition. Most of the time, we look westward for queer icons. But we don’t need to look that far.

India’s own epics and folklores carry stories that are bold, beautiful, and radically queer—none more striking than Shikhandi’s.

Not all heroes come dressed in white or bearing divine weapons. Some carry scars. Some are born in-between. Some return across lifetimes to set the record straight. Shikhandi was one of them—a warrior who stepped into battle not just for revenge, but for something deeper: justice, truth, and identity.

Born as a girl. Reborn as a man. A soul that crossed the boundaries of gender and time. Shikhandi didn’t just exist in the Mahabharata—he changed the outcome of the war. And yet, his story is often brushed aside, left unspoken, as if queerness had no place in our past.

But it did. And it does.

This Pride Month, let’s not just look outward for inspiration. Let’s look inward—toward the stories we’ve forgotten, and the truths we’ve been told to ignore. Queerness isn’t new. It’s ancient. It's ours.

Let’s remember that. And let’s celebrate it.

Who Was Shikhandi?

Shikhandi appears in the Mahabharata, one of India’s two great epics, and plays a critical—if often understated—role in the legendary Kurukshetra War. Born as Shikhandini, the child of King Drupada of Panchala, their story is marked by transformation, trauma, and triumph.

Shikhandi is widely recognized as a transgender or gender-fluid figure, making them one of the earliest recorded non-cisgender identities in world mythology. Their tale speaks directly to questions of gender identity, societal roles, and the fight for self-definition.

But to understand the character, we must begin with a woman named Amba—and the flames of a fury that would blaze across centuries.

The Spark: Amba, Bhishma, and a Betrayed Love

The story of Shikhandi begins with another: Princess Amba of Kashi. Amba and her sisters—Ambika and Ambalika—were to be wedded in a ceremony arranged for all of them by their father – The King of Kashi (Present day Banaras).

But fate had other plans.

Bhishma, the celibate and oath-bound scion of the Kuru dynasty, abducted all three sisters from their swayamvara (self-choice ceremony). His motive? To secure brides for his half-brother, Vichitravirya, ensuring the continuation of the Kuru lineage in Hastinapur. Bhishma's actions were strategic and political, but for Amba, they were a violation of her agency.

Amba was already in love—with King Salva of Kingdom Salva whom she had chosen as her husband. After her abduction, she pleaded with Bhishma to let her return to her lover. Bhishma consented, but Salwa, humiliated by his earlier defeat, rejected Amba, doubting her chastity and questioning her worth.

Broken and shunned, she turned back to Bhishma—who again refused her, bound by his vow of celibacy.

Amba was not just heartbroken. She was furious.

And fury, in epics as in life, becomes prophecy.

The Vow of Vengeance

Denied by the man she loved and discarded by the man who caused her downfall, Amba chose another path: revenge. She vowed that in another life, she would be the instrument of Bhishma’s death.

After severe penance, she received a boon from Lord Shiva: in her next birth, she would become the cause of Bhishma’s destruction. With grim resolve, she leapt into a pyre, ending one life to begin another, with a mission coded into her soul. In another telling of the tale, Amba was granted a divine garland by Lord Karthikeya. The prophecy was clear: the one who wears this garland will be the cause of Bhishma’s death. With hope in her heart and revenge burning in her soul, Amba sought a warrior—anyone—who would take up the garland and fight for her cause.

But none came forward. No king, no hero, no ally would stand with her. She was cast aside, her pain dismissed, her cause seen as too personal, too inconvenient. Heartbroken and furious, Amba hung the garland on the gates of King Drupada’s palace—a silent curse, a promise unkept, a wound left to fester. And then she walked away.

She took an oath that day—not of surrender, but of return. That she would be reborn. That she would not beg again. That next time, she would be the warrior. And she was.

Drupada, the Humiliated King

Elsewhere, another story brewed.

Drupada, king of Panchala, had once shared a friendship with Drona, a poor Brahmin who would go on to become the famed teacher of the Kuru princes. When Drona came to Drupada seeking help, Drupada mocked him, forgetting the loyalty of their youth.

Drona, humiliated, vowed revenge.

In the Mahabharata’s grand web of karma and retribution, Drona would later defeat Drupada in battle, taking half his kingdom.

Crushed by insult and loss, Drupada turned to the spiritual—performing yagnas (sacrificial rituals) to beget children who would bring him vengeance. He was childless and prayed to gods to beget him one. From that sacred fire were born Shikhandini – Amba reborn, Draupadi, the future wife of the Pandavas, and Dhristadyumna – brother of Draupadi and Shikhandini.

Born to Avenge: The Childhood of Shikhandini

Shikhandini was assigned female at birth, but King Drupada, haunted by a prophecy that his child would be the end of Bhishma, raised her as a son. He didn’t understand how it would come to pass—only that it must. In a world where only men were trained to fight, to lead, to avenge, raising her as a daughter would’ve meant surrendering her fate before it even began. So he made a choice. Not out of understanding, but out of desperation, powerlessness, and the weight of a war yet to come. He believed in the boon which Lord Shiva granted him that a daughter would be born to him who would later on become a man and the celibate Bhishma’s cause of death.

As Shikhandini grew up, trained in warfare, she was married off to a princess from a neighbouring kingdom of Dasharna as she reached a certain age. But the truth of her birth was discovered by the princess on their wedding night, including the king Hiranyavarman, and she was publicly shamed and sent back.

Humiliated and desperate, Shikhandini fled to the forest, where fate intervened in the form of a yaksha, a celestial being named Sthunakarna. Seeing Shikhandini’s anguish and purpose, the yaksha offered a miraculous gift: a physical transformation.

The yaksha exchanged his male body with Shikhandini’s. Thus, Shikhandini became Shikhandi—not just in identity but now also in form. A trans warrior, reborn and redefined, carrying the fire of Amba and the scars of Shikhandini.

In many retellings, this transformation is framed not just as a mystical event but a profound affirmation of gender identity—an expression of what it means to be who you know you are, even when society resists.

Shikhandi on the Battlefield: The Fall of Bhishma

The stage was set for the Kurukshetra War—the ultimate reckoning in the Mahabharata.

On one side stood the Pandavas, on the other the Kauravas. And towering above all was Bhishma, leading the Kaurava army with unmatched skill and unshakable ethics. Bhishma was invincible and he carried a fatal flaw—no man could kill him, and he would not fight a woman or someone he considered not truly male.

The Pandavas knew this.

Krishna, ever the strategist, placed Shikhandi at the front of the chariot. When the time came, Arjuna stood behind Shikhandi and launched a barrage of arrows. Bhishma saw Shikhandi and lowered his bow, bound by his vow. He refused to fight. He accepted death.

Shikhandi did not strike the final blow, but they enabled it—becoming the instrument of fate, the embodiment of justice delayed but not denied. Amba’s vow was fulfilled. Her revenge was complete. And a trans warrior entered the pages of immortality. Shikhandi became the catalyst of Bhishma’s fall—a poetic end to a vow-bound warrior, undone by the one he once scorned.

Why The Character Matters—Now More Than Ever

Shikhandi is not a token. He is not a mythic footnote.

He is a transgender figure from one of the oldest epics in human history, challenging the notion that gender diversity is a modern Western concept. Shikhandi existed millennia ago—defiant, complex, and vital to the resolution of a cosmic war.

In his story, we find echoes of today:

• Children born into expectations that do not fit.

• Identities questioned, invalidated, and erased.

• Sacred truths lived through pain, exile, and transformation.

  
  

• A society that often refuses to see queerness as part of its own heritage.

Shikhandi’s story is not just ancient lore; it’s a mirror held up to the present.

In a world still grappling with gender binaries and transphobia, he is an icon of trans and nonbinary resilience. His story gives representation to those who have too often been erased—from history, from myth, from mainstream narratives.

Let’s be clear: Shikhandi is not just a symbol. He is a flesh-and-blood character in one of the world’s oldest epics, carrying the scars of rejection, the triumph of self-actualization, and the power of purpose. Shikhandi did not apologize for who he was. He did not beg for understanding. He claimed his identity and destiny, fiercely.

This Pride Month, in an age when queer lives are still under attack—legally, socially, spiritually—Shikhandi stands tall, reminding us that queerness is not modern, not Western, and certainly not new. It is ancient. Sacred. Heroic.

Reclaiming Epic as Queer History

Too often, the stories of queer people are written out of religious and cultural texts. Or worse, they’re twisted into cautionary tales. But the Mahabharata, rich and layered as it is, offers a more complex view. It gives us space for fluidity, for duality, for transformation.

Shikhandi’s journey defies the binary: born female, raised male, transformed by spirit, and recognized by destiny.

He was not a footnote. He was a game-changer.

In retelling Shikhandi’s story today, we reclaim this epic as a vessel of truth—one that includes trans and gender-diverse lives not as anomalies, but as integral, meaningful parts of the human (and divine) experience.

Modern Parallels: Trans Warriors Then and Now

Shikhandi’s tale finds echoes in the lives of modern trans and nonbinary people who face systemic erasure but still show up with power, pride, and persistence.

Consider the Hijra communities of South Asia—recognized as a third gender for centuries, often embodying both reverence and marginalization. Or the trans activists at the forefront of global LGBTQIA+ movements, from Marsha P. Johnson to Laxmi Narayan Tripathi—who, like Shikhandi, refuse to be silent or sidelined.

Their message is clear: existence is resistance, and resistance is sacred.

Pride and Power: Shikhandi in Queer Memory

This Pride Month, as we celebrate visibility, we also need to talk about legacy.

Shikhandi’s story isn’t just a part of mythology—it’s part of our history. It reminds us that queer and trans lives have always existed in South Asia. They were never outside our culture. They were always part of it.

• Representation: A trans warrior in one of the oldest epics. Not erased. Not background. Central.

• Empowerment: This is a story of someone who took control of their destiny, who wasn’t afraid to fight for it.

• History: Queerness didn’t arrive with modernity or the West. It’s been here, rooted in our stories for centuries.

• Redemption: Through pain and rejection, Shikhandi returned—not defeated, but determined.

This isn’t just folklore. For queer and trans South Asians, it’s a reminder: you belong here.

You always have.

Final Thoughts: A Warrior for the Ages

The Mahabharata is not just a story of gods and heroes. It is a tapestry of human complexity—of duty, choice, justice, and love. And in this tapestry, Shikhandi’s thread burns bright.

He reminds us that gender is not destiny, but it is identity. That vengeance, when born of injustice, can become justice. That transformation, however painful, can be divine. Shikhandi is not just a character from an epic. His is an epic unto themselves—a mythic embodiment of the very spirit Pride Month celebrates: courage, authenticity, and the refusal to be erased.

This June, as we wear our colors and raise our voices, let’s also raise our stories. Let’s celebrate not just who we are, but who we have always been. Let us chant his name alongside Stonewall and Section 377, alongside Harvey Milk and Hijra rights. Let us tell the story of Shikhandi—fierce in the flesh, fearless in the fight.

Let us remember:

Shikhandi didn’t just fight in a war. He won a war against silence. Because Pride didn’t start in the 20th century.

It started with a vow. A fire. And a warrior who wouldn’t back down.

What queer stories from your heritage inspire you? Drop them in the comments below. Let’s reclaim, retell, and reignite our place in the epic.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pooja Vishwanathan

Pooja Vishwanathan is a soulful writer and music lover, living as if she has a thousand years to grow yet embracing every moment as if it’s her last. Writing and creating content are not just her craft but the legacy she builds with every word. Inspired by the melodies of life, she pours sincerity and soul into each sentence, capturing the rhythm of existence. Her journey is one of infinite discovery, evolving with every verse she pens, knowing that she dies once but lives through her words.

Her motto is to write endlessly, live deeply, and let words outlive time.