Subhadra - The Mahabharata Chronicles #11

Her eyes kept following the toddler as he made his way through the room. He was crawling towards Panchali who was cooing to him and beckoning him forth. He tried to stand up, took a few tentative steps and wobbled as he was reaching towards her.  Instinctively, her reflexes sprung and she rushed to catch him before he fell.

She needn’t have worried. Draupadi’s strong hands had already caught him.

Her gaze turned towards the First Lady of Hastinapura. The Iron-woman herself. Her luscious hair now tinged grey, the regal bearing intact, she was now cajoling the baby into eating something.

She remembered the first time she had met the queen who reigned over the Pandavas.  The derisive gaze, the haughtiness in her stance, the underlying anger at the new entrant into Arjuna’s life. For her part, she had been meek and subservient, just as Arjuna had asked her to be. Over time, she had formed a cordial yet endearing bond with her. And over the years she had realized that they had much more in common than just Arjuna.

After all, their lives were guided by the same person. Keshava, the unification of the lord of creation and the lord of destruction.

The One who made sure they followed the path of Dharma. At least the Dharma that he said they had to adhere to.

They had both given up their first loves upon his word. They had both let their progeny ride in to the war, knowing fully well that they were riding into meet their death, upon his word.

But now, thinking back she wondered if it had been the right thing. If they should have stood up to him and not just taken him at his word. If all these adversities and the conflict could have been averted had they been allowed to be with the one who had usurped their hearts. But then, Krishna could be more convincing and persuasive than anyone else she knew. She could imagine how he must have persuaded Draupadi to choose Arjuna over Karna, just as he had persuaded her to choose Arjuna over Suyodhana.

Suyodhana.

Even after all these years, her heart skipped a beat when she thought about him.

Her first love. Him with his gentle demeanour and soft nature. Her happiest moments were with him, sitting by the riverside, his head in her lap, talking about all things substantial and trivial, the spells few and far between. He confided everything in her. Of the Pandavas bullying him and his brothers, of the Gurus favouring Arjuna over anyone else, of his immense respect for her eldest brother, Balarama, and about how he had tried everything in his might to ensure cordial relations between the cousins and yet somehow, his plans were foiled every single time.

And then like a flood, the memories fast-forwarded to their home in Dwaraka and Krishna talking to her in that soothing mellifluous voice of his. Persuading her to sacrifice her love for the greater good. Stressing upon her, the part she was tasked to fulfil in the purging of the evil in the world, gently revealing to her who she really was and how she came upon to her present avatar, confiding in her about the manifestations of the Gods and Goddesses and the role they had to play during the transition of the yugas, from the Treta Yuga to the Kali Yuga.

[Pic courtesy: Maha Maya - https://i.ytimg.com/vi/vHKdkS5OZoQ/hqdefault.jpg]

Swayed, she had sacrificed her love for him and embraced the love of another. For the greater good. For that choice of hers was the focal point of gentle Suyodhanas’s transformation to his present moniker, Duryodhana. She had sent Abhimanyu into the war, with a mustered bravado and blessing for a long life which she knew would never ensue. For his demise would be the pivot motivating Arjuna to wreak havoc upon the so-called enemies, his own kith and kin.

And as for Arjuna, even though she was his favoured one, her respect for him diminished that fateful day in the Sabha. The day, the man touted to be the greatest archer, failed to stand up for his first love – Draupadi, succumbing to the actions of the depraved men, binding himself to the trivial words of a king who had staked his own wife as wager in a wrongful game of dice.

She remembered the hollow look in the proud queen’s eyes, the pale face and the simmering rage within. She recalled taking her cold hands into her own, putting her to sleep like she would a small child. She thought of how the once statuesque queen had whimpered and convulsed, reliving those appalling moments.

Like a mother would care for her young, Yoga Maya had comforted the manifestation of Shakti.

And so, it had all begun and ended as the wheel of fate had spun her life into unmanageable twists and turns.

Yet here she was, now a grandmother.

She was drawn back into the present-day, by the young one pulling at her saree, pleading with her to play with him. Her grand-son.

The one who wrested over death while in the womb itself. The one who survived.

For in him, ran the blood of the Matsyas, the Kurus and the Yadavas.

Abhimanyu’s progeny. Parikshit. 

Vrikodara - The Mahabharata Chronicles #8

A woman on the battlefield was unheard of. However, he did not care. He was about to fulfill one of his vows today. It had been a long wait.

He slowly took her arm and led her onto the battleground. Reverentially, he seated her on a broken chariot, pointed at the almost dead inert body lying close to it.

She looked at the broken man lying drenched in blood, the man who had tried to disrobe her that shameful day. She averted her gaze for fear that her wrath would burn him to ashes and looked up at the one who had brought her onto the battlefield. He folded his hands deferentially towards her, and looked back at the man who was aware of the fate that awaited him.  

With a huge savage cry, he rushed towards him, and tore out his entrails in a beastly manner and proceeded to wash her hair with the blood on his hands. He did it with a veneration bordering on worship, almost trance-like, a devotee appeasing his Goddess.

She sat there, rigid as an idol, basking in the adulation showered upon her. Heaving a sigh of contentment, she looked at him, cupped his face in her hands and gazed at him.

He had never failed her.  She reveled with pride in the fact that he never would.

----- X -----

Krishna observed the sight unfolding in front of his eyes. Everyone around were but, mute spectators to whatever was happening. He watched silently, as the embodiment of the Wind-God, knelt before the personification of the Goddess. He watched the devotion, the child-like adoration on Vrikodara’s face when he was propitiating Krishnaa.

Vrikodara.

The one with a wolf’s belly. The strongest of all Pandavas. The gentle giant.

                                                                                     [Pic Couresty: http://molee.deviantart.com/

He had neither Yudhisthira’s steady demeanor nor Arjuna’s single-mindedness. He was someone who swung between extremes, someone who was prone to wild flashes of mood swings, gusts of emotions. He had his own concepts of Dharma and Karma and usually insisted on immediate payback, unlike the other brothers who would wait for the most opportune moment to strike back or retaliate. He was someone who could not stand the very sight of injustice irrespective of whomsoever it was meted out to. In spite of all this, he was most often the gentlest of all. The epitome of humility. Narayana’s staunchest devotee. And the most fun to be with because of his unpredictable nature.

There was however, one thing that was predictable about him.

Draupadi.

Like everyone else before him, and as everyone else after him, he had succumbed to her charms as well. Everybody knew that Bheema was silly putty in Draupadi’s hands. All she had to do was ask him something, and he would do it no questions asked. Whether it was the quest for the Saugandhika flowers or Keechaka’s death, it was Bheema Draupadi had turned to, for she knew that, he would never fail her, even while the others did; citing reasons that bordered on excuses. He was the only one to raise his voice against the happenings on that dreadful day in the court sabha; he was the one who had sworn that the death of all of Kali’s followers would be at his hands. And slowly yet steadily, he was getting there.

----- X -----

Bheema looked around. His shoulders sagged with the sights in front of him. The blood, the carnage, the destruction, the devastation and the deaths. He was single-handedly responsible for half of the destruction that lay before their eyes. The war had taken a great deal out of him. He had lost a lot to it as well. The deaths of his son and nephew weighed upon his being. The fratricide he had committed had taken its toll on him.

He looked up at Krishna.

He saw Krishna gazing back at him, a world of understanding in his benevolent gaze.

----- X -----

Krishna knew.

Out of all the Pandava brothers, Bheema was the only one who understood the true need for the war. He was the only one who had never questioned on why this war should happen. He was the one who looked beyond the materialistic gains that this war would bring forth and recognized the bigger picture and the ramifications of this battle. With unwavering faith and belief on Krishna, Bheema had stood steadfast in his opinion that the war should ensue.

To the rest of the world, Bheema was fulfilling his vows, his pledges to Draupadi. Presumably as an act of true love. However, Krishna knew that Bheema had long before moved beyond his assertions of love for Draupadi. Bheema had come to the realization that in Draupadi’s eyes; he would always be second best, maybe even third best. He had become aware that for her, he was only a means; that the temptation of her love was only a lure, a means to a greater end. He had also accepted this fact in all humility, as he understood the reasoning behind it. Enlightened that Draupadi was Goddess incarnate and his way forward was to serve her and help in the cleansing of evil from the world, he had taken it upon himself to ensure that he was pivotal in the destruction of all of evil’s personifications. In that sense alone, he was the true hero of the Mahabharata war.

----- X -----

Vrikodara knew that his job was far from done. There was a lot more to come. He was however a step closer to that final rung.

He looked up at Duryodhana standing afar, shock in his eyes at his beloved brother’s gruesome death at the hands of his worst enemy. One by one, he had picked off and killed all the Kaurava brethren until only the eldest of them all was standing. Signaling to the Duryodhana that he was next, he held up his conch, Paundra, and blew into it deeply.

He had made the first strike in this war.

The last strike would be his as well.

----- X -----

Pritha - The Mahabharata Chronicles #6

I was named Pritha.

Pritha. Meaning the well-endowed one.

Pritha. Birth Daughter of Surasena. Foster daughter to KuntiBhoja. Sister of Vasudeva. Paternal aunt to Lord Krishna. Mother of the Pandavas.

Individualistic. Willful. Righteous. Intractable.

Born into a clan of kingmakers. Wedded into a clan of kings and rulers.

This was how people spoke of me. This was how they described me.

I was given up in early childhood, to my father’s cousin, Kunti Bhoja who was childless. He took care of me as his own daughter, lavishing upon me all affection and care. Brought up in all ways befitting the princess of an illustrious kingdom and trained in all matters of administration of a kingdom as well as in warfare, I was allowed the indulgence of being independent right from a young age. However, the fact that I was only an adopted daughter of the family still irked me from time to time. In my heart and soul, I was still a Vrishni.

When I was young, my foster-father entrusted to me the duty of looking after the irascible sage, Durvasa. I duly did so, and pleased with my services he offered me a boon. Naïve girl that I was, I asked him to bless me with a boon that would be useful to me in my future life. The all-knowing one blessed me with a mantra that would enable me to beget progeny from celestials. I did not know of the course my life would take then. Soon after, I chose King Pandu at my swayamvar. While this was an easy decision to make, I realized soon that my life was fraught with difficulties. I was forced to share my husband with another princess, unparalleled in beauty, soon after my marriage. Scared of the fact that his family line would not flourish after having been cursed by Rishi Kindama, he begged me to undergo niyoga with other men and beget children in order to carry forward the Kuru lineage. The scriptures did allow this and so I let him know of the boon I had received. He was thrilled and upon his requests, I soon became mother to three strapping young boys – Yudhishthira (son of Dharma), Bhima (son of Vayu) and Arjuna (son of Indra). I was also asked to share the boon with Madri who then proceeded to invoke the Ashwini Kumaras and was blessed with Nakula and Sahadeva. It was a happy time in the forests for a short while until I was witness to Pandu’s death, owing to his lack of self-control and Madri’s by Sati. It was in my Dharma to go the same way as her, but the onus of looking after our five sons fell upon me.

                                                                             [Pic Couresty: http://molee.deviantart.com/]

I had to provide for their well-being, and so I went back to the kingdom that my husband had renounced.  The same kingdom that then questioned the parenthood of my sons. The same kingdom that was now ruled by a king birthed from a Suta. And whose lineage descended from a fisherwoman. They had the audacity to question me on the parenthood and the caste of my sons. I did not deem it fit to answer their questions. My only answer to them in the face of all their questions was that my sons had an equal right to the throne, Yudhishthira being the eldest of all the crown princes. It was an arduous task to put up with the politics, scheming and the jealousy that we encountered in the palace.  Over the years, adversaries made innumerable attempts on our lives. I could not pretend to be unaware of what was happening; neither could I afford to be tolerant of the same.  I had to be vigilant and ensure that I always stayed one-step ahead of the scheming parties. I managed this largely, due to the support and help received from Vidura, friend and confidant as well as the unquestioning nature of my sons.

For my sons, I was both their father and mother. And I never made them feel otherwise. They abided by my suggestions, took my opinion on everything and never ever strayed away from what I told them to. To them, my word was the be-all and end-all of all things said and done. I was their guiding force and their partner-in-crime over the years of struggles and obstacles. To say that we have been through a lot would be an understatement.

You know me as the mother of the Pandavas. You talk of me as the woman who made her sons share their wife, between the five of them. You speak of me as the woman who without any second thoughts cast away her newborn son into the river. You identify me as the spineless person, who offered the same son, the kingdom and the illustrious daughter in law as his wife, knowing that he had loved her once, provided he came over to the side of Dharma. You declare that I was the sole reason that a son cursed the entire women clan that we would not be able to keep any secrets. You proclaim me as the villain who brought forth fratricide between children of the same family.

I agree; I am guilty of all this and much more.

I AM the mother of Pandavas. I brought up my sons fairly and justly, instilling in them a sense of Dharma as well as my own individualistic spirit and tenacity. I motivated them to be masters of their own being, while being persistent in their unity in face of adversity. I taught them of the rights and wrongs, ensuring that their skills and morality would hold them in good stead.

Yes, I am the woman who made her sons share their wife, between the five of them. The strength of my sons lay in their unity. United they were an unbreakable force, a power to be reckoned with. Divided, none would even see light of the day. The lust in each of their eyes upon sighting the renowned princess of Panchala, made me realize how much they all craved her. Hence, I ensured that they all got married to the same woman. That she was the driving force behind the course of my sons’ lives. That she would be the one they would now be answerable to, and the one who would propel them towards their destiny. I could now leave them in safe hands and step back.   

I am also the person who without any second thoughts cast away her firstborn son into the river, fearing scorn of the society and ruin of the family honor. I cannot truly justify this act in any way, but I can only say this in my defense. Curiosity got the better of me and I invoked the mantra that I was blessed with. I called down Arka in all his blazing grandeur and was blessed with a boy. He was born in resplendent glory, with his shining kundals and indestructible kavach. However, the thought of tarnishing the family honor scared me out of my wits and with a heavy heart, I gave up the baby and entrusted him to the care of the river goddess. The guilt overwhelmed me, but I was powerless and helpless. For a young virgin princess, upholding the honor of the clan took more weightage at that point than the life she held in her hands. The guilt of letting go of my firstborn always weighs me down, because I could never shower upon him any motherly affections not could I offer him a mothers’ love.

And yes, I am that spineless woman, who then offered the same son, the kingdom and the illustrious daughter in law as his wife, knowing that he had loved her once, provided he came over to the side of Dharma. You will speak of it as my selfishness for without him, Duryodhana’s strongest ally and closest friend, the Kauravas would be weakened. What you may not know was that inwardly, it was also a mother’s last hope to save her first-born and be united with him again. Besides, righting the wrong that I had done to him, it would also save him from certain death in the War of Dharma.  What I did not reckon for was the intractable loyalty that my son took after me. He refused to give up on his friendship and stood staunchly by his friends’ side, even in his death.

I was also the reason that a son cursed the entire women clan that we would not be able to keep any secrets. When my sons heard that they had killed one of their own, they could not bear it. They derided me for keeping this a secret from them for so long. For the first ever time, I saw my sons look at me with something other than love and respect. For the first ever time, I saw them look at me with derision in their eyes. They could not believe that their mother, the one they thought was above all reproach could do something like this. I had my reasons, but my reasons were not good enough for them. The only one who understood me was my nephew, the one who knows all. However, there was not much that he could do for me either.

Fate has a strange way of playing out. I was born into a cursed clan and funnily enough married, into the clan that had originally cursed my ancestors to be kingmakers and not kings. Though married into the kingdom of Hastinapura, I have never ruled happily as its queen. I, who was wedded into the lineage of the Kurus, have never enjoyed sovereignty. My entire existence has been a testament to the follow the one truth that was ingrained into me ever since I was aware.

That the way of the Dharma was the way of life. That the honor of the lineage was my own honor.

It did not matter whether it was the clan that I was born in, or the one that I wedded into. What mattered was that it was my destiny and duty to protect and uphold the integrity of the lineage I belonged to and the one that I was a part of.

My biggest failing lies in the fact that for eons to come, none will ever speak of me as the righteous woman who upheld Dharma even in the toughest times. They will talk of me as the woman who made her sons share their wife. They will speak of me as the woman who without any second thoughts cast away her newborn son into the river. They will identify me as the spineless person, who offered the same son, the kingdom and the illustrious daughter in law as his wife, provided he came over to the side of Dharma. And they will declare that I was the reason that a son cursed the entire women clan that we would not be able to keep any secrets. They will herald me as the villain who brought forth fratricide between children of the same family.

However, my biggest victory lies in the fact that the lineage of Yayati will been united finally. The blood of the Yadus flows through me onto my grandson Abhimanyu, through Arjuna and Subhadra, his parents.

For in the end it all comes down to this, this truth.

“Dharma when cultivated preserves, Dharma when violated destroys.”

Sahadeva - The Mahabharata Chronicles #3

I have fallen here. Lying down in the dark, caught in the crevices of the vast Himalayan ranges, half-buried by snow. It’s only a few more hours before this test is over and Yudhishthira and the dog finish their climb to ascend Swarga.

I knew this was coming. JUST LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE.

As soon as Draupadi fell, I was anticipating my turn. Next will be Nakula, my twin, followed by Arjuna and then Bheema. Just the canine and eldest brother will not fall. That is no ordinary dog, in case you didn’t realize. That is the God of Dharma, Yudhishthira’s father. He loves testing us so. This is not the first time he has done this. And I am sure Yudhishthira knows this. He is a perceptive one, my brother. He always was.

For the better part of my entire life, I have been quiet. Never to utter a word, until I was spoken to. Never to offer my opinion, until I was asked so. But it wasn’t until father’s death I became so. 

But today, I wish to speak. Because I know now that it doesn’t matter. There is none here who can hear me and none to chastise me if I speak so.

And so, I state my story. In my words.

                                                                              [Pic Couresty: http://molee.deviantart.com/]

My name is Sahadeva. I am the youngest of the Pandavas, son of Madri and Pandu; twin brother to Nakula. We are known as Madreyas, sons of Madri, much like Kunti’s sons were called Kaunteyas. I was born in the forests, where my father Pandu was residing after being cursed to live a life of celibacy. Mother, confided in us later that Nakula and I were the children of Ashwini Kumaras – the gods of sunrise and sunset, the physician gods. I learnt that all of us – the sons of Pandu – were offspring of Gods. It filled me with a sense of importance, thought I can’t really say why.

I loved growing up in the forest. Father, who used to tell us all stories in the evenings, always made me sit on his lap. I was the only one who had that privilege, by virtue of being the youngest. I used to listen to him wide-eyed, of the stories of rishis and sadhus, devas and asuras. I imagined us fighting a war against the asuras and winning it for the devas. But of all the things that father told us, I remembered this one thing very clearly. It seemed a little odd then, but no one questioned him why. He told us to consume his brain after his death. He said that this would give us immense knowledge and make us all wise and astute. I realized later that it was a premonition that he had had, because a few days later Father was dead. And Mother died along with him, blaming his death upon herself. Nakula and I were left stricken until Kunti-ma took us into her fold. From then on, we were known only as the Pandavas, sons of Pandu.

The day that Father died, was the day that I was reborn. At his funeral, I had seen a line of ants scurrying away with what looked like his brain. I could only hear Father’s words clearly resonating in my head. Not one to hesitate and unknown to the rest; I caught the ants and ate the pieces they carried. It was in that instant, I LEARNT EVERYTHING. All that had happened, all that was happening and all that was going to happen. And in my haste, while I was running back to tell the others of what had just transpired, I ran into HIM. HE was in disguise of course, but I saw through it because now I KNEW everything. HE knew that I knew and extracted from me two promises. One to never speak of this to anyone. And the second to counter a question with a question. I, of course understood the reasoning behind it. Immense knowledge had the potential to ruin everything and the cycle of Karma would be hindered. To this day, I don’t know whether this was prudence or folly. In return, as a favour for extracting such a heavy promise from me, I asked HIM to be on the side of the Pandavas as long as we were righteous and adhering to Dharma. HE smiled benignly and agreed.

Father’s death and the subsequent events had brought in me a sea-change and I was no longer the cheeky kid I was. It wasn’t a sudden change. And it wasn’t just any change. For now, I could only talk in my mind. And even when I knew what the future held, there was no way in which I could let others know of what may befall them. The fire at Varnavrata, the attempts on our lives by our cousins, Draupadi’s marriage to all of us, the exile, her humiliation at the sabha, the war that was to come… every single event that would occur!! To say that this was hard would be putting it slightly.

Personally, one of the hardest trials to endure was Draupadi’s humiliation at the sabha. Like the rest of my brothers, I was smitten by her as well and I was the one she would turn to when she wanted to pour out what was troubling her. She couldn’t say so to any of the others and I knew how best to play the part that she expected out of me. I comforted her. I lent her a listening ear. And I always reassured her patiently, that she would be at peace when the tribulations were over.  

I knew that the root cause for all this was right in front of me. I knew I would be the one to bring about his death and because this was meant to happen by my hands, that fateful day at the sabha, I declared so. I swore to thrust the sword that I was adept at handling into the man who was sitting clad in black robes, rolling a pair of dice, chuckling to himself. People were surprised, for I was known to be the meek one. I wasn’t as flamboyant as Bhīma or as gifted as Arjuna. I wasn’t even as loquacious as Nakula or as virtuous as Yudhishthira. I was considered by most to be unremarkable, because of my silence and my inconspicuous persona. It was an act that I had refined because it helped me observe the surroundings and helped me blend into the background as unobtrusively as possible. But the oath that day in the sabha to kill Shakuni, helped me release a little of the burden that I was carrying - the heaviness of the promises I had made, that were weighing on me. And so I did. On the eighteenth day of the war, I did what I vowed. I plunged my sword into his body and stared into his remorseless eyes.

For eras to come, people would talk of this, even call it my moment in the sun. They would talk of this as the highlight of the life that I lived, of the ordinary existence that many believe I tolerated.

For not many know of my story.

I am Sahadeva, the last of the Pandavas and the least known.

You may call me gentle and wise. Yet you may not know of the burden that I bore.

To realize what really was, powerless nonetheless.

Of knowing everything however disallowed to speak out. Of seeing everything yet enforced to accept.

I am Sahadeva, the last of the Pandavas and the least known, and yet… I am the one that knows it all and the one who sees it all.

Yagnaseni - The Mahabharata Chronicles #1

Yagnaseni they called her. The one born out of fire. The virtuous one. The one whose fate was linked with the harbingers of change. The one who was both a blessing and a curse. Blessing to the people and curse to her father. Or so she had been told. She had heard that when she arose in front of him, he “blessed” her with unhappiness, sorrow, misunderstandings and strife for the better part of her life.

There wasn’t much that she remembered about her birth. All she had felt was a searing heat from the flames that were licking around her and then a sudden thrust out of it. She had almost fallen out of the fire, much rather being born out of it, much like an after-thought of the GODS.

                                         [Pic Courtesy: nisachar.deviantart.com]

Daughter she was, to the famed king – Drupad. Princess of Panchal and twin sister to the Crown Prince, her brother, Dhristadyumna, who had stepped out of the fire, gracefully and leonine like as desired by her father. She who was endowed with a heart-shaped face; skin that shone like burnished copper, lustrous hair that fell down to wide hips that swayed when she walked and a pretty smile that framed her luscious lips. She who the world called the most beautiful. Her childhood, she remembered, was bound by rules and bogged down by actions that befit a princess. She chafed at the shackles that restrained her and craved for a freedom that was only heightened by the curiosity that played around in her mind. Questions that remained unanswered. Or ones that were answered with other questions.

And the one, who did that the most with her, was the one she considered as her soul mate.

Her Govind. The one who affixed her with the female form of his own name – Krishnaa – the dark skinned one. Friend, guide, philosopher and roguish imp all rolled into one. The one she always turned to when in strife, in sorrow, and the first one she shared with when in joy, in delight and in revelry. The one who gave her support and the one who quietened her ever-questioning mind. The one who knew her best. The one who wanted the best for her. The one who told her to reject Karna.

Karna. King of Anga. Loyal friend to the scion of the Kaurava clan. Cherished disciple of the Rama with the axe. Famed archer rumoured to even best Arjuna. Son of a Suta.

The first memory she had of him, was that of him seated in the competitor arena for her swayamvar. She remembered that moment like it had just happened then.

Skin that shone like he was drunk on the rays of the sun. Well chiselled and marked body. The warrior stance. Strong arms. And his eyes. The gaze that was steadfast yet with raged with an intensity that made them come alive. Eyes those were flecked by golden flames.

She recognized the fervour that burned in his eyes and his belly. The passion to prove to the world that he was here to accomplish great things. She knew that was what it was because the very same fire burned within her. He had looked at her just once. Glanced rather. She felt taken in by his intent look. Felt the quiver of butterflies in her tummy. The gaze that stripped her naked, yet cloaked her with a protectiveness that she hadn’t felt before, all in the span of a single moment. This was unlike anything that she had felt before. This was a thousand times stronger than any flickers of infatuation that she may have felt. Ten thousand times even. This was a raging blaze. In that one glance that they had shared, she had known that he was the one for her. And yet she had rejected him. Except without knowing why. On the basis of the fact that he was a charioteer’s son.

Because HE told her to. Because she trusted in HIM blindly. Because HE knew her best. Because HE wanted the best for her. Because HE told her to reject Karna. Her Govind.

But now, standing in front of the entire Kuru clan, shamed, dishevelled and disrobed, she couldn’t help wondering. Did she make the right choice back then? Is this what was BEST for her?

Here she was, married to the illustrious, almost godly Pandavas and not one of them could save her from this mortification. Would Karna have let this happen to her? Would he have just sat there, head bowed, with down-cast eyes, unable to bear the humiliation that was being meted out to her? Somehow she didn’t think so.

Sure. He was standing on the OTHER side now. He was the one who had provoked the vile Dusshasan to do what he just did. He was the one who called her unchaste. He was the one who stood there mocking at their plight. This was his vengeance and her come-uppance for the way she had treated him at her swayamvar. It didn’t justify in any way that what he was doing to her was much worse than what he could / would / may have felt. And yet she saw a hint of remorse in his eyes. For the words that he spoke. For the way he had behaved. And as much as she wanted to hate him with her entire being, she couldn’t bring herself to.

And she realized that in some way, he knew it too. That he was aware of the consequences of this. And that even though he may have had a choice, he couldn’t bring himself to make it. That in some way he anticipated the repercussions. Morbidly even looked forward to it.

And so she forgave him. Forgave just him. For the dastardly act that he was being a part of. For the terrible violation that had just been enacted out in the palace court for all and sundry to see.

For now SHE knew what was coming.  The purpose of HER birth. The very reason for HER existence. She was slated to be the harbinger that would cleanse the world of the vileness that inhabited it.

Perhaps, this was the way it was meant to be.

Perhaps, this is what happens when a shard pierces the heart.

That one sliver coursing its way through the entire system.

Taking along with it all that brought down to this moment.

This very moment. Where it all ends. And where it all begins.

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Disclaimer: This is solely my viewpoint and a fictionalized attempt on my idea of what Draupadi may / may not have felt. Written on the basis of inspiration by articles and stories and books that I have read on this subject and legends that suggested she may have loved Karna and events that transpired in the Mahabharata. I do not claim this to be true in any way. J