A MAHABHARATA RETELLING
~~~
All the other flowers in the garden were brought up to envy the rose. Maybe shun it even. And admire it, too.
Unusual ways. Too-red petals, too-sharp thorns, too-sweet fragrance.
If only each flower did not have a mind...
But I don't like a gold rush, gold rush, I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush
~Gold Rush, Taylor Swift
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Subhadra's beauty could hold eyes captive.
With baby blue eyes, a complexion of rose-milk, luscious light brown hair pulled into a beautiful flower-sewn plait, and peach-and-pink gold-embroidered fabric matching her golden jewellery, she was a sight to behold. She had an almost angelic softness to her every feature.
Bheema had flashed her a fairly amicable smile that she had returned in kind, and Valandhara had finally understood why she had been feeling so left out since her arrival at Indraprastha.
She had understood the difference between her husbands' gentle smiles and cold demeanour.
Bheema was a man of the family. His family meant the world to him, and nothing was above that. Same was the case with each of his brothers.
They had even pre-planned to marry and share a wife - yes, it was another truth she had learnt.
When Vyasadeva had informed the Pandavas regarding Druapadi's swayamvar, all the Pandavas had fallen headfirst for the mere description of such a goddess on earth and therefore, it was a premeditated decision to win Draupadi's hand for all of them at once. The story of the mistake was fabricated to meet the standards of the world, and Valandhara had not known whether to be horrified or awed - in the name of unity.
Indeed, for them family was above all, under any circumstance.
And Draupadi had all of their complete devotion and faith because she had become the deity in the temple that they called family. She had become the backbone of the family, and Subhadra had integrated herself into the Pandava family.
Subhadra's kind and welcoming smile had shaken her out of her reverie and Valandhara had this childish urge to touch her skin and see if it felt like satin and warm afternoons.
Sutasoma had been brought in merely moments later, in the arms of the Empress's lady-in-waiting and he had at once reached out towards his father with his little arms.
For a moment, something had trembled within her. The child looked so utterly small and fragile in comparison to Bheema's statuesque frame that she had wondered how Draupadi ever let her husbands hold her children. How she ever let anyone but herself touch them.
The child in question, however, had clung to his father's neck the entire evening, rumpling up his gold silken attire, and continued sniffling and repeating only one word over and again, "Mamma."
The word came out in such pitiful whimpers that Valandhara felt like she herself could break into tears.
Arjuna had re-emerged not long after, probably only to hold a softly sniffling Abhimanyu whose glistening eyes kept glancing back towards the doorway from where his father had appeared.
