Khandavaprastha.
A land cursed by Indra, barren as a widow's womb, haunted by Nagas and Rakshasas. The earth there tasted of ashes long before Agni's flames touched it. Even the wind carried a hiss, as though the serpents whispered warnings we refused to hear.
It was Agni who came first, famished, hollow-eyed, begging Krishna and Arjuna for fire to quench his endless hunger. My Arjuna, ever the warrior, demanded weapons fit for Indra's fury — and so Varuna himself brought forth the Gandiva, a bow that sang like thunder when drawn, with arrows that could never be spent. A chariot that outran the wind. I remember the day Arjuna first held that bow — the way his eyes gleamed with the fire of destiny, though even then I wondered: when gods gift you weapons, is it truly a blessing? Or a curse stitched into your hands?
Agni's fire swallowed the forest whole. Trees screamed as they split and fell; serpents writhed, Rakshasas howled, and the sky thickened with smoke until day turned into an eternal dusk. Takshaka slithered away to Takshila, his hiss trailing vengeance — a promise that would one day pierce our hearts in a place far darker than any forest.
And then, Indra descended. A father to Arjuna, though he cloaked himself in storm and spear. Lightning clashed against Gandiva's arrows, illusions against illusions, yet in the end it was Arjuna who stood unbroken. Strange, how gods test their sons not with blessings, but with war. Pleased, Indra abandoned his wrath and gave us the ashes of Khandava — a forest reborn as Indraprastha.
Indraprastha.
A city that rose like a jewel from ruin, shaped by the hands of Vishwakarma himself. Walls encrusted with gems that blazed brighter than dawn, floors of crystal that tricked the eye into stumbling, ponds glimmering like mirrors to the sky. Illusion and opulence intertwined, so dazzling that the blind king in Hastinapura heard whispers of it and grew restless.
His letter came wrapped in silk but lined with thorns:
"Congratulations, sons of my dearest brother. A palace does not define the worth of a ruler... and yet, you have brought pride to us."
Bheem laughed in scorn, Arjuna scoffed, Nakula and Sahadeva smirked, but Yudhishthira held the words like coals in his hand. He burned quietly, though he said nothing. Krishna only smiled, the kind of smile that sees too far into tomorrow.
And I — I walked those glittering halls, my anklets echoing against crystal floors, and I thought the palace too bright, too sharp, too drenched in envy. How strange that beauty can sow the seeds of ruin.
For the palace that shamed every king... would one day become the stage of our greatest humiliation.
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Draupadi
Historical Fiction--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dharma was the cloth I held closest. I was draped in dharma. No one could ever take that from me. No amount of pu...
