"Laughter, when shared with gods and family, feels like a blessing. Only later do you realize it was also a farewell."
------------------------
Krishna tilted his head back, his peacock-feather crown catching the evening light, and giggled like a mischievous girl.
"Remember the time you thought I was stitching words into your head?"
I laughed so hard my ribs ached. "You know I still check my forehead every morning," I told him, wiping at my eyes. The sound that left me was almost foreign — a wild, golden laughter that shook my body until even my anklets trembled. My husbands stared at me, startled, as though a stranger had stepped into my skin. And in Arjuna's eyes — a flicker, sharp and quick, like lightning behind a storm cloud. Jealousy, perhaps. Or something deeper. At the time, I brushed it away like dust from a jewel.
When at last the laughter subsided, the silence in the hall felt like a held breath. Sahadeva's silky voice broke it. "That sounded like amritham."
I turned to him, smiling.
He went on, shy but earnest, "No — like your laughter and Krishna's blended together... his all-knowing mirth and your sweet, bright laugh. Two ragas entwining, making the finest melody."
How soft that boy could be. I rose, poured him more payasam, and placed it before him as though offering a blessing. It had been so long since such laughter had taken root in me — the kind that lingers like a fragrance even after it fades from the room.
Later, my family came — Dhri, my father, and Shikhandi, stepping into our new kingdom like sunlight into a darkened hall. My father surveyed the palace with a slow nod, his eyes glinting with both approval and something unspoken. He winked at me. "I'll need a few words with my sons-in-law," he said, already moving toward them.
Shikhandi lingered with Krishna while Dhri came to me, his embrace brief but solid as stone. "They're taking good care of you?" he asked, his voice gruff, a shade softer than usual.
"Yes," I answered, and a smile — rare, unguarded — crossed his usually impassive face.
Shikhandi swept over to me next, her eyes narrowing at my sunflower-yellow sari. "That colour does you no justice," she said, then, seeing my irritation, added with a half-smile, "You know the only reason I tell you this is because you have no mother, and your mother-in-law will never be your mother. We sisters have to look out for each other. Get it?"
I nodded, and she pulled me into a sideways hug, the kind that says more than words. I poured them all payasam, and they praised it — even Dhri, who is impossible to please, declared it delicious.
For a moment, my heart swelled with a dangerous, innocent contentment. This was joy, I thought. This was what peace must feel like. If the rest of my life passed in days such as this, I would die without regret, smiling as the pyre burned.
But fate is not gentle with women like me.
Fate has teeth.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey guys! Did you like this chapter? I hope you found it enjoyable. Please read, vote and comment.
(Note: I am keeping Dhrishtadyumna unmarried in this story. I beleive it would be better for the story line)
See you in the next chapter!
YOU ARE READING
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...
