Draupadi

CHAPTER XVI

"The gods never whisper for our sake; they whisper to remind us how little we know."

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I had only meant to enter the room, not overhear. The balcony door was half-open, a sheer curtain fluttering like a conspirator. Krishna and Arjuna stood together, their silhouettes framed in gold evening light. They hadn't seen me.

"Krishna," Arjuna's voice was soft, uncertain. "I thought you were my best friend. You don't... you don't have inside jokes with me."

The words startled me. My Arjuna — whose arrows never missed — sounded like a boy who had lost his way.

Krishna laughed, a low ripple. "You are one of my many best friends, Pārtha."

"But I thought I was your bestest friend," Arjuna said, and the word bestest fell from his warrior's mouth like a child's.

"Pārtha," Krishna said gently, "I have many who are dear to me. Your wife Draupadī. My Sudāma. Ujjvala. Śrīdāma. Why, Rukmini herself is a friend, a lover, a wife. Do not chain the ocean to a single shore."

Arjuna's reply came raw. "But you know how much I love you. Without you I am incomplete."

And then Krishna said something so soft it might have been meant only for the wind. Arjuna didn't hear it. I did.
"The whole universe would be incomplete without me, Pārtha."

I left before they could see me. Later that night, the universe made its point.

I was with Yudhiṣṭhira in our room, our scriptures open between us like a fragile truce, when the news came. The worst had happened — Arjuna had crossed our threshold. He had trespassed to take back the bow he loved so fiercely, the Gandiva. He could not bear its absence; in his desperation, he had broken the most sacred of our marriage rules.

Ah, men. They think their vows can bend like reeds but never break.

The punishment was clear. Thirteen years.

Bheema stormed at him first, voice like a thunderclap. "You and that bow! Caressing it as if it were a woman when you have such a wife with you. How do you expect us to be without you for thirteen years, you fool? You may be strong, Arjuna, but you have no brain!"

Arjuna retorted, his eyes gleaming, flexing his arm as though to lighten the blow. "That isn't fair. Look at my muscles! You may have got all the brawn, brother, but I certainly have more brains than you."

Bheema slapped him — a sound like a drumbeat — then pulled him close and kissed his cheek. "Idiot," he muttered.

Nakul blinked rapidly, murmuring, "I'm not crying. My eyes are just sweating."

And my heart twisted as they clung to one another.

When Arjuna came to me, I kept my eyes down, unwilling to let him see the tears that had been waiting there for hours. He cupped my chin, tilting my face up to his. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I will be back soon. Just remember — I love you."

For a moment, I could not breathe. This was the first time he had said it without armour, without play, without performance. It was, in its own way, a surrender.

And then he was gone, striding to Krishna. They spoke together, words too low for me to catch. Only at the end did Krishna's voice rise like a thread breaking.
"The next time we meet, our relation may change. Who knows? But you will always be my best friend."

The curtain stirred again, and for a heartbeat I thought I could taste ash.

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