Janani - The Warrior Mother

Chapter 10

Subhadra moved through the dimly lit corridors, her steps slow and measured. In her hands, she held a small bowl of ointment as she made her way to the chamber her sister had locked herself in. She paused, her breath catching in her throat. The heavy wooden door stood ajar, and from within, she could see a soft light spilling out into the hallway. She stepped closer, her heart pounding, when suddenly, the door creaked open wider, and Krishna emerged.

He looked different—there was a weariness in his eyes, a heaviness in his posture that she had rarely seen before. His face, usually so serene and composed, was now lined with a quiet sorrow, and yet there was a tenderness there too, as if the weight of what he had witnessed had softened something deep within him.

He saw her, his gaze meeting hers, and for a moment, they simply stood there, the silence between them thick with unspoken words.

"She is calmer now," Krishna said softly, his voice a balm to her frayed nerves. "She has wept, and in those tears, some of her fury has been spent."

Subhadra's eyes filled with tears once more, but she blinked them away, trying to steady her voice. "Will she be alright?" she whispered, the desperation in her tone impossible to hide.

Krishna nodded, though his expression remained sombre. "In time, she will find her strength again. But it will be a long road, Subhadra. The wounds she bears are not just on her body but in her soul. They will take time to heal, and she will need you—now more than ever."

Subhadra swallowed hard, nodding as she looked down at the bowl in her hands. "I brought this for her," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "It's all I could think to do."

Krishna reached out, gently touching her shoulder. "You are doing more than you know," he said. "Go to her. She needs to see that she is not alone. I can only do and say so much- yet only a woman will understand a woman's pain."

With those words, he stepped aside, allowing her to enter the chamber. Subhadra hesitated for just a moment, gathering her courage, before she stepped through the doorway.

The room was bathed in a soft, golden light from the oil lamps that flickered gently against the walls. Draupadi sat on the edge of a low, cushioned bed, her back turned to the door, her hair cascading down her back in dark waves, still loose and wild. She wore a simple robe, a stark contrast to the regal attire she usually adorned. The fabric hung loosely around her, as if even clothing was too heavy a burden to bear.

Subhadra's heart twisted at the sight of her. Draupadi's shoulders were slumped, her entire frame seemed shrunken, as if the fire that had always burned so brightly within her had been dimmed, reduced to embers.

"Jiji," she called out softly.

Draupadi didn't respond immediately. For a moment, Subhadra thought she hadn't heard her, but then she turned slightly, just enough for Subhadra to see the side of her face. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, her cheeks streaked with the remnants of tears that had dried long ago.

It was the sight of a woman who had been to the edge of despair, dangled above it, and had come back. Not whole, but still there.

"Subhadra," Draupadi replied wearily, a note of recognition in her voice. 

Subhadra moved slowly, placing the bowl on the cabinet beside the bed. "I have brought some ointment," she said quietly. "For your wounds."

Draupadi's gaze flicked to the bowl, then back to Subhadra. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice strained from screaming so much.

Subhadra hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside her. "Let me help you," she offered gently, reaching out with tentative hands.

Draupadi tensed for a moment, as if she might pull away, but then slackened, relaxing. With careful, delicate movements, Subhadra began to apply the ointment to the red marks that marred Draupadi's arms and shoulders, the silent evidence of the violence she had endured.