Draupadi

CHAPTER XXI

The Midnight Ladoo Heist

The kitchen lay cloaked in silence, its copper pots gleaming faintly in the moonlight that streamed through the latticed windows. The maids had long since retired, and for a moment I thought myself the lone intruder at this hour. Wrapping my shawl tightly over my head, I slipped inside with the stealth of a thief, intent on claiming a single ladoo to soothe my restless heart.

But my plans lay in ruins before they even began.

For there they were—every last one of my sons—clustered around the sweet tin like conspirators, their laughter spilling into the stillness of the night. Prativindhya leaned casually against the counter as though he were lord of the feast, Sutasoma stuffed his mouth so quickly I feared he might choke, Satanika and Shrutasena elbowed each other with mischief in their eyes, and little Shrutakarma, not yet steady on his legs, was clambering onto the counter with all the determination of a warrior storming a fortress.

I stopped dead, my shawl slipping from my hair. "Oh, so this is where my sons vanish to after pretending to be asleep!"

Five startled faces turned toward me. Sutasoma's jaw dropped, and the half-eaten ladoo nearly shot out of his mouth. I peered into the tin with narrowed eyes—one ladoo remained, glowing like treasure. I reached for it, but five little hands, small and large, flew to cover mine.

"Like father, like sons," I muttered darkly, rolling my eyes heavenward.

"First of all," I began, crossing my arms, "this is the middle of the night. Second, you are stealing the ladoos your father Bheem guards more fiercely than the gates of Hastinapur. And third—" I paused as Shrutakarma, flour still clinging to his hair, tried to seize the last ladoo by sheer force of baby strength—"you are corrupting your youngest brother!"

Satanika, ever bold, leaned toward Prativindhya with a grin. "I told you we should've left Shrutakarma and Shrutasena behind."

"I heard that!" I snapped, my voice carrying all the authority of a queen and the indignation of a mother deprived of her midnight sweet. "Enough! To bed—all of you—before I decide you are too old for ladoos altogether."

But fate clearly had other plans for my night. For no sooner had I spoken than Shrutakarma toppled a pot, and flour burst into the air like a sudden snowstorm. My once-quiet kitchen transformed into a battlefield of chaos—white powder settling on faces, on hair, on the very walls themselves.

And then—more footsteps.

I froze, clutching the last ladoo as though it were my final defense. Five more figures entered, shawls drawn over their faces, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

My heart sank. Of course.

My husbands.

Bheem strode in first, pulling off his shawl with triumphant flourish. "Ha! I knew it. Thieves in the night!" His eyes fell upon the empty tin, and his cry of mock despair rang out. "My ladoos! Gone! Every single one!"

"I only had one," I protested primly. At that precise moment, a crumb betrayed me, tumbling from my lips to the floor. My sons snickered mercilessly.

Arjun, ever the dramatist, swept the room with an exaggerated glance. "We came," he declared solemnly, "to inspect the cleanliness of the kitchen."

Nakul, hands on hips, mimicked my stance perfectly. "I told you we should've left Arjun and Sahadev behind."

The laughter that followed nearly shook the rafters. Shrutakarma, now resembling a little white ghost, danced about in the flour with squeals of delight.

I sank onto the counter, feigning despair. "This house holds warriors, princes, kings—and yet not a single one can resist ladoos. Truly, the gods mock me."

Bheem, undeterred, stepped forward through the swirling flour, his face set with theatrical seriousness. "We will take our punishment, Panchali—if you promise to make double the ladoos tomorrow."

At that, the laughter spilled over completely. My sons clutched their bellies, my husbands roared like boys themselves, and Shrutakarma twirled until he fell in a heap of flour.

I shook my head, half stern, half soft, the last ladoo warm in my palm. "Very well. But tomorrow, all of you—great warriors and little thieves alike—will be on cleanup duty. And only then will I consider making ladoos again."

The chaos rose higher, the laughter brighter. And in the midst of that sweet, flour-covered storm, I thought—perhaps this, too, was its own kind of divinity. A family bound not by vows and dharma alone, but by the simplest, silliest, sweetest messes of life.

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This chapter turned out to be the cutest one I've ever written! I really hope you all love it as much as I do. Please take a moment to read, vote, and share your thoughts in the comments! Enjoy!