"They made you into a weapon and told you to find peace."
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Aswathamma, monster and son of Dronacharya hangs onto vengeance like the last breath of man on the verge of death. He just won't stop. It isn't enough. Nothing is enough for him.
Killed my sons as they slept. Dragged Dhri out of his bed and killed him as his hand stretched for a weapon, begging for just a fight. Killed Shikhandhi as if she was an after thought.
He commits the final war horror, aims the brahmasthra at Uttara's womb.
He doesn't unleash it on warrior or a king.
Not at the Pandavas.
Not even at me.
Not even at Uttara
but at her unborn child.
She screams, blood curdling screams holding her stomach, withering away.
I run towards her, fast as possible but not fast enough. I was never fast enough.
I think of the way Abhimanyu stole glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking but she always did.
I think of how Uttara smiled at Abhimanyu, like he was a secret.
I think of how Abhimanyu eyes took the most dreamiest sheen when she was pregnant.
How many times do I have to die? Over and over again. We followed dharma, we walked on thorns and slept on rock. We lost everyone we loved. We did everything they told us to.
Krishna walks in his face holding something I can't name. He walks towards Uttara, whispers something in her ear and then places his hand on her womb.
I don't know what he does truly, I don't know.
But Uttara stops screaming and she slowly drifts to sleep. I look up at Krishna.
He nods. The child is saved.
And I realise a broken world doesn't end. It keeps breathing, even when every breath is a wound.
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I learn of Krishna's curse much later when I sit teary eyed by Uttara, holding her hand as she sleeps.
Krishna who has seen the worst of the worst men, and forgiven them even given then salvatation did not forgive this monster of a man.
They say his voice was colder than winter, than snow, than ice, than fury and colder than death.
Aswathamma shall walk the Earth as long as it lives. His body a wound. He will live without being able to live neither die. He will be shunned by every living thing. He will live with death every moment but never die. His sacred jewel was robbed from him marking an ugly scar on his forehead.
But I can still only think of my sons laughter, my father's pride, Dhri's advice and Shikhandhi's eyes. I can only think of the dead. And it hurts every cell in me to even say that they are no more. I will live and they will stay fallen. And I will live with my heart ripped out.
There is no curse strong enough to fix that.
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Draupadi
Ficción histórica--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dharma was the cloth I held closest. I was draped in dharma. No one could ever take that from me. No amount of pu...
