Draupadi

CHAPTER LVI

 "The heart, like the room, remembers everything."

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Uttara had said that she was tired.

 So  Subhadhra and I had agreed to take care of Parikshit.

 I held onto him, hanging on to his every babble. There is something about babies that is so sweet, so close to the heart.  Every little giggle, it was like heaven to hold his little fingers and toes. I played with his rings and necklace, toying with it idly, tickling his feet. 

He was beautiful. 

Night fell slowly and beautifully. Now our priority was to get Parikshit to sleep.

Subhadhra sang a little song to him, trying to lull him to sleep. But he wasn't ready to sleep yet. 

Subhadhra's voice was like her eyes, full of honey, dripping of sweetness. She was like a nightingale. I on the other hand, I shook my head, 'not the time Paanchali', I told myself.

I held Parikshit, talking to him, trying to get him to sleep. But nothing worked. 

Instead he started crying. Slowly not loudly. I guessed he missed him mother.

"Should I go call Uttara?" I asked Subhadhra. Subhadhra nodded.

I handed him to Subhadhra who held him in the curve of her neck. 

I walked towards Uttara's chambers. The door was wide open, the curtains of moonlight gauze fluttering in the wind. To the left, a curtain slightly revealed another room. 

I hesitantly walked in. The room was beautiful and alive.

 Every wall held paintings of Abhimanyu. Some half-finished, some completed. But everything held Abhimanyu. 

One had him deep in thought, his hand resting on his cheek, his eyes half closed. 

Another was him standing the bow and arrow in hand, his stance perfect. 

Another held him blushing, pushing his wind-blown hair in place. 

In one he held a flower strectching it out.

 In one he was standing with his back to the viewer, his head slightly turning as if he was looking back. 

Another held him grinning, boyish and happy, the honey of his eyes looked so real. Melting.

And in the center, was a painting of Uttara and Abhimanyu, his forehead against Uttara's. His gaze unbashedly fixed onto Uttara, filled with love, his lips in his usual smile. Uttara's gaze held happiness and silent hope. She smiled shyly.

The sight wrecked me.

The room smelled of sandalwood and jasmine. With a start, I remembered that Abhi always smelled like sandalwood. And jasmine, jasmine was Uttara's scent. 

This room was where their blossoms of the marriage were preserved. Silently. Lovingly. Achingly. 

Abhimanyu's angavasthras were hung all over the place and all of them held Uttara's embroidery. Chariots, bow and arrows, lotuses, leaves, flowers, her name, Abhimanyu's.

A box was propped in a corner, it held Uttara's mangalsutra, her broken bangles, her toe rings, her chudamani- all her bridal jewellery. Her anklets, from back when she danced, sat sadly in the box.  And in the box was a peice of two long clothes tied together. I achingly realised it was their bridal clothes. Still married.

"You found it" 

Uttara's voice had me jumping. She's sat leaning against a cushion in the farthest corner, hidden behind paint supplies, her eyes were half closed. My heart lurched in pain. She looked so small, so young, her face lit by the moonlight. 

I winced " Sorry dear, I didn't mean to.... I'll leave."

"Stay maa. Stay. Listen to me maa." She said, her voice sounding so pained. 

"What's wrong Uttara?" I asked walking towards her and then sank into the cushions next to her. 

"Everyone says I am so strong, for moving on, for letting myself feel and then move on and give my everything to my child. But they forget my everything was Abhimanyu. He was everything to me. My world. My sun. My stars. My love. My happiness. There is nothing he wasn't to me." her voice starts cracking. She holds the end of her saree to her eyes, as she talks. 

"That's why I made this room, I sit here every night and talk to him. Sometimes he answers, or I imagine it. I don't know. But I know I still love him. So much. More than I love anything. Love is too moderate a word for what I feel for him. My husband. Even in death, he is mine. Mine. Mine to love. Mine to wait for. Mine to dream of." The end of her saree is soaked but she continues, 

"Everyone is so cruel to me. They broke my bridal bangles, they yanked my mangalsutra and chudamani off me, washed my sindoor away and asked me to stop wearing anything of color. Because now I am just a widow of the war and Parakshit's mother"

She removes the saree she uses to hide her eyes away and looks at me in the eyes, her tears have stopped, her eyes are completely dry,  and says "I am still his wife. But the world outside only lets me be his widow." 

I pull her into my arms and sob.

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I love this chapter. 

The line "I am still his wife. But the world outside only lets me be his widow" hits exactly where it hurts.

Please comment and vote. It means a lot to me. You have to comment!