Draupadi

CHAPTER LXI

"It was a privilege to have burned with you."

-Inspired by Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

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I watch Subhadhra sit at the edge of her bed and sit in quietness, silence envoloping her being.

How different people are when they are alone? 

I walk in and Subhadhra stiffens, startled by my sudden appearance. 

"Sister," she says and her eyes dilate with fondness, that sweet, familiar warmth flooding her face. I can see why Arjuna loves her when her eyes go warm all like that. As if her eyes were diyas, flickering and shining. 

I look at the sister of my sakha, the wife of my third husband and smile sitting beside her. 

I take a moment to study her, to let the image of Subhadhra paint itself in my head, before I leave for the death that awaits me. 

Age has taken it's toll on her. But she still looks beautiful, Krishnaness pouring through her smile. still. Her light brown skin appears golden in the afternoon light and her hair streaked with silver is pulled back in a bun. Her lips are curved in a half smile, her eyes wide with expectation. 

This is my sister, I think. Sisters not by blood but because we loved the same man and the same god.

"You know, your smile was the thing that made me accept you when you newly came to Indhraprastha after marrying Arjun." I say and she grins at that and- oh how I will miss that smile in the next lifetime. 

"I was terrified of you." she says and her voice is all drawn in. 

"You had all the rights to be." I say with a faint laugh.

She laughs again and I commit the sound of it to memory. 

"I was nineteen. You were Draupadi. Your beauty was sung all over the realms. You were the queen of Indhraprastha. You ruled five men's heart with just a single glance. You were fire and I was so afraid of being burned."

My eyes sting at that. "Subhadhra, you know I'm leaving, right?"

Her eyes fill with tears, and her body goes limp. "No, where, but-" She inhales deeply. "I didn't know" she croaks out. 

I move closer, and she leans into me like she used to, when we were younger, when the nights after war were sleepless and we'd talk until dawn, when grief made orphans of us both.

I hold her hand. "I never told you how grateful I am — for being my sister, for taking care of our sons, for being there when the world wasn't kind."

"You don't have to thank me." she says.

"Do you remember," she starts slowly " years ago, before Abhimanyu was born, the night after the festival, late night Bhratha Bheem sent all the maids away and cooked this curry made with all the leftover vegetables and we all sat on the kitchen floor and ate it directly out of the pot. It was one of the best things I had ever eaten and Arjuna, Nakula and Bheema were literally dancing

I remember thinking then, This is my family. Not thrones, not palaces, not kingdoms but sitting on the kitchen floor at midnight, all of us eating a curry made out of leftovers straight out of the pot, watching my husband and his brothers have a dance battle.