Not yesterday but now

Chapter 1 : The Wish

The great war had ended. Kurukshetra, once a land that shook beneath the feet of warriors, now lay quiet like a graveyard of memories, ashes, and broken vows. The clang of weapons was gone, but silence carried a weight heavier than any conch or chariot wheel. The air smelt of burnt ghee, sweat, and blood that no rain could ever wash away.

In the heart of Hastinapur's palace, Panchali sat alone in her chamber. The war had been won, but what had she gained? Her sons lay dead. Her laughter, once free as the Yamuna's current, had been buried beneath years of silence, betrayal, and wounds that never healed.

At first, the brothers told themselves she needed space. She had endured too much humiliation, loss, grief. They decided not to press her, to allow her to heal in her own way. But days became weeks, weeks stretched into months, and Draupadi remained cold, distant, her presence like a shadow haunting the palace.

It was Bheem who finally spoke of the fear that burned in all their hearts. "She is slipping away from us," he muttered one evening, clenching his fists. "We cannot let our Panchali fade into silence."

And so, together, they walked toward her chamber.

The doors opened to reveal a quiet room glowing in soft lamplight, perfumed with the faint fragrance of blue lotus. Panchali sat by the window, clad in a simple saree, her long hair braided loosely. She did not startle when they entered, nor rise to greet them. She merely turned her face, her dark eyes calm yet distant, as if the world no longer reached her.

The sight pierced their hearts.

"Panchali," Yudhishthir began gently, his voice almost pleading. "Why have you become so silent? You avoid us, avoid the court, even yourself. Tell us, what lies heavy in your heart?"

She rose with quiet elegance and walked to the center of the chamber. The flickering lamplight caught her features, those doe-like eyes, once brimming with fire, now pools of unreadable calm. She looked straight into their hazel eyes, one by one, and her silence stretched until it became unbearable.

"Do you want something?" Bheem finally asked, unable to bear it any longer.

Her lips parted, and a single word slipped out, soft as a whisper: "Yes."

The five of them froze. It was the first word they had heard from her in months. Her silence had nearly driven them mad, and now, even this quiet "yes" made their chests tighten.

"You need only speak it," Nakul said quickly, his voice breaking. "Your wish is our command."

Draupadi's gaze lingered on them, her face unreadable. Then she spoke, her tone steady, almost frightening in its calmness. "I want a boon."

The air in the chamber turned heavy. A boon? From them? For all these years, she had carried burdens without asking for anything in return. She had been their strength, their anchor. And now, for the first time, she asked for something.

"What boon, Panchali?" Yudhishthir asked, his voice trembling though he tried to sound composed.

"I want to forget," she said simply.

The words struck them like arrows.
"I want to forget everything that has happened in this life. The insults, the betrayals, the dishonor, the loneliness. I want no memory of this cursed existence. I want to restart my life, not as a queen, not as a wife of five kings, but as a simple woman who can live in peace. That is my wish."

For a long moment, silence ruled the chamber. Then, all at once, five pairs of eyes filled with tears. The mighty warriors of Aryavart, men who had faced weapons, curses, and death fell to their knees, broken by a single wish from their queen.