Not yesterday but now

Chapter 5 : Between Bonds and Destiny

The sun dipped slowly over Panchal, painting the skies with streaks of crimson and gold. As if the heavens themselves wished to bless the coming occasion, a gentle breeze carried the fragrance of blooming champa and jasmine throughout the city. Panchal had transformed into a dream.

Colorful silk banners rippled from every tower, swaying like vibrant waves in the wind. The streets glowed with lanterns hung in neat rows, their golden light ready to sparkle at nightfall. Craftsmen had worked tirelessly for weeks, etching intricate designs on archways and polishing marble pathways until they gleamed like mirrors. From the grand gates of Kampilya to the heart of the palace itself, garlands of marigolds and roses adorned every corner.

It was as if Panchal itself wished to embrace its princess's destiny. After all, the swayamvar of Draupadi, the most beautiful woman of Aryavart was only a week away. And everything, from the air to the earth, carried the rhythm of celebration.
Birdsong filled the gardens; swans glided gracefully across lotus ponds.

Women gathered at every turn, gossiping excitedly about the princes who would arrive, while children ran through the streets, laughing, unaware of the weight such an event held. Musicians rehearsed their notes under banyan trees, filling the dusk with the gentle hum of flutes and veenas. The entire kingdom felt alive, vibrant, waiting.

Yet, inside the palace, while the world prepared for joy, a young princess carried questions her heart could not answer.

That night, Draupadi rested in her chamber, away from the noise of preparations echoing beyond the walls. Her chamber itself was a world of serenity. A small, delicately carved fountain flowed softly at its center, the water catching the glow of oil lamps like liquid silver. Cushions and silk mattresses had been laid near it, allowing her to recline with ease.
She wore a baby-blue lehenga that shimmered gently with each flicker of light, its embroidery almost like waves caressing the fabric. A delicate diamond nose pin glistened against her soft features, while her hair cascaded freely over her shoulders, dark as midnight, fragrant with sandalwood oil.

Around her, her maids, though more like sisters and confidantes, sat cross-legged, weaving flowers, combing each other's hair, and sharing quiet laughter. Their presence filled the chamber with warmth. For years, they had been more than attendants; they had been her secret-keepers, her companions in joy and sorrow.

One of them, Madhavi, a gentle soul with doe-like eyes, was speaking of her marriage. Draupadi lay listening, her cheek resting on her palm, her gaze on the rippling fountain water as the story unfolded.

"I was born in a small village near the Ganga," Madhavi said softly, her voice carrying the rhythm of memory. "My father was a potter. We had little, but our days were filled with laughter. When I was married, my family wept as if their hearts would break. I too... I too wept, because though my husband was kind, I knew I was leaving behind the world I belonged to my river, my clay, my home."

Her voice trembled slightly. "Marriage, princess... it is beautiful, but it is also a tearing. A daughter becomes another family's soul. I... I still dream of my mother's embrace."
The other maids grew quiet. Even the water seemed to hush, listening. Draupadi's lotus eyes widened, her heart tightening at the sorrow in her friend's words. She turned her face slightly, gazing at the flickering lamps, and asked in a whisper that carried all her innocence and longing.

"Tell me... what does it feel like to be married? Will it be the same for me?"
The question lingered in the chamber, fragile as glass.

Her maids exchanged glances. One of them, Lalitha, who was older and steadier, placed her hand gently over Draupadi's. "Princess," she said tenderly, "for you it will not be the same. You are not like us. You are born under destiny's fire. The one who becomes your husband will not simply take you away, he must first prove himself worthy. For you... marriage will not just be leaving a family. It will be the shaping of kingdoms, the weaving of fate itself."
"But," Draupadi's voice softened, almost childlike, "will I still... ache? Will I miss my father, my brother, my home, just as you do?"