Not yesterday but now

Chapter 9 : Swayamvar

The day had finally arrived, the day that would not only alter the fate of a princess, but shake the destiny of all Aryavartha.

Long before the first rays of dawn touched the palace walls, Draupadi, the jewel of Panchala, awoke. Sleep had barely kissed her eyes, for her heart carried both fear and anticipation through the night. Today, her hand would be offered, her life decided, her path entwined with another's.

She stepped into the sacred chamber for her ritual bath. Fragrant waters of sandalwood and rose were poured upon her by the maidens. The drops shimmered like pearls on her fair skin, carrying away the weariness of the night and leaving behind a radiance that was almost divine. When she emerged, her long, thick hair cascaded like a dark river down her back.

The maids, with gentle reverence, began their work. They braided her silken tresses, weaving them with delicate golden threads and adorning them with ornaments that glimmered like the first light of dawn. Her lehenga, dyed in the brightest crimson, the color of love, fire, and fate was no mere garment, but a masterpiece. Its embroidery, worked with molten-gold threads, caught the lamplight and shimmered like living flames. The border of her odhni, edged in gold, framed her like an aura.

Layer by layer, the ornaments were placed upon her. A heavy, layered necklace covered her graceful neck and collarbone, resting over her heartbeat. Earrings long and jeweled swayed with each slight movement of her head. A maangtika rested upon her brow like a star blessing her destiny. A delicate nose ring with its chain brushed against her cheek, adding charm to her already breathtaking beauty. Bangles clinked like music upon her wrists, rings adorned her slim fingers, and a golden waistband encircled her slender waist like a serpent of fire. Lastly, anklets layered with tiny bells were fastened to her feet, ready to sing with every step she would take toward her fate.

The fragrance of jasmine was woven into her braid, but it was her own natural scent like blue lotuses opening at dusk that bewitched those near her. By the time the maids lowered her veil over her face,

Draupadi no longer seemed mortal. She looked like a goddess descended to earth, veiled in mystery and majesty.

When she stepped out of her chamber, the palace seemed to pause. Every maid, every guard, every attendant lowered their gaze, not from duty but from awe. Her elder sister, Shikhandini, awaited her with pride and silent strength, taking her sister's hand as though she too carried the weight of this day. Together, they walked through the corridors that echoed with the sound of drums and conch shells, heralding the hour.

The best dancers of Panchala awaited them, their anklets chiming as they swayed and spun in graceful devotion. Their dance was not mere art, it was a prayer, a celebration, a plea for fortune to smile upon their beloved princess.

At the entrance of the great arena, Dhrishtadyumna, her twin, stood radiant in his royal robes, his voice carrying across the grand assembly. "In some moments," he declared, his chest swelling with pride, "my beloved sister will grace this sabha!"

The crowd erupted with cheers. Nobles and kings straightened, craning to glimpse the veiled beauty who had already captured their imaginations. The air was thick with desire, ambition, and envy. Yet above all, it was filled with reverence for all knew this was no ordinary swayamvar. This was the day Aryavartha itself would change and in that moment, as she stood at the threshold of her destiny, Draupadi's heart beat not only for herself but for the unknown man who would soon rise to claim her fate.

The swayamvar arena of Panchala was already ablaze with anticipation. Kings and princes from every corner of Aryavarta sat in their jeweled seats, their eyes fixed upon the grand entrance draped in silks and flowers.
The air itself felt heavy, vibrating with desire, ambition, and restless pride.