Cover credit : @Sassy_Nightangle
Draupadi was a well-known princess of Panchal and queen of Indraprastha, after the great war of Gurushetra she became empress of whole Aryavart.
Was she happy with these positions?
When she came out of the yagna she...
The mandap, the garlands, the chants, all of it blurred before Arjun's eyes. His body stood there in the Sabha, but his spirit was breaking apart, scattered by the cruel winds of fate. He wanted to shout, to halt the rituals, to undo what had already been done. But his heart knew the truth logically, he could do nothing. Draupadi had chosen, the priests had blessed, the people had witnessed. Destiny had declared itself.
For the last time, he let his eyes linger on her face. The veil, the lotus eyes lined with kajal, the hesitant smile she gave Karn every fragment pierced his soul. His throat tightened, yet no words came. He turned, shoulders heavy, and walked towards the guest's palace. His brothers called after him, urging him to wait until they all departed together. But Arjun begged Yudhishthira for permission, and the eldest, reading the pain in his brother's eyes, silently nodded. Thus, Arjun mounted his beloved horse, Saibya, and began his journey.
The road stretched before him like a lifeless thread. Saibya's hooves struck the earth rhythmically, yet Arjun felt no direction in his ride. He chose no path, no destination only movement. His heart, storming with sorrow, demanded escape, and his body obeyed.
Every memory haunted him. Draupadi lifting the garland, Karn bending with that radiant smile, the crimson veil trembling as she blushed. Worst of all, the visions. Those cursed dreams, those nightly glimpses of a life where she was his wife, his companion, his very soul. He had believed them to be divine hints of fate. Now they mocked him, replaying cruelly against the backdrop of her marriage to another. His tears, once restrained, now flowed freely, splashing against his cheeks and soaking into the fabric of his tunic. His jaw tightened. His chest burned. He pressed his heels against Saibya, urging the horse forward. Faster. Faster. As if speed itself could drown grief.
The cold wind whipped at him, stinging his face, tugging his hair loose from its knot. He welcomed it, the sting of nature was easier to bear than the torment of memory.
Yet no matter how far he rode, the ache followed. He whispered bitterly into the wind.
"She was mine... in every vision, she was mine..."
Hours passed. His tears ran dry, but the emptiness remained. The weight of sleepless nights dragged his body down. He glanced at Saibya's sweat-drenched body and guilt struck him. The loyal horse had carried him faithfully through battle and expeditions alike and now through his grief.
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Meanwhile, far away, another journey had begun. The grand chariot of Angraj Karn rolled steadily toward the borders of Panchal, followed by Draupadi's palki and the long line of soldiers and attendants.
Karn sat upright, his heart restless. The plan he had whispered to Rana the night before, the plan discussed after Dhrishtadyumna's late-night visit was about to unfold. He had known this moment would come, yet when the palki halted midway, his pulse quickened.
Inside, Draupadi had been silently battling her own storm. The silken cushions of her palki felt like prison walls. The laughter of her maids outside, the clattering hooves of the soldiers, even the sound of the wheels, all of it only deepened her loneliness. She rubbed her eyes with the edge of her veil and murmured to herself, "How long must I bear this silence?"
