‘Samrat?’
It was hard to make out his expression in the dark, but Draupadi guessed that Yudhishtira was smiling. ‘Sleep deserted you too?’
Draupadi sighed and lifted herself up against the giant backrest of the spacious bed. Duryodhana had indeed looked after his comfort well, even during the war.
‘The tricky thing is that I don’t know what robs me of my sleep. We could have very well stayed back at our camp and joined the celebrations.’
‘Theoretically, this is our camp now, Samragni.’
It was Draupadi’s turn to chuckle. ‘This deserted camp?’
‘An indication of what we will rule over from tomorrow.’ His hand clutched Draupadi’s again, the grip strengthening, ‘That’s what he cursed before dying!’
‘The instances of a dying man blessing his enemy in history can be counted on the fingers, Samrat,’ Draupadi proceeded to feel for the lamp beside the bed. She suddenly clutched Yudhishtira’s hand. ‘Samrat, where are your weapons?’
Sitting up at her cry, Yudhishtira retrieved his spear from under the bed. ‘Here, close to me, love. Draupadi, what’s the matter?’
The relief in her sigh was palpable. ‘Your commander-in-chief never keeps his within his reach. Sadly, his nephews seem to have taken after him. Almost every other night, I used to wake them up, telling them to keep at least one weapon handy, just in case!’
‘Samragni, the war is over.’
She felt Yudhishtira reach out to hold her and pull her close, to rest her head on his lap. Mixed emotions washed over her at the intimacy that had surfaced after fourteen long years.
As if he had considered himself unfit for it until the war was over.
She did not resist. There was that nagging sense of foreboding that she first wanted to get rid of. She lay on his lap trying to find the root of the feeling.
‘Draupadi. I risk disappointing you again. But shall we crown Prativindhya and retire back to the forests?’ he asked, knowing that the question was not to her taste.
‘Will the forests give you peace, Samrat? Rather, has anyone found peace after abandoning a child dependent on him or her for their survival?’
Yudhishtira had to admit that she was right. ‘I agree, Draupadi. It will be cowardly of me to abandon this broken land this way—to gamble it away after uniting the Janapadas with high hopes of establishing dharma, and now, to abandon it after this devastating war. Prativindhya will die of shame for being my son,’ he felt Draupadi’s hand upon his lips.
‘Don’t be harsh on yourself, Yudhishtira. Trust me, there will be enough people to do that job.’ She tried to laugh but could not. The very thought of facing the elders at Hastinapura made her tongue go bitter. After years of arduous exile and the devastating war, being blamed for this destruction was the last thing they deserved. But that was all that they could expect.
Yudhishtira rose to his feet. ‘Let me see if Krishna is feeling sleepless too,’ he said. Draupadi felt grateful for the initiative. Talking to Krishna was all she needed. He would uproot that feeling of loss within no time. Yudhishtira returned with Krishna sooner than she thought.
‘We could have called you in earlier if we knew that you were not sleeping too!’ Draupadi moved back on the bed making space for Krishna while Yudhishtira brought one of the torches.
‘Your dear sakhi still loses her sleep over whether our weapons are handy while we sleep, or try to sleep,’ Yudhishtira quipped, lighting the lamps inside the tent.
Krishna stared into space while acknowledging both. ‘Our samragni is one of those for whom the war does not end tonight, Samrat.’
‘A war worse than this awaits us at the capital, Krishna.’
‘You are intuitive, Samrat,’ Krishna remarked. To Draupadi’s surprise, he was unsmiling. It was uncharacteristic. But for the moment, she wanted to chase the looming melancholy away.
‘Here we stand, at the threshold of another barren land. Like we stood in front of the burnt Khandava, years ago,’ she reminded them. ‘Can we make Indraprastha happen all over again? This time, it is the whole Bharatavarsha we are talking about. And to begin with, some long-deserved cheer. Samrat, Krishna, Uttara carries Abhimanyu’s child in her womb! The child has not seen a single pleasure due to her. I would like to see her married again. To Prativindhya? With her consent, of course.’
Yudhishtira beamed at the idea. Both looked at Krishna. But to their dismay, his face remained blank. ‘The deaths have been far too many. The mourning, I am afraid, will drown the sound of any celebration, Samrat.’
Draupadi sensed the stab of pain in Krishna’s eyes. At the moment, they reflected the ordeal of every soldier who had perished or bled in the war. She almost felt small for suggesting the idea of a wedding. But how was one supposed to make a start? The question remained in her mind. The distasteful quiet followed—till an ear-splitting cry was heard.
‘Subhadra! Wasn’t she supposed to be in our camp?’
The three of them sprang to their feet and rushed out. Subhadra’s cries were calling out to Arjuna, Krishna, and Draupadi, and they had gotten louder. The other four Pandavas and Satyaki too woke up and rushed out of their tents. Reaching the entrance of the encampment, they saw a lone chariot followed by a couple of horse riders.
Draupadi saw Prativindhya drive the chariot that carried Subhadra and Uttara. When the chariot halted, Subhadra was the first to get down, but collapsed to the ground before she could help Uttara. Prativindhya carried Uttara in his arms and descended the chariot. But the very moment they reached him, he too collapsed, barely giving Arjuna time to support Uttara, who was heavily wounded. Draupadi screamed, now, seeing the gush of blood from her son’s back. Prativindhya pulled out the dagger that was stuck there and cried out. Yudhishtira held him close, suppressing his distress. More horses came. Some without riders. Some with mutilated bodies.
‘Shatanika!’
‘Sutasoma!’
‘By Mahadeva, tell me that is not Shrutasena’s body!’
Draupadi stood rooted to the spot. Her limbs did not know which son to rush to, while they fell like fruits from a tree. She heard Yudhishtira cry out Prativindhya’s name more than thrice.
‘It was Ashvatthama. It was deceit!’ she heard Prativindhya struggle for words. ‘The soldiers who surrendered, they actually attacked us in the dead of the night!’
She heard Nakula shout out Shatanika’s name loud enough to be heard by the gods above. She saw Bhima hug Sutasoma’s limp form, words and voice, both failing the giant.
‘Uncles Drishtadyumna and Shikhandin, both told us to escape while they fought off Ashvatthama and Kripacharya,’ Prativindhya’s words now faltered, losing coherence. But she could hear him. Very clearly.
‘They are all dead! Ashvatthama massacred them all—Yudhamanyu, Uttamaujas. We escaped only to save Uttara and aunt…’
Draupadi walked up to Yudhishtira who was holding Prativindhya. The boy’s face was covered with blood. He looked apologetic the moment he met his mother’s gaze. ‘I should have kept my weapons handy. Forgive me, Mother.’
She stared at the face, which would now never talk to her, and then, at Yudhishtira’s, pale with numb grief. Spurred by something within, she dragged Prativindhya’s body away from his reach ‘It was the thought of this child that made me ask for your freedom that fateful day, Yudhishtira!’ her voice broke at every syllable.
‘All of you, don’t even dare to touch my sons! Don’t touch them till you vanquish Ashvatthama! The war is not over!’
Forty
Empress Again
Placing the corpses of each of her sons by the pyres was the last thing that Draupadi had imagined fate would make her do. Other than Subhadra and Uttara, only two others had survived the massacre. Kunti who had gone to visit Grandsire Bhishma and the charioteer of Drishtadyumna who had gone to the lake to bring water for the horses. Tears refused to flow out of her eyes. As if all emotions within her had died with those who had perished. When she dragg
ed herself to check on Uttara, her state bothered Subhadra more than Uttara’s.
‘Gather yourself, Sister!’ Subhadra pleaded, embracing her. ‘We both have lost our sons, but think about Uttara. The child is handling the trauma better than us, Sister. We need to take care of her and her child!’
Draupadi looked at her and nodded, but said nothing. Subhadra hurried back to tend to Uttara and Kunti. Draupadi saw the sun rising in the horizon. Drishtadyumna’s charioteer told her tearfully that the whole camp had been set ablaze. Even the animals had perished in the fire. The whiff of the dying fumes now came up to this camp, stinging their nostrils. That was all she had of her brothers who had survived through the eighteen days of war.
‘That son of Dronacharya is even more monstrous than his unruly father. You should have thought before sending the five brothers in his pursuit. They are all we have!’ Kunti rued before fainting.
The possibility of Ashvatthama bettering all her husbands had not occurred to Draupadi. Even if he did, she knew she somehow had to protect Subhadra and Uttara. And the heir of Abhimanyu. She was ready for that. She remembered the various discussions she had had with her sons throughout the course of war, even the minor ones where she had scolded them. Most of it had occurred the previous day when she had rightly been sceptical about the celebrations being premature. Even Subhadra had pacified her by saying the boys needed some fun after enduring the long battle. She should have forced them to come to the Kuru camp at night. She should have sent them on some errand right after the war, or even midway. Perhaps, on the day the rules of the war were made, they should have decided to not involve the children at all. Perhaps the God of Death should have claimed the Pandavas and herself, and spared the children. Each thought wrecked whatever remained of her already battered heart. Yet, no tear made its way through her eyes. The memory of the ten-year-old Prativindhya clinging to her lap when all his brothers were fast asleep kept flashing in front of her eyes.
By late morning, even Uttara had recovered, and she tried to lead Draupadi into the tent. But seeing her, the princess of Matsya chose to stay with her, near the dead bodies. They held hands in silent camaraderie.
‘Those monsters did not even think of sparing women, Mother Draupadi,’ Uttara narrated, controlling her tears. ‘Your son shielded me and took the spear on his back. You must be proud of them, Mother.’ Draupadi’s form shook once. But no words came out of her. ‘I want to name my son after your Prativindhya,’ Uttara said, hoping this would move Draupadi. But her mother-in-law only shook her head in mute disagreement.
The clattering sound of the horses on the rocky path commanded their attention. Uttara pointed at the familiar banner that was leading the rest.
Draupadi saw the five brothers get down their chariots, along with Krishna and Satyaki. Involuntarily, her eyes sought Bhima, who dragged along a bound Ashvatthama. Her lips instantaneously curved. The valour that each of them had exhibited when their sons had died—why had it not surfaced before death had claimed the young ones? It was a question that would forever remain in her mind.
She looked at the son of Dronacharya, once a name that had caused fear in every soldier in her army. ‘Welcome, Guruputra,’ she smiled. ‘Come with me.’
Yudhishtira caught her arm, surprised at the undeserved hospitality. She gently extricated herself and led the way, not glancing at any of the stupefied faces around her. Staying dangerously close to Ashvatthama, she even waved Bhima away when he stepped between them. Leading the way further, Draupadi pointed to where she had carefully placed the corpses of the Upa Pandavas.
‘Did you see them fight in the war, Ashvatthama?’ she asked, her smile not fading. Seeing his lack of response, she introduced each of them by their names. ‘They must have fought well for you to think that attacking them in the dead of the night was preferable to facing them on the field.’
‘Draupadi, what are you up to?’ It was Arjuna, but he was held back by Krishna.
‘Guruputra, when the celebrations of victory started yesterday, I was told that you escaped alive. I was initially relieved thinking that we could talk peace with you and secure your tutelage for the children.’
Ashvatthama collapsed to his knees on hearing that.
‘Ashvatthama, in the eighteen days of war, did you see them running away from the field even once?’ Hope rose in her eyes when she asked the question. Her smile only became more pronounced when he shook her head. She moved towards the youngest, Shrutakarma. ‘Even he, the youngest. He was never fearful, was he?’
Sahadeva rushed to Draupadi’s side and shook her, as if reviving her from a spell. ‘Tell us to kill him and get done with it, Draupadi! I beg you, don’t do this. This abomination of a Brahmin does not need to certify our sons!’
She pushed Sahadeva away, mildly annoyed. ‘As their parents, we must have always felt defensive and hopeful of them, Sahadeva. But the son of Drona, as the opponent, must have a more accurate assessment. Are you, as a father, not eager to hear his feedback?’
‘There were no flaws in any of them!’ Sahadeva held her close. ‘You are stronger than this, Draupadi. You steered us out of impossible situations. Don’t give up now! You are going mad!’
When his voice broke, Yudhishtira intervened, turning her to face him. ‘Samragni, you have an entire orphaned land to mother,’ he pleaded, cupping her cheeks. Her eyes, however, showed no grief. Patting Yudhishtira’s hands, she turned back to Ashvatthama.
‘You are a fighter superior to your father, the great Dronacharya, Ashvatthama. You would have been a superior teacher too!’
‘Sakhi!’ Krishna stepped in between them. When she met his gaze, the first trace of bereavement surfaced in her. ‘Your husbands need you.’ Inching close to her, he whispered, ‘You are all they have. They can’t bring up Uttara’s child like you would.’
‘You know me too well to despair like this, Krishna,’ she replied, the first stream of tears springing out of her eyes. Wiping it away, she shook her head and turned back to Ashvatthama. ‘Guruputra, my Arjuna who wrought havoc in the armies of every opponent he faced, he is still known as the best of Drona’s disciples. One seldom thinks of him without taking his guru’s name. I pity you, Ashvatthama, you have lost so much.’ Brushing the hair of dead Prativindhya, she sat by her dead sons. ‘My sons, they would have healed the pain of losing your father. They would have served you, looked up to you, made you known for great things. But today, you lost it all. You immortalized yourself as the midnight murderer of defenceless children. Worse, you will have to live with the pain. Live long. Very long!’
Tears did flow out of her eyes, but she was a picture of composure. Subhadra tried to lead her inside. She stopped by Krishna. ‘Sakha, the brothers might break down in the middle of the cremation. Console them well.’ Tears blinded her for a moment when he brushed her hair. Apart from the grief, he betrayed pride at her equanimity. ‘As for Ashvatthama, yes, feed him after the cremation and let him go. Let him leave the borders of Bharatavarsha. We have a whole empire to take care of and leaving a murderer loose is not a good start.’
There were gasps of disbelief from her husbands. But none of them contested her decision. Moving into the tent, Subhadra wept, holding her. This time, she broke into sobs too.
The winter solstice was fast approaching. A month had passed after the war. Performing the final rites seemed like a never-ending season of painful rituals and the Pandavas took care to not differentiate between friends and enemies while offering the final oblations. It did take a toll on Yudhishtira’s strength. However, his unflinching stance throughout the war was admirably consistent, much to Draupadi’s surprise. What hit him hard was the revelation that Vasusena Karna was the son of Kunti, born to her when she was an unmarried maiden, experimenting with things she was not supposed to.
On hearing this, Draupadi had felt indignant at the beginning. Karna had been the one who had aimed more insults at her than Duryodhana. He had been the one who had killed Ghatotkacha and had br
oken Abhimanyu’s bow from behind.
It had taken her weeks to convince Yudhishtira who suddenly gave in to the new-found grief. The worst part was the distance he maintained from Mother Kunti after getting to know the truth.
‘Leave him alone, Draupadi. It takes a bewildered teenager who is pregnant with child before being wedded, and a paranoid mother of five fatherless children surrounded by enemies, to understand what I went through,’ Kunti remarked and retired to her room.
Draupadi’s admiration had only grown for the old woman. How would Kunti have felt when her own estranged son added to the strength of those who endangered her other sons’ lives? There had been many opportunities when she could have broken down under the pressure of motherhood. But the very same motherhood had kept Kunti away from sharing her secret. She went to assure her support to her mother-in-law when Kunti revealed another shattering secret.
‘I had met Karna before the war started, Draupadi. I begged him to change sides. But he was too loyal to Duryodhana. Still, he promised to spare the lives of Yudhishtira, Bhima, and the twins. Arjuna was the one he could not stand,’ Kunti narrated.
Draupadi for the first time felt unsure at the revelation. Karna had indeed been a man of his word, sparing their lives as he had promised. She still remembered the excruciating pain that Yudhishtira went through, being injured by Karna. She could not place whether it was his nobility or sadism. At least, when one of her husbands decided to spare the opponent’s lives, they would, she thought, show more compassion. Terrifying thoughts about Karna did not leave her the entire evening.
It could have been far worse.
She sadly steeled herself when thoughts of her dead sons revisited her and prepared to face another night of convincing Yudhishtira to shed his melancholy and take up the reins of the kingdom.
Draupadi- the Tale of an Empress Page 23
