Act I

The air was full of shlokas being chanted by the priests in unison. The smoke rose and whirled about in an eddy before dissipating in the air, carrying the aroma of ash and wood. King Drupad and his wife sat with their head bowed, their focus only one thing. They needed a son, one powerful enough to defeat Dronacharya, the guru of the princes of Hastinapur.

The desire was not out of love, but out of revenge. Former friends had turned foes, and now Drupad had decided to find the weapon that would destroy Dronacharya.

The fire burned greedily as the ghee was continuously poured into it. The priests grew hoarse, but the yagna went on until, from the fire, leapt out a young man. Tall and muscular, he had a garland around his neck. In his hand, he carried a bow. Drupad felt a surge of pride as the young man bent down to touch his feet.

“You, my dearest son, will bring me the revenge I desire. I name you Dhrishtadyumna.”

The young man folded his hand and inclined his head. Drupad placed his arm around the young man's shoulder. He was about to leave the prayer hall when the crowd gasped.

The fire that had almost died down burst into flames again, and from within the fire emerged a young woman. Her dark eyes showed no fear, no trepidation as she stepped out of the fire to bow her head in front of Drupad. With smooth dusky skin and a svelte figure, her beauty was incomparable.

Drupad looked at the young man and woman standing side by side. One wanted, and the other an unexpected boon.

Drupad chuckled. These two, he decided, would get me the revenge I wanted.

Act II

Draupadi looked down from the balcony where she was seated, into the great hall below. Laden with jewels, she had waited all morning for someone to pass the test, her father Drupad had kept for his daughter’s swayamvar.

“No one will be able to do this task!” Dhrishtadyumna had warned when Drupad had proposed it.

Drupad had waved his objections away. “Look at her. She looks like an apsara descended from heaven. Moreover, she is a princess of Panchala. One needs to be worthy of an alliance with us. We cannot marry Draupadi off to anyone.”

Her father’s words had made Draupadi feel like a cheap commodity, to be bartered for the good of the kingdom, but she had swallowed the words that rose to her lips. However, looking at the crowd below, it seemed Dhrishtadyumna’s words were coming true. No one could complete the task set by Drupad. There were no more candidates from royalty for her hand.

She could feel the pity in the eyes of her ladies-in-waiting, as Dhrishtadyumna and Drupad conferred with each other in low tones. Drupad said something to Drishtadyumna, but he shook his head. Drupad repeated. Sighing, Drishtadyumna straightened and raised his voice to make an announcement. “Since the Kings and princes of Aryavarta have failed to have the skill to win my sister’s hand, I now call upon any worthy Brahmin to try his luck.”

A wave of unease passed through the hall. This was unheard of! The whisperings reached a crescendo, and then suddenly died down as a young man walked to the center of the great hall. His garb of plain dhoti and bare torso said he was a Brahmin, but his proud shoulders and the confidence in his gait belied it. Without saying a word, he picked the bow.

Looking at the bowl of water kept below, the muscles of his back rippled as he pulled the arrow back before letting it loose. The gasp from Draupadi’s lips drowned in the uproar that immediately erupted. The stranger’s arrow had pierced the eye of the fish. He was the winner of swayamvar and Draupadi’s hand.

Act III

“Arjuna!” whispered Draupadi, savouring the syllables as they rolled off her tongue. The handsome stranger was no other than the famous Pandava of Hastinapur, who was living incognito with his brothers and mother Kunti in Panchala after they had escaped the attempt made on them by their cousins the Kauravas. Arjuna had allowed Draupadi to garland him, but had refused to undergo the marriage rituals with the blessings of his mother.

Thus Draupadi, still draped in her finery, walked behind the Yudhishthir and Bhim as they led the way into the alley where Kunti waited in the hut that was the home for Pandavas.

Arjuna walked next to her. Not speaking, not touching, his eyes were fixed ahead. Bringing up the rear were the twins, Nakul and Sahdev.

“Mother! Look what we got for you!” Yudhisthir called out from the door of their hut. Sneaking a peek, Draupadi glimpsed a bare room and saw an elderly woman in plain homespun sitting with her back to the door as she finished her prayers.

Without turning, Kunti replied, “Whatever it is, divide it equally amongst yourself.”

Yudhishthir laughed. “At least look at what we got, mother. It is not something we can divide.”

At his words, Kunti turned and was surprised to see Draupadi with her sons.

Coming closer to the door, she asked, “Who is this?”

“Draupadi, the princess of Panchala. Arjun won her hand in swayamvar.”

Draupadi noticed there was no emotion on Kunti’s face as she looked clinically at Draupadi.

Turning to Yudhishthir, she said, “Divide equally.”

A startled chuckle escaped Yudhishthir's lips. “What?”

She looked at him, her voice calm. “Did you not hear what I said? Or do you want to disrespect my wishes?”

“I have always followed your wishes, but how do we divide Draupadi, mother? She is human!” 

Kunti’s gaze on Draupadi was direct. “All five of you will marry her.”

There was a stunned silence. Draupadi felt light-headed on hearing the words. Her world tilted from its axis. How is this possible? What will people say?

She glanced at Arjuna, who, like his brothers, was staring at Kunti. “Won't you say something? Object to this nonsense your mother is spouting,” Draupadi wanted to hiss.

But he didn’t glance at her, nor did he object.

He just nodded his head, when Yudhisthir bowed his head and replied, “As you wish, mother.”

Draupadi stood frozen, waiting for someone to ask her what she wanted. But no one did.

Act IV

Draupadi hummed softly as she lazed in her room. For once, she had a window of free time while her husbands played dice with the Kauravas in the Great Hall.

When Duryodhana had invited Yudhishthir for a game of dice, she had hoped he would refuse. She had not wanted to travel to Hastinapur. The Kauravas gave her the creeps, not to mention their uncle, Shakuni, who always had a sly, furtive look about him. But dice was Yudhishthir's weakness, and being the Queen of Indraprastha, she was expected to be with him. Thankfully, she didn't need to be in the Great Hall for the game.

Her peace was soon shattered by the arrival of a maid. “Prince Duryodhana demands your presence in the Great Hall.”

The message irritated Draupadi. “Who is Prince Duryodhana to order me?”

Hearing her sharp tone, the maid fled the rooms. Draupadi paced her room, the pallu of her saree floating behind as her irritation against Duryodhana's presumptuousness increased. A few minutes later, there was another timid knock.

It was the same girl. “Prince Duryodhana commands your presence in the Great Hall.”

“Tell Prince Duryodhana he had no right to command me. I am the Queen of Indraprastha,” Draupadi shouted.

The maid hesitated, as if wanting to say something more, but looking at the fury on Draupadi’s face, she once again fled.

Anger rose in Draupadi, but this time, the anger was tinged with worry.

Why was Duryodhana sending such messages? What had transpired in the Great Hall?

Another knock disturbed her thoughts. It was the same lady-in-waiting, looking even more miserable. “Prince Duryodhana commands you to come to the Great Hall.”

“Why? Why is he sending these messages? Is this a prank?” Draupadi asked, her brow furrowed.

The maid's eyes skittered away, refusing to meet Draupadi’s gaze as she replied, “King Yudhishthir lost everything in dice, including himself, his brothers…and you.”

Her last two words, whispered low, were all that Draupadi heard.

“Lost…he used me in a bet?”

She felt the bile rise. Swallowing, she looked at the maid, whose eyes were filled with pity.

“Get Lost!” shouted Draupadi, before slumping on the floor.

“Get up, Dasi!” Dushasana's gruff tones dragged Draupadi back from the shock of the maid’s words.

“How dare you come uninvited into my room?” Draupadi asked.

Dushasana laughed. A cruel sound that made Draupadi’s heart thump with fear.

“You are not a queen anymore. Your husband lost you in a game of dice. You now belong to the Kauravas.”

Draupadi stood up, drawing herself to her full height. Her tone was icy as she retorted, “I am Drupad’s daughter, Draupadi. I refuse to accept the result of a bet in which I was not a participant.”

“You are a nobody,” sneered Dushasana. “Stop wasting time and come along.”

“Never!”

Dushasana merely shrugged at her refusal. Invading her personal space, he grasped her unbound hair in his fists and started dragging her.

“Let go of me, you wretch!” Draupadi gasped at the pain. Her attempts to free her hair from his grasp were too frail to win her freedom.

He dragged her through the corridors, and, with a final push, shoved her.

Draupadi fell in the middle of the Great Hall, hair unbound, scratches on her body, her saree askew.

Pushing through her pain and humiliation, she gathered her strength to stand up. Her gaze was direct as she looked around the opulent hall.

The gaze first went to the Pandavas. Mighty and strong, they were reputed to be the best warriors in Bharatvarsha. But right now, shorn of their jewels and crowns, they sat with their heads bowed.

Shakuni sat by Duryodhana’s side, his lips twisted with an evil smirk. Duryodhana, like the rest of the Kauravas, was laughing and jeering at her. She turned to Bhishma, to ask him to use his authority as an elder to put a stop to this madness, to protect her. But he too averted his eyes, refusing to meet her gaze.

A voice spoke from behind.

“Dasi! Come sit on my thigh! Let me delight in your lissome body.”

She turned to see Duryodhana slapping his thighs, his eyes leering at her dishevelled state.

“Duryodhana!” Bhima growled, but Draupadi noticed Yudhishthir, shaking his head in a signal to calm down.

With steely resolve, Draupadi decided not to yield. “Duryodhana, I am Panchali, not a sack of grain to be won or lost on a roll of dice. I refuse to accept the result of this game. I refuse to submit.”

Duryodhana’s cruel laugh forebode evil. “Our Dasi has spunk! Her tongue forgets to whom it is answering,” He jeered, looking at his brothers, who predictably laughed along.

Turning to Dushasana, he said, “I have waited for far too long. Let’s disrobe the wench and see the beauty that has kept five husbands ensnared.”

“Duryodhana!” Bhishma shouted to no avail. Bent on humiliating the Pandavas through Draupadi, Dushasana caught hold of the edge of Draupadi’s saree and started pulling. The silence from the men of the Great Hall made Draupadi realise she was completely alone. No one was coming to her aid.

But he will come, her heart whispered. Folding her hands, Draupadi closed her eyes, chanting, Krishna, Krishna, Krishna…

She had no idea how much time passed, but when she opened her eyes, she saw an exhausted Dushasana sprawled next to a pile of clothes. Her saree was still intact, protecting her modesty. A wave of relief passed through her.

He saved me…she wanted to sob.

Her eyes once again went to the men, who were as dumbstruck as she was.

Fury rose, displacing relief. Her dark eyes flashed as she thundered. “This durbar is tainted forever for the disrespect shown to me.”

Turning to Bhishma, she said, “You appear mighty, but you are as blind as Dhritarashtra for refusing to stop what happened here. This is the beginning of the fall of the kingdom of Hastinapur.”

Turning to her husbands who refused to meet her eyes, she said, “I was proud to be your Queen. To call five of the finest warriors of the land as my husbands. Today, I realised you are five weak men who cannot protect the woman they profess to love.”

Turning to Duryodhana, she said, “You are a bully and a coward who uses strength to overcome the weak."

At last, she turned to Dushasana. Her fury threatened to consume her. “I will not tie my hair until I wash it with the blood from your heart,” she vowed.

Gathering the last bits of her dignity, she walked out of the Great Hall, battered, bruised, and humiliated, but not broken.

Act V

“Will revenge compensate you for this?” the old woman screamed.

Draupadi looked at the old woman who once had been the nanny to her five sons. In front of her lay her five sons, one from each Pandava. They looked so peaceful. As if they were sleeping. And they were. It was only that this was an eternal sleep. The treacherous Kauravas had murdered her beautiful boys in the dark of the night as they slept.

“This is all your fault!” the nanny screamed again, cursing Draupadi.

“Mine?” Draupadi’s lips trembled as the nanny's words pierced the fog of pain.

“Yes, you! You are the one who insisted on making fun of Duryodhana when he fell in Indraprastha, making him burn with humiliation. You were the one who insisted on keeping hair unbound, subtly taunting your husbands daily.” Gesturing to the hundreds of fires and the screams of wailing women, the nanny screamed, “This war was fought for you!”

Draupadi hissed as a thorn pierced her bare feet. The memory of the pain of that night when she lost her sons receded as she hobbled to a rock by the side of the road to inspect her foot. A thin trickle of blood flowed from where the thorn had pierced her skin.

“Yudhishthir!” “Bhim!” “Arjun!” “Nakul!” “Sahdev!” She called, but the Pandavas didn't look back and continued to walk one after the other.

Biting her lip, she pulled the thorn out, but in her mind, the nanny’s words repeated themselves.

Was she correct? Was Draupadi the reason the great war of Mahabharata was fought? Was she the reason that entire families were wiped out? Their own family was reduced to only Parikshit, Arjuna’s grandson, who now sat on the throne of Hastinapur.

She looked towards the five brothers again. They had almost reached at the bend in the road. She needed to start following the Pandavas again on their journey to the Himlayas, but her legs seemed to have no strength. She decided to rest on the rock for some time.

Her thoughts turned to the men in her life. Except for Sakha, her Krishna, all of them, at one point or the other, had used her as a commodity. Either to make an alliance, or use her as a property to be gambled, or make her a weapon to humiliate enemies. She had been called names for having five husbands, a decision that had not been hers. But why had the Pandavas been absolved of the sin of sharing a wife? She was the one who had been humiliated in the assembly of men. But when she demanded retribution, the blame of war had been thrust on her shoulders.

The five men, oblivious to her absence, continued to walk. Soon it would be too late to catch up to them. Looking at them moving further away, a thought popped in. Do I want to follow them? Weren’t the years of supporting them, along with the thirteen years of exile, not enough?

It was as if at this stage, when her life was almost over, she could see things more clearly.

They will call you weak, the first person to fail on the journey to moksha, her heart whispered.

Draupadi scoffed. They already called her names, blaming her for the war that was fought by men to quench their lust for land and power. After facing humiliation and cruel words her entire life, what was said about her after she died didn’t really bother her anymore.

Lying down on the rock, she closed her eyes, giving in to her tiredness.

All she wanted now was peace and freedom.

***

Disclaimer: I have taken certain creative liberties with the life of Draupadi. It is not my intention to hurt any sentiments and I hope my readers will not take offence.