I am Draupadi, sometimes called Panchali, at some other times Yagnaseni. My names are my identity. But these names were never really mine. Draupadi came from my father Drupad, Panchali because I am came from the land called Panchal, and Yagnaseni because I was born on account of the Yagna that my father sponsored.
I am the Queen of Pandavas, but I am also their wife, and thats my broken identity. I belong to everyone, except me.
I have never been “me”.
Like consider tonight. I don’t want to be alone, but neither do I want to seek our Arjun. I want Arjun to come to me. I want him to take me, than me feeling him.
Speaking of men - Krishna, you are not my Bhakti. I had always wanted that you at least participate in my Swayamvar, but you did not. You reneged. On the last day, you said you will participate - but as the chief guest, not for my hand. My hands had stopped moving that night. I remember gulping down a spoon of salt that night. I had so desperately needed it to keep my blood moving.
I sometimes miss water. I want to be drenched. I want to drip. On a night like this, I wish that the river would consume me, maybe even consummate with me.
Tonight I need a release. I need to wash myself clean. Just like the “other” day. On that day, they had stripped me bare. I had slouched on the floor, a simple loin cloth covering my angry breasts. How they had heaved. How I hated it, that even in that singular moment of disgrace, something in me had also been aroused. Let me admit - I was erect, and yet I can’t ever know what made me feel so. Today - the “only” thing I can remember is the undiluted shame, the opiate of lurid collective opprobrium coursing through me. But…but…but…I also remember a few other things. And the anger. And those eyes. And the jeers. And the humiliation. And the sear. And the wounds. And most importantly, I remember feeling so completely un-clean.
On that day - as we were about to begin, our walk to the forest, with nothing but the clothes on our bodies - I had requested the chambermaid use her bathroom for one time. And then….in that lonely evening….I had taken a bath.
I had taken a soap and scrubbed myself incessantly with fresh neem leaves. For me it had felt like a few minutes, but later Dharmaraja told me it had been close to 2 hrs. No one yet has ever asked me, why I had to clean myself so thoroughly (then). But….but…but….I had to….I did not have a choice. It was a war. I had been wounded. The blood had noisily clotted around me. I had to take a bath. I had to be clean. Actually I needed to come clean.
And today I admit - I have never been pristine again. Tonight is not the night for it.
Tonight as I stare at the dark night, I wonder if there is water on the black rancid moon. Is there a tree that I can pluck fruits off? Is there a someone there who will understand me? Is there a “better version” of me out there?
Is there peace? Is there solitude? Is there silence?
Tonight is not the night. Tonight even the stars are taunting me. And that bloody firefly who fed of my plate yesterday night, even he is glowing with happiness. Tonight is definitely not the night.
I am the Queen of Pandavas, but I am also their wife, and thats my broken identity. I belong to everyone, except me.
I have never been “me”.
Like consider tonight. I don’t want to be alone, but neither do I want to seek our Arjun. I want Arjun to come to me. I want him to take me, than me feeling him.
Speaking of men - Krishna, you are not my Bhakti. I had always wanted that you at least participate in my Swayamvar, but you did not. You reneged. On the last day, you said you will participate - but as the chief guest, not for my hand. My hands had stopped moving that night. I remember gulping down a spoon of salt that night. I had so desperately needed it to keep my blood moving.
I sometimes miss water. I want to be drenched. I want to drip. On a night like this, I wish that the river would consume me, maybe even consummate with me.
Tonight I need a release. I need to wash myself clean. Just like the “other” day. On that day, they had stripped me bare. I had slouched on the floor, a simple loin cloth covering my angry breasts. How they had heaved. How I hated it, that even in that singular moment of disgrace, something in me had also been aroused. Let me admit - I was erect, and yet I can’t ever know what made me feel so. Today - the “only” thing I can remember is the undiluted shame, the opiate of lurid collective opprobrium coursing through me. But…but…but…I also remember a few other things. And the anger. And those eyes. And the jeers. And the humiliation. And the sear. And the wounds. And most importantly, I remember feeling so completely un-clean.
On that day - as we were about to begin, our walk to the forest, with nothing but the clothes on our bodies - I had requested the chambermaid use her bathroom for one time. And then….in that lonely evening….I had taken a bath.
I had taken a soap and scrubbed myself incessantly with fresh neem leaves. For me it had felt like a few minutes, but later Dharmaraja told me it had been close to 2 hrs. No one yet has ever asked me, why I had to clean myself so thoroughly (then). But….but…but….I had to….I did not have a choice. It was a war. I had been wounded. The blood had noisily clotted around me. I had to take a bath. I had to be clean. Actually I needed to come clean.
And today I admit - I have never been pristine again. Tonight is not the night for it.
Tonight as I stare at the dark night, I wonder if there is water on the black rancid moon. Is there a tree that I can pluck fruits off? Is there a someone there who will understand me? Is there a “better version” of me out there?
Is there peace? Is there solitude? Is there silence?
Tonight is not the night. Tonight even the stars are taunting me. And that bloody firefly who fed of my plate yesterday night, even he is glowing with happiness. Tonight is definitely not the night.
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