But the hurt her body suffered from Bheem had been no match for what Arjun did to her soul. He had rejected her. He had not even shared her bed, as if she were a diseased being, choosing to sleep in the taverns he visited at night. Till then she had believed love could salve her deepest unseen wounds. That Arjun would heal her, that he would console her, strengthen her. But when he finally graced her room on the last night of his allotted time, he had walked past her bed to sleep on a palette on the floor. In that moment he had extinguished her last flicker of hope.

By such small things, her life had now come to be measured and marred. She had tried to kill herself the next day. If not for Sahadev’s news that Duryodhan had instituted a trial against Arjun for the murder of Karna’s nephew, she would have swallowed that poison. Karna… And then it all made sense to her. This was her karma. Karma for what she had done to Karna at the swayamvar. She had heard how pain could open the doors to power that could even turn even the wheel of time, and what was more painful than seeing a boy you considered your son, die so brutally? Or perhaps she really had been cursed for the sins of a past life. Karma was the only thing that could make sense of her misery. If she was reaping the fruits of her karma, then she could not kill herself. She would have to suffer for redemption, else she would be trapped in a never-ending cycle of rebirths, each worse than the one before. This is what she had told herself when she threw away the poisoned milk and turned to do her duty by Sahadev.

Sahadev had asked her consent before touching her. Draupadi had found that strange, but had nodded. He was different, kinder. Which made sense considering Kunti was not his birth mother. He had only soft kisses to share with her in the first few days, talking to her gently about his life, his family, their trials. She had learnt much about her husbands from him. He had claimed her on the third night, but had softened inside her, leaving the chamber in disgust, and not returning again.

Next, it had been Nakul’s turn. Though he was Sahadev’s twin, he was nothing like him. He was far more beautiful than Draupadi herself. His face was soft, innocent, feminine even. But he did not claim her though the two of them never left the room throughout the week. Nakul had trays brought, with figs and pomegranates. They had eaten by candlelight, cross-legged upon the bed, in silence. Then he had removed the trays, blown out the candles, and lain down beside her, though not in a dance of desire. And for that Draupadi had been grateful.