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Draupadi & Duryodhana-The Sun Of The Morning And The Darkness Of The Midnight!

His fragile masculinity met her determined femininity/In the twirl of tresses/He felt the twirl of death/In their wildness was the shakti of Draupadi's femininity/ Ready to throttle and pawn his throne to death.

Draupadi & Duryodhana – The Sun Of The Morning And The Darkness Of The Midnight!

Sure-stepped and mighty,

The Kuru empress traced the way to her camp,

Eyes moist with tears shed,

Sweetened with the feel of blood,

Draupadi still walks with her head held high,

As she returned from Grandsire’s arrow-bed.

Strange were her feelings,

A deep reverence for the old sapling that refused to take sword at humankind’s insult,

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Once recoiling in vengeful smother for his act if cowardice,

Panchali has seen in the infirm eyes of Bhisma the bloodied pain of life,

And feeling the sharp tinge of watching one’s motherland crumbling as the ancient Bhisma must have felt,

She feels no more the gruelling hate for Santanu’s son.

In half-way ,

Her proud head discerned a haughty , arrogant figure,

With disgust crouching in her face,

She saw the profane scion of misfortunate kurus approaching the sacred ground of the eldest kuru member,

Equal was the disgust and hate,

When Duryodhana met his brother’s empress ,

She who made him feel the taste of painful earth

Not once, not twice but each time his fragile masculinity met her determined femininity.

But in the brave warrior’s eyes

Was another emotion

Present not in the calm woman’s piercing vision,

It was the deep fear that took the violent shape of arrogance and violence.

He looked , his heart trembling with the unfelt shivers of fear,

Brave Krishna’s fingers twirling the ends of her open, flying tresses.

In the twirl of tresses,

He felt the twirl of death,

In their wildness

Was the wild Shakti of Draupadi’s femininity,

Ready to throttle and pawn his throne to death.

Draupadi smiled in vengeful coil,

For all her reverence for the white-haired wise Bhisma ,

Forgive she cannot this jackal of his grandson,

The one behind this mighty destruction,

He whose very existence was an insulting blow to womankind,

How can she forgive this terrible hound for a man.

The dice hall sprang before both eyes,

But one set of eyes remembered it with poignant pain

And derived the strength of her life-mission from its naked insults.

But the other coiled in fear,

For the hall reminded him of his own adharmic weakness

And made him fear those fire-emitting eyes of Agni’s daughter.

His fragile masculine bravery hurt by his heart’s fear,

Spelt he out in terrible arrogance

And more terrible dread of the sati:

“What do you think , dear sister-in-law,

the fall of Pitamah by that coward husband of yours

signalled the fall of kurus,

No, no, Draupadi- he struggled to hide his growing fear-

Pitamah is not the symbol of the kurus,

I , Draupadi, I ,the mighty crown prince of Dhritarashtra

Surely Dhirtarashtra  for surely not of Hastina’s people, mused Draupadi to herself

I, Duryodhana, the iron-armed is the symbol of the mighty kurus.

Blood rose to Draupadi’s mouth,

Wished she to flung herself at this obstinate mould of ego,

But respecting the strength of calmness,

Krishna’s sister smiled stingingly a smile that sent shivers down the warrior’s throat

And said:

“It is Hastinapur’s misfortune that its crown prince mourns not its flagstaff’s fall.”

Image source: Hotstar & Youtube

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Isha Isita

Isha wants to be called a poet but cannot be considered as one . She can now be termed as a 15 year old who is trying to understand the sudden changes of adolescence and coming read more...

4 Posts | 2,504 Views

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