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Draupadi was not merely an aggrieved woman, but an ambitious leader, a diplomat, a keen politician who understood what motivated her husbands, and she always kept that front and centre so that they would not lose focus.
But even with so many sacrifices, he also remained their puppet, a puppet to their rules and traditions. His righteousness was never enough as my faulty pedigree made him inferior.
‘Stop right there!’ Draupadi gave him a death glare as she stepped up to him and poked him in the chest with enough force for him to stumble backwards. ‘Let’s get one thing clear, Yudhishtra. I,’ poke, ‘am not,’ poke, ‘your wife,’ poke, ‘anymore. Understood?’
Though I have always been a fan of mythology, I often wondered if the plight of women has changed since then. And I ask, what about her?
People will know me as the epitome of motherly affection and virtue. But they will never come to know of the searing pain that afflicts my life in these autumn years of my life.
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