Draupadi

2018 B.C

Hastinapur Palace.

She lay motionless on the floor.

Streaks of hair had strewn themselves carelessly all over her face. Her eyes, which had sunk in, tried their best to stay open. Her tears ferried her kohl, which once sat proudly on those royal eyelids, to her cheeks and blackened them. Those once luscious red cheeks now wore a lachrymose, gloomy look.

Her nose ring had broken into two parts, one lay unnoticed in one corner of the courtroom and the other had embedded itself into the flesh of her left nostril, splitting it open and making it bleed profusely. Her lips quivered with fear as she kept on mumbling silent prayers. Sweat beads trickled down her armpits and drenched her bosom. Her frayed golden sari, with a greenish hue, which was an aberration on an otherwise insipid grey courtroom floor, just about managed to provide shelter to her trembling hands and legs. She lay, stinking and unwanted, on that royal floor- the same floor on which she once pranced around like a Queen.

Her reverie was broken by a strong pull at her hair. A strong, rough hand snatched at her head and plucked her off the floor and onto her feet. Draupadi, jolted out of her stupor, desperately tried to balance herself. As her eyes adjusted themselves to the brilliance and opulence of the lavish palace, she found herself in the eye of the storm- a storm of lusty, lascivious perverts who kept their eyes targeted on her. A queen was getting raped. Royalty stripped to its bare essentials and all her husbands could do was sit in their places with their heads down in collective shame. Draupadi looked at them, hoping that at least one of them would be man enough to stop this blasphemy. But she knew they would not. After all, what else can you expect of men who sell their wife for a board game?

Duryodhan, sat there in his ugly, humongous throne, embellished with bright, gaudy gems. He tapped his fleshy fingers on the throne, water dripping out of his mouth as he stared at a half-naked Draupadi. He knew he had his concubine in front of him. He got up from his throne and stomped his way towards her. He caught her neck and pulled her towards him. Draupadi, sickened by the smell of his breath, resisted his grasp. Duryodhan, clearly miffed yet perversely excited at Draupadi’s resistance, threw her on the floor, as easily as someone swats a fly.

In a daze, like a whipped cat in a corner, Draupadi lay on that floor. The grey color floor was a perfect metaphor for her dignity- dull, tasteless and now dead. Her eyes were closing, her breathing getting slow and she was floating into an unconscious state until a bright ray of light broke her reverie. It was an effervescent yellow form emanating from the palace ceiling. A form that was resembling something of a ‘chakra’ and splendid lights originated from it. As it came down towards Draupadi, it became bigger and bigger and……………………………………...

2018 A.D

Hastinapur Hotel

……………………………………………….. and the screen flashed,” Ma Calling”.

In a room cruelly suffocated of any trace of light, dignity, and shame, the light emanating from her cell phone was a welcome relief. A huge peacock feather was printed on the lacy bedsheet, which was now in a disheveled condition, owing to the vigorous activity taking place on the bed. A lust-filled male moaning supplanted an otherwise heavy cigarette smoke that had once hijacked the room.

“Why do men make so much noise while having sex?”, Draupadi wondered to herself, uncomfortably sprawled on the bed. Keeping her legs apart was Duryodhan- paan stained teeth, potbellied, bald and sweaty. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and hugged his eyebrows. Stinky and smelly, he wiped his sweat off with a red satin handkerchief and kept at his licentious activity. A melodious track filled with pop beats in the form of the aforementioned mobile ringtone broke Draupadi’s reverie. She glanced at her cellphone and it screamed,” Ma Calling”. Draupadi’s eyebrows furrowed.” Why is Ma calling so late in the night?”, she thought to herself. As she stretched her hands to take the call, Duryodhan, clearly vexed at this uninvited call, grabbed at the mobile phone and flung it at the wall, shattering it into pieces. Duryodhan didn’t like anyone or anything disturbing his pursuit of orgasms. Not even his wife’s cell phone.

Draupadi could hardly believe what had happened. That mobile phone was the last gift from ‘Appa’ before he left her and her mom all alone in this big, bad world. Tears welled up and dethroned the kohl, which once had complete reign over her eyes. But this recapitulation didn’t last long, as Duryodhan grabbed her thighs and flipped her over. He snatched at her hair from behind and took off his belt and WHAAAAACCCCKKKKKK…Draupadi shivered at the force of the strike. Even before she could collect herself and request her husband to stop, a second WHAAAAACCCKKKKKKKK thwarted her resistance.

This was brutal and stinging.

The force of this strike proved too much for Draupadi, as she fell off the bed and crashed onto the carpeted floor. As her eyes scanned the floor, she witnessed the shattered pieces of her mobile phone lying around the floor exactly like her- broken, helpless and hopeless. Duryodhan climbed off the bed and loomed over a semiconscious Draupadi. He took his pants off and pulled at Draupadi’s hair, pulling her off the floor and onto her knees. He forcefully inserted his manhood into her mouth and gagged her, closing his eyes in anticipation of heavenly carnal pleasure. “How will you now talk to your mother, bitch?”, sneered Duryodhan

.

 That line hit a raw nerve. Stroked a fire within. Rage shot through her veins and she began to breathe heavily. Her eyes shook with unspeakable ferocity. Bloodshot. Thirsty for vengeance. Draupadi- bleeding profusely, broken, helpless, gagged and hopeless- snapped. She clenched his manhood with her teeth. Squeezed it and dug her teeth right into it. Duryodhan gave out a wild, agonizing shriek and tried to push her away. But Draupadi held onto him by her teeth, shredding and decapitating Duryodhan and his precious proof of male dominance, completely. Blood squirted out and covered Draupadi’s face red. Duryodhan collapsed on the floor, over the pieces of the mobile phone he had broken, comatose.

Draupadi jolted herself up, adrenaline pumping- looking at her husband’s body and put on her clothes. She pushed her hotel room door open and managed to limp her way outside. She desperately wanted to wash her face and rid her mouth of the sickening taste of blood and sweat. She precariously walked to the hotel bar, located a few meters from her room, and slouched herself on the barstool. A handheld out a glass of whiskey. As she looked up, she saw a tall, dark man with a wry expression on his face. Her eyes met his and the mischief and naughtiness in them held hers in thrall.

“One Jack Daniels on the rocks, for the young lady”, said Krishna, the bartender, with a gleefully wicked smile.