THE KAURAVA PRINCESS

Dushala watched from the inner bed chambers as her husband, Jayadratha, the king of the Sindhu kingdom, put on his bronze shield and armour, and other battle armaments. The Kurukshetra war had been going on for the last twelve days, and he was getting ready to support her brother in this mega-war. But Dushala never approved of what her brothers or husband were doing and was fully convinced that her Pandava cousins were righteous in their claim for the throne and justice.

But she was a mere woman and couldn't change things. She often admired Draupadi and Kunti for the fearless role they played in their men's lives. But whenever she tried to do the same, she had been met with blows and kicks from her husband. 

Even her brothers hadn't listened to her raise her voice against her marriage with Jayadratha. Dushala had never liked him, not to mention that he already had two wives from previous marriages and a lust for women. But the possibility of the war and the bonuses that Jayadratha could bring to the Kaurava camp through the boons received from his and his parents' penance was a great attraction and something they didn't want to miss. So, the marriage was arranged without much consultation with her or with her say. 

"You follow your husband to death, whether he be good or bad, sick or healthy, poor or rich", this was the advice her blindfolded mother had given her on the day of her marriage.

But there were days when she just couldn't accept to abide by these. The day Jayadartha tried abducting Draupadi, Dushala cried herself to sleep. She knew there could be no greater sin than robbing a woman's modesty and she was certain retribution would come.

She had been further aghast when she heard that her brothers and their friends tried disrobing Draupadi after tricking their cousins in a game of dice.

So, when the maha Kurukshetra war began, she was sure the end was near. But today, that feeling was particularly strong, and she feared for the lives of her husband and brothers. "A woman is nothing without her husband. His health and life should always be in your prayers. It is your responsibility and duty to ensure his safety and well-being", her mother had written to her once.

But can she stop fate, especially when it comes to taking revenge for one's past sins? Likely not, she thought.

Yet, she tried one last time. "Your majesty, I have a foreboding today things won't be good. I pray that you sit out of the war today.", she said feebly.

He pushed her away and laughed "Foreboding! When did you study astrology? What do you know about penance and boons? I, the mighty Kshatriya king cannot be defeated by your mere cousins. And today, we'll trap them, trap them and kill them. We'll teach your Arjuna a lesson. Didn't you have a soft corner for him when you were kids? You still have, I know", he roared as he pushed her out of the way, throwing her down on the hard floor.

Dushala had nothing but tears to offer. And with that, she sat before the images of the gods. But prayer was not easy to come. Her heart beat furiously wondering what was going on on the battlefield.

In the evening, her maid brought her the news. Abhimanyu, Arjuna's young son, is killed in the Chakravyuh. The maid described how her husband had single-handedly kept Yudishter, Bhim, Nakul, and Sahadev from helping Abhimanyu, and how the young boy had been mercilessly killed.

Even as she said a prayer of thanks for her husband's life, she felt remorse for Abhimanyu's fate, his father, and his uncles. What wrong did they do to get into all this trouble? Poor Subhadra, Abhimanyu was her only child. Weren't they, the Pandavas, the rightful heirs to the Kuru throne?

Jayadratha didn't return to the palace that night. Dushala was certain that he would be enjoying his victory with women and wine.

The maid had also, later in the night, brought another piece of news. Arjuna's terrible vow. Vow to kill Jayadratha before the sun set the next day. She had to pray harder tomorrow, she sighed and was only able to sleep fitfully.

The next day, early in the morning, she sent a message to Jayadratha with her favoured pigeon, praying to him to stay away from the battlefield again. But the pigeon returned after a while with the message unread.

Dushala sat before the idols of gods in her bedroom and tried to pray. But she didn't understand what to pray for, for the safety of a husband who neither loved nor cared for her, or for the victory of righteousness over evil. Though she tried for the former, what came to her lips was often the latter, and she had to start from the beginning again.

She remembered how it used to be Arjuna or Bhim who brought her ripe, juicy mangoes during the summer times together, and how Yudhisthir had sent a message, during the time of her marriage proposal, that she was worthy of someone better than Jayadratha. Hadn't Jayadratha invited disaster upon himself by trying to rob Draupadi of her modesty? Wasn't that an act enough to deserve death as a punishment? But then the images of her son clouded her confused and dreary mind. What will the boy do without his father?

And so, her prayers oscillated between the two opposite wishes her heart was seeking. She felt it was like a game of passing the ball. The prayer on her lips at the time when the music ended would be the one fulfilled. But the only problem was she wouldn't know when the music stopped. She would have to wait till her maid brought her news to realize when the music had stopped.

As the sun began to set over the horizon, visible from the window of her palace bedroom, she thought her husband had survived the day since no maid had brought unfortunate news.

And now she prayed for the victory of righteousness, for Arjuna's safety, Yudhisthir's victory. After all, wasn't that the more appropriate prayer?

The sad news, though, reached her much after sunset. Lord Krishna's charm had hidden the actual sunset, allowing Arjuna more time to fulfill his vow.

Yes, the music hadn't stopped earlier. She just hadn't been able to hear it continue, and she had switched prayers, and the one on her lips at the time the music ended was fulfilled. For a brief moment, she wailed, the wail of a woman robbed of her Sindoor.

But she then wiped her cheeks and continued the prayers. She had to now pray to the gods to give strength and courage to her little boy who would now become the King of Sindhu.