One of your favorite/memorable headcanon moments of Draupadi and Yudhisthira? I'm slowly getting away from Draupadi+Arjun cause I don't need that right now and I'm brimming with love for Draupadi + Yudhisthira's relationship... I just want that love to continue!!!
One of my favorites?? THIS IS SO HARD. I don’t have one favorite because they’re all mine and this is like asking a mother to choose her favorite child but let me think…
The lamp flickers low, marking the end of the third prahar. It is dusk outside, and Draupadi carefully moves her husband’s head from her lap to the pillow. He twitches once, but goes back to sleep. The circles under his swollen eyes are more pronounced than ever before. In slumber, he looks worn out, tired deep to his bones.
Ever since the War, Yudhishthir hasn’t been the same. She rarely ever sees him smile that shy smile, or laugh that quiet laugh. She misses the way he’d bring her raw mangoes, or help her in making the papads, or tie her pallu around her nose when it would slip while she ground chili. Now, everyday, he comes from the Public Court, more and more tired, and sits on that same spot on that one divan and sinks into that aggrieved silence.
On some days, she lets him be, holding his hand in hers and sitting with him. On others, she gets angry, because all of them are going through it, all of them feel the pain when they feel anything at all. But mostly, she takes a deep breath and tries to talk to him: Tell him about Parikshit’s new and naughty antics, ask about his day, read Krishna’s letters to him, ask him about her new sari, tell him about the latest gossip that the dasis report. She tries to stay strong for his sake.
Today though, it was Yudhishthir who had initiated conversation. This gave her joy, this was a ray of hope, this was a step, if not a leap, towards improvement. He told her about how a widow came to the Sabha to ask for business permit. He told her about his rounds to the royal gardens.
"The hibiscus you planted are blooming, Panchaali. You should go see them tomorrow," he said as he took his crown off, but stopped short upon seeing her eyes brim with tears.
"What’s wrong?" He’d asked, taking her face in his hands and catching the tears before they spilled.
"Nothing," she had told him, smiling into his palms. "Tell me more?"
Yudhishthir smiled. He smiled. It was the truest smile she’d seen him smile in the past five years. “Sometimes I think about how we had to lose our kin. I could not have prevented it, Panchaali. I try to accept that.”
Draupadi nodded, and pulled him by his arm to sit on their bed. “I know, Arya. Remember what Madhav said? It was for dharmsthapna. We must look at the bigger picture. Our grief is but a part of the pain our praja is going through. We cannot be selfish here, Arya.” She’d said, smoothing his hair back.
"I know. But, Draupadi, what am I to do when I look at my hands and see only the blood they spilled? When I think of how Prativindhya must have felt trapped in that fire? When every single day I wish I would have died there instead of our son, our nephews? When the crying of all those widowed women echoes in my ears? I cannot escape this, Panchaali. I cannot!"
"Shh, what is past is past. We can only learn from it and build a better future now," she’d said, turning her head away to hide the torrent of tears pouring from her eyes.
"Everyday I try to stoically bear this burden of guilt, everyday I try to undertake my kartavya as a king, everyday I go about my dharm. It is hard everyday, Panchaali, everyday."
"I know, Arya, I know," Draupadi had said as she rubbed his back. She had seen him fight the sadness, the guilt, the grief everyday. She had seen his eyes go blank as he would pass by their son’s armory. She had seen him try to become the support he and his brothers and she herself needed. She had been a live witness of his struggle.
But today, today after the fight with self everyday, Chakravarti Samraat Dharmaraj Yudhishthir had allowed himself to break down in the safety of his ardhangini’s arms, and cry himself to sleep.
Here’s one and I’m sorry.
2087
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