In her lifetime, she was known by many names. Panchali, princess of Panchal. Yagnyasani, she who was born of fire. Yojanagandha, she whose fragrance could be felt for miles. Parsati, granddaughter of Prushata. The most well-known perhaps was Draupadi, daughter of Drupad, wife of five brothers, queen of the Pandevas. Draupadi, bereft of sons. She stood alone, as the enemies of her husbands tore at the clothes on her back. She begged and pleaded and wept as her husbands', her family averted their gazes in shame. Her anger grew as betrayal cut deep; her cries went unheeded as she was dragged and dropped at Duryodhana's feet. To find out that she had been lost in a game of dice, that her husbands' enemies had her at their mercy, that nobody would step in and save her brought much pain to her heart. Yet her tears slowed, her chin raised in defiance. They would not see her break or fall apart at the seams. She was Draupadi, she was proud and she was fierce, and she was beloved to the one she could always count on. Eager hands pulled the cloth off her shoulder. And pulled. And pulled. And pulled. Hands grew tired, frustration and rage tumbled out of her attacker's lips, but still the cloth would not end. She stood alone, tear tracks shining on her cheeks, remembering - An old sage in the bathing house, unable to leave the pool as he had no clean clothes to wear. A bevy of ladies surrounded him as he asked for forgiveness. She tore a strip off her sari, and held it out to him, turning away with her giggling friends. Before he left, he blessed her, "As you have kept my modesty today, so shall yours be protected." Two meters, five meters, ten, twenty, fifty, still he pulled, and she remembered - His gopis may have surrounded him, but when Krishna cut his finger, not one had a cloth on hand to bind it. But Draupadi could not bear the blood on her best and dearest friend's hand. She tore a strip off her dupatta and tied it around his finger. Almost but not quite a rakhi. Still he promised her the protection of a brother. There was no end in sight. Each pull of the fabric only served to unveil more. Her husbands had forsaken her, she stood alone, but Draupadi had no been abandoned.
The Disrobing of Draupadi
