Natyam | A Mahabharata Fiction

37.

No songs about the war were sung during my reign as Queen. I forbade it. There were no verses that bullied the Kauravas, no encores about the victory of the Pandavas. Everyone remembered it grimly, with tears. Knowing fully well that everyone was to blame for it.

And while I have maintained my silence on the matter thus far, I think it is finally time I say something.

My husband was splendid during the war. He was the epitome of skill and kshatriya endeavours. Every morning, we would wake up together. He'd exercise and bathe. I'd dress him. In return, I was given a warm smile and a gentle kiss. Then he would leave.

At dusk, he would return. Having killed far too many people, having led his own family to see the dawn of another day. Yes, there were selfish motives like glory. However, he did love his family. There was plenty that he did for their sake. The Pandavas would have lost this war long ago had it not been for Arjun.

Yudhisthira being alive was the result of Arjun's efforts. Arjun's and his son, Abhimanyu's.

Abhimanyu, the youngest Pandava child, had sacrificed his life in order to keep Yudhisthira alive. Consequently, the youth was decimated by the Kaurava elders. What's more, they surrounded the defenseless child and killed him.

I still remember Subhadra's screaming. Disconsolate. Deafening.

I remember Draupadi hurrying into our camp to console a devastated Uttara, who was threatening to kill their unborn child.

Subhadra was in my own arms, beating my chest and gasping for air. No matter how much we would try helping her, the tears kept coming. Of course, they did. The tears threatened to spill over on my own cheeks.

That was when my mother-in-law chanced upon us. She surveyed the scene with her beady brown eyes. "Mrinali, let her go."

I immediately let go of my hold on Subhadra, who fell before our mother-in-law.

Rajmata Kunti lifted Subhadra up from the floor and quietly said, "This loss in unimaginable, dear child. No one can understand it except Arjun. Nothing can help either of you except each other. He will be here soon. Grieve in your bedroom, maybe solitude might help."

Then Kunti looked at me again. "Get Arjun, now."

So I did.

*****

By the time I reached the entry of our camp, there was a large crowd blocking the gate. There was an eerie silence that blanketed the gathering except for a few sharp wails that threatened to split my eardrum.

I recall pushing through the crowd, a tangle of limbs and defeated faces. People had covered their mouths with their hands to muffle the sobbing.

A lone tear fell down my cheek.

"Excuse me, let me through. Let me through!" I hiccuped, weaving through the public.

Before me, lay Arjun, lying on the arid soil. Tears flowing freely, his eyes were screwed shut.

Around him, the Pandavas looked on, crying silently but unmoving from their spots.

My own heart twisted at the sight.

I approached him, gently. I ran my fingers across his cheek. "Arjun." I pulled his head onto my lap.

Almost immediately, his hand found mine and gripped it. Hard.

I looked up at the gawking crowd and ordered the brothers to clear the space. While they did so, I bent forward to console my husband.

"Subhadrakant, I know your son passed away and I'm very sorry. I cannot express what I'm feeling at the moment. But I need you to get up now," my own voice cracked, "get up and meet your wife. She's hysterical and inconsolable. She needs you. And you need her!"