Her mind stopped a moment.. .what does it mean to have loved? Ulupi, Chitrangada,
Subhadra — Arjuna had loved so many women!.. Or had he? Had Arjuna given his heart
to any woman? Women had loved him but he had given his heart to Krishna. She knew
how from the beginning, from the settling of Indraprastha, Arjuna and Krishna would sit
talking by the hour. In their talk there was always some new idea — perhaps about
building a city; but they talked as friends, each one speaking from his heart and listening
to the other. No woman could win Arjuna’s heart. .. Is love always like that? Is it always
one-sided? I pine for someone who doesn’t return my love; someone else yearns for me...
Suddenly, as if shocked, she stopped. The realization pierced like lightning; there was
one who had given his whole life for her. She sighed with her new understanding. Again
pictures came before her eyes; Bhima along with Arjuna, fighting the enemies outside the
svayamvara pavilion; Bhima ready to burn his brother’s dice-playing hands when she
was dragged into the assembly; Bhima, so angry he had to be held down by Arjuna;
Bhima, comforting her when she was tired; Bhima, bringing her fragrant lotuses; Bhima,
drinking the blood of Duhsha-sana; Bhima, plaiting her hair with gory hands. Arjuna
could have killed the Kichaka, but it was Bhima who did. How many things she
remembered — greedy Bhima, rough, tempestuous Bhima, always railing at
Dhritarashtra and Gandhari. In the same sense that Draupadi was earthy, so was he. She
was a daughter of the earth, he was a son.
Draupadi heard a dragging sound, then a great sigh. Her whole body quivered with
fear. She had been waiting quietly for the moment of her death. Was a wild animal coming? A hyena? In all the days of walking on the plateau they had seen no animals.
Better that it fastened on her throat at once, without mauling her. She closed her eyes
hard. As she lay waiting for the unnamed danger to strike, suddenly a shadow fell over
her eyes. A curtain had dropped between her and the sun. A low deep voice called,
“Draupadi.” It was Bhima’s voice. It was he who had dragged himself, gasping with
effort, over the ten, fifteen feet that separated them. On the way he had seen Arjuna,
Nakula, and Sahadeva lying dead, and had thought Draupadi must be dead too. When
Draupadi, frightened at his approach, had quiversed, he had caught with joy this sign of
life. “What can I do for you?” The words came out with difficulty. It was the same
question he had asked all his life, but in this situation it was utterly meaningless and
incongruous. Draupadi smiled. Bringing Bhima’s face close to hers, she said with her last
breath, “In our next birth be the eldest, Bhima; under your shelter we can all live in safety
and joy.”
Excerpt from Iravati Karve's Yuganta
