The Daughter of Laughter

I sit on the railings of the balcony and rest my back comfortably on the latticed window that curtains the balcony. I stretch the bottom of my lehenga to cover my thin ankles. I want to watch what is about to happen in this great hall. And in style, too. This would be the high point of my otherwise uneventful existence. I rest my right arm on the trunk of the elephant that forms the capital of the pillar below the balcony. From here, I can see it all without worrying about being seen. As is the case with those hiding themselves behind the latticed window to watch all that happened without revealing themselves.

Today was not an ordinary day, even by the standards of this great hall. It would be a day of transformation. A day, when Time would stand still, and watch as His course is remapped. A day when my own life, short as it has been, would reach its climax. But no, we are getting ahead of ourselves. Let me tell you about myself. I was born a half day’s horse ride from here. Sometimes, I think I was born only because the ride was so short. Cousins had invited cousins to show them their newfound prosperity. And cousins had come to see what the hype was all about. Everything they found was beyond their wildest imagination. The place they were invited to was nothing short of a palace. And what a palace it was. Almost magical, it had a stream flowing right inside the household. And if that wasn’t enough, it had a variety of illusions to heighten the sense of mystery about it. Doorways disguised as walls, waterfalls to curtain windows, flooring polished so smooth that it would reflect the dancing lights on the ceiling and appear to be water, and pools in the floor so charmed to appear as solid stone. Built by a clever architect, it served its masters well. But it also proved to be the undoing of, should I call her my mother? I think I should. It also provided the womb for my birth, for without it I would never have come to be.

It was a bright, sunny morning. The Kaurava princes, still dizzy from the frivolities of the previous night, were strolling around the palace. They had been invited for the Rajasuya Yagna of the newly crowned Chakravarti, Yudhishtira and had decided to stay back. Long story short, the palace had decided to play with them and the solid floor Duryodhana stepped on, melted under his feet. The next moment he was in a pool of water, royal garments drenched and his crown bobbing like a cork next to him. Duryodhana looked around to see if anyone, apart from his brothers and Karna, had seen his rather disgraceful fall. To him, it did not matter that his crown jewels were swimming in the middle of the room. He wanted his pride to be intact. And it emerged, from behind the curtained windows. A laughter. Loud, derisive and encouraging a chorus of other voices to laugh along. Draupadi! The greatest maceman of the world had had it. It wasn’t enough that he had failed to win her over in the Swayamvar. It wasn’t enough for her that she had insulted his friend Karna. It wasn’t enough that her husbands had built the most splendid palace out of nothing. She had to be there to witness him in a rare moment of disgrace and laugh at it. And that was when I was born.

As I gathered form out of the resonating sounds of Draupadi’s laughter in the corridor, I saw another cloud collect around Duryodhana. His rage created a boy of my age and build, but crimson red to my dark form. I immediately understood. He was the son of Duryodhana’s rage just like I was the daughter of Draupadi’s laughter. We were siblings of Time. But being born of different parents, we looked quite different. I was dark, like all children of Karma, and resembling my mother. I grew up in her palace, quite fast for my age, for in the days and months that followed, Draupadi had repeated the tale to all who would hear. Their laughter nourished me quite well. I think the son of Duryodhana’s rage was also fed well. Duryodhana must have been reminded frequently enough of his humiliation in the presence of “that woman”, by his uncle Sakuni.

Oh! Here he comes! Invisible to the eyes of mortals, I am what he instantly he sees. He makes a beeline to get to the balcony railing. He is about the same height as I am. Well, a little taller, I think. But I can’t be sure. He sits right next to me. This is the first time I’ve met him after our birth. We have a lot of catching up to do. And by the looks of it, there’s not much time for us to do that. The day’s events seem to be starting. I ask him how his life has been. He tells me how Duryodhana had fed him continuously, with able support from Sakuni and Dushasana. He says he’s ready for the task at hand. I wonder what his task is. I already know mine. But wait, the hall is being readied for the day. I see servants of the palace arranging the seating and the cushions in the middle of the hall. Ostensibly, to show his gratitude for being invited to Indraprastha, Duryodhana had invited his cousins, the Pandavas, over to Hastinapur. As was tradition, gambling was part of the invitation. Yudhishtira, addicted as he was to gambling, had gratefully accepted.

The boy tells me that Duryodhana is on his way, after ample planning. Sakuni is going to play on his behalf. I inform him that Draupadi is in the womens’ chambers, resting after the trip. She will not be present at the court for another three days. Or so she thinks. I cast a meaningful glance at him. He has already told me what has been planned. It fits perfectly with the plan I have in mind. Our duties were charted out for us the moment we were born. This was the day we would fulfill them.

The events that followed passed in front of our eyes as a blur. We did not pay too much attention to them. This had been planned already. Sakuni’s dice implicitly obeyed his will. Yudhishtira started losing minor possessions and went to on to stake his ornaments, chariots, bullion, and even his kingdom. And lost them all. Each round that Yudhishtira lost, the generous Sakuni offered him a chance to win it all back in the next round. And Yudhishtira only lost even more. In what appeared was a final attempt, not because Yudhishtira had the good sense to stop, but because he had nothing more to lose, he staked his own brothers. And lost them one by one. He then lost himself and came to the conclusion that all was indeed lost. All this while, the elders of the Kuru clan sat around and said nothing. Bound by Dharma, my friend sitting next to me, pointed out. Yudhishtira wasn’t forced. He was doing it all of his own freewill.

Duryodhana was quite pleased. The palace that had humiliated him was now his. Part of his humiliation was now avenged. But the other part still remained. The vile Sakuni reminded Yudhishtira that he still had one possession left. “Draupadi!” prompted Karna avenging his insult at the Swayamvar.

Duryodhana would send his foot soldiers to bring Draupadi over. They would return, not with her, but with questions. The enraged Duryodhana would send his brother, Dushasana, to drag his new “maid” to the hall. I am ready. So is my partner. This is our cue. He takes my hand in his. The red of his and black of mine make vividly contrast. We slip from the railing and part hands. I float towards Duryodhana to fulfill my destiny. As he inhales me into him, out of his mouth comes the laughter that once belonged to Draupadi. Oh! And here she is! Being dragged by hair into the hall by Dushasana. I smile when I see that she’s wearing a single piece of cloth the color of vermillion. The contrast of the cloth on her dark skin, reminds me of my brief flirtation with my partner. But no time now. Duty calls.

The hall divides itself into muted cries of anguish and loud eruptions of laughter. As I flow through Duryodhana, he turns to Draupadi and calls her his “Dasi”. He boorishly proclaims that since her numerous “husbands” have failed to protect her, she should know seek refuge at his feet. Draupadi’s Karma floats through Duryodhana’s veins and his arm moves his lower garment from his thigh and taps it visibly.

I can see my partner rising within Bheema, the mighty Pandava. Bheema’s voice booms through the hall. He swears to break open that thigh of Duryodhana which he had offered to seat Draupadi on. As she begs the elders and her own husbands to save her honor, my partner and I are lost in our thoughts about each other. As I grow out of Duryodhana, he grows out of Bheema to embrace me. It is at that moment that Duryodhana orders that Draupadi be disrobed. What follows is of no importance to us. We are lost in each other. Out of our incestuous copulation cushioned by the silence of the helpless elders, is born an ugly cripple. His first vision is of the kulavadhu Draupadi being disrobed in the great hall of Hastinapur. Dushasana’s effort goes in vain as the more it is pulled away from Draupadi, the longer the vermillion garment grows. My son leers at us. He points to the Draupadi’s garment and then points at the Kauravas. Does he mean that it is Kaurava blood that is flowing in the hall? I wonder. I watch as the ugly cripple Revenge, the son of Karma and Rage, enters into each Pandava and Draupadi as they inhale him deeply.

Our task complete, my partner and I dissolve in peace. We are no more affected by the events that are about to happen. Curses and oaths shall follow. So shall a war and the end of an Age.