#draupadi
Ethics of war were not followed,
Neither by the army under me,
Nor by that wise commander,
I shattered all the regulations,
Especially the ones formulated by me.
I, Đroņa, was a war criminal,
They had him surrounded when
I commanded Abhimanyu's killing.
Classical rules of war idealized,
Don't attack the outnumbered enemy,
I helped form the Chakravyuha,
A forbidden aggressive war formation,
'Abhimanyu' was killed by many,
He was so outnumbered by our army,
Đraupađi, his mother, cursed me,
She cursed I'll die lamenting my son.
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
(A Modern Draupadi Speaks)
I go by many names —
Draupadi then.
Ananya, Zoya, Meena now.
Or sometimes just, “a girl.”
The one on the screen.
The one they spoke of in whispers.
The one who should’ve stayed quiet,
or stayed home,
or stayed gone.
---
They say —
Look, how late she comes home.
Look, what she’s wearing.
Look how she talks...
Walks...
Laughs too loudly.
Speaks too clearly.
Lives too freely.
And somehow,
it is always her fault
for being seen
at all.
---
Draupadi was traded once —
in a game,
while kings sat still,
watched,
and chose not to speak.
Now, Draupadis are traded every day —
in boardrooms,
in backrooms,
in promises that sound like love,
in silences that sound like safety.
---
They don’t call me Draupadi now.
I walk into courtrooms,
not palaces.
No royal sabha,
just white lights, wooden chairs,
and cold stares.
No one rolls dice anymore.
Now, they roll footage.
Loop my silence on screens.
Zoom into my tears.
Rewind my pain
for ratings.
And still,
no one asks me what I felt.
---
They call me victim,
but not of my own making.
They call me brave,
but only when I remain silent,
when I am invisible
and unspoken.
They don't know that courage,
true courage,
is standing in the storm
and not asking for shelter.
--
They say they respect women.
And they do —
just not enough to believe them.
And when I speak,
they say,
“Why so angry?”
Because I am.
Because I have to beg for justice
with every breath.
Because I still carry my dignity
in a purse zipped tight
in case it’s questioned again.
---
I am not here for pity.
Not here to be saved.
I do not need rescue.
What I need is to be seen.
What I need is not salvation,
but for the world to stop
turning my dignity into a prize,
a coin,
a wager in someone else’s game.
I am not asking for rescue.
Not for cloth from the sky.
Not for gods to intervene.
I want
a place
where no woman needs to prove
she did not deserve
to be destroyed.
---
I was never your sacrifice.
I was never your symbol.
I was never your choice
to make.
And when I speak —
hear me.
Not as a story to tell,
but as a woman to listen.
A woman who was
and is
and always will be.
I am not a myth.
I am the truth
that stands in front of you.
And I am still here.
Because I am not a myth.
©️ Susanta Pattnayak
May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 9:07 AM UTC