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It's time for my swayamwara, according to my father and the rest of the world. Haven't I had enough of unworthy men breathing down my neck already? Now, thousands of men will be in one place at one time, ready to snap me up. I'm glad I have a say; I'm not some simpering princess waiting like a deer to be hunted. I will choose, and I will choose well.
I do respect my father, though. He is king for a reason, even though he's made mistakes along the way. Our kingdom is half of what it used to be, but he told me and my brother that as long as he has us, that's all he needs. He's a great father, and that's all that matters.
Now, I wrap my finest silk sari around myself. I know I look beautiful, whith golden adornments and my makeup just so. Now, I need to find a man who will look past all of that to the intelligent person I am on the inside. My garland is also ready. I will place this necklace of flowers around the winner's neck.
I will meet my future husband today.
I shiver. Who knows what today holds?
As my brother escorts me into the arena-like room where men will compete for my heart, I try not to snicker at the little princelings fancied up like boys in their father's clothing. Many of their robes are cut so that their large arm muscles are be prominent, and they all hold large, intricate weapons. As if my only requirement is brawn. I admire intelligence, and my brother will take that into account for his challenge.
I stand before the crowd, and look at my brother, ignoring everyone else. I can practically hear the men fawning over me. My attendants giggle and whisper among themselves, trying to guess which man I would choose.
My brother quiets the crowd and briefly explains the challenge. As he talks, I nod to myself. It will do.
Each man who takes the challenge must use a fine bow provided to shoot a target above him five time. However, he must look down into a pan of oil and use the reflection to take aim. Oh, yeah, and did he mention, the target rotates?
This will be good.
Man after man comes up. Some stare at the bow a while before backing away. Others, try to handle the bow but end up hurting their soft, unworked hands. Others drop it on their feet and hop away, moaning. After failing, they run like frightened dogs out of the room, and we can hear the sounds of retreating chariots. There is much laughter.
I watch it all with a neutral face, silently glad none of them succeeded. They were too proud.
One man in the crowd soon stands out. Everyone must think he looked the part of a hero, and he knows it. His whole crowd jeers at the different princes while he lounges with a smug look on his chiseled face.
He catches me looking, and winks.
Ugh. Not him.
Finally, it is his turn. I pray harder than I ever have. Anyone but him!
He takes the bow and handles it easily. I know at once he will succeed.
I quickly turn to one of my attendants and hiss, "I will not accept him!"
He startles, as if jolted by lightning. The man places the bow gently back on the pedestal. He turns towards me with a wry smile and bows mockingly. With a final wink, he saunters back to his group.
One of my ladies puts her hand soothingly on my shoulder. It is then I realize I had let my mask slip and am hyperventilating.
There is a lot of murmuring, and I can see one of his men whispering to him.
He shrugs dramatically, "No, I'm done. I didn't want her anyways," he practically yells.
I sniff disdainfully. "Next!"
Suddenly, there is commotion as a man from the Brahmin group stands. Now, this is interesting.
He is a strange combination of characteristics. I can tell he is a learned man by the way he is confident but not haughty. Yet, he has the appearance of a warrior.
My brother turns to me and whispers, "He's not a warrior, sister. Are you okay with this?"
I nod nervously. "Yes."
He reaches over and holds my hand before addressing the crowd. "My father did not specify what class may compete for my sister's hand. This man may attempt the challenge."
Another ripple of murmurs.
The man stands at the pedestal. He looks at me briefly before bowing respectfully to my brother.
Then, before I can even blink, he strings the bow five times and hits the target on all attempts.
The crowd erupts in shouts, some happy, some furious.
"Give me the garland," I tell the attendant holding the flowers for me.
"But, my lady," she protests.
"Give it!" I demand.
She hands it to me. I quickly walk to the man and am startled to find him a lot taller than I thought him to be. I can't reach to put the garland around his neck, even on my tip toes.
"Allow me to help," he says, softly.
He bows, and I place the garland around his neck.
"What is your name?" I ask.
"I am Arjuna."
Arjuna.... He would do.
Author's Note:
I absolutely loved the character of Draupadi! She has more spunk than Sita and is active in deciding her own fate. I hoped to portray a little of that sassiness and character that a spoiled princess might have while maintaining that she is intelligent and in control.
Bibliography:
Narayan, R. K. (1978). The Mahabharata.
