Draupadi Binds Her Hair - After the War

Bhima found her at the edge of the battlefield. Around them, the carnage of the day's fighting stretched to the horizon.

His hands were still red.

Bhima: "I brought you something."

He held out a bowl. In it, blood—Dushasana's blood, still warm.

Draupadi: "I don't need it."

Bhima: "It was for your hair. I promised—"

Draupadi: "I know what you promised. His blood on my hair would give him power he doesn't deserve. He touched me once. He doesn't get to touch me again."

Bhima: "Then what—"

Draupadi: "Watch."

Draupadi reached up and began braiding. For the first time in thirteen years, her fingers wound through the loose strands, creating order from the chaos she had worn as a symbol.

Draupadi: "There, It's over."

Bhima: "You said you wouldn't bind it until—"

Draupadi: "Until justice was done. Justice is done. You kept your promise. Now I keep mine."

Bhima: "How does it feel?"

Draupadi: "Strange. Lighter. For thirteen years, every time the wind blew, I remembered. Every time it tangled in sleep, I woke thinking of that day. Now..."

Bhima: "Now?"

Draupadi: "Now it's just hair. Just something on my head. The memory is still there, but it's not wearing it anymore."

Bhima knelt, suddenly uncertain.

Bhima: "Was it enough? What I did to him? The drinking, the tearing—was it enough?"

Draupadi: "Nothing would be enough. That's not how trauma works. But it was necessary. It was what you needed, what I needed, what the world needed to see. Some violations require answers that shock."

Bhima: "I'm a monster now. Everyone who watched—"

Draupadi: "You're a husband who kept his word. The monster was Dushasana. You were the consequence. Let this blood dry. Let everyone see it. Let them know what touching me costs."

Bhima: "And after? When the blood is washed away?"

Draupadi: "After, we rebuild. We rule. We try to make a kingdom where this never happens to anyone else."

Bhima: "Can we do that? After all this violence?"

Draupadi: "We have to try. That's what survival is—trying after the thing that should have destroyed us. Come. There's more war left. Duryodhana still breathes. And I want to see his end too."

Bhima: "You'll watch?"

Draupadi: "I'll watch everything. Every death of every man who laughed that day in the court. I'll stand witness. That's my duty now—to see it through."

They walked back toward the camp together. Draupadi's braid swung behind her—simple, ordinary, finally at peace.

Behind them, Dushasana's blood sank into the earth. The ground had drunk deeper libations than any ritual could offer.

And somewhere, the gods noted: this is what happens when you drag a queen by her hair.

This is the cost.

This is the end.