Yudhishthira and Draupadi - Why Didn't You Stop?

The fire crackled between them. The other brothers slept. Draupadi had been waiting for this moment—alone with the man who had gambled her away.

Draupadi: "I need to understand."

Yudhishthira didn't look up.

Yudhishthira: "What?"

Draupadi: "The game. You lost our wealth. You kept playing. You lost our kingdom. You kept playing. You lost your brothers, one by one. You kept playing. Then you wagered me. Why didn't you stop?"

Yudhishthira: "I couldn't."

Draupadi: "That's not an answer."

Yudhishthira: "It's the truth. I don't know how to explain it. After the first loss, something changed. It was like... like I was watching myself from outside. I could see I should stop. I knew I should stop. But my hands kept moving, my voice kept betting."

Draupadi: "Gambling fever. They have a name for it."

Yudhishthira: "It has a name. That doesn't mean I understood it. I've spent years studying dharma, ethics, self-control. And in that hall, all of it vanished. I became someone I didn't recognize."

Draupadi: "You became weak."

Yudhishthira: "Yes. I became weak in the one moment that required strength."

Draupadi: "And when you wagered me? What were you thinking then?"

Yudhishthira was silent for a long moment.

Yudhishthira: "I was thinking I could win you back. I was thinking Shakuni's luck couldn't last forever. I was thinking... I was thinking that I had already lost everything else. What was one more stake?"

Draupadi: "I was 'one more stake.' Your wife. Your queen."

Yudhishthira: "I know."

Draupadi: "Did you think about what would happen to me if you lost? Did you imagine them dragging me into the court? Insulting me? Trying to—"

Yudhishthira: "No. In that moment, I wasn't imagining anything. I was just... continuing. Like a cart with no driver, rolling downhill because rolling is what carts do."

Draupadi: "That's not good enough."

Yudhishthira: "I know."

Draupadi: "I need more than 'I know.' I need to understand how the man who studied dharma his entire life could put his wife on a dice table like property."

Yudhishthira stood and paced. When he spoke, his voice was different—rougher, more honest than she'd ever heard.

Yudhishthira: "You want the truth? The real truth, that I've never told anyone?"

Draupadi: "Yes."

Yudhishthira: "In that moment—the moment I wagered you—there was a part of me that wanted to lose. Wanted everything to collapse. Wanted to stop being Dharmaraja, the righteous king, the eldest brother, the symbol of perfection. I was tired, Draupadi. So tired of being who everyone needed me to be."

Draupadi: "So you destroyed our lives because you were tired?"

Yudhishthira: "I destroyed our lives because destruction felt easier than maintenance. Because failure felt like freedom. Because if I lost everything, at least I wouldn't have to carry it anymore."

The fire popped. Sparks rose into the darkness.

Draupadi: "That's monstrous."

Yudhishthira: "Yes."

Draupadi: "You gambled your family's future because you wanted to quit being responsible."

Yudhishthira: "Yes."

Draupadi: "And now? In the forest? Still want to quit?"

Yudhishthira: "Every day. Every day I wake up and think: what if I just walked away? Let Bhima be king. Let Arjuna lead. What if I stopped being the one everyone depends on?"

Draupadi: "You can't."

Yudhishthira: "I know. That's the punishment. Not the exile. The exile is almost pleasant. The punishment is knowing I can never escape who I am. No matter how badly I fail, they'll still look to me. They'll still need me to be Dharmaraja. And I'll have to keep being him, forever, even though I know exactly how hollow I am inside."

Draupadi was quiet for a long time.

Draupadi: "I don't forgive you."

Yudhishthira: "I didn't ask you to."

Draupadi: "But I understand you now. Better than before. You're not a monster. You're something worse—a man who is exactly as weak as everyone else but is forced to pretend otherwise."

Yudhishthira: "Yes."

Draupadi: "And you'll keep pretending."

Yudhishthira: "Until I die. And probably after, in whatever stories they tell."

Draupadi: "Then I'll stay. Not for love—that might never come back. But because I understand what you're carrying. And because someone should witness it."

Yudhishthira: "Why?"

Draupadi: "Because that's my dharma. To be the witness to yours. Even when I hate you. Even when I can't look at you without seeing that hall. I'll witness. And maybe someday, that will be enough for both of us."

It wasn't forgiveness. It was something else—something harder to name. An arrangement between two people who had seen each other's worst and chosen to continue anyway.

The fire burned low. They sat in silence.

And in the morning, they walked on.