The Princess of Panchal, the pride of the Pandavas, the queen of Indraprastha, all that she was, just burned down.

Now, she was a characterless woman, having relationships with five men. She was no longer an empress, but a prostitute.
Her purity was screened in the name of a whore.

Her scalp gave a sharp pain, with her long tresses being mercilessly pulled, and her sacred chudamani was no longer a sign of marriage, but a jewel that made her bleed.

She was an Ekavastradharini, in this moment.
Blood oozed out like water, out of a squeezed sponge. She had worn a red vastra, to avoid any humiliation due to the blood stains that marked themselves every month.

But today, she realised humiliation is not her stains being seen. Humiliation was that she was dragged like an animal, to a court full of men.

Her uterus ached, as the evil prince's sibling carelessly dragged her down the stairs. Her skirt wandered mercilessly, exposing her legs, and hence the blood flowing on them.

And when she settled on the ground, bleeding in every body part she could feel, she glanced upon her husbands.
They dared not to meet her eyes, as they knew if they did, they would burn alive.

Tears clouded her vision.
A sense of hopelessness encapsulated her.
The mighty Bheema remained silent.
Nakula, Sahadeva, the youngest of the Pandavas said no word.
Her Dharma gnyani Dharmaraya bent his head low.
And, her Partha, the man whom she dreamt her lifetime with, stared at her with disbelief.

She felt the pain yet again, as Dushyasana grabbed her tresses. He pulled her towards the central court.
She glanced at her husbands again.

She kept hopes. She believed Bheema would come forward, free her from the dreaded demon, and say she's protected.
She believed her Partha would break the silence, break the so called strings called 'Dharma' he was bounded by, and protect her in his arms.
She believed, her Yudhishtira, the most knowledgeable, would come to save his wife.

But nothing happened. All were silent. Extremely silent.
She felt a moment of unconsciousness as she was banged to the flooring of the Hastinapura Court.

She managed to gather herself, and looked at the blood trail that had formed behind her.
Her bones were broken, so was her trust.

Her eyes fell upon the Mighty gaurd of Hastinapura, the valiant warrior, Bheeshma. His ever expanded chest had fallen today.
His eyes no more carried the spark of truth.
He seemed to have lost, tired.

She eyed the MahanGuru, Dronacharya. The man who expertly trained the most brilliant mace wielder, the incredible sword fighters and the best of archers, had punished a silence to himself.

" SLAVE "
She was called numerous times.
The fire burning in heart now grew exceedingly powerful.
"I AM NOT A SLAVE" she declared, " I DON'T ACCEPT IT."
" How can a man who staked himself assume his rights upon me?
How can a husband consider his wife a 'possession' to put her at stake?
How could Yudhishtira even think of staking me, without the permissions of my husbands?"

So, everyone were right. Everyone tread the path of truth and fair play. But none realised the web they were manipulated to get stuck in.
None of her husbands had the voice to say the biggest dharma would be to protect their wife, who had sacrificed her entire life for their cause.

She had innumerable questions, but knew her husbands were bound by this conspiracy called Dharma, which Duryodhana initiated.

" How can a woman be dragged into a court like a wild animal, in the presence of all the so called righteous personalities?
Why did no one dare to say, A woman is none but Shakthi herself, and an insult to her in whatever circumstances would be Adharma"

She again looked at the blank faces.
It seemed some mysterious black magic had sealed their lips.

Her questions never stopped, and slowly took form of pleas.
Her palms joined, for she could absolutely bare no disgrace to her character.

"Strip her, Dushyasan..." ordered the Kaurava.

Her heart stopped.
Some lustful eyes, and some eyes filled with revenge, that was all she could see.
The rest of them were glued to the floor.

Without wasting a moment, she made a rush.
And was pulled back.
Her vastra now was bandaged to the second Kaurava's hand.

She cried. She pleaded.
She held to her veil with as much strength her hand could offer.

And now she knew only He could help.

"Govind"
She called.

No response. The pull behind never loosened.
"Where are you, my Lord?!" she gulped a tear.

And with an unbelievable trust, she let go of her veil.
She prayed to Him, with the fear of the wind touching her bare body.

But it never happened. She felt the clothing, still intact.
She subconsciously realised, He had come.
She did nothing, but chant his name, envision his peaceful visage, her hands up in the air.

As moments passed, she realised the hold ceased existing.
Opening her eyes, she saw the most mystical sight.
Beside her, laid a huge pile of her vastra, and Dushyasan had fainted due to fatigue.

The men were clad. And all their clothing had fallen at her feet.

She closed her eyes, and silently thanked Him.