Truth it was said was bitter

her heart not yet wiser

yearned then for love

She set her eyes

from behind the veil

on the greatest of archers of her times

her heart beat for him

he who was lonely

a prince yet lowly born

shielded yet all too vulnerable

she wondered of his fate

and her eyes searched him everywhere

married to 5 able bodied men

yet loved a little less by each single man

she was all too powerful

yet had not power to stop what would unfold

she, who shared the name of the dark-skinned one

she, who was more than the Helen of the East

she, the daughter of Drupad

the princess of Panchal

born of fire

made of steel

she, whose dark contours

maddened lust

evoked desire ,a strange despair

she, whose pride and anger

wrecked a thousand homes

orphaned a thousand more

the winner, the queen

lonely, sad and broken

gained much

lost everything

wondering of her place in the scheme of things

who sets afoot mischief

who creates rift

what propels war upon war

revenge upon revenge

and compels men to go on in vicious violent cycles.

Was she a pawn in the hands of time

was she the lead actor

was she a victim or the harasser

what is true, what is false

both seem bitter, she murmured to herself.

Ps: on reading ‘The Palace of Illusions” by Chithra Banerjee Divakarni