Sudheshna, trembling at the fearless declaration of Draupadi that her husbands would surely chastise the evildoers, felt her heart boil with visions of ruin and of the destruction that her brother had invited upon himself. She foresaw the chain of calamities that might engulf Cheechako and those who stood with him.
Draupadi, pondering that Bhīma Sena was mighty beyond compare and that divine grace would surely descend upon him, bathed, washed away the dust of the day, and arrayed herself in a clean garment. It was deep into the night; the household slept. She made her way to the kitchen where Bhīma lay resting. In a low voice she spoke,
“O Bhīma Sena, Keechaka has dishonoured me and now sleeps in comfort within his palace, while you, unmoved, lie here in slumber. Your elder, Dharmaja, has restrained you, saying this is not the hour for valour, and so you withhold your kindness from me.” She touched him softly; he started awake, asking who had come. She answered that it was Draupadi.
Bhīma Sena, sensing that she had come to stir his wrath against the wicked Keechaka, desired to hear her account and asked gently, “O Draupadi, why come at such an hour? Was none aware of your departure?” Draupadi replied, “Bhīma Sena, knowing all, why do you question me? If you have forgotten the matter in this brief span, then hear it again.” For she knew he was aware, and yet she pricked him with the suggestion of forgetfulness—a warning that he must not fail in action.
Bhīma knew the humiliation but not the full chain of events; she resolved to unfold them plainly. “O Bhīma Sena, the wicked Keechaka, after saluting his sister Sudheshna, fixed upon me eyes heavy with desire. He uttered alluring words, approached without shame, and spoke in base fashion. I despised him. Though I rejected him, his lust was drunken and unbridled. With timely words, I diverted him, and he withdrew.
Later, Sudheshna, that misguided queen, ordered me to fetch wine from that same libertine. I resisted but she persisted, countering every reason with cunning insistence until she compelled me. Wishing not to inflame conflict, trusting in the strength that dwells in your sinews, I agreed. When I entered his abode, he again spoke vilely and sought to seize me. I pushed him, he fell, and I fled. He pursued me. By fortune, I reached the place where you stay, but the destroyer of family honour caught hold of me. What followed you know. You too, as though your strength were spent, remained restrained, just as your elder brother did when I was dragged and shamed before the sons of Dhritarāshtra.
Not only then, but even when the Sindhu prince carried me off, and this day again in the court of Virata, I have endured humiliation. Why should I complain, when lamentation has become my companion? Even a stranger will save a distressed woman or a suffering cow. How could Dharmaja remain silent while Keechaka insulted me? But you say rightly, Bhīma Sena, that had you risen in wrath at that moment, neither the dignity of the hall nor Dharmaja himself could have restrained you, and the oath of concealment would have been broken, casting us again into exile and inviting censure upon all the Pandavas. Dharmaja, steadfast in his word, is not to be blamed, for honour abides in him like fragrance in a blossom.
Yet, Bhīma Sena, though it is belated, it is not too late to slay Keechaka and restore my peace. Only we must act unseen, that none may discern who we are.” Draupadi continued, “I fear not my mother-in-law Kunti, nor my husbands, nor even the gods. But serving Sudheshna, that fickle-hearted woman, brings dread to me. Suppressing my anger, swallowing insult after insult, I am wearied; yet the rogue Keechaka has wounded my honour and plunged me in sorrow. Still, I know the greatness of Dharmaja; I know the difference between righteousness and folly. I blame not that venerable soul, whose virtue upholds the world. We live by his righteousness.
Bearing the name Ajatashatru, conqueror of all kings, he alone is worthy of praise for his fidelity to truth, though now compelled to serve an ordinary ruler for mere sustenance, hiding his lineage, his ancestral glory, his fame, and causing distress to me through this concealment. My mind churns at this thought. O Bhīma Sena, your mighty arms pacified the cosmic serpent who upholds the earth; you bore mountains upon your strength; your very presence is a festival to the universe, and your wrath a terror to foes. These hands felled Baka, Hidimba, Kirmira, Jarāsandha, and many proud warriors whose arrogance melted before your power. To see such hands now employed in splitting firewood chills my heart. And even more, to see you set against elephants, bison, and tigers merely for this king’s amusement wounds my spirit. While you contested those beasts,
Virata would summon his women for pleasure. I stood with Sudheshna watching you; in your peril I grieved, in your victory I rejoiced. Sudheshna whispered among her attendants that Śairandhrī’s gaze followed Vallala, hinting at some secret bond. They murmured in suspicion, for my eyes, drawn to you, forgot their reserve. Had you shown you might in avenging me, they would have guessed our identity. Therefore, act wisely, and at a moment of your choosing, strike down our foe unseen.”
Draupadi’s thoughts flowed on: “Arjuna’s fame is such that even the Great Lord cannot surpass him in prowess. He alone shares the seat of Indra. If he vowed to enter the nether world to rescue even a creature, the people would trust his word. He refused the advances of a celestial maiden. His swiftness, power, and purity are praised even by his enemies. And now he teaches dance to maidens of the court.
This pierces my heart. The son of the Lord of Heaven is forced to such a station for livelihood. O Creator, the son of Indra reduced thus—what hidden design guides your hand? My grief overwhelms me, wondering when these shadows shall lift. Nakula, whose beauty compels a second glance from any who behold him, whose character is noble, whose charity is celebrated—he, a trainer of horses!
Tears rise by the mere thought. Sahadeva, delicate and pure of form, humble in strength and wise in judgement, gentle beyond measure—now a keeper of cattle. When I set forth for the forest, Kunti embraced me and said, ‘I send Sahadeva, though he is but a tender youth, unused to hardship, one who scarcely asks for food unless I place it before him. Yet trusting in you, I am consoled. Care for him as your own.’
And in the forest, I guarded him as an eyelid guards the eye. But in this concealment, I am helpless, and sorrow gnaws at me. My anguish, which even Bhīma had not imagined, now lay bare before him, and in her words, he perceived how skilfully she moved him to rise and destroy the enemy appointed by fate.”
