Capítulo 8: Chapter No.8 Prince Charming
Bonus Chapter
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[Draupadi's POV]
Today is the day I will be married to someone I have never met, a stranger who will win my hand in marriage through a contest. The thought weighs heavily on my mind as I sit in my chambers, draped in regal silks and adorned with the finest jewellery, every piece meticulously chosen for this fateful day. Outside, the air buzzes with excitement, but my heart remains burdened by uncertainty.
The swayamvara, an ancient tradition where a bride chooses her husband from a group of worthy suitors through a contest of skill, was supposed to give me some semblance of agency. But as the daughter of King Drupada, my choices were never truly my own. The moment the contest was announced, my future felt sealed—decided by prowess in archery rather than the bond of understanding or affection.
Thankfully the contest is too difficult for most to even lift the Kindhura Dhanush, it seems my father even knows who can succeed in winning my hand, but that makes it no less daunting. The weight of my father's expectations and the destiny of the kingdom rests on this contest, and my role feels almost like a pawn in a larger game.
Arjuna.
That's the name Father gave me when I asked. I have heard of him as the so-called greatest archer in all of Bharata, the third Pandava, renowned for his unmatched skill with the bow. There were stories, songs even, that extolled his bravery, his precision, his loyalty to dharma. But I had never seen him, only heard whispers of his victories, tales passed from court to court. Father seemed convinced he was the only man worthy of my hand, the one who could lift the mighty Kindhura Dhanush and string it with ease.
Still, the weight of it all pressed down on me. The idea of being won like a trophy in a contest, of having no say in the matter—it left a bitter taste in my mouth. Was this all my life was worth? A prize to be claimed by a man with the strongest arm and keenest eye?
As if Arjuna was not enough, a man named Karna was also said to be the one who could defy expectations, a warrior of unparalleled talent and a dark horse in this contest. Rumours painted him as an exceptional archer, perhaps even greater than Arjuna, yet his status as a charioteer's son rendered him an outcast among the elite. I found it curious that a man of his skill could be so underestimated because of his lineage.
But when I heard he failed to hit the target even after successfully lifting the bow, I was thrilled like one down one more to go. So I hurried to the throne room, father wanted me to go and sit with him from the beginning but I stubbornly refused saying I would not play the part of a mere ornament, paraded before the court like a prize to be won. I wanted to witness the contest unfold, to see for myself the worthiness of those who sought my hand.
But after hearing that one of the two competing archers had already fallen short, I found my heart racing with a mix of excitement and anxiety. I peeked through the ornate doors of the throne room, my gaze fixed on the arena just beyond. The anticipation of the crowd echoed in my ears, creating a rhythm that pulsed through my veins.
One somewhat handsome muscular man took another handsome away from the centre, Then heard the whispers that the one taking away the handsome man was Duryodhana the crown prince of the Kuru empire and it seemed that he failed to even lift the bow. Becoming the source of ridicule was enraged and called Karna to represent him.
Even though Karna managed to easily lift the bow, he missed the shot thus failing to hit the target, causing the crowd to erupt in laughter and scorn. I felt a pang of sympathy for him, the way he stood tall despite the mockery, his expression a mix of pride and indignation. My heart ached for the injustice of it all; he was clearly skilled, yet his lineage overshadowed his talent.
But that was it, I only felt sympathy.
And it seems Arjuna has not come yet, but just as I released a sigh of relief.
He appeared.
No, from the whispers I heard. He was not Arjuna, but someone named Aditya—the prince of Sindu Kingdom.
Just as he introduced himself as Prince of Sindu, everyone started shouting calling him liar and imposter.
But he... he smiled at those who mocked him, his confidence unwavering in the face of derision. Something was refreshing about his demeanour; he seemed unbothered by the crowd's reaction. I admired that.
Duryodhana, the crown prince of the Kuru empire 'stood up' for him. But he too wanted to see Aditya fail just like him, others failed to see that except me, Aditya, Father and Vasudeva Krishna.
Then it happened, the mighty Kindhura Dhanush started to tremble before he even touched it.
The throne room was silent but more shocked by what followed.
Aditya stood before the trembling Kindhura Dhanush, his gaze steady and unflinching. The bow, which had defied the strongest warriors and the finest archers, seemed to react to his very presence. A hush fell over the crowd as if the air itself had been sucked out of the room, leaving only the tension of what was about to unfold.
My father, King Drupada, leaned forward in his seat, his eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. Even Vasudeva Krishna, who had remained composed throughout the contest, now observed Aditya with a quiet intensity, as if seeing something the rest of us could not.
Duryodhana, too, who had stood up for Aditya moments ago, now wore a thin smile. It was the kind of smile one gave when they expected to witness an inevitable failure, a smirk tinged with the satisfaction of knowing that even this prince, with his calm confidence, would be brought down by the Kindhura Dhanush like so many others.
But Aditya just outstretched his hand, and what followed was even beyond anything anyone could have anticipated.
The Kindhura Dhanush, the bow that had resisted even the mightiest warriors, leapt into Aditya's hand as if it recognized its rightful master. The very air seemed to hum with energy as the bow settled comfortably into his grasp. Gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd, but Aditya remained calm, his expression serene as if this was exactly how things were meant to unfold.
I felt my breath catch in my throat. This was no ordinary man. There was something almost otherworldly about the way he held the bow, as though it was an extension of himself, and not an object of contest. My heart raced, not just with anticipation of what would happen next, but with a newfound curiosity about this mysterious prince from Sindu.
The crowd, which had been quick to mock him moments before, now fell utterly silent, their disbelief palpable. Even Duryodhana, who had been confident that Aditya would fail like the rest, could no longer hide the surprise on his face. His smirk faded into something much more uncertain, as if he too could sense that the tide of the contest had shifted.
Aditya, unfazed by the weight of everyone's gaze upon him, calmly drew the bowstring. His movements were precise, and effortless, as though he had done this countless times.
I chose this time to walk into the throne room and sit beside Father on the elevated platform, Father looked at me questioningly, but I ignored it. My eyes were fixed on Aditya, who now stood at the center of attention, with the Kindhura Dhanush fully drawn in his hands.
As this time saw his appearance clearly, he was too handsome like a god with soft unruly golden hair and blood crimson eyes that held wisdom and intelligence beyond his years. His features were sharp, yet graceful—his presence commanded the room, and not just because of his physical strength. There was something regal, something almost divine about the way he carried himself. Even now, as the contest neared its climax, he remained calm, unshaken by the expectations that weighed heavily on him.
The moment seemed to stretch on forever as Aditya took aim. His fingers, delicate but steady, gently rested against the bowstring, which hummed with energy under his touch. The target, a small, rotating fish suspended high above, glimmered in the light of the grand hall. It was a near-impossible shot for any ordinary archer, requiring not just skill, but precision, focus, and perhaps a touch of divine favour.
The crowd held its breath. The tension in the room was palpable. Even the air itself seemed to wait.
Then, in one smooth, fluid motion, Aditya released the arrow.
Time slowed.
The arrow cut through the air with a soft whistle, straight and true. The entire hall watched its trajectory, every eye tracking the slender shaft as it flew toward the target. The fish spun rapidly, its movement a blur, but the arrow never wavered. It was as if the arrow knew its purpose, as if it was guided by something beyond mere human skill.
A sharp thud echoed through the hall as the arrow pierced the eye of the fish with perfect precision.
For a moment, there was silence. No one moved. No one breathed. The enormity of what had just happened took a few heartbeats to sink in.
Then, the hall erupted in cheers and gasps of astonishment. The nobles, warriors, and spectators who had mocked and doubted Aditya moments ago now stood in awe of the impossible feat they had just witnessed. Even my father, who had seemed so certain of Arjuna's victory, now looked at Aditya with newfound respect—and perhaps a hint of uncertainty.
But I... I couldn't take my eyes off him.
Aditya remained as calm as ever, his expression unreadable. He didn't bask in the glory or the applause. Instead, he lowered the bow with quiet dignity, as if the cheers meant nothing to him. His eyes, those brilliant crimson eyes, briefly flicked towards me. Our gazes met across the hall, and I felt a strange warmth bloom in my chest.
Was this my fate? This mysterious prince from Sindu, a man who had defied expectations and won the contest with a grace that felt otherworldly—was this the man I was destined to marry?
Father rose from his seat, his voice booming over the noise of the crowd. "You Aditya—My son-in-law have proved yourself worthy of my daughter, Draupadi. Say the words you wish to utter, and I shall bless your union."
I felt giddily and shy as my heart raced, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The words my father spoke echoed in the grand hall, and I could feel every pair of eyes turning toward me. Aditya had done the impossible, winning my hand in a contest that had tested the greatest of warriors. Yet, the thrill of victory did not seem to consume him. His composure, his calmness—there was something far more profound in his demeanour that I could not place.
I lowered my gaze, suddenly aware of the weight of this moment. My future, my marriage, was now in the hands of this stranger, a prince who had emerged from the shadows to claim me as his bride. Yet, despite everything, I felt no fear, no dread. Instead, I felt... excited.
"We Object! Maharaj Drupada!"
But before he could say anything five Brahmins walked through who turned out to be Five Pandavas.
I felt nothing but resentment toward the sudden interruption. It was as if the entire weight of the past few moments, the awe I had felt at Aditya's display of skill, the strange connection I thought we might share, was shattered in an instant. The five figures, who now stood before my father, were none other than the Pandavas, led by Yudhishthira, their eldest.
I recognized them from the stories, of course. The righteous sons of Pandu, favoured by destiny and gods alike, wandered through exile after the loss of their kingdom. And here they were, making their objection known in my swayamvara, claiming a right they believed was theirs.
The leader of the group, Yudhishthira, stepped up, his expression resolute. "Maharaj Drupada, we come with a purpose. We have heard of the challenge for the hand of Princess Draupadi in marriage, My younger brother and the greatest archer in the whole Aryavarta—Arjuna would like to participate in the competition for her hand."
'I refuse' I screamed inwardly but outside I kept my expression clear not wanting to make a bad impression on Aditya.
How dare they, how dare they barge into the swayamvara, a sacred tradition, and demand another chance for Arjuna. I could feel the tension in the room shift, the eyes of the crowd darting between my father, the Pandavas, and Aditya.
My heart raced as I glanced at Aditya, standing tall and calm, as if this turn of events didn't faze him at all. There was something about him, his unwavering composure, that made me feel safe, as though no matter what happened, he would protect my honour.
Father hesitated, his brows furrowing as he assessed the situation. The Pandavas had a rightful claim, especially since Arjuna was the one expected to win the contest. Yet, Aditya had already proven his worth beyond any doubt. The rules of the swayamvara were clear—there could be only one victor.
And in back and forth, that brute Bhima shouted, "COWARD!!!"
"You are nothing but a coward if you refuse this challenge! A man who hides behind technicalities to shield himself from true completion is no man at all!"
He didn't...
"Hahahahah! Cowar—"
And then it happened.
One moment everyone was laughing and mocking Aditya and the next half of the crowd lost their consciousness, while others started vomiting. Even father was affected but the most affected one was that brute Bhima, he was kneeling on the floor shaking and trembling as if he had just encountered death itself. His boisterous laughter was cut short, replaced by a look of sheer terror. The atmosphere in the hall shifted dramatically; the once lively crowd now found themselves gripped by an overwhelming, suffocating presence that emanated from Aditya.
I could see him, standing still and unbothered at the center of it all, as if the chaos unfolding around him was beneath his notice. His expression hadn't changed, calm and poised, but the energy that surged from him was anything but serene. It was raw power, barely contained, and it was clear to everyone present that they were in the presence of someone not just skilled—but dangerous.
My heart pounded in my chest. Never before had I felt such a mixture of emotions—fear, excitement, and an unshakable curiosity about this man who seemed to transcend the ordinary.
Vasudeva Krishna stood up, his eyes gleaming with a knowing smile as if he had anticipated this all along. He faced his hand on Aditya's shoulder which seemed to calm him down, then Vasudeva Krishna waved his hand in the air which cleared the oppressive atmosphere that had gripped the entire throne room. The unsettling energy dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a crowd still shaken and disoriented, but no longer overwhelmed by Aditya's presence. Bhima, trembling and pale, scrambled to his feet, his bravado completely shattered. He cast a wary glance at Aditya, clearly hesitant to provoke him further.
Then they reached to an agreement to have a battle between Aditya and Arjuna, which he won overwhelmingly too.
Aditya won!
My... beloved~
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[To Be Continue]
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