The peacock feather flew in the air and landed on the ground, the weight of defeat lingering around it. The flute lay unattended. Krishna, dressed in silk finery fell off the chariot, blood dribbling from his forehead. The droplets landed on the ground, painting it in streaks of red. At a distance, the waves crashed against the shore, wetting Draupadi’s feet. The breeze with a salty aroma enveloped Krishna, the elixir providing him comfort. He whimpered, his eyes closed in pain. The feeble sound transformed into a cry for help.
Draupadi rushed in the direction of the sound only to find him writhing in pain.
“Krishna,” she shrieked and tried to help him get on his feet.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice soaked in worry.
She wiped the blood off his forehead. A sudden growl made her stop. A shadow loomed over them. She turned and saw Samayasura approach them with a mace in his hand. He twirled the weapon in the air and directed it toward Krishna. Draupadi formed a shield and dragged Krishna in the opposite direction. She reached for Krishna’s sword, the weight of the divine weapon crushing her hand. She chanted a mantra and darted toward the demon. In the blink of an eye, Samayasura vanished leaving no traces of his existence. She stood rooted trying to make sense of what happened.
“Draupadi,” Krishna moaned in pain.
She nursed his wounds and let him rest.
“It’s my job to protect you. But you turned into my savior today,” spoke Krishna, his enigmatic voice exuding happy vibes.
“Every year when I tie the golden thread around your wrist, I silently vow to protect you and be by your side till my last breath. I just fulfilled my promise today,” she said, tears resting on her lower eyelids.
Krishna smiled, knowing that Draupadi had passed the test with flying colors. ‘Samayasura’ was his creation, one of his many illusions.
“Draupadi, your life will change in the coming days. I will be by your side, give you strength, and help you endure the pain.” Krishna made a silent promise.
Oblivious to the tragedy about to befall her, Draupadi looked at Krishna, her face soaked in contentment.
Author’s Note : This story is a work of fiction, a figment of my imagination. The idea cropped up from my belief that it’s the responsibility of both brother and sister to protect and be by each other’s side all life.
The Momma Clan 
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