MAHABHARAT: Reborn as a younger brother of Krishna with a system

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The sun was low by the time Draupadi reached the thatched house in Ekachakra.

Her feet were dust-covered. Her garland had wilted slightly.

But she walked tall.

Beside her, Arjuna led in silence, one hand over his heart. He had not spoken since they left the Swayamvar.

Yudhishthira stepped in first.

"Mother," he called, "we have returned. Look what we have brought."

Kunti, preparing rice in the corner, turned without glancing.

She smiled, tired. "Share whatever it is equally among yourselves."

The words fell like stone.

Draupadi froze.

Arjuna opened his mouth—but nothing came out.

Kunti looked up.

And saw her.

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Her smile vanished.

The ladle dropped.

"No," she whispered. "No, I didn't mean—"

Yudhishthira's face paled. "Mother—"

"I thought—it was alms. Food. Not—not a woman!"

Draupadi stood still.

Eyes dry.

Heart roaring.

Not a woman.

A thing to be shared.

Chosen by fire.

Promised to a bow.

Now split by a sentence.

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Later, when Vyasa arrived, the silence in the hut had become unbearable.

He listened.

And said simply:

> "This is not a mistake. It is a consequence. She was born of fire—fire does not belong to one hand alone."

Draupadi said nothing.

Her fingers clutched her shawl so tightly they bruised.

"I chose Arjuna," she whispered finally. "I stood before a thousand kings and chose him."

Yudhishthira bowed his head. "And now we must all carry the weight of that choice."

"No," she said.

"I must."

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The marriage was performed with rites.

One day after another.

Each brother took her hand in fire.

The priests spoke the mantras.

The gods watched.

And Draupadi…

Survived it.

She did not scream.

She did not beg.

But every time the garland passed to a new hand—

Her heart cracked.

And no one saw.

Except one.

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Agasthya, standing beyond the temple pillars that evening, watched as the flames rose behind the five silhouettes on the dais.

Krishna stood beside him.

"She is not broken," Krishna said softly.

"No," Agasthya replied. "But she is burned."

Krishna glanced sideways. "Would you have stopped it?"

"Yes."

"And replaced dharma?"

Agasthya did not answer.

Because some wounds can be healed.

But others?

Others must be carried.

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