As the train entered Assam, old memories of Draupadi, started coming back no matter how hard I tried to push them away. I would keep staring at her big, beautiful eyes and that heart-melting smile as she and I would enact the last scene from Casablanca during the lunch break in high school, one of my favourite memories with her.
Arjun called last night, Draupadi was found dead in her sleep, he said.
“I am sorry we could not wait for you Krish, the family insisted on holding the funeral after the post-mortem was done”, Arjun said in a sombre tone. “What did the doctor say?” I asked. “Drug overdose. She had been taking sleeping pills since the past few weeks, was having problems sleeping”. In the last two years their marriage had hit the rocks. She had found out about his multiple affairs; Chitrangada the Manipuri actress, Subhadra, a distant cousin of mine and then there was that journalist from Nagaland he met in a conference in Mumbai.
“Krish, I suspect foul play”, said Arjun breaking the long silence. “You know how particular Draupadi was about these things. Not more than one pill. And I refuse to believe that she would take her own life.” Theirs was a big palatial bungalow where the five brothers and their widowed mother lived separate lives.
I could not sleep the entire night thinking about what Arjun had said. It was not entirely improbable.
Arunav Chowdhury – He’s a movie buff, a news junkie and an avid reader. The latter part reflects in his writings which are a blend of ancient and modern. Living in Delhi, he mostly thrives on rock music.