Review: Draupadi in a Brothel House by M Kaarthika Santhosh

AuthorM Kaarthika Santhosh

Book: Draupadi in a Brothel House

Publisher of The Work:  Amazon Asia-Pacific Holdings Private Limited

Number of Pages9

Format: Kindle 

There is no doubt, I think, that nothing in this world could be as beautiful as the love of a mother, but when it comes to talking about what her children, who have always been the whole world to her, do for her after getting mature, we often look back, wondering if she was wrong somewhere. The maturity of her children turns into their callousness making them turn a blind eye to her attachment, turning a deaf ear to her calls.

Draupadi in a Brothel House, written by M Kaarthika Santhosh, seems to me to be an eye-opener obliterating the seclusion of the darkness of our callousness. It shows that a mother could do anything for the smiles of her children, that no one could love a man as much as his mother does, and that the love of a mother is the highest and purest form of love in the world.


Cover: 4 starts

Title: 5 stars

Blurb: 4 stars

Content: 4 stars

Editing: 4 stars

Proofreading: 4 stars

Overall: 4.2 stars

The plot of the story is smooth, without any abrupt changes. The dialogues are as colloquial as they should be, in a story, and the beginning is as beautiful as the ending. It is indeed a heart-touching story. The lady is no less than Draupadi. 

Some hyphens are, however, missing where they are needed. I would be jovial if they got their places.

The whole team of Fragrance of Writing wish the best for you.

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About the author


Creation and destruction are not two different things. With every destruction of something old, there is a creation of something new. As a matter of fact, destruction is creation itself, the relationship between them being that of a cause and its effect. In the same way, we can see, death and birth are also not two different things. Every moment, in an organism, there is creation and destruction, and birth and death, nothing being permanent. One fears death because the mind wants security, or something that it thinks is permanent and permanently going to be with it.