The blaring wail of the royal conches jostled the Kuru Princess, resting amidst the cushioned seats of her chariot. The desire for slumber far-fetched from the deep brown, doe eyes, widened and eagerly beholding the golden gates bordering the Kuru capital. The heat of the late-summer winds did little to lift the strands of her loosened locks, intimately pasted against the beads of perspiration veiling the wheatish expanse of skin sheathing her rear neck. Exceptionally doused with a dust of golden hue, as was the remainder of her porcelain bodily skin of warm undertones. The humid-coursing, siesta hour of the day, sufficient in lulling its inhabitants into a dreamless slumber. Their temporal lobes fantasizing the promising coolness of the evening breeze, to be treasured by the hours of sandhykaal alone.
As the paved pathway curved towards the right by an inch, Mitra felt the tender heat of the afternoon rays graze the oval-expanse of the skin overlaying her deep peroneal, visible and uncovered by her stone-studded, ivory footwear. Dismissing the futile attempts imposed, her mind could no longer refrain from contrasting the present sensation of warmth, against that of the Arabian seashore's gentle coolness. As its aqua blues had lapped against her sand-adhered soles, during the ripening hours of dawn. Where she'd strolled the shorelines of Dwaraka's surrounding body of water, with the man she'd began to realize as the kindling spark of her soul. Her footprints though quite minute in size and magnificence, in comparison to the partnering impressions left behind by the Lord of the lands, whose name's ambrosial syllables the rocks of sand whispered with pure reverence.
The wounding of his strong arm around her shoulders, drawing her against the warmth of his side, within the tranquilizing enfold of his embrace. The dazzling, golden armlet wrapped about his accentuated bicep, encrusted with shimmering emeralds. And mirroring the deep hue of her raven-black tresses that spilled against his shoulder, as its bearer had let her cheek rest against the base of his elongated neck. Oh, how her senses had marvelled in inhaling the heavenly aroma signifying the one world, which once reached never returns its inhabitant to this material plane of existence.
Krishna Loka, the transcendental abode of Govinda, where her soul pined to dwell once more. Amidst the undying flowerings, blooming forevermore in the sustaining zephyrs of Hari Bhakti.
Glancing upon the scenes of greenery bordering the path of their proceeding chariot, Mitra let her gaze trail among the many species of bloom, bespeckling the various greens of shrubbery and trees. Burgundy Dahlias and azure Delphiniums. Fuchsia peonies and magenta Surfinia. The sharp brown orbs of Karna's daughter traced over various shades of numerous species, yet lingered moments longer over the striking hues of yellow, that shone with a golden glow beneath the afternoon streams of light. The pure hue of knowledge pigmenting the translucent, fossilized resin of amber, within which the Kuru Kumari glimpsed nothing but the honey-golden flare of Panduranga's pithambarvastra.
Lifting her resistant eyes, their gaze tamed by love alone and refusing to part with their captivity by Murari's pithambar tones, Mitra shifted her vision up towards the Surya-dominating skies. Gaze intrigued by the greying streaks, struggling to cloud over the scorching ball of light, and reign their monarchy over the cerulean expanse of the bright blues above. Yet, pitied by the beating organ of Krishna's beloved, its chambers forevermore swarmed generously by the Shyamal tones of Mohan.
Oh, how she already missed the deep, gratifying laughter of the bansuri holder. As dense and sweet as the honey obtained from the hidden, tightly guarded depths of the comb and home to the eusocial flying insects.
Lifting the dazzling feather of the Mayura bird, tucked safely amidst the neatly pressed pleats of the skirt, wrapped against her slender waist, Mitra twirled the plume of iridescent shades between her slim fingers. Her awestruck gaze reflecting the shine of the vibrant blues and greens, shimmering like strings of emeralds and sapphire against the down pouring rays of sunlight.
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DaanveerPutri
Historical FictionThe great Mahabharata battle took away the lives of many and left many families incomplete. What would it be like if Anga Raj Karna had a daughter? What would the emotional turmoil of a young girl who lost all she called family in the battle be lik...
