Love Across Time

Eight Four

-𝓗𝓮𝓻 𝓒𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮-

A choked whisper, a plea barely audible over the ragged gasps for breath, escaped Aanya's lips. "Kanha," she breathed, her eyes overflowing with tears that mirrored the glistening sheen of sweat on her brow. It wasn't a mere name this time, but a desperate prayer, a call to the one being she believed could cleave through the suffocating darkness, her brother, her protector, her Kanha. With each ragged breath, she repeated his name, a mantra recited against the rising tide of fear that threatened to consume her.

In the thick silence that had descended upon the hall, a primal tension crackled in the air. Dushasana, momentarily thwarted, growled in frustration. The only sound besides ragged breaths and panicked whispers was the nightmarish rustle of fabric as he continued his assault in the blinding darkness. A collective breath seemed to be held by all present, each soul straining to hear, to sense, the next horrifying act that would unfold in the inky blackness.

Aanya, her voice laced with a raw desperation, continued to chant Kanha's name. And then, as if in response to her silent plea, a change swept through the darkness. A gentle breeze, cool and calming, snaked its way through the hall, carrying with it the faint scent of sandalwood and blue lotuses. The suffocating dark seemed to writhe and twist, and then, with a startling brilliance, a soft, radiant glow emanated from the very fabric Aanya clutched to her chest. In the inky blackness, it pulsed with an otherworldly light, a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching despair.

As the light intensified, the fabric that Dushasana had been pulling at multiplied and expanded in a way that defied all logic. It flowed and swirled, encasing Aanya in a cocoon of shimmering, celestial silk. It was as if the essence of Kanha's protection had materialized into the very threads, shielding Aanya from the brutality around her and preserving her dignity.

In a scene that mirrored the stripping away of her honor, a strange phenomenon began to occur. The fabric on the shoulders of every man present unraveled with an ethereal hiss, leaving them exposed and humiliated. The men who had tried to steal Aanya's dignity found themselves stripped bare, their actions laid bare for all to see. Dushasana grabbed hold of the fabric, desperately trying to pull it free, until his breath began to falter under the tightening silk.

As the fabric constricted around Dushasan grasp, his once-confident and malicious demeanor crumbled. The color drained from his face, and his hands began to shake uncontrollably. The room, once buzzing with malevolent intent, was plunged into an unsettling silence broken only by the ragged gasps of Dushasan.

Aanya, still enveloped in the cocoon of fabrics, felt a surge of strength and resilience wash over her. It was as if Kanha's divine intervention had not only protected her but also imbued her with the power to rise above the cruelty inflicted upon her. With a newfound resolve burning in her eyes, she tore through the cascading layers of fabric, emerging like a phoenix from the ashes. Her gaze, ablaze with a potent mix of sorrow and unwavering defiance, swept across the room, searing the souls of each man with a force that knew no bounds.

The hall resonated with an overwhelming sense of desolation. The brutality that had unfolded had cloaked the hall in an impenetrable darkness, mirroring the ominous future of Hastinapur. Each and every man who bore witness to this atrocity would undoubtedly face the retribution they so justly deserved. They had yet to comprehend the indomitable spirit of a woman pushed to the brink of despair, a woman whose faith had ignited the divine power of Kanha himself.

The heavy oak doors groaning on their hinges could not drown out the ragged gasps that echoed through the hall. As they swung open, Kunti, flanked by Gandhari and the other Kuru women, stepped into a scene ripped from a nightmare. Her gasp sliced through the suffocating silence like a blade. Aanya, the vibrant young woman she considered a daughter, stood in the center, a stark portrait of devastation.