DaanveerPutri

Abhimanyu's Diary (Part VII): The Flower

Glossary:

Terms:

*Saraswati River – one of the Rigvedic rivers mentioned in the Rig Veda and other post Vedic texts. The Kurukshetra land was situated between both River Saraswati and Drishadvati.

*Dhanusha Tilaka – a bow and arrow mark worn on the forehead (created by a powder or paste)

*Gada – mace

*Bhagavan – another name for the almighty/God

Characters:

*Shrutakarma – the son of Arjuna and Draupadi (half-brother of Prince Abhimanyu)

*Uttara – wife of Abhimanyu and mother of Parikshit

*Shakuni – King of Gandhara; elder brother of Maharani Gandhari and maternal uncle of the Kauravas

*Shikhandini – the daughter of King Drupada of Panchala; she was elder to Draupadi

*Drishtadyumna – the son of King Drupada and the commander-in-chief of the Pandava army during the Mahabharata battle

*For clarification on other terms/characters - please refer to the glossary section of the previous chapters!

Meeting My Flower

'The scorching rays of sunlight were falling mercilessly on Kurukshetra today, as Lord Surya Narayana's joy appeared to prance beyond bounds. My arms ached with the intensity of an indescribable pain of a day's worth of practice, as droplets of perspiration rolled down from my hairline, transgressing their route over my throbbing temples, and down into the crevices formed where my shoulder blade met my collarbone. Yet, my ardent focus never betrayed my grip on the string of my bow, nor did my concentrated gaze leave the target of my arrow. I was the son of the one and only Gandivadhari, the symbol of his prowess. No amount of pain or heat would be able to digress my concentration from practice.

I was again drawn to the riverside by the Kurukshetra fields near the campsites, my preferred location to practice. The surrounding scenes of greenery bordered by the fresh flow of the Saraswati river bestowed a calming silence that never failed to provide me the peace my restless mind craves. Especially on the fields of Kurukshetra, where each day is dragged with the combined emotions of revenge, sorrow, frustration, fear, restlessness and pain – faithfully accompanying the mood of the war. With utmost precision, I drew back the string of my bow, letting the feather fletching of the arrow lightly graze my cheek, while planning its route to the target - the small star-shaped mark drawn on the tree, almost a quarter of a mile away from where I was standing. As a second droplet of perspiration escaped the confines of my matted hairline and travelled down the length between my scrunched eyebrows, to come to a rest upon the slope of my nose, I let lose my fingers gripping the string. And, immediately regretted my action – as I heard a small yelp, in response to the lightning speed of my arrow whizzing a mere inch before the nose of the beautiful young owner of that voice.

My Lord! Where did she come from? How could I not have seen her? If I had delayed releasing the arrow by even a fraction of a second, it would have surely pierced through her head! She was standing some feet away from me, appearing to have been overcome by shock. Hai Bhagavan! An arrow had just flown by, missing her head by a few inches!