" Oh the bitter winds are coming in
And I'm already missing the summer,
Stockholm's cold but I've been told
I was born to endure this kind of
weather."
The bone chilling wind echoed through the corridors of the palace, passing shudders down the man's soul. Vasudeva, was standing in the balcony, a grave silence hung in the air around him.
Not many years ago, on this very day he had been unfortunate enough to witness his first child being murdered brutally before his own eyes. He could still hear the sound of the infant's cries, the demonic laugh of Kansa and his wife's agonised pleas reverberating in his ears. The grief and guilt began swallowing him whole. It's never easy to walk through hell and come back perfectly fine. You lose yourself, pieces of you shattering down in reminiscence.
Just then abruptly, the sound of carefree laughter broke the silence. He looked down the balcony and saw a warming sight, a relief to his shivering heart. Krishna was running around the courtyard, clarified butter smeared around his mouth, his famous mischievous grin settled in completely. Subhadra, his only daughter hung around Krishna's neck in a rather funny manner, laughing wholeheartedly, the empty pot hanging from her dainty little fingers. And Balram, irritated yet amused ran around them yelling in pretended anger, as if he was their mother.
Vasudeva, felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned around to see his wife, Devaki a smile adorning her not so aged face. She had suffered more than him, the extent of her pain was far wider than his, yet she remained as hopeful as ever. She spoke "Arya, if you look carefully, you'll see all our kids in them. Believe me, they never left."
Surprisingly, a smile showed itself on his face, as he turned back to look at the antics of his three children, the only ones keeping him sane. Unknowingly, they had become the three sustaining pillars of his castle. He was greatly indebted to them, they kept him alive, they kept him away from being a dead man living. The turmoils they caused in the palace, were the balm to the turmoil inside his heart.
As this is my first endeavour, comments and votes are always welcome. Do verbalise your opinions as readers. They will be highly appreciated by me.
Signing off
YOU ARE READING
gυ∂αкєѕнα ναℓℓαвнα
Historical Fiction"There is a place between awake and asleep that seems surreal and enigmatic. The place where you can remember dreaming. That's where I'll love you. That's where I'll be waiting." The tale often retold, through another set of eyes. The mother of all...
