The Mahābhārata, an epic of unparalleled intrigue and profound mysteries, has revealed an untold tale of a couple that was lost to the pages of history. This enigmatic story revolves around an unsung heroine, whose life and transformation is the sub...
"That's half of the original one. The other half is with me." He slides my hair, and hooks it.
"When you were four years old, matrivyāKrishnalended me this saying " the love of the moon is in the complete east. But that day, Ithrew the pendant on his face, leaving a mark behind. As he said I am giving this to you."
"What did you think? I forgot the day when we hitched?" He winks.
He remembers? I thought, I am theonly fool to remember it!
"The day when we were officially claimed as each other's, right?" I brush up my memories.
"The day when we started to accumulate the pebbles of friendship."
"With which a castle of love was built. I continued.
"Nice were those days, let it be quarrel, a huge conflict, our yesterday's fightwouldn't affect today'scommunication. But now, wherethere'stime for quarrel though? Reserved by our kids."
I just smile and lean unto his chest.
"Listen."
"Yes?"
"I love you."
He chuckles "I loveyou too."
"Love" a simple word,
Not in the real world,
Peeping into one's heart;
However , a really tough art,
From the words
To the concealed emotions in the rims
From the pebbles of friendship ,
To the castle of relationship
Not the qualities differed ,
Though the soul sundered
Beside in every step of life,
A shoulder to cry
An embrace to giggle
Shaped with every shades of beloved persons ,
Not a single person isn't enough?
The real struggle commenced,
Not when being amidst the common life
Yet when the promise broke
Of being forever by side ,
Not limited till the appearance,
However,the moment was memorable,
A span of a second ,
When the eyes observed the whole warmth,
Wasn't the little life
Symbol of pure love?~
As the days pass, with the drop of moon and sun, the bond grows deeper. But the times gets congested. The same thing happened with us, but the words are still afresh with the ink of communication. The moments can't be erased. There would be a time in everyone's life, when the bitter, sour, sweet, spicy, every situation flashes across your eyes blooming a smile on your face.
I don't know why, but every memory is revolving in my mind. A mere cousins we were, cat fights were our routine, but a cat fight of that kind weaved a thread of friendship between us. The friendship developed into a bond of inseparable mates. The feelings grew and grew taking the shape of love. Everything was fine, all fine till my daughter's death--murder.... The shaanti sabha ignited the oil lamps for war. The war, the eighteen days, where I kept my heart in my palm, praying for my husband. The thirteen day of the war was like a ultimate test for me. The suffocation and agony I burned in was unbearable. Lakshman wasn't at fault, but it didn'tmean to do anything he wishes for being blinded by anger and ego. I am still paying the price for his arrogancy. And the last day of war? The pain, the pain was exaggerated than a labour, the Brahmastra ripped apart my each and every inch of my womb, my womb was the target but the pain crawled all over my body. That time, the sharp pain didn't mattered to me but the only thing which was mattered by me was my son. I still can't erase that dark day of my life. Though, after that we managed to catch up some time when Parikshit was a toddler of five but mercy of God its upon my husband, he's wish of having a daughter got true. And here, comes, today. The present day, where my daydoesn'tcompleteswithouttakingaglimpse of him. The eye talk holds lot of intensity, though.
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