Natyam | A Mahabharata Fiction

38.

A parent is the most important entity in one's life. At least, in mine.

I have never quite understood it, but even after decades of being alive and living outside my parents' shelter, I always found myself in a girlish state before them.

No matter how old they are, children always seem to remember that they are still children in front of their parents. Maybe they feel that way because no parent will let them forget it.

Mine certainly didn't.

So when my father was killed during the war with a spear that cut through his heart and wrecked his ribs, I could hardly breathe.

I don't remember much because of the initial shock of the news. I only recall Amar returning halfway through the fighting of the day. Amar entering my tent to tell me the news. Then, he broke down in tears.

As did I.

My son found his way into my arms, much like a young child and wept bitterly. "My dear child," I murmured into his ears, "it'll be all right. It'll be just fine. You cry your heart out now."

He did.

While he wept, royal members of the family poured in to console me.

It took me a while to actually realise that I'd lost my father. Comsequently, I was rather numb to their consolations. But that's when I remembered my other parent and went right to her with Amar in tow. I went to my mother and held her tight. And when she cried, it broke my heart.

We cried together for a long time.

*****

The evening brought all the men back to the camp. I waited for my brother outside, heart thumping loudly in my chest. Nihaar was the only person I had wished to be with in that moment.

Amongst the crowd of aristocrats, my brother emerged, dusty and wounded. He looked defeated and weary.

Our eyes met. Even from the distance, I could make out that he'd been crying. My dear brother, who was a beacon of sunshine and mischief, had just wilted into sorrow.

His usual confident stride was replaced by an exhausted gait. He kept his eyes on me as he walked up to me. He was the epitome of brooding agony as he engulfed me in a tight embrace.

In his arms, I finally loosened up. I closed my eyes as the tears welled up.

"Didi." he croaked.

"Nihaar," I replied, the word was barely a whisper.

"Have you met Maa?"

I nodded.

We both went to her tent. There Nihaar hugged her and they both wept.

Meanwhile, Arjun came in to call me out. He kept an arm around my shoulders as we left the tent. He watched me intently for any signal that could help him decide what to do next.

Outside, they'd carted back my father's corpse. Bile rose to my throat as I saw it. My father's eyes, closed. Chest, stable with no breath. The blood was starting to dry on his chest. Someone had also managed to remove the spear that killed him.

His hands were warm when I touched them. The heat made me draw my own back in horror.

Everyone watched me as I stood before the man who had raised me.

What does one think or say in such moments?

"Papa," I whispered, "please. Please don't do this to me."

There was no reply. Of course, there was none. But I so desperately wished there would be one.

And when I listened to that thundering silence, with the realisation that I would never get to hear my old man's voice again, I headed towards the bushes. Away from everyone's inquisitive sight. The thoughts were too much to bear.

I reached the bushes and retched.

When I returned to the scene, the crowd had, thankfully, dispersed. Only Arjun stood there, looking grief-stricken. He held my hands and then pulled me in by the waist.

I rested on his chest.

"It's Angaraj Karna." He murmured. "He's come to meet you and your family."

*****

Karna and I walked in complete silence. I was watching my feet as we strolled. He watched me, feigning no inconspicuous attitudes. I could feel his gaze on me, studying and calculating.

You could only hear the insects chirping around us in the forest that was close to the battlefield.

"Say something, Mrinali." He quietly said. It was as close to begging for him.

I considered the words and felt a dull throb pulsing through me. Isn't death final? What does one say? What is there to say?

And when I found my answer to the last question, I rasped, "There is nothing to say."

He was visibly defeated by my response.

"Who killed him?" I asked.

Hesitantly, he offered a name. "Ashwathama."

I growled. Of course. Of course. I'd plotted his father's death, and he'd returned the favour.

Good god, what had I done? My own ability to heartlessly plot took me by surprise at that moment. How easy it had been for me to declare that killing Drona was the best way forward. The consequences had hardly occurred to me.

And now, it had happened to me.

I remember letting out a caustic laugh and thinking about how cruel fate and karma could be. They could be vicious, indeed.

It had killed my father. I had killed my father. I closed my eyes, the pain of it all blooming afresh.

That night, I couldn't sleep. So I slipped out of Arjun's sleeping embrace and trekked into the forest.

The thoughts wouldn't stop.

My father was dead. He had passed away. Just the thought of not having him in my life any longer made my heart plummet.

The forest heard my screams that night.

When dawn broke, I emerged from the trees with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Having cried my heart out in the privacy of the night. Determined to not let this break me.

I slid into bed once more for the little time that we had before the war would demand Arjun's presence.

As I laid down, Arjun put his arms around my waist and pulled me close. I eased in.

His eyes fluttered open. I knew he was staging it for me. He must have been awake for a while. Only when I approached, he must've decided to pretend that he was asleep all this time.

"Are you feeling better?" He mumbled, groggy.

"Mhm."

Arjun sighed and closed his eyes. He shifted in his position, not letting me go for a moment.

"No more crying alone, Mrinali." He said firmly.

I nodded.

*****
A slightly shorter chapter but nonetheless, something is better than nothing hehe.

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