Revati giggled. "I think what Mata is asking is simple—just take a break and come eat properly."
Subhadra still lounging on the swing, stretched lazily and said, "Mata, do not worry. We will come soon. But first—" she turned to Krishna, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "One last tune?"
Krishna's entire face lit up. "I had thought you'd ask!"
Devaki threw her hands up in surrender. "Oh, fine! But if you don't come inside soon, I'm sending Balram after you."
Balram smirked. "And I'll take the butter as ransom."
Krishna and Subhadra both gasped, looking genuinely horrified.
"Dau, that's too far!" Krishna said, clutching his chest.
Chitraa nodded in exaggerated despair. "Balram Bhaiya, have some mercy! We may survive without breakfast, but without butter?" She shuddered. "Unthinkable."
As everyone laughed, Krishna lifted his flute once more, and just like that, the world fell silent again, drawn into his melody. Devaki sighed, shaking her head.
Rohini patted her shoulder. "Face it, Devaki. The whole universe runs on Krishna and Chitraa's mischief."
And so, with the palace waiting and breakfast growing cold, they stood there once again, trapped in the never-ending spell of Krishna's flute and Subhadra's laughter.
As the melody of Krishna's flute faded into silence, he and Subhadra remained still, lost in the moment. Krishna layed on subhadras lap
"Bhrata, people say you are God, and I believe it too," Subhadra said, her voice filled with curiosity. "They claim you can see the future, and you often speak about mine. Will you tell me what awaits me?"
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Krishna smiled gently, his eyes holding the wisdom of ages. "Oh, Ruchi, I do not see the future—I merely help others understand their deeds. But sometimes, fate unfolds in ways beyond one's actions. The world is not always just; at times, the purest souls endure the greatest suffering, while the most cunning ones live in comfort and ease."
Krishna smiled gently, his eyes holding an unfathomable depth as he looked at his beloved sister. Subhadra, still lost in thought, clutched the edge of the swing, her brows slightly furrowed.
"But Bhrata," she insisted, "if you do not see the future, how do you always know what is to come? You speak of dharma, of karma, of destiny, yet at times, it feels as though you already know the path each soul must walk."
Krishna chuckled softly, tucking his flute into his waistband. "Ah, Ruchi, that is because time is not what you think it is. It is not a straight path, not a road we walk upon—it is a vast ocean. And I?" He tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I simply know how to swim."
Subhadra pouted, crossing her arms. "That's not fair! I asked a simple question, and you answered with riddles again."
Krishna laughed, ruffling her hair. "Very well, my dear sister, let me put it another way. I do not see the future—I only understand the nature of the world. People believe that if they act righteously, they will always be rewarded, and if they act with deceit, they will surely suffer. But is that always true, Ruchi?"
Subhadra fell silent.
Krishna continued, his voice softer now. "Sometimes, the kindest hearts bear the heaviest burdens, and the most cunning ones sleep peacefully on silken cushions. But do you know what the difference is?"
She looked up at him, curiosity replacing her frustration.
"The innocent may suffer, but they remain beloved by the world, by dharma itself. They leave behind a fragrance of purity, like the parijata flower that continues to bloom even in the harshest storms. And the cunning? They may lie happily in this moment, but happiness built on deception is like a palace of sand—it crumbles the moment the tide turns."
Subhadra thought for a moment before sighing dramatically. "So you do know the future, you just won't tell me directly!"
Krishna chuckled, shaking his head. "Little sister, I know only what the heart already knows. I simply speak what others fear to accept."
Subhadra narrowed her eyes at him. "So tell me, what does my heart already know about my future?"
Krishna's playful smile faded just slightly, and for a fleeting moment, a shadow of something deeper crossed his face.
"You, Ruchi," he said softly, "will be loved, cherished, and protected. But you will also stand at the heart of the greatest storm this world has ever seen."
Subhadra blinked. "A storm?"
Krishna nodded. "One that will change the course of history itself."
She frowned. "But will I be happy?"
Krishna smiled again, though there was a quiet sadness in his eyes. "Happiness, little one, is not found in the absence of storms. It is found in the strength to dance in the rain."
Subhadra sighed, shaking her head. "You never give a straight answer, do you?"
Krishna laughed, pulling her into a warm embrace. "Would you love me if I did?"
She giggled, resting her head against his shoulder. "Probably not."
"Oh, Bhrata, you and Dau are the peace of my mind. I don't know what I would do without the two of you!" Subhadra said lovingly, her eyes filled with warmth.
Krishna smiled, placing a gentle hand on her head. "Yes, Ruchi! Sometimes, I may not be with you physically, but in spirit, I will always be there. Whenever you miss us, just remember us—we are always with you."
A sudden wave of sadness washed over her as she looked at him anxiously. "Why are you saying this, Bhrata? Are you both going to leave me?"
Krishna chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "See? I told you—I do not see the future!"
The wind whispered through the garden as the last echoes of the flute's melody faded into silence. And though Krishna's words still lingered in her mind, Subhadra chose, just for today, to be the carefree sister who simply adored her mischievous brother.
