(n.) the act of existing as a stranger/ to walk as a stranger
PARTH SLIPPED HIS SCARRED FINGERS ON HER NAPE SUPPREPTITIOUSLY AND LINGERED A KISS ON HER FOREHEAD, falling for those adamant curls fondling her face. He watched her smiling face brimming with only love as she watched the baby crawl on the knees, cachinnating everytime the white pieris rapae butterfly sat on the pink nose after its rotation from fuschia blooms to the bundle of joy on the lush carpets of dewy grass.
His wife was the happiest around kids and he had wondered if she will love their offspring more than him, he was immature during that heat of lover's moment and marriage-drunk phase. He loved his child more than anything in this vast universe, to die a thousand times merrily if he has to. Perhaps, there shall be rivalry between the lurching of the baby and sounds of his wife's intoxicating laughter, a competition to win the foremost position in his love. Lords, he was again doused in contests and accolades.
Everywhere engulfing him was just ataraxia. The yonder was in summer tinctures as doves were flying near the sun, the burbling lake was an abode to swans who were complimenting the valley of fuschia flowers. The laughs of his wife and garbling of his baby was melody, superior than any of the nectar eutony of apsara to him as they were in Parthjayavan.
Suddenly, the earth beneath him cracked and he froze in consternation. The stygian and eldritch fog of midnight warped his senses. The baby began laughing loudly and a trail of blood appeared from the petal of lips. The svelte bud frame faltered in attempts of walking and fainted with a dangerous thud on the sandy ground of vittles. Frightened and losing his steady breathing, he turned cold and turned to his wife only to face another whammy. Parthjaya was smiling from her merlot painted lips and carbon kohl emphasized eyes staring at him. But she was splashed in crimson blood as if she was covered in pristine gashes and cuts of war. Her silks in opulent quartz were stained in scarlet, her anklets were no longer golden but gushing red with dripping convoys of blood. She whispered, "Save us, please. Will you my love?"
Sabyasachi woke up with a bolt of lightning sweltering in ivory sheets and velvet duvet, beads of sweat sprinkled on his bare silvery dusky skin as the ambient squall condensed him. He was scared such as he was trembling, those hands which tirelessly shoot pointed arrows were shaking and he clasped the sheening silk sheets in his fist. "Tell me you're safe, please. What was that? I apologise. I-I apologise. But what else could I've done at that moment? I can bear the spear of seeing you with someone else but never this-this covered in blood---What does this nightmare means?" He raked his wild fingers through his mussed but still luscious curls and joined his hands together. "Help her, I know you've always had and you always will. We are cursed to never bear a child, this baby in my dream---Stay with her I beg of you please help her"
He prayed as he had from eleven years for her.
The Pandava put his feet down on the misty and nearly absent floor, straining his grasps at the affluent bedstead sides embossed with carved lionesses. The archer's throat was parched as if he was thirsty and stranded on a desert so he reached out to the amphora of water and swigged it like a dehydrated and shrivelled man deprived of the life sustaining liquid. A garland of wilted and chartreuse turned mogra was lain dead on the gold table, its wafting icky and inebriating scent now infused with his own tangy sweat and fragrance of petrichor. "Urvashi" he mumbled the name and closed his eyes in a sheer scorn. How could she be so obdurate to spend a night with him? The celestial nymph had come to him during twilight with the invincible weapons of her irresistible seduction, claiming she is untied to any mortal relationships.
"Am I not beautiful enough? The gods stand in a queue just to have a glimpse of my dancing and you defy me? How are you so cruelly beauteous? You could've surpassed and ruled this divine kingdom if you were an apsara, that was the grace with which you were dancing in the court today, a warrior like you have smitten me by my senses. I desire you, accept me as your beloved, oh look how erotically the dusk struts around"
Arjun pinched the bridge of his nose and rose from the bed with a the incidents of the evening turning tumultuously in his mind. Was I rude to deny an apsara that way? He thought as he lit some mystical flower scented candles to ease his growing anxiety. No doubt I wasn't rude, she was the consort of one of my ancestors, she stands at the place of my mother, a teacher for teaching me the art of dancing and singing, a nymph in Lord Indra's court and these all vouch for your statement. He walked towards the white drapes covered windows and opened them, to let the balm of this moonlight heal him. A small necklace of pearls glinting in the silver serein.
That-that dream was just a distraction to ward me from my aim, I must focus on my skills. My love is truly capable to stand as a queen. Thoughts, introspective words and pondering, all weaved and sewed his heart.
Parth sighed looking at the blooming and glowing red verbena valley sprawled endlessly on the west horizon of Amravati. A butterfly in colours of rain washed yonder flew from the seraphic gold amphora with paintings of parijat ivy in enameled gems and perched on his scarred index finger which tightly clasped the gold panes of window.
"Oh what a fiasco I bought, fiddling with the apsara. I put her at the state of a mother and she expects me to—?" raising his fingers he confided with the butterfly who flapped her small pulchritudinous wings gradually as if in an answer. "You know if Parthjaya would have been here-" and stopped the doyen archer immediately, more as abruptly in his words. He winced and closed his eyes only to see that face he was seeing in his dreams and visions from years. How could you?
You are in daze son" Indra walked inside the humongous and divine chamber where everything was immaculate in shades of pearls, from ceiling of serene clouds to floor of spilling elixir in a mist. The king of gods, god of rains and thunder made sure that his blessing to good woman Kunti shall stay with his god father. Oh how those matted locks, sand stained body and deer skin on it pained Indra such as he insisted Arjun to spend some of his days in Vaijyanta.
The Pandava prince had already acquired the fruit of his penance, the Pashupatastra from the destroyer of universe, Mahadev. If he was to believe the words of Indra, few saints and almost all the gods had claimed that his penance was so rigid and sincere with ardour that the Himalayas trembled and glaciers had melted due to his assiduity.
"If my finest apsara is not your ideal preference I dare say, you may choose anyone you want and this won't reach the ears of Urvashi or if it does I can make sure it will not offend her" the last words of Indra became a whisper coercing a giggle from the archer who turned and covered the distance between them. All these years with her, he was a tactician and had by now had mastered his skills of masking and hiding his emotions therefore his godfather wasn't able to deduce any nightmares from his disposition. If only it were that easy before the smart lovely woman, she could detect even the teeny worries from a lift of his brow and droop of his shoulder.
"Liaisons and dallying are something I am keeping at bay, my entire focus is on my enhancement in warfare and augmenting my skill, learn and learn and learn. I meant no offense to her. It is just that I see her as a maternal authority to me and her arduous advances, proposals according to me were inappropriate, especially towards me and my values even if her claims make her untied to any mortal relationship. She married one of my ancestors, is my guru in art of dancing and singing and she still stands to be a apsara in your court." Arjun reasoned picking up his moon hued silk angavastra from the lavish bedstead and threw it around his shoulder.
"I understand Arjun, I do. Urvashi has cursed you to be an eunuch sadly. But I may be of help my son, happily" the despondent features of the god soon morphed into a cheshire grin as he continued, "Urvashi please enter and let Arjun know how generous you are. He must know that your anger is like a butterfly hopping on one flower of fury to another of serenity" Indra smugly looking over his shoulder towards the silver casted threshold, glowing periwinkles embracing the each side and entering from it was the enrapturing apsara whose beguiling pulchritude rivalled the many apsara in heaven.
Urvashi, the one who was born from the thigh of Narayan engrossed in ascetic penances with Nar, brought a shame to those celestial nymphs sent to hinder the Nar and Narayan. Her voluptuous skin as sheen and soft as dripping honey while her midnight tresses dancing on her slyph waist passionately seducing the zephyrs were nothing if her ember brown eyes and petals of hyacinth lips weren't sang as hymns each moment. She strutted with a deferring yet abiding grace as if her tantrums casting spells on the king of gods, who was bewitched by the lotus hues silks barely yet dangerously embossoming her curvaceous anatomy. The nymph inclined her chin at the salutation of the Pandava prince when he joined his hands and bowed to the apsara.
"I think I will reconsider the curse and shall make it a boon for you in certain circumstances Prince, the archer who shoots accurately and incredibly correct even in shadows, ah perhaps my charms weren't ample to topple the castles of love to not betray his loves" Urvashi's nectar voice reverberated in the chamber which was ensnaring the butterflies fluttering on the virescent vines in shades of the crescent moon. "Indeed you're reconsidering because my son isn't some mortal now, is he?" Indra raised the goblet of somaras in the air and swigged the contents of the golden liquid down his alabaster throat.
Sabyasachi snorted reverently placing his bowstring calloused and scarred palm on his chiseled chest. He bowed slightly and crossed his another arm behind his back in acceptance of her words. He may have shot endless of arrows but a flash of memory pierced his untiring muscle on the left of his chest everytime. A murky vision of his wife and his nemesis, that man. May the gods bless her for she made him the ruler of another expertise, acting and masking abilities. Perhaps that snicker was to manoeuvre the rising volcano incited by those triggering words; curse, boon, shadows, castles of love and betrayal. He was terrified of the nightmare he saw a few moments ago. Was niyati warping his mind? Was he getting trapped in the mazes?
Urvashi did notice that gleam in the copper eyes of the archer, a pain of longing and a jab of not walking the path led to those you love. But she was a pulchritude, a celestial damsel who left lovers behind and sometimes a few of her heartbeats too for her sole duty included to co-operate with the gandharvas entertaining the court of Indra and protect his heaven from the sages and saints in penance who shall never overtake thunder god's realm when they are receiving the immortality boons from god Brahma.
Coming out of her reverie, the apsara announced her decision, "The son of Pandu I have decided that your curse is decreased to only an year that too of your preference. For one year you will lose your manliness. The year of being an eunuch shall be beneficial to you in that year, the year to stay incognito"
"I am grateful" said the Pandav with a grace and honor lacing his speech as he joined his hands looking over at the generous smile of his godfather Indra who was eagerly waiting to commence the midnight feast of gods and goddesses. "Are you sure you aren't joining us Arjun. Gandharvas play instruments to transport you to the realm eternal and mesmerizing dances of apsaras relieve every stress" Indra asked over his shoulder as he walked to the door with Urvashi who turned to acknowledge the much awaited yet the mundane answer of Arjun everytime he is invited to the revels. The Pandava's lilac lips with an astonishing complement to his silvery dusky complexion curled and he shook his head, luscious curls kissing his temples and ivory pearls slipping from his scapula to near the heart.
"I have dreams or perhaps nightmare to attend and I shall choose them over celestial revels everytime"
~°~°~
SIMRAN TOUCHED THE WORDS ON THAT PARCHMENT. Her fingers were dry, flaky and unfit to be called as slender and soft ones of a maiden to live forever. She inhaled the fragrance of that ochre parchment, summer earth and succulent anam cara. These papers were made by Devaki carrying the petals of dried parijat and healing swerves of Dwarka. The words of her blue best friend were speaking to her in his elysian omniscient voice from the parchment he gave to her tranquilizing the tumultuous tempest.
That day, midnight aged with each winter wind shattering the naked amphoras seeking the warmth of velvet drapes to ward away the frosting. She had arrived by the twilight on the lands of Dwarka and was already making arrangements for her departure, as usual.
A serviceman was marching in the diya lit cloister who was on patrolling duty. He greeted her with a bowed head and she looked at the freezing temperature, wisps of vapour rising from his mouth thence instead of the left turn she took the right one. The stoic man was seen smiling like a child gifted with a wooden chariot from the fair when he wrapped his bluish numbing palms around the hot mint and lavender tea, mist warming his scarlet nose. "The night is very cold and I hope the tea keeps you warm, if for a short time. Thank you for always guarding the royal family, your work is so hard and important"
In that obsidian shawl falling on her shoulders lapping on the shore of the floor as the waves of styx, she was the goddess of midnight who appears with small but generous gestures, which are ingrained forever on the hearts who receive them. She walked away to the library, initially tearing the fog and then being one with it entering the realm where resides the preserver of universe.
"Krishna here I am, you called me to the library" she had knocked those grandiose oakwood doors of that one area in the palace of Dwarka which was her querencia. "Ah my angel, sit with me" called out the master of silver tongue and mischief extending his arm towards her who stood at the threshold. The sandalwood incenses' dripping ashes in the ishaankon were painting the gems festooned ceiling telling tales in clouds, in contrast to the cold ones of the yonder they were tepid. The ginormous hall was soused in darkness and only breach was the coruscation of melting candles on the desk where sat her Krishna, as if a scholar, a philosopher and everything he is, isn't it?
He was dipping the peacock feather quill in a charcoal inkpot. She noticed and envied his collection of quills, falcon and peacock and ploughbill, as the girl from kaliyug walked inside the house of books, anecdotes and records.
"What are you writing?" She asked smoothening her mahogany brown coloured travel skirts, a lehenga with a slit and pair of trousers she tailored for herself that shall facilitate her long sojourns. The old and young handmaids were suprised and termed the ensemble abberant but then she herself was the euphemism for weirdness in this era. She took a seat beside him on a chair of spruce and chartreuse cushioning.
"Stubborn girl you are. But this has been your arrangement from twelve years. You come here by midnight tenacious to leave by the very next afternoon." The lord of the universe never raised his lotus eyes from the stack of parchments he had been rummaging in but a sigh escaped his bimba fruit hue lips. She tried to tame the rush to not be jealous from the flowery stacks of papyrus he has, but couldn't help it. And soon Krishna's laughter echoed in the library as if summer graced the earth instead of winter listening to her words. Owls arrived and knocked the windows, perching on the coral and pink bougainville vines embellished parapet, concealed with devil's ivy as curtains.
"I come here to meet my gang you know, but they're not even here" she whined, motioning inverted coma in the air saying gang and swiping her cold, red nose due to the hitting of constant winds of horse riding. "Girls are in Panchal for their grooming lessons and god knows where Abhi is-well you are here, god, would you be so kind tell where my boy is?" she was already roaming around the corners of decked shelves now and halted to stand in the center where dim lit chandelier casted a golden glow on her tired, but heated face which was brimming in an ecstasy just to be with the one, the saviour.
"Your boy-your boy my child, your so-son he was. Will you ever forgive me for your womb was—" Krishna lost his words, dropped his quilt to float and drown in the inkpot. He rose and when he turned to face her, there was a glisten in his coal black lotus eyes, a pearl mourning on the pink lids as he pressed his lips in a linear line. The almighty was in rue for that midnight, for the loss of that soul who was so unfortunate to never cry with dawn and cachinnate with dusk. He went to her who was frozen as a sculpture, a shade of dead alabaster rising on her fingers clutching the dusty shelf and
her barren eyes gaping at the another incense falling in ashes because that was its destiny.
Krishna placed his scarlet palms on her burning cheeks. "Your boy, your unborn son is being cradled in the arms of moonlight, learning from the rays of the sun and waiting for the kaachakra to spin the wheel so he can be with you, I promise" he kissed her forehead and it pained him to watch her forcing a smile on her despondent face, those honey brown eyes dared not spill a tear, those diamante of her agreement with life sought the harsh permission. "I know. I know. I respect you Kanha and your every decision"
Mayhap she wasn't so strong or she maintained a stark façade, for when her anamcara opened his serene arms to her she surrendered to his embrace in no time and allowed him to pat her head. Every tear which cascaded and seeped in the godly skin of amaranth singed him, but then he has been burning every moment from endless years for many cry in his arms, many.
"Always remember, you are here, for you are—you. Come with me" Krishna tamed her saline soaked tendrils that fell on her winsome face by putting them behind her ear. He firmly took her hand in his as they walked to his writing desk where candles melted to create miscellaneous on the oakwood table. He sat down back on the dark maroon settee and unfurled a fresh parchment from the collection she had her eyes on. Stealing eyes from her guardian angel, she slipped her fingers to her hair and let those curls fall on her face again. Arjun I do-I do remember everything about us. Why did you do that?
Those mystical and pulchritudinous hands of the Manmohan held a falcon feather quill and dipped it in the ink, his fingers seamlessly wavered on the parijat petals peeking from the paper. She stood behind him, her dainty tips of fingers struggling in anxiety and fidgeting the pitambar woven silk on his shoulder, her blurred sight with residue of tears trying to comprehend the words and curious to know.
Oh how beautiful you look Kanha with books and ink and parchments and quills? Is that how you look when you write the fates of us?
"These words are simple my angel, a mere set of words, but they shall be your strength when you need them the most. My choice can never be wrong now, isn't it? I am always with you" He was resting his elbow on the gold armrest, turning to look at her as he raised his chin with his omniscient smile that could calm those harshest storms. He gently touched the small peacock feather bracelet on her wrist, which came a long way from her terrace in kaliyug to her weak wrist in dwaparyug. "Just as this morpankh, take me with you in these words. Do as you are supposed to, what the lines in your palm say. Have my love and blessings with you, always" he pressed his hygge palm on her perturbed one and handed her the parchment.
The still damp ink in midnight colour glimmered as if the divine and fate in symphony were bestowing her love, a blessing when the maiden rays of the dawn kissed those words eagerly for they were written by Narayan. Beams of aureate danced intoxicated in love of the god casting their drunkenness on this girl from the roshandaan. The ether was mirroring the bluest cyan, lapis lazuli gems and the ruby melted as her dismay, increasing as the dawn will soon turn into morning.
She laid her honey eyes on the words and before another spool of tears had endeavoured to fall, she immediately looked up and inhaled as if she would never breath. "I will not cry. . .again, no I won't" She laughed at herself and smeared her face illuminated in the rising morning sunshine. "Thank you for this" adding this she curled her arms around her everything, who ruffled her scalp at her optimism and that determination, the forbearance she harbours in her heart.
"Laughing when everything isn't the way you want it to be?" he asked a rhetoric question to her who shifted her gaze at the rising globe of fire in rayleigh from the ataraxia emitting eyes of Krishna. "It's the least and the most I can do for the duties you've trusted me with, thank you for the confidence you put in me. Even after I go. . .from here, you've given a great meaning to my life, you always do. I must go" she expressed and was so oblivious to tears which she scolded before were seeping down her chin.
Krishna didn't bid her farewell near those prodigious albino gates of the palace sheathed with trails and vines of violet morning glory bathing in dewdrops, which shall sink beneath waters one day. He was proud of her but it hurt the father and protector in him to watch her go along the thorny path. As the swerves of agape entered his library and some blooms of fuschia scattered on his desk over that one epistle from Arjun, this stratagem of universe made him cognizant that the day is approaching soon which will clear the overcast and the setting sun will nourish the roots of their love for lasting it for sempiternal. The blue god was apprised of the tension between these lovers.
I believe in you. I trust you. I am with you, always and forever.
The komorebi from the ancient oak tree was painting the warm sand beneath her in mosaics which at time appeared to her as bows, arrows and fuschias or perhaps it was the exhaustion of her journey from Indraprastha to Hastinapur to Dwarka and now on her way to Panchal before she finally reaches the woods where Pandavas resided in from the past twelve years and eleven months. When will I stop daydreaming about him?
The rough spun coral shaded terracotta on her winter struck body with mud cladded hemline and dupatta, her ebony hair tied in a loose braid and obviously mussed with travels couldn't snatch her beauty. She looked like an aristocrat agreeing to be gracious towards the commoners.
The parchment was lain in her lap, dandelions growing beside her swayed in the cold gales fondling her soles with a frequent and eerie familiarity. She watched the soldiers creating makeshift marquees, few of them grazed the horses near the lake and some were preparing meals to refresh themselves for the journey from the picked gooseberries and figs. General Rudraksh, the middle aged man with his stature in the same vein as the tree she was sitting under led the contingent with her, making sure she was safe as he promised to her husband not mistaking this for his doubts on her abilities.
"The young blood and the world for them is harsh and difficult as compared to us, that is what I believe Princess" he would say to her everytime she sprinkled from her vial of modernism. It was progressive of him and amazed her with his ideology which was not easily found.
"If we take the bypass from south before sunset, I assume we will reach Panchal earlier, a day prior. What do you think administrator?" he jolted her out of the trance walking to her and crushing some tripped dead branches in the path. "How about the forest to the south west side? I have heard it is ruled by wolves but can offer us a short way, more shorter" she rose to her feet shedding dust from her clothes and took the chalice of lemonade from the General as she rolled the parchment back.
"Dangerous as you said already, so I hope you shall not pass the judgement of my death if I oppose your suggestion now crown princess?" Rudraksh knocked his head to the side as he sipped from his lemonade, a cheshire grin on his dark and experienced face. She laughed and a cuckoo cooed with her perched on the oak branch, "I cannot dare to put a scratch on our most trusted soldier now, can I? Not when my husband is very fond him"
It wasn't long before she realized that the archer was her entire existence, such as that she culminated him in everything of her. She swigged the entire lemonade in a single breath gaping at the ivory swans circumventing the stagnant teal lake with buds of peaking water lily. She will be Strong Simran from now and not Sad Simran, that was her promise to the girl from kaliyug.
Thence blaming the heat of green chillies in the drink for the salmon jagged lines and water in her kohl barren eyes, she clapped her hands yelling orders to the servicemen, leaving the General to send his prayers to Naryana for bringing back their jovial and frolicking yet strong at the roots of this oak tree princess back who was lost ever since their princes, king and queen went for the exile. He heard the sting in her commands which only fumbled and made the men nervous, but would they be able to comprehend the zeal and exuberance her eutony was flying everytime she met the children, who were handsome, young and beautiful now. "Pace up the work, we cannot waste hours on lunch."
~°~°~
"HOW IS MY POETRY SIMRAN, TELL ME, IS IT FIT TO WOO A PRINCESS?" Shatanik turned on his heels from the endless marching he was doing in the lush and virescent gardens of Panchal kingdom.
"Totally unfit it is Bhratashree" Pragati chimed from the orange tree branch she was sitting on, darts in her dusky hands as she aimed at the ripened fruits of the other tree seven feet away from her.
"Firstly poetries always should include ebony hair and honey eyes, isn't the protocol. Try inculcating some of her finest qualities, her marvellous brains and to die for forbearance and her never ageing beauty-no don't give me that look, let me complete" Shrutsena looked up from the hardcover he was reading and raised his arms in defense when all eyes turned to him for he himself added the term physical beauty, heaving a deep breath he completed then, "the boon to stay a maiden forever which she received for her good deeds"
"I agree. No true words were spoken before" entered Suthanu with bunches of grapes festooning the polished silver dish. Behind her Sutasoma was eagerly making the salver lighter for his sister to carry by easily swallowing the purple grapes, his bronze mace resting on his shoulder as if Bheem was walking towards them.
"Be careful before you express your gratitude to dear Bhrata Sutasom now Suthanu Jiji, he's been eating out the grapes" came a voice similar to falling rains that made her skip a heartbeat. Arjun. An easel tucked under his arm and some palm brushes with paints in his other hand came down the sandstone stairs the son of Arjun and Draupadi, Shrutkarman. Suthanu just needed a glare to halt the robust Sutasoma and a smile to thank Shrutkarman.
The girl from kaliyug was basking in the winter sun. The aureate apricity was making her lazy, such as she was reclining with her knackered eyes closed though slithering towards contentment as she sat on the elmwood swing installed in the lush orchards of Panchal brimming with brumal flora and fruition. Sometimes she opened her eyes to dote on the youth, the scions of Pandavas and then would immediately shut them, fearing that her own adoration would become the evil eyes. Touch wood, she touched the varnished wooden crestrail of the swing.
Her churamani was throned in her hand as she stroked the rubies casted in the motifs of marriage, her fingers touching them in a pretence of grazing the silvery dusky lifted cheeks of an archer. The breezes weren't warm but tolerable for the grief sodden and stoic pretender heart as they flitted the emerald silks and dangling earrings of the same gemstone. .
"My dearest brother, first of all things. You must not address her with the name. How many times do I have to remind you that you should address her respectfully, say Choti Maa" Prativindhya scolded Shatanik. The eldest Uppandava was sitting beside Parthjaya on the swing with his mock papers of reasoning and administrative politics case studies sprawled on his lap. "Many apologies. But I just cannot- not that I don't honour you, I am---You have always been our best confidant, our most-our most-ugh I lack words, but do you understand what I intend to say?" the son of Nakul wanted to prove his articulation looking at the smile on the sun kissed face of the maiden to stay young forever.
Regardless of years passed with thorns and flowers, she was still the girl who chased them from the sparkling pools of waters and perceived their blabbering for blueberry syrups. She was their godmother.
"I do. We all do. We understand. Words are never language. The love and admiration I see in the eyes, these eyes which have cried for bedtime stories and had their hearts in them at the sight of me tells me everything. Saying mother when you don't harbour that respect is inappropriate and I will truly appreciate you addressing me with my name for I can fight the world with the universal fact that the love and respect I receive from you all my loves, is unparalleled and invincible. I. . . I love you all so much. You are the treasure I have" she stroked the hazelnut tresses of the eldest Draupadeya and sight of hers morphed to murky as the future of the Pandavas were looking at her yet again, with same eyes which they had fluttered opened for the first time.
Simran didn't realize but her fist was closing around the calloused arm of Prativindhya who didn't even flinch and even wiped the saline guilt rushing back to her conscious, performing a catharsis from those honey brown eyes. Pragati jumped down quickly from the branch and in no time sought her latibule, the lap of her foster mother. "Forgive my rose. . . I don't deserve to be called a mother when I left you, forgive me if you can, will you?" the unfortunate woman caressed the luscious curls of Pragati tied in a braid that reminded her of how she would braid Arjun's hair when he slept only to restore them before he awakens.
"You made the hardest decisions. You've the strength to do that and my soul fills with pride when I am called as your daughter. Is there any girl to have a mother like you? No. But I have her, the woman whose strength and forbearance parallels the gallantry of my father. You must know that Mamamshree Krishna once told me that I'm so lucky to have not one, not two but motherhood of three women. Draupadi, Simran and Ksudhama."
Pragati extended her gold bangles adorned arm to her brother who would have painted this vista of a daughter and mother. Shrutkarman took hold of his sister's hand stained in the syrup of oranges and sat down near other knee of Parthjaya taking the hand of the lady in his own trying to soothe her tears. "I came down with my easel and paints to paint you, the maiden to stay young forever and looks like I need to paint an ocean of tears as well." Shrutkarman initiated to lighten the ambience as he secured his face on her knee, perhaps a trick he learnt from her to hide his tears.
And his efforts were applauded when a giggle escaped from those dry plum coated lips. Sutasom gazed at Suthanu lovingly as he curled his arm around his sister who stooped to encompass Shrutsen's neck in her dainty arms while they watched the purgation, the culpability vanishing as the frosting around those plant pots melting away in the noontide sun. Prativindhya from the commiserative sheen in maple eyes of Shatanik understood that his brother has received the essence of poetry, his next writing shall be soul stirring and string the heart of Veena the gardernette. Being the eldest of all, he was apprised and a promise he made to his parents was transported by squalls to forests. I shall take care of them, always.
The globe of gold was creating a haven for them with the fruits in blossom of oranges, virescent carpet of grass and some doves circumventing them as if resonated with the sentiments which made the air in citrus fragrances dance in ataraxia, zephyrs poising from east. The scenery was immaculate and could cause a war among the artists who shall run with their brushes to paint this. However, she closed her eyes to imagine a soul which could've been with them, cradled in these arms, adored and kissed till eternity, be the apple of their eyes and be the solace to his father. Your boy. Krishna was wrong to make her cognizant that she'd have bestowed a son to her husband. Krishna was right to make her cognizant for she'd now paint her son in her subconscious and raise him. Whom would he have taken after? Her smile? His father's dedication?
"All the reunion, without me?" a bow in his chiseled dusky arms and quiver filled with arrows circling his back, he stood with his hands crossed on his chest and a knowing smirk lacing his lips which were a complete shadow of his father. "How much I missed you all" doe eyes with a mischievous glint of his mother, he made everyone do a double take. They ran to him leaving their anecdotes, parchments swirling on the bushes of jade plant, oranges and its pips toppling down the grasses, purple grapes abandoned, paints slipping on the rough canvas and their euphoria abounding in their laughter and tears.
"Abhimanyu, you here? What a charming surprise!" Parthjaya embraced him who was taller than her now, his waves were tied in a half bun. "I was in Dwarka to meet you, Suthanu and Pragati. There I come to know that my princesses are in Panchal for their grooming classes. Krishna however did inform me that you're the chaser of nature's beauty these days, nobody even knew where you were" she continued as Saubhadreya smiled sheepishly curling his arm around his mother, his best friend as he found Pragati taking his other arm.
"Don't tell me my brother is to appreciate the beauty of roses as the lips of some fair maiden now?" Shatanik walked before the 'confab', his sturdy legs of a warrior walking in a casual teasing fashion backwards. "And Bhrata Shatanik has started again with his metaphors" Suthanu twirled in her melted gold gilded sapphire lehenga touching the swaying lilies beside her in the fortnight old kyari.
"Is that a blush that I sense Abhimanyu?" Shrutsen's selecouth query was made while sprinting to grab his ancient book from the grass, shedding dust from the burgundy hardcover and touching the source of knowledge to his shining pale forehead. "It is definitely. The same smile which Pitashree gave to his youngest beautiful wife sometimes" Shrutkarman had never careered to his paints and canvases as fast he did now. "Do punch him Simran, if not then you always have me to do the great honours. Always in service of my beloved godmother" Sutasom gave a loop sided grin dropping more grapes inside his mouth earning a giggle from Pragati and even Prativindhya, just as Bheem always managed to bring a curl on Yudhishthir.
The lover of Shwetvahan struggled to resist the spring roses on her freckled winter face at that smile of his which would beguile her, snatching and invading her senses eventually her entire existence. But there are thorns in roses and those painful needles were always on her path, pricking her feet. They chose her heart this time and a swift vision of his suspicious copper eyes seared that burn again. She forced a smile unwilling to let the children sense the tension between their father and whom they consider their godmother. "Abhi tell us where were you?" she asked as they walked towards the archway leading to a dome summer house built near the flowering gardens of Panchal meant for the royal family to spend the burning weather in spritz of fountains and blossom's fragrance, the old flamboyant tree serving them for three generations.
"You're all uselessly raising your expectations in my context. I was just sauntering the forests near the lands of Vidarbh with Bhanu. Although the matter of concern is that, truly I have seen someone in the library at the poetry section, a certain son of Mamashree Krishna because someone suggested him a few very romantic poems. I don't happen to remember the titles of the poems though, can you help me with that Suthanu Jiji?" Abhimanyu was humming a tune which Draupadi's daughter had learnt in her singing lessons from Satyabhama. Some loud disguised coughs in a good natured chaff echoed in the summer house supported by dancing monarch butterflies near Suthanu's elbows. Everyone knew it all backwards.
"Enough with coughing now, if its so much as its reverberating let me bring you some honey and ginger syrups my good brothers, I shall be-be back"
Suthanu dashed out of the small convenient space they were now seated in surrounded by variants of flowers and butterflies, with a daft excuse smartly implemented. They saw their sister's dark brown complexion turning rusty and complementing the bluish black tresses embellished with orchids as she ran in the cloisters, shy and demure, too vexing to admit the blossoming forelsket with a Dwarka prince.
"Bhanu is more difficult than her" exhaled Abhimanyu pinching a rose petal between his fingers. "He needs training which clearly I can provide" Shatanik dramatically pulled out his parchment and quill. "Please don't consider him, just don't" Shrutsena sighed as he poured steaming cups of clove and cinnamon tea for them. "Even Bhrata Prativindhya agrees, he's smiling" Shrutkarman added dipping his brush in a marigold crushed colour. "I am smiling at brotherhood, our happiness brothers. I never doubt any of your talents" Prativindhya said as a pacific elder rummaging through the drafts Parthjaya had edited for him. "I am back with the medicine, and if I hear anymore coughing I have a dagger as well" Suthanu strutted inside holding a jar of golden liquid and decanter of ginger syrup. She sat on the marble settee as a queen and Pragati turned from the bougainville wines she was snowed under, a wreath on her head and another in her hand which she crowned on her sister's head. "May the gods never let any evil eye taint my sisters' pulchritude" Sutasom smiled as he prayed to the protectors and granters of beauty.
The soil slipped from her hands, that soul weeping in the loop and wheel of time. Why is fate so cruel? The girl from kaliyug wished ardently to paint them so that they were forever alive on the carved walls of the castle; to write them as words so that they were forever alive as a book read by generations; to prepare an elixir out of ginger, honey, clove and cinnamon, keep them alive as they must.
She wilted for these handsome men and beautiful women, wonders of coming age on them, of what they'd become as they cross the they threshold of teenage and how long shall they last. The kaliyug girl remembered the weensy hands and tiny fingers wrapping around her own, cradling them in her arms to sleep who now were tall and large to protect her from ravenous and lustful eyes of men taking after their fathers. She recalled the dolls they decorated and pearls they collected and now they rivalled the princesses from far away kingdoms from their skills and beauty, layering those pearls on their bodies for they were took after their mother.
Touch wood. She firmly held the standpost in mahogany wood and a trail of blood dripped on those beds of white roses beneath for an iron nail scratched her palm. Perhaps, now she might have a reason for these wile and stubborn tears as she surreptitiously wiped her corneas and plexure of lashes. How could she a mortal girl who shall leave them all behind, when her existence shall be forgotten, invade the mirth of these children, when its so rare?
"Are you leaving for Dwaitvan tomorrow morning?" Shrutkarman questioned looking at her for brief moment to observe and paint the folds of her waist correctly on his canvas. She nodded her head in an affirmation and a strand of her rebellious curl fell on her face, a perfectly beauteous still for the artist to create his art.
She will meet them again and forget everything, but she won't meet him again and will remember everything.
~°~°~
WHEN SHE SAT ALONE SHE MISSED HER FAMILY, HER HOME, HER TIME AND EVERYTHING. All along she was taking everything bestowed to her for granted, being grateful just for her parents, sister, life sustenance and Krishna. Did she ever say thank you to that solitude of tepid and hustling bustling noontide in the fading winters of a forest? From Kamyak to Dwait forest, the woods were latibule to Pandavas and Draupadi.
The chariot of Suryanarayana raced swiftly and it illuminated the cerulean yonder creating a pretence of summer, healing the silent woods by spilling vials of aureate glitter on the crisp and fallen leaves of Dwaitvan. The pond water was a dwelling of diamante when sunrays glimmered through, a prism of iridescent wings lapping on her albino lehenga with splotches of mud on the hemline as she sat on a polished sedimentary rock listening to the songs of nature behind her. A goat chewed on the indigo ends of her ivory dupatta while she listened to them, talking.
Bheem was slicing the firewood, his axe rising and striking the collected tree logs and combustible branches. Nakul was baking the earthen pots in the hearth, the embers heating the clay to make it more bearable of hardships. Sahdev was practicing to extract decoction from the roots of a rare herb which could heal the infectious cuts of corrosive swords without the painful process of cauterization. Yudhishthir came from the lakeside after escorting some brahmins who departed with full bellies and satisfactory rests from the threshold of Draupadi who was waiting for the lentil stew to be ready as she sat on the cot outside their hut.
Behind Parthjaya it was a humdrum of one of their day in woods. Something in this woman from distant lands longed to abandon everything and wake up at the cocking roosters, singing sparrows and glitter of the dawn sun in these strumfrei woods. She was apprised as she sat under this mulberry tree cooped by tall adagio grasses that they'd talk about the tension between her and Arjun. Grateful was she to their principles of respecting their privacy and not giving the benefit of concerns to question her of the quandary for they never uttered a word of it before her.
"I don't know what has gotten inside the archer" Bheem says, a splinter of wood bothers his fingers. "I don't even understand what happened to them" Draupadi sighs looking at the wilting snowdrop bud. "I cannot remember the last farewell they had without wincing my heart" Nakul adds as he puts a tiny cup in the hearth, a spark kisses his thumb. "Something is ruining them from within, something which is. . . unsaid" Sahdev reveals cutting a node and barely leaving a close knife near his palm. "They are mature and wise, they will solve it themselves. When she came for the first time here, Arjun had already left for his penance and that was deliberate. I believe when he returns they will solve the misunderstanding" Yudhishthir concludes looking at the maiden to stay young forever sitting faraway from them.
She hears it all. After her soul was nearly withdrawn from her body during the dice hall she was having some counteracts and acatalepsy of changes. She heard them even at a distance, some may call it magic and some just her enhanced senses. Thence she rose from beside the makeshift bench of haylage for the goats and shed herself from the husk and twigs. The bleating of goats was indication for her take them grazing on the pastures, they became fussy at her arrival and refused to feed on forage, so she became a shepherdess.
Caressing the fur of the Capricorn motifs and gulping a hot coal inside he throat she pushed her braid from her shoulder and began plodding with the goats. They saw her and the eldest Madreya had answered to her information with a loud hmph. At long last she shall be away from her woolgathering and Arjun. But Bheem smiled because she won't be as he spotted her with a bow and quiver of arrows on her shoulder.
"I am going to the forest will be back by dusk"
Pranipat,
HAPPY NEW YEAR. January is about to end and here I am wishing you the brightest and most beautiful New Year, may you have sun and sunflowers your way. So after taking out my time from the busy schedule here you've an update.
A quick recap - Arjun has acquired his weapons and is spending some time with Indra. He gets a nightmare about Parthjaya and we come to know about Urvashi's curse as well. Meanwhile on earth, our girl is becoming more and more strong as she visits Dwarka and receives a talk about her miscarriage from Krishna who gives a motivating letter. We see the prince and princesses turning young and handsome and beautiful, getting insights into her dynamics of relationships with them. Finally she is Dwaitvan with Pandavas and decides to go for a stroll to give herself a break from the constant talks about her and Arjun.
How did you like the small alteration of her dress? She turned a tailor as well now ;)
Urvashi, ah such a gorgeous and mystical nymph.
What do you think about the time she spent with the kids who are now no longer kids? Also who do you imagine as Pragati and Suthanu?
How many of you noticed Bheem was smiling?
Also the big question- What do you think is the problem between Parth and Parthjaya?
Also the ages of the scions of Pandava are vague. So taking the fictional liberty, I've added them so far as I presume them to be in the cover image.
Thank you so much for reading this book. It means a lot to me. I know I am not able to give my time as much as I did before but I am so so grateful for the support and to all those readers who give such heart warming comments. Please and vote and drop your reviews. Good day loves.