#krishna fics

[kanhapriya]

No one:

Literally no one:

Not even Arjun:

Surya putr Karna:

[ramayantika]

Ch-4: Meeting the Bride

// Krishna fics masterlist //

The wedding celebrations were over and all the esteemed guests were preparing to leave for their respective kingdoms except a choice few guests who were close to Krishna stayed back, including Aarnika who was specifically requested to stay for a few more days to meet the new bride. 

The Vidharban princess looked more angelic even closer and as blessed as she was with good looks, the princess's soft demeanor and kind heart won Aarnika's heart too. 

"It must be adventurous and a little liberating, isn't it Rajkumari? You get to rule an entire city on your own terms," Rukmini said. 

Aarnika smiled and thought about her father's punishment that had given her this indepent ruleship to her and said, "I agree, princess. I am glad that my people support me and help me handle things there. I am glad to find a place in their heart, and though it's a small city, my city is growing which makes me proud." She held Rukmini's hand. "Do come to Kanakgarh sometime. We would love to have you and your family, besides," she winked, "my city will be the talk of Aryavarta if the royal family of Dwaraka arrives."

Rukmini laughed and nodded, "The queen of Kanakgarh must not request us, and certainly not her friend now. I will definitely ask Krishna and plan a visit there soon." Pretending to whisper, she continued, "You are anyway a wild topic in Aryavarta. A woman single handedly running a kingdom is unheard of."

"It's a small city, Rukmini, not a kingdom."

"I believe, a kingdom doesn't have to be large to house too many provinces and grandeur. A small place with the right ruler, for whom people have immense love in their hearts to help their land prosper is a kingdom." Rukmini patted Aarnika's shoulder. "I have been talking to you since the past two days, and the time we have spent together is enough for me to know that you are and will be a great ruler, no matter how large or small the province is."

The princess's words made Aarnika beam with pride and happiness. Nobody in her family except her mother had acknowledged her abilities and talents. Hearing Rukmini after spending only a brief amount of time was an achievement for her.

"And in what deep conversation have you pulled my dear wife into, sakhi?" asked a honeyed voice.

"Nothing much. The princess was bestowing some generous compliments over my rulership over Kanakgarh," said Aarnika.

Krishna passed a bright smile and sat beside Rukmini who blushed when surrounded by him. "You give yourself too less credit, Aarnika. The feats you have managed are a wonder. You paved the way for women to be a part of the workforce. Trade and businesses are flourishing. I think it will rival your capital city in the next few years."

A bubbly Subhadra in orange garments twirled and entered the chamber, saying, "But won't Aarnika didi be married off? How will she keep developing her city then? Would her husband allow her?" She held her ear and looked at Aarnika. "Sorry, I overheard you all."

Aarnika gently pulled Subhadra's nose. "My choti sakhi, don't worry about that. I am not marrying for a very long time so I am going to keep developing my city."

"But didi, do you have someone in mind whom you want to marry?"

Krishna cleared his throat and said, "Subhadre, it is not appropriate to ask such questions. She is older than you."

Pouting, the little darling of Dwaraka looked at Krishna and finally at Aarnika. Her eyes lit up with brightness and said, "Well, you can always count on me. I might help fix an alliance."

Krishna pulled Subhadra's ear, making her wince, saying, "You never listen to me, do you?"

"As if you listen to Balaram dau?"

Rukmini laughed and commented, "Now Subhadra won. Fair and square."

Warmth seeped into Aarnika's heart as she watched the siblings and Rukmini interact. If only her household could have been like them – full of love, fun and friendly banter.

***

"I wish you stayed with us for some more time didi," muttered a sad Subhadra hugging Aarnika. "Especially with me."

Aarnika ruffled the young princess's head and patted her cheek. "You know that my doors will always be open for you. If you are ever bored of Dwaraka, my city would provide you a wonderful retreat."

Revati too had come to see off Aarnika. Both of them did not get much time with each other due to the wedding work and other queenly duties the former had to carry, but she had found time to bid farewell to Krishna's special guest. In three days, the princess of Mahishaka had charmed her way into the hearts of the family of Dwaraka. Her simplicity and humble personality was endearing to all. 

"Do visit Dwarka again, princess. You spent time with Rukmini and our dearest Subhadra, but not with me. I shall hold it against you," Revati said, as she hugged Aarnika. 

Aarnika's heart was full. She climbed into her palanquin and replied, "The Queen must not be crossed. I shall come back soon and I believe you all must too."

"As for me, I will keep writing letters sakhi. You must be updated with Dwarka's latest gossip." Aarnika chuckled and nodded at Krishna. "Yes, your highness, I shall await the latest gossip in your letters."

"Take care, Aarnika."

The princess looked up at Krishna for one last time. His eyes as gentle as the moon, looked into hers and a friendly smile curved its way on his lips causing her to smile too. A slight pang in her chest, and a lone tear burning in the corner of her eye, Aarnika whispered, "You too, Krishna."

He left his hand from the palanquin and waved at her. Following him was Subhadra who had already begun to shed tears and waved frantically at Aarnika as if her didi sakhi would immediately stop and return back. 

The ever so graceful Rukmini hugged Subhadra and waved at Aarnika who bowed and covered her palanquin with curtains. Each step took her away from the land of her beloved, but she was happy to find new friends in Subhadra and Rukmini. 

Who knows when this alliance would play a role in her future? 

By the end of the first prahar, her entourage had reached the beautiful green hills on the borders of Dwaraka which made Aarnika feel nostalgic about the moment she had first arrived here and witnessed their majestic beauty. 

The morning sun fell on a slope of one of the hills, illuminating that section. The trees on the hill gently swayed with the soft sea breeze and its leaves shone bright under the rays of Surya. The sea breeze allowed its into the palanquin and gently blew over Aarnika's face. She closed her eyes and imagined the sea waters of Dwarka. She hadn't found time to visit the sea shore. 

The gentle sea breeze slowly lulled her eyes to sleep with fun filled memories of the wedding and new companions until she would find herself back home in her palace, devoid of those friendships. Aarnika loved Kanakgarh and her people. She also had some of her trusted handmaidens who would swear their lives on her, but she also yearned for such loving friendships in her lives, for people to be with her and not only in curved letters of a letter on paper. 

Maybe someday I wouldn't be this alone. 

*** **** ****** *** ** **** **** *** ***** **** ****

This was a filler chapter because I wanted to wrap up the wedding so we can get back to aarnika's work life in her city, Kanakgarh.

Also do read and tell me how it was I wrote it after a long time so maybe it won't be that good but I would still love your reblogs and comments.

Have a good day! 🌸💕

Taglist: @ma-douce-souffrance @ishoulnotbehere @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @krishna-priyatama @morally-gayy @bambioleo @jessbeinme15 @arachneofthoughts @reallythoughtfulwizard @kaal-naagin (if I have missed anyone or if anybody would want to be a part of the taglist, do tell me in the comments or send an ask. I might have forgotten some too because the list was saved in my old phone which I don't have right now)

[krsnaradhika]

I need Krishna fics y'all ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

[blackknight-100]

Hello there anon, and thank you for the prompt! I got so excited with this I accidentally posted your ask without answering it (I'm so sorry😭😭) so I'm afraid I have to use a screenshot. I hope you like reading this!

Character Swap - Arjuna and Karna

1.

Phalguna comes to Kuntidesha as it always does, but this year the air is colder, and the soil is wet with rain. The ponds are full and even rivers flow swifter, for Indra turns his eye upon them.

Princess Pritha bears the last few weeks of her womanly toil with ill grace; she is yet sixteen, face perpetually wrinkled in agony. The King of Gods has promised her maidenhood, Pritha thinks she would have given that up to be rid of this soreness.

When her time comes one cloudy eve, her trusted maid kneels by her screaming self, and snips the cord off a divine child.

The babe is soft and beautiful, with her looks and her smile and her curled hair; he yawns in restless sleep like a little dark moon. Pritha’s head is bent in prayer, her still-young heart is numb. She is a princess of two noble Kings, a star in the darkness of Āryavarta. Few women have her fortune, even lesser have her power, and yet she is just another girl, at the mercy of sages and gods, and the thought makes Pritha's head bow lower.

She stands by the raging Aswa as her maid gently sets the basket afloat, for foolish she may be, but cruelty comes only through her orders, and never by her hand, and the sky shatters with thunder and rain. Of all the recipients of Indra’s wrath, there has never been one more tragic.

His father from his heavenly throne names the child Arjuna, swears to guide and lead and bestow divine counsel, but as songs later let us know: he is ever known by his mothers’ names, for he is Rādha and Pritha's son.

2.

Karna is born the last of Kunti’s sons, and the third of Pāndu’s scions. He comes into the world like a shining light, with her face and her smile and her curls in his hair. For the first few weeks, Kunti cannot bear to look at the babe, and nurses him with her eyes to the sky. The sun shines upon them, bright and reprimanding, and Kunti wills Surya to chastise his own brother.

To Mādri she says, and to a concerned Pāndu, that the birth tired her, to the child she murmurs tales of a long-lost brother.

“He looked just like you,” Kunti tells him, as Karna swings in his cradle. It is a rickety thing, old as Yudhisthira, and worn with Bheema’s fervour, but it is a cradle still, and Kunti wonders if her other son ever knew one.

“I think you would have loved him,” Kunti says, wistfully, weaving dreams out of her yearning. “He would have been your big brother.”

The boy in the cradle coos at her, toothless smile lighting up the world, and for a moment his face is dark, and outside it rains, and the babe in her arms is Indra’s child.

3.

“You are terrible,” Arjuna scowls at Duryodhana, even though his father has taken great pains to counsel him otherwise. “He is just having fun.”

Duryodhana turns an interesting shade of purple. “His fun involves beating up my brothers and acting innocent when Pitāmaha asks him about it.”

Arjuna has no reason to defend this new prince, one whom he has never seen nor met, but his mouth betrays him once more. “That is not a good enough reason to kill him. You are merely jealous.”

“Kill whom?” says a voice, and Arjuna nigh jumps out of his skin as a boy swings down from the mango tree.

“Karna,” Duryodhana sighs. “Are you troubling the squirrels again?”

“No,” the boy says, shoving his fist behind his back. He is barely five and... light; his eyes are light and honey-brown, his hair is the light of sunshine on tree-barks, and his face glows like day. “You’re going to kill my brother,” he repeats stubbornly.

Arjuna blinks; his father would not forgive him for this.

Duryodhana sighs once more. “Your brother is beating mine up.”

“I will tell him not to,” Karna promises, and Arjuna is a little sorry for the boy – all wobbling lips and earnest eyes. “I will tell Mother if he does. Please don’t kill him.”

Arjuna expects Duryodhana to say something like ‘Run along, child’ or ‘Do not eavesdrop on your elders’, but the prince has an indulgent, almost fond look on his face.

“Give me that,” he says, pointing at the hand Karna has behind his back. Arjuna thinks it a cruel thing to ask, then the boy reluctantly brings out a bursting handful of areca nuts, and Arjuna has to laugh.

Duryodhana smiles as well, plucks one of the six in his hand. Karna drops two others, and as he bends to retrieve his fallen treasures, Duryodhana ruffles his hair.

“Run along now, little scamp,” the Kaurava prince says.

“Are you going to kill him?” Karna asks, eyes wide and worried.

“No,” Duryodhana assures him, “but remember what we agreed, yes?”

Karna beams at them, one after the other. “I will! See you.”

With that, he is gone.

Duryodhana cracks the nut and hands half of it to Arjuna – sinfully possessive one moment, impossibly generous the next.

Arjuna gapes at him. “Are you really not going to kill Bheem?”

Duryodhana glowers at him. “Go lay an egg,” he says, rudely, and stalks off. Arjuna stares at his retreating back, confused.

But no news comes that day, or the next, or any of the weeks after, and slowly, Arjuna learns to breathe easier.

4.

“Who is that?” Krishna asks.

Karna starts, he has not been paying attention. Krishna is the scion of faraway Dwārika, and not much of an acquaintance in any manner of the term, although the dark haired prince claims he has hardly ever been outside Vrindāvan, and never to the city by the sea.

“Pardon me,” Karna says, contrite, “whom do you speak of?”

“That boy,” says Krishna, and points towards a lone figure lurking by the stables.

“That is Arjuna. His father is Pitāmaha's charioteer.”

“May I speak to him?”

“Excuse me,” Karna hails the older boy, “can you spare a moment?”

Arjuna appears at his side, all muddy fringes and stiff bows. “Greetings, princes.”

“Greetings,” Karna nods. “This is Krishna, my cousin. Krishna, Arjuna.”

Krishna is tall and dark, his young face beams with pleasure. “How do you do, Pārtha?”

Arjuna blinks. “Uh... I am not called that. My mother’s name is Rādha.”

Krishna gives him a secret smile, and waves at someone above his head. Karna, distracted by a squirrel, nearly misses it.

“Duryodhana?” he says, delighted, when he notices the other boy on the balcony. “Come down, come down.”

Krishna shakes his arm. “Perhaps, the four of us can go to the garden?”

Sometime later, the four of them are seated around a bush, shears in hand. The rose shrub is not big enough to make a topiary out of, but Queen Gandhari has arranged tables around it with the hopes of giving the boys a more fruitful pastime to channel their excitement into.

“And what should I do?”

Arjuna is seated beside Krishna, facing the others. Duryodhana picks up his shears and snips a stray leaf. “We have to make this appear smooth and shapely.”

“Why?”

Karna stares at him. “Because Aunt Gandhari says so, of course.”

Krishna pulls his legs up on the bench, lifts a fist to the air. “Let’s dooo it!”

For the next couple of hours they work diligently, or at least pretend to, for Duryodhana starts kicking Karna under the bench, and Karna kicks him back, and it is an entertaining game; Krishna, meanwhile, shows Arjuna how and where to snip – he has clever eyes, and his hands are dexterous.

When they finally leave, one side of the bush poorer than the other, Krishna swings his hands around his new friend’s shoulders and lags behind the two princes. “You were saying Guru Drona does not want to teach you?”

Arjuna flushes. “That is true. It is er... his choice, of course, no disrespect intended.”

Krishna’s eyes twinkle. “Dau and I are going to study with Guru Sāndīpani. Do you wish to come with?”

Arjuna chances a glance at Karna, barely jealous, but there still. “I think I would like that.”

5.

“Can we not do this here?” Arjuna hisses. His father looks over from the garden where he and Rādha Mā are talking to Lord Bhishma, and Arjuna is afraid.

“Come now,” Duryodhana groans. “We are settling it man to man, just as Pitāmaha wanted. What is wrong now?”

Arjuna glances at the Pāndava brothers, aching with the weight of Anga’s crown and the knowledge of the Jatugrīha. “Why am I a part of this conversation?”

Yudhisthira coughs politely, as he is wont to. It gets on Arjuna's nerves like nothing else. “If you will excuse me,” he says, “we must greet our mother.”

The Pāndavas glance up as one, and Arjuna notices Dowager Empress Kunti hurrying down the steps.

“Mother,” Karna and Sahadeva exclaim excitably and there is a flurry of motion as they settle down to accept their blessings. To his surprise, Duryodhana follows, and he is compelled to join in the flock.

“There you are, darling,” Kunti says, pulling him up, then freezes.

Something old and forgotten stirs within Arjuna – a shadow of a memory, a wisp of a dream, a woman still as a flame with a child in her arms. Mother, he nearly says, ancient words soaring to his mouth, the shapes of them lingering on his tongue. Mother, look what we have brought home.

Then the Grandfather joins them and the moment is gone.

His father throws him a disapproving glance, and Arjuna shrinks from the princes. His mother, though, is staring at Karna.

“Vāsu...?” she whispers, as if to a ghost, and Karna turns.

“Yes, Mā?”

“His name is Karna,” Bheema declares loudly, and glares at them. The prince has not yet forgiven Arjuna’s stunt at the Graduation, even if Karna claims he would have done the same.

Radha Mā looks flustered, and Karna shifts in discomfort, as if put on a stage for a part he does not know how to play. Adhiratha grabs Arjuna and wraps an arm around his wife.

“Please forgive her, Prince,” he says, and starts pulling them away. “By your leave...”

Arjuna supposes they have embarrassed his father enough. His mother walks as if in a trance. “Vāsu?” she murmurs under her breath. “Vāsusena... child, where are you gone?”

Arjuna, alarmed, turns one last time. Karna is miserable and bewildered, staring after Rādha like a lost child, and Kunti's eyes, seeking him, are wet with tears.

+1

Arjuna sits silent and still, horror trembling beneath his skin like a fluttering bird.

“Duryodhana, please...” Arjuna whispers, unsure of what he begs, and fearful of the prince's wrath.

“I bet my brother, Karna,” Yudhisthira says, drunk on dharma and shivering with repentance. “If I win, I shall have him and all that is on the board; if you do, then he is yours.”

Karna looks up, stunned. There is betrayal on his face, and Arjuna’s heart stings. Even Duryodhana frowns, for Karna alone of all his cousins he names a friend.

“As you say,” Shakuni shrugs, and rolls his dice. “Lo! I win!”

Karna rises from his seat without being asked, walks over to kneel beside his brothers. His mien is smooth and calm now, all torment shielded behind a mask, but Bheema leaps up, enraged.

“Brother!” he tells Yudhisthira, “Hear me! Cease this madness before you lose all else.”

“I cannot leave them to this fate, Bheema,” Yudhisthira says, and picks the dice again. “I stake Bheema.”

“No, wait,” Duryodhana says, brows furrowed. “Māmāshree, do not bet now.”

The two players look up.

“No more?” Yudhisthira repeats slowly, as if he thought this game would go on forever, till the last brother was staked, and perhaps his wife and mother as well.

“Are you sure, my dear?” Shakuni asks.

Duryodhana ignores both of them, strides over to Karna. “Come with me.”

“I shall split your head open,” Bheema roars from beside Yudhisthira. “Leave him alone.”

“I won him,” Duryodhana reminds him coldly, “and I would that he comes with me.”

Karna rises with a grace that startles Arjuna, no longer the clumsy middle prince who dropped things, just like he is no longer a charioteer's dutiful son.

“I will go,” he says, and Yudhisthira turns to the court at large. “Please forgive my brother’s outburst.”

Arjuna wants to slap him.

Duryodhana wraps an arm around Karna's shoulders, and steers him to the doors. For a moment it appears that Bheema would follow, but then the Kaurava prince dismisses the guards, and they step just outside, far enough so no one can overhear whispers, but near enough that they are seen, and a fuming Bheema sits back down.

Arjuna sits and waits for a long time, like all others at court, even the blind Emperor, who can never walk without his son, and thinks miserably of how much Krishna would disapprove.

He is about to join them, either to pacify or to add fuel to the fire, when Karna speaks, loud and sarcastic enough to be heard all over the court. “I loved it. I loved it so much I am going to write a play about it, and have actors sent to perform it all over Āryavarta. Why, I should- ”

Duryodhana catches his flailing hands, shushes him. They whisper once more. The blind Emperor swivels his head in apparent confusion. Arjuna gets up to intervene.

Then Duryodhana walks in, a furious Karna in tow.

Arjuna seizes him by the arm. “Let them go, Duryodhana,” he pleads. “Do not do this.”

His patron and friend...? looks at him quietly for a long time, so long that Arjuna very nearly reaches for his bow.

Dhritarashtra, for once in his life, takes the cue. “Court is dismissed,” he calls, and the ordeal is over.

“You have counselled me wisely,” Duryodhana says at last. “Now, and before. It is a shame that I heeded you not.” Then he raises his head and says aloud, without preamble or explanation, “Let all be returned and restored to the Pāndava princes. Thank you, noble ones, for joining us in this game. We shall retire soon for lunch.”

Two years later, when the knowledge of the game is a rumour, and the incident at Indraprastha's lake is forgotten, Karna comes alone to Hastinapura. Krishna, who is visiting, gives Arjuna one of his secret smiles.

At the gates, Duryodhana meets him stiffly, for things have never been the same between the two sets of cousins. They bow ceremoniously, Dhritarashtra speaks a few half-hearted greetings, and Gandhari fusses over him.

Karna and Duryodhana stare at each other, and then Karna wraps him in a fierce hug.

“You’re not forgiven,” the Pandava prince says, voice muffled, but Arjuna notes Karna's trembling hands and thinks he knows otherwise.

Then, to his surprise, Karna turns to him. Krishna smiles at him again and whispers, “Prepare yourself, Angarāja.”

Before Arjuna can ask him what he means, Karna bows to him and says, “Greetings, brother.”

[nainawithspecs]

On account of mother's day, here's a Yashoda moodboard and a little something I wrote!

"He won't come back," they tell her.

"He isn't your Kanha anymore," they try to make her understand.

"He is the lord of Mathura now," they shout.

And oh she has heard! Heard the words they speak about him, of how he had slain the wicked king, of how he had freed his parents and taken care of them, and of how he had charmed the entire city with his easy smiles and gold forged heart.

But her heart is a stubborn thing much like her son's, and refuses to listen to reason. He will.

Because no matter what, he would always be her Kanha, mischievous and restless, who used to sneak into her bed during stormy nights to hold her hand with his small ones and tug at the end of her braid whenever he wanted something.

And so she always keeps the doors of her house slightly ajar, so that whenever her lalla decides to walk in through them, he would be met with matkas full of makkhan and arms full of love. Always.

[aneshb25]

“What are you doing, Parth?”, he whispered. He didn’t reply. Instead, he leaned up and placed a kiss on Madhav’s cheek, feeling his hands trembling. Arjun then woke up with a start.

Inspired from Mahabharata - A Rewrite by SauveBlackSwan, Chapter 14

.

[ryxmix]

FOR ALL YOU MAHABHARAT FANS/ WITCH LOVERS/ ASTROLOGY BITCHES/ PEOPLE WHO FOUND THE ZODIAC ACADEMY'S ACADEMY COOL (not the characters) / MYTHOLOGY LOVERS, I WOULD LIKE TO INTRODUCE TO YOU:

The Story of the Zodiacs!

It's a story which me my friends are working on our shared ao3 account, thetrio_writes, and I would love for you all to come and see the first chapter and give us tips and tell us what you want to see!

It's still in the making, but it's a fic I definitely plan on completing since it will be something i share with my hostages friends.

it's not much of adventure or things like that, just a lot of romance, fluff, magic, and laughter! + mythical beasts too!

it's a college setting with three main characters based on the three of au and is heavily concentrated on hindu mythology with greek, norse, egyptian, and roman mythology (the reasons the others aren't given will be explained in ch 2!)

we'll try to make it as diverse as we can while it still fits the plot!

oh, and we have polyamorous characters, aroace characters, and obviously, indian characters!

Updates will be slow for now since we're a bit busy but you can expect more after the 6th or 7th of this month!

I hope everyone who sees this at least takes a peek at it and chooses to reblog it too!

[heyifinallyhaveablog]

The Defeated

Borderline proud of myself yet again for not succumbing to laziness, and sleeping my way through the Sunday. And bringing myself to finally see this through.

The taglist remains:

@melancholicmonody , @ambidextrousarcher, @chaanv, @vidhurvrika, @bleedinknight, @stxrrynxghts, @supernatasha, @kalpansh, @alwaysthesideofwonder, @raat-jaaga-paakhi, @slayerofthevampire, @demonkidpliz and anyone else at all.

Factual corrects, comments, and constructive criticism are always welcome.

Also, please feel free to drop in with any prompts that you may have. I'm officially out of ideas for any writing at all, and hence on the lookout for inspiration to dawn as an epiphany.

__________________________________________

Fandom: Mahabharat | Star Plus Mahabharat

Pairings: Bheema/Draupadi

Warnings: Mentions of War | PTSD | Trauma | Bloodshed

Summary: The Second Pandava deals with ghosts of the War. Alone.

Disclaimer: This is entirely a work of fiction, based on an idea I had while reading C. Rajagopalachari’s version of the Mahabharata. But I do have to say this, this has a lot to offer that is different from the Mahabharata that is actually popular. I just hope that this resonates with the readers, and you read this, and find this worth your time and your feedback. Please leave a short comment or a like, whatever you may deem fit. And as always!

THANK YOU!

Note: Link to the said source: Here

Links:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2, and

Chapter 3

____________________________

Chapter 4

The Ghosts

“The Grandsire’s Mother,” Draupadi said, after an eternity, “hasn’t been able to cleanse all, it seems.”

“I’d felt it, My Love,” Bheema rose from her lap, breathing into his palms as if trying to regain his breath, “when Jyeshth performed his last rites. The Holy River is never turbulent, never acerbic. She took in all his penance, while he cried himself hoarse. She let him vent his grief, but-”

- “I doubt even she could have borne it all. I felt his grief assume the most tangible form it could as I held him, as I might have heard her calm whisper, as if she unburdened some his grief on my form.”

- “Trust me Panchaali, Pavanputra hasn’t granted me the strength to heave this angst.”

As if it were in Him to erase the sanguine trail of Kurukshetra.

____________________

She thinks of it all, once again.

The Kuru Palace seemed to assume the form of a grandiose crematorium. Dead bodies everywhere.

Gone were the decorated halls, and, perfumed chambers.

Gone were the regal, elephantine embellishments, of gold and silk.

Gone was the resplendence. 

All was bereft of everything, but death, and the pallor of destruction.

Krishna always seemed to emphasise that the means were warranted for the end. But, at the end of it all, what deific poultice could heal wounds that were irreparable? Which God could reverse the deaths of those multitudes?

Could the land of Kurukshetra be cleanse of the rank odour, and sanguine of The Great War, even if their burden was to be meant to be borne by posterities on end?

She tries to not let her memory go down that rabbit hole. The incidents, haven’t yet let themselves take leave of the inner recesses of her memory. Her being still doesn’t allow it.

“I still wonder, Arya,” she breathes, “what if I hadn’t been-”

“Don’t, Panchaali,” Bhima cuts her short.

That was another mark of shame that his mighty frame had been unable to bear, even after all these years -

- Even today, now that the War was over.

- Long over.

It was for them to deal with the Ghosts of their past, their present, and

Their future.

[wewaitinthatspace]

right where you left me

Radha remembers the day he left. Remembers his slight steps next to his Dau’s firm ones stepping onto the chariot. Radha remembers the way he smiled, the sadness in his dark eyes when he gave her his beloved bansuri, “Keep her for me until I return.”

He never returned.

The bansuri stayed wrapped in a yellow piece of cloth beside a mor pankh that had fallen off his head while dancing. It stayed in the farthest corner of her closet until she pulled it out. Once in a while. It never lost its shine.

The news of her Kanha becoming Dwarkadhish, Mathurapati hadn’t been a surprise. She had known of his plans. His purpose. She had been happy, so happy that he was alive. She had been afraid, had prayed day and night to her Narayan. And it had been fruitful. Her Kanha. Alive. Happy. King. He will return.

So there she stood, on her veranda, every day, cradling the bansuri, eyes on the dust road that led to Mathura. He will return today. Now. Come right up the road that led to her house and ask for his bansuri. And her. But of course, he didn’t come. And then one day she knew he never would.

He got married instead. To a princess- Rukmini. Apparently, she had written him a love letter and such was her devotion that he had swept her off in his chariot- enraging a hundred kings. She had called and he had come.

Radha and Vrindavan were sent sweets. They had tasted bitter and turned to ash in her mouth.

Radha had called too, many times, every night. She had cried, and prayed, and begged, and bargained. He had never come.

The days turned, wrinkles marred her skin, and the bansuri shined and shined. The dust on Radha’s road remained still.

Then he came, once, when they were older. Old. Bones cracking, hair greying. He strode right up the dust road and knocked on her door. And he smiled- the same as he had all those years ago. His eyes were the same, and the way he laughed upon seeing the shock in her eyes was the same. He cried the same too, slow tears seeping out of his eyes. And later, Radha would know he hugged like he always had.

She gave him his bansuri. Shining. And he smiled again. Dimly. Then brightly, “I said I’d be back.” She laughed and handed him his makhan.

“Bhog nahi lagaugi, Radhe?” he said as if he had never left and the space between them marked by years of separation wasn’t there. Or never mattered. So she dipped her fingers in the bowl and scooped a handful. It was sweet. Her makhan always was. He was looking at her expectantly. She gave in and fed him his makhan, “Kyu aaye ho?" (why are you here)

“Kaise na aata?"(why wouldn't i come) he said, “I promised, remember?”

“How are your wives?”

He looked at her knowingly, unapologetically, “They are good.”

She could not look away from him, “Abhi kyu?” (why now)

He was looking at her as if he wanted to memorise every piece of her, every crinkle, every strand of hair. She felt young again.

“Abhi kyu kya?” He was being obstinate. (what, why now)

“Why have you come now, after all these years?”

He looked down at his lap, rolling the bansuri in his slim fingers.

“I wanted to see you,” he met her eyes, “I wanted to see you one last time. Before the end.”

“The end?”

“Don’t you know?” he laughed morbidly, “Gandhari’s curse- the end of the great Yadava’s- Krishna’s entire dynasty.”

And of course. She should’ve known he’d be here.

“I’m sorry, Kanha.”

“No, Radhe.” He clutched her hand, “ I am sorry. So sorry.”

He looked at her with such regret in his eyes that she knew he was sorry. For everything. For more than the curse and what had caused it. He was sorry for leaving her in their Vrindavan all alone, for not being everything they could’ve been.

A younger Radha would’ve felt grim satisfaction in his admittance, his regret.

An even younger one would have been angry at his small words of apology for all her devastatingly large heartbreak and pain.

But now, Radha only gathered him in her arms and let them be Radhakrishna in Vrindavan again, one last time.

companion fic: i jump from the train, i ride off alone

[eremin0109]

"A catastrophic war, an unimpressive death and six millennia later, here they were, still playing the same old game."

This fic takes place in an universe where the events of Mahabharat actually happened. The modern setting is about 6000 years after the end of the war.

Both the Pandavas and Kauravas have been reborn into a prominent criminal family, together known as the "Kaushik-Pancholi" clan. They're the most notorious crime organization in the subcontinent, with influence extending well into parts of South-East Asia and the Middle-East.

Jay Pancholi is Arjun reincarnated, the most skilled hitman of the clan as well as a key member of the family. However, he's also essentially the black sheep because he doesn't approve of the brutal working of his family. Nonetheless, he's extremely loyal to them.

Kanan Yadav, Krishna reincarnated, is an undercover agent of a special task force created to disassemble this terrorist organisation from inside out. He first befriends Jay and later more important members of the family to gain information on them and the organization's activities. But somewhere along the way, his morality and allegiance is put to test when he starts developing feelings for his charge.

This fic takes place after Jay finds out Kanan's true identity and is absolutely livid with anger and heartbreak when he confronts him, violently.

[kanhapriya]

A KRISHNA SAKHI

But she'd still love him.

(Please listen to the song on a loop while reading)

2. Pratiksha

There were many ways in which he came to her.

Like the breeze, gentle and delicate and soothing as if he understood that nothing could bring her the feeling of solace that he did. Nothing but him was that serene to live.

He also came like the rain, dropping all over her body, places where she would only ever allow him, no one else. Like the rain, he carried an attractive melancholic ambience with him, just like the rain, he was erratic and captivating. Like the rain, he brought with him a distinct scent.

Sometimes, he was in the sunny sky, painful to bear but beautiful nonetheless. Like he was the giver of life and death, glowing so luminous for the whole world and somehow still just a sliver of his real light is perceptible to her.

The soil, he for sure was a part of. He'd let people walk on him but when it was too much, he halted his stillness and responded to what was must. He bore so much life, that no one could exist without him, his essence and true personality.

 

Moon too was just him in guise. When the moonlight would glow in her dark chamber, a small part of the room would light up. Those places were the ones he'd always sit on.

Her soul was him, a part of him. He was her himself. She knew he was every part of her, her mind, her heart, her body, her soul and all her features. He was her flowing hair, her black kohl and her sharp nose. He was her.

But her favourite way of him coming to her was when he was her Kanha, her Keshav.

He'd come to her in so many forms, yet Krishna was the one she could never oppose. 

In the form of Krishna, he met her so many times and never at the same time. He was Krishna but not the one she'd see in the crowd, not the one he'd see with Maiya Yashoda or Nand Baba or even Balram Dau. Not even his companions, or other girlfriends. He'd come to her like a Krishna she had never seen before and it stunned her each time.

He was blissful, ecstatic and euphoric all together when he came to her. As Krishna, when he'd step into her room through the window with his lotus-like feet, freshly smeared allta, she knew he'd leave behind traces, few more seeable than others.

When he'd come to her, Pratiksha would accept him in any form.

His hands would grip the periphery of her window on such nights, and she'd keep looking at him with learning eyes, how he must have lied to Maiya Yashoda about going out with his boyfriends. She'd look at him with mischievousness as he would hold the window for dear life.

"Sakhi, help me at least?" He would say out of weariness when sweat would wet his hair and he'd have to toil to keep them off his hair. Then he'd shake the sweat away, looking so lovely that she'd let him struggle. 

However, when he'd bumble a bit too much for even her liking, she'd approach him, slowly, a little tormenting retribution, out of pure devotion. She'd hold his hand, his fingers enveloped all around her wrist as he burdened her with his weight and finally climbed up her room.

After she pulled him up, he'd collapse just on her, not even allowing her to breathe, and she'd laugh the loudest she was allowed to without waking her parents. Sometimes she thought all of it was just a play to him, so she'd help him up and he'd catch her in his arms.

"Kanha, I'll die " she'd try to push him up as he just rested, "I'm too young right now."

"But Sakhi, " he would fake taking deep breaths.  "I'm too tired to move now."

"Come on, oh Nathkhat," she'd finally breathe ad he would lift some of his weight off  "Thank the lord, Narayana,"

He'd grumbled whenever she'd take the name of Lord Narayana, along the lines of, 'Literally in front of you,' but she would pay no heed to him.

When he finally stood up, he'd make himself relaxed on her bed, laying on it like a starfish, his exquisite redolence, colouring her room. She'd go and sit next to him, and using her chunri, she'd wipe the sweat off his forehead. He'd close his eyes but a smile would be present on his face.

He'd hold her wrist and stop the whole wiping thing after a while, "Come on now, Sakhi," he'd sit up, her wrist still in his hand, "I'm not here get coddled," he would roll his eyes, "Or I would've stayed with Dau or even Maiya."

She'd snatch back her hand, a smile threatening to come over but she hid.

"Then Why Are you here?"

"You tell me."

"Tell you what?" Her brows would turn up and he would ever so gently lift his fingers and ease them. Then she'd smile.

"Tell me, why do you let me in?" He would stand up from the bed then, and approach her dressing space, a small hand mirror placed there that he would pick up and make the moonlight reflect on her face, "Why do you let me trouble you almost every consecutive day?" 

She'd look at him, and he would raise his brows in question, and then She'd blush and look away at the moon every time.

"I let you in because-" she knew it was impossible to find the right answer to his inquiries, no matter how straightforward they were.

What could possibly be the reason if not him?

His smile, his complexion, his existence. Weren't they good enough reasons? Would she have to answer to the world as to why she would allow a not-so-ordinary cowherd boy into her room in the dead of night? Would she have to prove to the world her intentions to protect her laaj?

But those had been secondary issues then, Krishna being her prime. And She'd endure all the world's allegations if it went to be in his presence for a small while. 

"I let you in because I'm selfish." She'd answered truthfully, not caring if it would make her seem wrong. She was selfish enough to want him but it was the most selfless she'd ever been.

He'd look confused, though with a hint of mischief in his star-like thinking eyes, "Selfish?" 

Then he would approach her again, the mirror still in his hands as would sit in front of her, "I'd say, it's quite the opposite." He would raise his hands and tuck a stray piece of hand behind her ears, "Isn't it so, Sakhi? It's selfless."

She'd keep looking at him, the beauty of his beetle eyes capturing her into the slow trap he'd set up.

"It's love."

She'd not blink, how could she?  He would be in front of her and she'd be sinned if even a second was spent without his glimpse.

Her voice would be lost too, the thirst of her throat for water or words, she wasn't sure but she'd desperately need it.

There would be silence worth a thousand words in those few moments. Just Pratiksha and her love personified as a beautiful blue boy.

"Wouldn't you know so much about love?" There was yet again fun in her tone, something that she'd noticed only happened with him.

"Me?" He'd fake being surprised, "Don't be funny, my mohini. You know love so much better than me."

She'd entwine both their hands and kiss the back of his, the skin so soft and cold yet warm, just like she remembered. 

"Indeed I do." She'd look at him, tears overwhelming in her eyes, "For you are what I think is Love. And I know you,"

He'd smile then, not out of a trick or joke or fun poking but genuine, his tulsi smile, too pure, "Better than me?" He'd ask.

"Better than yourself." She'd nod with firm faith and he'd pull her in his arms and she would allow him, every night.

As she would lay on his chest, he'd soothe her mind with his soft head touches which would often lead to a dismantled hairstyle, but they'd ignore it and open the braid completely. 

Pratiksha would then take the hand mirror from him and keep it at a distance from them so she could not waste even a second by not seeing his face, which would also do wonders for his ego.

"I must say, " he'd say between the silence, "Your Lord Narayana must've blessed me with quite a beautiful counter face."

Till then, she'd be in an already deep trance most would call sleep but she would love. 

With no answer in return, Krishna would turn to the mirror to look at her reflection,  mostly finding her in a euphoric stance. 

He'd then allow himself to turn a little, not moving much but to face her. He'd trace the flower pattern above his eyebrows and on her forehead,  the one he'd only make each morning, before bidding farewell for the day.

It would be a comfortable routine for them, dancing through the day and enjoying a slumber together, with peace and silence. 

The next morning when she would wake up, her kahna would be awake too, mixing the fresh flowers he'd brought somehow, and readying the paint for their faces.

She'd stand up, laziness still deep in her body as she'd approach him, "How do you always wake up before me?"

Only then, he'd notice her presence and try not to laugh at her dishevelled appearance, "You look especially beautiful in the morning, priye."

She would be too tired to get angry at his jokes but just look at him who still looked like a world full of happiness and laughter.

She'd sit next to him on the seating in front of the mirror, looking at the colours he'd prepared. 

"Your hair is a mess, Sakhi, " he'd tug on her open hair, "Come, let me tie them."

She'd keep quiet and let him, as she would snuggle deep into her own embrace, the morning dew making her cold. He'd keep pulling some parts of her hair, braiding them as she'd just feel his fingers all through her hair.

After he'd made the hairstyle, as beautiful as all the waterfalls of the world, he'd turn her around, and bring a wet cloth to her face and wipe away all her sleep and paint from yesterday. 

"What flower do you want today, priye?" He'd pick up the bronze bowl with colour and a peacock feather, "What should I paint today?"

"Do as you wish," she'd look into his big dilated eyes, "I know it will look good."

He'd keep smiling as the peacock feather dipped into the white colour and the flowers and bela he'd start drawing. With each delicate stroke of the top, a petal would be created, and with every six petals, a flower would be complete. Like this, the hours would pass and they would read each other with love, colour and laughter. 

And once again, Pratiksha would be reminded that her favourite way of him coming to her was as Kanha, Krishna. 

The routine existed no more. 

Pratiksha no longer exists.

Neither did her room or her friends. 

Vrindavan too is gone now.

They'd cease to exist the day her Kanha had gone away forever. 

Now what existed wasn't what it used to be.

Vrindavan cried now, every second of her existence was spent with sadness now, her rivers bare, stripped of their waves and joy, her mountains, not stable enough to handle the loss of their favourite cowherd. 

No Gopi in Vrindavan truly smiled anymore. Smiles had faded into frowns just the way day faded into night, slowly, taking its sweet time.

And Pratiksha? She hadn't awakened in months.

She'd spent all her days just like she was right now.

As she lay motionless on her bed, her eyes were finished if all the tears she could hold in her two eyes.

Her heart was beating, not with life but with pain, misery and discontent and as she tried to stand up from the bed, her body gave up. Pratiksha was plagued by memories, plagued by him.

She finally gathered all her might, taking the support of the bed still to reach the window of her room.

The window.

It was still there, unlike him. That Makhan chor wasn't there anymore.

Each night, just like today, she would crawl up to the window still from where he would come to her. And just like today, she looked down there, no sign of him, no sign at all.

She would then sit with the support of the opposite wall, looking at her room, which was filled with him. From the floor to the ceiling to the wall to the flowers by her bed, all was him.

How was one to forget it all?

Now no one would climb up her window late at night, no one would beg her to help him up. No one would pretend to be exhausted and lay on top of her till she begged for mercy. No one would call her Sakhi anymore, not like he did.

She'd wait for him, penance endlessly to see his face again, to hear him laugh and giggle again, to hear the madhurya sound of his flute and hum along it once again. But he said he won't be back ever, that history was waiting for him. And who was Pratiksha to anger the immortal she?

But that didn't mean losing hope, right? No, she'd still wait for him. Wait for him to climb up the window yet again someday, and to call for her with the same amount of immense love. She'd wait till her teeth rot and her skin falls.

But right now, she'd cry tears of a lifetime, because her Keshav was gone.

Now she had to wake up alone, bed empty.  No one was there to caress her cheek, to lovingly stroke her hair and turn them into a mess. Neither would anyone wipe off her tiredness with a bare cloth. No one would be able to love her, no one but Kanha.

She had no one to look at now, through the hand mirror, no one to lay on the chest. No one would calm all her fears with a sleight of hand. No one would ever come close to the experience of him.

She wouldn't allow anyone to, no. Her love was only for Kanha. How dare anyone think that she'd forget her Shyam ever?

Krishna was in her, was her and forgetting herself wasn't a decision she was gonna make. She'd wait for her Kanha to come back one day, a year later, 5 years later, a decade later, a lifetime later. She'd stay.

But hey Narayana, for long would she have to cry for her Kanha? Would he never visit her now? Was that the last time she got to look at his face? Was that the last time she touched him, played with his soft fingers, rested in his lap and braided his long curly hair? Would he be able to live without her for so long? She certainly wouldn’t. 

Even thinking of spending a lifetime without getting lost in his dark beautiful eyes was a sin.

His flute, how would she not hear it at least once again? 

No, this was pure torture, and he was the ever-enjoyer.  She comforted herself with many arguments, one being that this was all a big joke, a text of her prem like he always did. But he had to come back. He had to or she would lose her mind.

Did he expect her to let go of this easily? Wasn't she his priye? Which honoured lover would leave his priye to spend a life long in wanting? No, he was Nirmohan but not to an extent that could kill her. He realised this, right?

Then Why did he cry that day, when he came for the last time? Why was he unable to keep his hands from shaking as he tied her braid with flowers? 'Param Shringar' he had called it, the most beautiful he'd made her ready.

He had painted her hand with the leftover flower and tears. 'It'll stay forever, a reminder of me in case you forget,' he had smiled with tears and kissed her palms, some paint on his lips too.

As she looked at her hand now, the smudged part was still visible after so long, the whole palm filled with colours, black and blue petals and flowers. 

He was gone, wasn't he?

A sob came up again, and Pratiksha didn't try to stop it. She sobbed as much as she could, loud and livid, her head throbbed with pain and exhaustion and nothingness and her Kanha. Where was that boy? Why wasn't he here, with her head in his lap? 

Her eyes longed to look at the face of her Nirmohan, oh how he was living up to the name.

He'd come to her as the breeze, uprooting all her beliefs and taking them away with him. As the wind, he would dry up her tears, when he physically couldn't. She'd still love him.

He'd come to her as the rain too, in her dull life, trying to some life to her death. He would fail miserably and then fall on her face as small droplets, mixing with her tears. She'd still love him.

These days, he'd shine less, not troubling her even more. He'd let her escape from his rays and feel more of his might and shine from wherever he was. She'd still love him.

When she would go on the bank of Yamuna to bring back water, he'd stuck to her feet, making her laugh for a second, but then she'd remember. She'd remember how she'd been like that too, the day he was going away. She'd still love him.

On nights, when she'd exhaust all her tears, he'd fall on her as the moonlight, emitting grace and his colour. That would make her cry again, but she'd still love him.

Her soul? It was already a part of his existence. Once he was gone, he'd take her with him. She'd still love him.

But her favourite form, her Kanha? Oh, how she missed. All night she would wait for the morning hoping he'd play his flute and declare it all a big crack. All day she'd wait for the night, so maybe, just maybe he'd climb up her window once again.

He'd disappointed her both times. 

She'd still love him.

She'd still wait for him.

When he would marry all his wives, she'd still wait and love him.

When he would finally become dwarkapati, she'd still wait and love him.

When he'd protect Draupadi from men and their sorts, she'd still wait and love him.

When he'd lead Arjuna to the war, and become his sarthi, she'd still wait and love him.

When old age would dawn upon and her hair turned grey with patience, she'd wait for death. 

And he would come to her, in her favourite form yet again, for the final journey. And she? She'd still love him. Because that was all she ever remembered. 

Loving him was her only memory.

[ramayantika]

प्रतीक्षा

The whole village has gone to sleep. Not a sound can be heard. The cool night breeze is blowing just lightly, without letting a leaf rustle in the forest. The village guards too are dozing as the wind lulls their eyes to sleep.

But, there is one boy in the village whose sleep has been robbed off. The young youthful milk maidens of Vraja often talk about this boy amongst themselves and with their dear companions as the boy who robs their sleep and peace with his lovely face and smile.

'He comes in my dreams and steals sweet butter from my pot. When I reprimand him, he smiles sweetly and kisses my cheek. But, when my eyes open at dawn, I find my mother sprinkling water over my face.'

'Isn't he such a charming lad? I don't think there would be any other handsome boy apart from him in all the three worlds.'

The boy in this conversation is none other than the darling child of Yashoda, wife of Nanda Maharaj, who was also the chief of the cowherd community. He was the most beautiful child in Vraja and in adolescence, handsomeness was naturally bestowed upon him.

Skin as dark as the magnificent monsoon clouds, curly hair as soft as silk which sported a band or sometimes a crown of peacock feathers. His limbs were annointed with fragrant sandalwood paste which made his presence distinct from the other boys of Vrindavan. His eyes shaped like beautiful lotus petals, and when he would bat his eyelashes at any maiden passing by his path, she was bound to lose her heart to him. He would often wear yellow clothes and strut the streets of Vrindavan with his friends while causing mischief that annoyed the womenfolk on the outside, but on the inside, they were delighted each time he and his friends would engage in pranks, for then they would have a glimpse of his divine form.

What's his name?

He goes by many names. For Yashoda, he is Kanha. The cowherds call him Gopal, the protector of the cows. The elder males sometimes call him Nandlal, the son of Nanda. Young girls who fawn over him call him Mohan, the one who enchants and sometimes they refer to him as Madanmohan, for he is attractive than the Love God, Kama also called, Madan. He is Muralidhar for he is always seen with a flute on his lips and is called Krishna by all for his noticeable dark monsoon cloud complexion.

When he plays his flute, all the gopis and cows throng to the forest, enchanted by his melodious tunes. The ladies would make amusing excuses to leave their house on time to meet this charming boy on the riverbank of Yamuna, then why was this boy all alone in a flower bower deep in the forest with eyes gazing longingly at the moon that was soon to disappear amongst the night clouds?

A certain maiden of Vraja bhumi has stolen Krishna's heart. She walks with the grace of a swan and her voice is sweeter than the koyal. Her fair complexion pales the beauty of the moon for she is far dazzling than the Purnima moon. She possesses curly hair just like Krishna and decorates it with flowers and beautiful ornaments. With jingling bangles on her wrists and jewelled ankle bells, she dances with him on some nights in the heart of the forest. Those bangles and anklets themselves play a mellifluous melody in rhythm with Krishna's flute.

Wouldn't such a beauty charm this notorious charmer? What is her name?

She is Radha, the daughter of Vrishbhanu.

"What is taking her so long? She is never this late." Krishna murmurs to himself as his fingers gently caress the back of a baby squirrel that has nestled itself on his thigh. "Look, even you have fallen asleep waiting for your dear Radha."

Time passes by. The chirping crickets have given themselves to sleep, but there is no sign of jingling anklets making way into the forest. No boat is rowing down the river. The forest is empty.

The silver moon has donned a dark golden robe around her it seems. When Krishna had first arrived her, the moon was high up in the sky, illuminating the bower and the entire forest, but now its colour has darkened. In no time will she too go to sleep to make way for dawn.

Sighing, he gently places the baby squirrel down on the ground with his mother. Covering their themselves with leaves and twigs, he mutters, "Looks like, she won't come. I should get back home."

Pulling his uttariya that was hanging from the branches of a tree, he drapes it around his body and rubs his arms. The flower garland in his hand withered a long time ago. A dejected look on his face makes him appear as if all the stars in the night sky have lost their light. Walking down the forest path, he approaches the familiar turning that leads the way to the village when he hears the sound of anklet bells.

His heart soars and he walks faster towards the source, knowing it would be his dear Radha only. For a moment, he wonders why do her anklets sound different. 'Maybe, she is wearing a different pair today.'

He sees a figure draped in a black shawl -- its face covered to avoid any recognition. As the figure approaches closer, he smells the scent of jasmine flowers and roses in the air, as a bright smile adorns on his lips.

He jumps in delight and runs towards her direction. Whatever tiredness that had approached him earlier had disappeared in a jiffy. I do wonder how the arrival of a loved one after a long time feels for the one in waiting. A little jitters and excitement makes house in the heart.

Fair hands gently part away from the shawl, and Krishna wastes no moment in clasping them. "Radhey, I thought you would never come tonight. Even though it's quite late now, but I am glad you did come here. Let's not venture inside the forest now. It would be better we walk on the river bank and talk, and then we both will leave for our homes." He shows her the withered garland. "Oh, and I made you this, but it isn't fresh and vibrant anymore, nor does it," he smells the garland, "emit its fragrance like it did initially. But don't worry, I will make a new one tomorrow when you come to meet me."

The fair hands in Krishna's grasp still and our charming cowherd wonders why Radhika hasn't spoken a single word until now. The hands then slowly slide the shawl from their face making Krishna pull back from his position, a shocked and confused expression all over his features.

"Manjari?!"

"The one and only."

"What are you doing here?"

Manjari removes the shawl and places it over her shoulders. Brushing her braid with her fingers, she says, "You aren't the only one who meets your lover in the forest. I am here to meet Anant."

"Then why do you smell like jasmine and roses. Radha uses that scent and Its pretty distinct." Krishna says dejectedly while pouting that it wasn't his beloved Radha.

Manjari couldn't help but laugh at his plight. "Oh, I actually borrowed it from her. I love that scent and I have been looking for it in the market, but it got over. Anant came back from Mathura after a month, so I decided to surprise him with a new fragrance."

"In that case, I better leave you to meet him while I go home and sulk because my lover hasn't come to meet me. You go and enjoy."

Manjari laughs again and pats his shoulder. "She told me that she was supposed to meet you tonight. She leaves her window open. Check her house, she might have dozed off dreaming about you."

He hums and takes her leave while twirling his flute in his fingers. The sounds of those anklet bells soon fade in the distance and our darling Krishna is alone once again.

****** ******** ******** ******** *******

Bonus addition (I am generous)

"You slept???"

"I don't know how. I was getting ready for you and somehow my eyes drooped while braiding flowers in my hair."

"Manjari was right then."

"I am sorry. I kept you- wait what? What on earth was Manjari doing there?"

"We aren't the only ones who go to the forest alone at night, Radhe"

"Oh. Well, yes, she had told me that Anant was coming back which is why she borrowed my perfume vial."

"Also, it's okay. You need your beauty sleep, besides in a way it serves me right. Haven't I troubled you so many times by reaching late?"

"That has helped come with many creative and convincing ideas to make excuses to my mother, Krishna. I think it's a good exercise."

"Well, let's meet in the evening today then? Don't sleep early."

Both of them laugh and Radhika nods. "Not this time."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*: ･ﾟ☆｡ ･:*:･ ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Tagging the sakhis: @ma-douce-souffrance @swayamev @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @pothosinpots @arachneofthoughts @jessbeinme15 @reallythoughtfulwizard @madhoshiyaan @eugenephosgene @lil-stark @pokemon-master-elita @riiddhhiii

[jukti-torko-golpo]

Krishna-rukmini stealing glances and smiles while looking after the administrative works of Dwarka.

[blackknight-100]

A Vrishasena backstory fic, written for our very beloved writer @the-lekhika . Happy birthday to you!!

It is a bitterly cold night in the month of Magha when Supriya’s first child slips into the world, kicking and screaming. His newly hatched lungs pull in the scent of misty air and his father's perfume, and his Uncle Duryodhana says, “Strong as an army, this one. Let him be Vrishasena.”

Little Vrishasena is four years and a day old when he first sees the Imperial Palace at Hastinapura. The dome shines in the diffused morning light, and it looks to him that it is drenched in liquid gold. His father laughs when he says so and puts a large hand upon his head. “This is not even half of it, little one.”

The doors are polished wood, carved with gods and gargoyles, higher and wider than those at Anga. As his father greets Uncle Duryodhana with a smile and a hug, he spies two curly heads behind the mahogany monstrosity.

“Namaste,” he says politely, with a bow of his head like Maa taught him. “I am Vrishasena, son of Karna of Anga.”

One of them, a younger boy, smiles up at him, wide and trusting. “Lakthman,” the child says, words dragging through his lisp, and Vrishasena is in love.

It is Drona who takes over his tutoring when Vrishasena turns eight. Mother is very unhappy about it, but Father shakes his head. “Drona is the best option, unless you want him to do what I did,” he says.

Mother wrings her hands. “I mislike that man, and that he comes to court.”

Father pats her on the shoulder. “It will not be long, dearest,” he says, and Vrishasena listens carefully. He would return a grown-up warrior, and surprise everyone. The thought of it puts a smile on his face, and he is not so scared to go away alone.

Drona's aashram is noisy and big. When he gets down from the rickety cart that ferries all the students to and fro, he sees Lakshman and Lakshmanaa standing on the dirt track, clutching mud-coloured satchels to their chests. He runs up to them and gives them a hug and laughs at the shock on their faces.

“Father said there was a surprise for us!” Lakshmanaa beams at him. “You were the surprise, weren't you?”

“Maybe,” he says, although he is no less astonished. “Do you like it?”

“Yes!” the twins shriek, and Vrishasena feels warmth flood his chest.

On the third year of his schooling at Drona’s aashram, Vrishasena gets a letter from Anga. No one is allowed to send or receive letters from home, and thus any correspondence brings with it the promise of ill-news.

He takes it from the messenger with some apprehension, and the twins come to look over his shoulder.

“Dear Vrishasena,” reads his father’s slanting script, and for a moment Vrishasena – who had thought the worst – forgets to breathe.

“You have a brother!” Lakshman screams right next to his ear, with no respect whatsoever for his privacy, and Vrishasena has to flinch from the sheer volume of it.

“We read faster than you,” Lakshmanaa – who has somehow snuck into the boys’ residence – beams happily. “This is so sweet!”

Vrishasena finally manages to master his relief and reads through the rest of it. His brother is newly come to the world, born only a few weeks ago, on the last of Sravana’s rainy evenings.

“We named him Vrishaketu,” Father writes. “It only seemed meet, since you are Vrisha-sena.”

He reads those lines again, presses the letter to his heart. Behind him, he can feel the twins shifting, and then their little arms hugging him. He pulls them close, and relishes in the joy lighting up his world.

Vrishaketu joins the aashram the year Vrishasena turns nineteen – and he thinks he has never known greater delight. His brother comes the same way he had taken eleven years ago, on the same rickety cart down the same dirt track, although the horses are new. He is tall for his age, with Father’s bright face, and Mother’s compassionate smile, and Vrishasena all but runs to him.

His brother lets out a full belly laugh as he lifts him and spins him around, and then Lakshman (and Lakshmanaa – who is, at this point, the sneakiest woman in existence) are clamouring around him, and he has to kneel down so everyone can hug each other.

He does not know it then, but it would be the happiest he would be in a long time.

A year later, twenty years old and a warrior through and through, Vrishasena leaves his sobbing brother and the heartbroken twins and for the first time in more than a decade, goes home.

Anga is all decked-up for his return, and the citizens hold out their hands to him as he passes. His chariot rolls past no less than eighteen groups of men with drums around their neck, and as the capital comes closer, the air thickens with the fragrance of sweets and syrups.

It is, however, the sight of his parents waiting for him, Uncle Duryodhana and Uncle Ashwatthama flanking them, that brings tears into his eyes. He leaps off his chariot and runs the last few steps to his mother’s embrace. His father wraps his arms around them, as if he could shore them up by strength of will alone, and Vrishasena sinks into that warmth with a sigh.

Half a year later, Vrishasena meets Arjun for the first time when they visit the newly made palace at Indraprastha. No one he knows speaks well of the Pandavas, and he is… not curious, precisely, but interested.

The man in question is tall and dark, with a shock of hair tumbling from under his glittering crown. He greets them with a courteous, albeit stiff, smile, and a regal tilt of his head, and introduces Vrishasena to his son Abhimanyu.

Vrishasena quite likes Abhimanyu. The young prince is quick-witted and sharp-tongued, and for a while, he might as well have been back in Drona’s aashram. Abhimanyu takes him by the arm and shows him around the new palace, away from the clamour of visiting royalty. They sneak away to the kitchens together. His companion offers him sweets with a wink and a giggle, and it occurs to him they might now be friends.

Vrishasena would have been willing to follow Abhimanyu around all day, but they are princes still, and needed in the main hall. The kings gather there with solemn faces, seated straight-backed upon expensive chairs. Father catches his eye and frowns but says nothing.

There is an oddly tense atmosphere in the hall. The assembled Kings are silent and still, and Krishna, King of Dwarka, seems to be murmuring something placatingly to the recently crowned Pandava King. Uncle Duryodhana leaves his seat and marches up to the raised podium at the end, right up to King Yudhisthir’s nose, and starts a belligerent rant about punishments being kinder than crimes.

Vrishasena looks to Abhimanyu for clarification, but his friend is as bewildered as he is. Then Uncle Duryodhana whirls around, the edge of his fashionable shawl nearly smacking Queen Draupadi in the face, and strides away. “Come,” he orders. “We are leaving.”

The rest of his retinue gather themselves and follow him immediately. His father catches his eyes again. Abhimanyu pats his shoulder. “Go, before there is an even bigger scene.”

“Yes, I-”

Splash!

The two of them turn in horror. Uncle Duryodhana, Crown Prince of Hastinapura and arguably one of the most powerful men in Aryavart, sputters in a pool. It is so artfully crafted that Vrishasena is not sure he would not have mistaken it for the floor.

Around them, the kings are laughing, as are the Pandava brothers. Only the eldest, Yudhisthir and the Pandava Queen Draupadi hurry forward, appalled. To his horror, he sees most of Hastinapura’s retinue hovering around, unwilling to get in the water. It is his father who swims to the humiliated Prince and hauls him up, drenched clothes and all.

“Oh, Cousin!” Yudhisthir says helplessly, wringing his hands.

His wife is more sensible, as she bids a maid to bring towels. “My Lord,” she says softly, “we beg your pardon. Please do sit down. We shall-”

Uncle Duryodhana interrupts her mid-speech. “I will not stand for this,�� he roars. “You play at being Emperor from a Kingdom my father gifted you, you try to steal what has ever been rightfully ours. You kill our allies upon your sacred fire, and scorn and humiliate those who have ever taken you since childhood!”

“Cousin, please,” Yudhisthir begins, but his brother, Prince Bheem interrupts with a taunting laugh. “Are you as blind as your father?” he jeers, and giggles fill the hall. The King and Queen turn with shock on their faces, but the damage is already done.

“You will regret this!” Uncle Duryodhana hollers, no longer caring about his dignity. “Wretched bastards of the forests, you will regret this!”

Red in the face and wet as a water-nymph, Uncle Duryodhana strides out. The titters quieten down to an uneasy silence. The promise of retribution hangs in the air.

Later, Vrishasena’s beloved father and uncles would reduce his cousins to paupers, would drag and disrobe their fire-born wife. There would be banishment and war and bloodshed, and the then warrior Vrishasena – bold and fleet and swift – would cut down scores and scores of people before falling to the cruelty of Arjun’s arrows – arrows of the man who had greeted them with a smile and given him a transient friendship. Vrishasena would die in pieces, not even knowing that he died by an uncle’s hand.

But that is far away. For now, Vrishasena bids Abhimanyu a hasty goodbye, and rushes after his father and uncles, worry tugging at his heart. The winds of Aryavart are ever changing, even for those yet too young to suffer for it.

[zeuse-in-atlantis]

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Isaak is learning to adjust to his new Marina life, which includes abandoning his duties to enjoy vacations once in a while.

AO3

My contribution for the @saintseiya-zone Summer Zine.

[heaven-is-in-your-arms-series]

Murli Manohar | Jhanak Jhanak Payal Baaje || Ft. Vishrut Doshi & Anushka...

A kathak performance to the Radha Krishna song from Jhanak Jhanak Payal Baaje.