Hello my friends! This part is slightly longer than my usual updates, and for good reason as well. Please do read this with an open mind, as our views and opinions may be different - and that is completely normal. I have put in various emotions and thoughts of mine into this piece of writing, and I would love to hear your thoughts on it as you read!

The soft evening winds, despite their usual tender caress, whipped and lashed against the bare arms of the fidgeting fingers - trying to find the edge of the ivory-hued shawl swaying with the gusts. Wrapping the head of it around her nymph-like shoulders, exposed below the burgundy silk of the blouse sheathing her upper beauty, the Kuru Princess absorbed the pin drop silence of her surroundings. Her doe eyes grazing over the ever-familiar riverside of Kurukshetra where she had spent a handful of her days, yet uncountable nights of her dream-filled slumbers.

Wait, was this one of those again? Those sequences of incomparable euphoria that visited her slumbers during the ripe hours of madrugada? Was she not in Dwaraka right now?

'Plop'

Mitra's eyes snapped towards the source that had temporarily broken through the clear surface of the rippling River Saraswati.

'Plop'

There, he was. Seated upon one of the boulders of rock situated within the ankle-length depths of the shallow waters, facing the body of deeper depths ahead. Up to the furthest point his sight may reach of the expansive beyond. His lengthy fingers aimed the greyed pebbles between their tips, as he released one after another to fly some feet into the distance, before dropping to its fate within the deeper depths of the riverbed. But, not before creating a ripple of disruption amidst the previously silent and calm surface, reflecting the crepuscular rays of the setting Lord Surya. Just as the start of the damned war, and it's following seventeen days of treacherous losses, had disrupted what little peace and calm they had all grown accustomed to over the previous years.

Though he was seated some feet away from her, Mitra stood fazed as her sharp ears registered the gentle hum of a familiar melody. One that she remembered Karn Baba humming on multiple occasions, as his fingers ran through the soft black curls of her petite head resting upon his chandan-hued, dhoti covered lap. When questioned where he had learned the soul soothing tune, and whether he knew the accompanying lyrics, the King of Anga would smilingly shake his head in the negative. With a far off look in his eyes, he would murmur something about having vaguely heard this tune, not from Grandmother Radha, but during some brief period of time within the now faded memories of his infancy.

Then how was it, that Brother Abhimanyu happened to be humming the very tune now?

"If I may ask, where did you learn that tune, young Prince?" came a deep yet soothingly soft voice, causing the drenched tips of the dhoti grazing the surface of the water, and the swinging ankles veiled beneath, to come to a standstill. His initially tensed state dissipating within moments, as evidenced by the visible loosening of his shoulder muscles, the young Abhimanyu glanced to his right to gaze with a mixture of both caution and respect at the figure standing some feet away from him on the opposing side.

The voice Mitra had grown up hearing since her mind had matured to develop and cherish the revisiting ability of the past, termed by the study of psychology as one's memories.

"Baba," she called out with a desperate longing, as her eyes fell upon the luminous appearance of the great Daanveer, once more within the four long years of separation. His posture as stiff and strong as she remembered, emitting nothing but pure strength shielded by the armour of valour – true of a fierce warrior. The flexed arm, pronouncing with utter clarity, the prominence of his toned biceps, accentuating his lean yet chiseled form. Leading down towards the wheatish slim hands, with the mustard yellows of his angavastra draped around one strong wrist; its golden threads grazing the mid portion of his lengthy fingers curled inwards.

Yet the sudden surge of longing, touched by the expression of excitement, retreated as the tidal wave of confusion washed over the shores of her sensory consciousness. In response to the failure of the sharp orbs of Anga Raj to acknowledge his beloved daughter.

'Why did he not turn to my calling? Did he not hear me? Or worse, did he not recognize me?'

Mitra stared intently into the eyes of her late father, as she silently made her way towards the duo. The eyes of her father, as she keenly observed, flashed confidence surrounded by a welcoming aura, as they gazed upon the young prince before him. But along with it the young Princess was sure they held one more emotion, easily hidden from the superficial view of unacquainted persons, that she alone observed in her father. Endearment. The softest haze of affection, even the cruellest pair of orbs held for his or her own alone.

As a smile of contentment filled her insides, effectively wiping away the initial confused sorrow at not being acknowledged by her father, Mitra quickened her pace towards the pair of men. At least she could see him. That would have to do.

"Pranam, Anga Raj," came the soft yet strengthened voice of Abhimanyu, falling upon the ears of the young Mitra who cautiously settled herself on a neighbouring boulder. With the prince being an arm's reach away, still failing to be acknowledged by the two men. She had been right. They were unable to see or hear her.

Mitra glanced at the folded hands of Abhimanyu that lay before him, as he quickly arose from his seated position, in delivering the respect he was raised to offer to all elder than him. Regardless of the relationship shared. She waited with bated breath, as her insides tingled in response to the words of her Karn Baba, who right now represented nothing more than the King of Anga and archrival of the man who had fathered the young boy, now standing before him.

"May you be an unrivaled warrior," came the blessing that initiated a shining smile on the face of the Kuru Princess, and a small one coated by shock on the lips of the Yadava Prince. "You are located here alone, further away from the shelter of your campsite. Would your father and uncles not disapprove of this?"

"Sitting here by the riverside and observing the silent waves of Maatha Saraswati brings an unnameable peace which seems challenging to seek upon these lands. My father and uncles would not want to snatch this away from me," replied Vijaya Nandhan with a smile.

"Fair enough. But keep in mind that this is the midpoint between the two camps, so I would be alert if I were you. Stay safe, Prince. I shall take my leave now," came the soft yet curt words of the man who was also known for the brief nature of his talks, as he turned away from the young prince.

"Would you care to join me, then? We are not currently situated on the battlefield, Oh Great King," gestured Abhimanyu with a sly smile playing upon his features, as an amused Mitra watched on to see what was brewing within the exuberant mind of her elder brother. "I could use your company, and you appear to me as if you would benefit from this peaceful atmosphere as well."

Mitra closely observed the shoulders of her father tense, his back facing towards them, as he remained rooted to his spot. The soles of his golden threaded footwear further digging against the sand sheathed planes of Prithvi devi, as the weight of his burdens weighed down upon the shoulders of the disadvantaged King of Anga.

"Many would benefit from this atmosphere, Prince," answered Karna, turning around once more to face the two children. One visible and the other not to his narrowing eyes spewing confusion, coated by impatience. "I'm not the only one."

"Abhimanyu. You are much elder to me, and I would feel honored if you would just address me by name and not as Prince," smiled Abhimanyu with a sparkle of mirth in his eyes. "And I agree. Many situated upon these fields now would benefit from an atmosphere such as this. So, would you join me here for some time?"

The crease around his narrowed eyes now loosening, Karna exhaled a breath he had not acknowledged holding, as he walked towards the young lad of Arjuna and took his seat on a neighbouring rock.

Mitra watched the colourful offspring of the numerous fish that inhabited the shallow depths of the riverbed, brush against the fair-complexioned soles of her father's now bare feet submerged within. The smile wiped off her lips, just as instantly as it had sprouted though, as she glanced up to see the eyes of her brother, his gaze transfixed upon the same wheatish golden soles surrounded by the multitude of fish. A quizzical expression hovering over his moonlike features, as his lips pursed together in a thin line spelling confusion. She felt as if she had been drenched with a pitcher of ice-cold water, as her mind registered the comprehension behind the expression housing the face of her elder brother. The same one that had inhabited her own chocolate brown orbs as they had fallen upon the aged, yet stunningly golden complexion of Grandmother Kunti's soles, while adamantly massaging them with Uncle Nakula's collection of ayurvedic oils. He had recognized. Just like her, he had recognized the familiarity of the feet that strikingly resembled those of Hastinapura's present Raja Maatha.

"Many warriors on these fields are desperate for even a brief moment of enduring untainted peace. They appear fatigued of all that has occurred thus far over the past twelve days of enduring the outcomes of this catastrophic war. But, you appear to be the most fatigued of them all, great King," stated Abhimanyu, as his eyes glanced up once again to hold the gaze of the Maharathi before him.

"I am a warrior, Abhimanyu. And I have just stepped foot on the battleground two days before," countered Karna with a rare smile on his features. The same one he graciously offered when running into any and all, away from the blazing rage of the battlegrounds. "I am as fit and fine as I wish to be."

"You are fit. That, I do not doubt. But are you fine?" questioned Abhimanyu, as his eyes traced over the sunken features of the Maha Yodha before him, whose eyes glanced away from continuing to hold the questioning stare of the younger. "You verbally say so, but the hallowed darkness below your eyes and paled skin tone seem to have a voice of their own. One betraying the reality of sleepless nights and the weight of hidden truths."

"Some truths are better hidden, Abhimanyu," smiled Karna with a far off look in his gleaming eyes. "Unveiling of it will cause nothing more than pain and betrayal to all."

"But a truth is a truth regardless of whether it is sweet or painful, King," argued a visibly confused Abhimanyu. "And the hiding of it not only goes against dharma, but breaks through the sanity of the one smuggling it."

"Well, I guess that is a price the one hiding it must pay for the betterment of those he cares and remains loyal to, Abhimanyu."

Mitra watched with teary eyes her father and brother as they held one another's gazes. One determinedly masking the sorrow held behind, while the other confused and unsatisfied with the depth of the answers received. One aware of the familial bond shared, while the other oblivious to its existence. 

"Suppose you were given a second chance to choose the side you would fight this war from. After seeing all that has occurred thus far. Leading to the war and during it. Would your choice have remained the same, Oh great King of Anga?"

Karna exhaled a deep breath as he lifted himself from his seated position. Swatting away the grains of rough sand that had adhered to his dhoti, before facing the young Prince again. Much like the rough specks of debris left by his self-made vows on the generous heart that beat solely for the loyalty – which successfully remained headstrong at the cost of the organ's deepest yearnings that he himself had immolated over the years.

"My fate had been sanctioned years ago, Abhimanyu. The moment my loyalties had been pledged to the one who owns not only it, but myself as well," he smiled. "So, I'm sure you now know the answer to this question, Son."

Son. If only her brother had known the context behind the use of this familial word, and not just her father alone.

As Karna began to walk away, Mitra felt the strings of her heart pull with a longing so intense, she felt she would buckle beneath its strength. The one question that always haunted her mind without a pause, forcefully needling her consciousness. Would she see him again?

"Baba, please don't leave me," slipped the softest of whimpers, which went unheard by both men.

"Wait, Angaraj! I forgot to answer your question posed earlier. About the tune!" exclaimed Abhimanyu, causing a strolling Karna to halt and remain rooted once more against the sandy planes. "Grandmother Kunti would sing this lullaby for me, saying it is one she had sung only once, long before, for someone physically distanced, yet forever tied to her heart."

Tears rolled down the cheeks of Karna's daughter in response to the pain she knew wreaked havoc upon the heart of her father at this moment. The tune he had hummed to himself all his life, in times of joy and grief. The melody that had soothed the heart of the warrior, which had endured a lifetime of humiliation brought upon by his thirst to prove himself and his worth, in a society that condemned one to the fate of one's pre-destined birth. The tune of the lullaby that he had cherished and hummed to his own beloved daughter, to soothe her soul just as he had his.

It was the lullaby of his mother. The Queen who had birthed and abandoned him to the mercy of the river Aswa to determine the destiny of its choice for her first born. The disadvantaged son of Maharani Kunti, who had not his mother's face, but only the tune of her one and only gift to him – a mother's lullaby, buried within the faded memories of his infancy to grow up with. The lullaby that had physically connected both mother and her first born twice in this lifetime. Once while charming the infant into a temporary slumber on the lands of Pritha's adoptive royalty – the Kunti Kingdom, its shores frequently kissed by the gentle appearing, yet unpredictable waves of the Aswa waterbed. Then finally, during his last moments before another slumber, an eternal one, on the bloodied grounds of Kurukshetra. The soft notes of the melody abounding in a caged and yearning love, that attempted to drown the agonizing pain of what were death inducing wounds, as the adoptive daughter of Kunti-bhoja held close the lifeless corpse of her eldest. The child who was first to inhabit her womb, yet last to revel in her gestures of motherly love and affection.

"Have you heard this tune before, Anga Raj?"

Karna hastily wiped away the traitorous tears that had slipped past his hardened resolve, to mask any weak emotions in relation to his birth mother, before turning around once more to meet the gaze of Arjuna's third born. What could be done? The heart of a living being was not of the same nature as that of its external features. It refused to be masked and rather succeeded in its protest to voice its true emotions.

"Long before you, Son," he smiled in response to the confusion that etched the mesmerizing features of the Goddess of Illusion's son. "It had been ingrained within the very first memory of my lifetime and continues to age with me as a faded reminder of my infancy."

Mitra's view of the deepening confusion on the features of Abhimanyu blurred, as the soft breezes surrounding them blew with a sudden surge in intensity. She tried to reach out to her father and brother, as the gusts of wind wrapped her into their folds, effectively separating the young Princess from her loved ones once more, as she saw the blurred outlines of the two men distancing themselves from her.

"Where are you going? Brother! Father!" she screamed, as her outstretched arms tried desperately to reach them.

As the soul shattering comprehension dawned upon her being, Mitra acknowledged the reality of the situation she was in, while her blurring vision tried to hold on to the remnants of her sight. They could not see or hear her. And it was not them who were being dragged away by the wrath of mother nature. It was her alone. She was being pulled away from the nearness of her father and brother once more. The last sight she held before her eyes closed, was the confused Abhimanyu reaching out towards the King of Anga, as he half-heartedly turned away from the boy, and walked towards the darkness in the name of loyalty that overshadowed his destiny.

And then everything went black and silent. No more whistling of the harsh gusts of wind. No gentle rippling of the soothing Saraswati River. Complete silence and darkness encroached upon her from all ends. The only source of sound audible was the soft and unsteady breathing imposed by her erratic heartbeat.

What was happening? Where was she? It was as if she had been sucked into a deep and isolated dark hole, away from the existence of all forms of life.

"Look at you! From where did the audacity to openly challenge such fierce warriors stem from?" laughed a deep and familiar voice.

Uncle Duryodhana?

"Duryodhana! Don't you dare commit this sin of cunningly murdering a young boy! He is your brother's son, hence your son!"

Uncle Yudhishthira?

"Is this the Chakravarthi of Aaryavarta I hear, my dearest Nephew? Begging us to spare the most precious life of theirs?" sniggered another heartbreakingly familiar voice.

Grandfather Shakuni?

She could hear voices around her, but everything remained pitch black. Why did they sound cunning and angry? Why was Uncle Yudhishthira pleading? 

She found herself desperately craving the cool evening winds, in the presence of the desolate humid airs of the late afternoon hours that made it difficult to breathe. Even in the black nothingness encompassing her sight, she could feel the scorching rays of Lord Surya Narayana mercilessly penetrating the blemish-free softness of her youthful skin.

"Narayana!" she yelped in agony as a throbbing pain surged through the back of her skull. It felt as if though her head had been hammered by a mace. The pain radiating with efficient speed beneath the upper, middle and side portions sheathed by her scalp.

'Oh, blessed Lord, provide me with the strength to fight till my last breath, and embrace the death of a true warrior.'

Who had spoken? This voice, unlike the others, was emanating from the hidden depths of her mind. As if though the abode of her cognitive aspects had grown another voice of its own, apart from hers.

Her body felt like it had been set on fire. There were burning aches in each and every joint, adhering her slender limbs to the delicate trunk of her body. Along with open wounds that seared with an agonizing pain when she attempted even the slightest of movements. Despite her inability to see anything, she could feel based on the roughness of the sandy texture beneath her torso, that she was laying sprawled on hard ground. Coughing bits of sand particles that littered the insides of her mouth, Mitra tasted the hot and metallic flavour of the warm liquid, that drove the life force within her, profusely spilling through the cuts of her battered lips. Blood. She was spewing large amounts of it from her insides and open wounds. As a violent shudder tremored through her physique, the young princess acknowledged the nearing of her life's closure.

"Open your eyes, my dear," came another familiar snarl, catching the attention of the Princess. "Get up and face us like you bravely proclaimed to do so."

'Narayana.'

There it was again! That voice from within her mind. 

Then, as if though her mind and body were being controlled by another, her burning eyes flew open on their own accord. Revealing a portion of the Kurukshetra bhoomi she had never laid eyes upon. The most significant part of the land, that had received the blessings of Sri Narayana himself, to liberate the souls of all those who valorously lost their lives upon it in battle. The land bearing the soils tainted a deep rusty red, till this very day in Kali yuga, emphasizing the extent of bloodshed witnessed 5000 years back. The holy battle grounds of Dharmakshetra.

"Raise yourself and fight!"

Uncle Duryodhana!

'He will provide me the explanation I seek,' thought the young Princess, as she observed her body lifting itself with strained efforts off the sandy grounds.

She felt her weight would buckle over her wobbling legs, as she struggled to maintain balance on the severely bruised joints of her legs. Desperate to seek the affectionate smile of one of her most favourite uncles, Mitra glanced to her right where she heard the source of his voice, only to feel the icy grasp of shock take hold of her innocent heart, as her watery eyes fell upon him. 

He was smiling. But that smile was devoid of even a fraction of the affection and love it usually held for her. Rather, it was dripping with a cold cunningness. She desperately searched into the eyes that held a softness reserved for his loved ones alone, only to come face to face with deeply penetrating vengeance.

'Why Uncle? What did I do, for you to be regarding me with such hatred?' cried the innocent heart of the cherished niece.

"Unable to even stand properly I see!" laughed the voice of Shakuni, garnering the dimming alertness of the young Princess, whose gaze whisked to meet his shrewd eyes. The eyes that gazed upon all with a calculative glance, yet held a rare softness reserved for her alone since the day they had met, looked at her with nothing but contempt in this moment.

"Son of Arjuna, surrender your weapons and we shall consider sparing your life!"

'Never.'

Son of Arjuna? What in the name of the Lord was happening? And who was that speaking within her mind?

No. It could not be. Lord show some mercy!

A nerve wrecking shudder ran down her spine, as Mitra let her wary gaze trail down to fix upon her wobbling stature. Oh, Narayana show mercy on your child!

A sky-blue dhoti sheathed the legs, tattered and drenched in a deep shade of red, with the spilling of life force through the open wounds of the calves. The armored vest, littered by cuts and tears amongst its gleaming coppers. Displaying the treacherous work of sharpened swords and series of arrows released by the heartless.

A hand gripped her now armour-clad shoulder, its touch generating the warmth her heart desired amongst the chilling gazes of the men surrounding her in this web of deceit. Turning around to face the individual, Mitra's heart shattered into an innumerable number of pieces in witness to the sight before her. The man who had given her life. The one who had raised and loved her immensely for the first ten years of her life, now stood before her with a torn expression swimming within those ever-familiar brown orbs. The hand that orchestrated an act of pretense, while smacking the edges of furniture and flooring, in the act of punishing them for their daring act of causing pain to the limbs of his beloved daughter - now gripped the hilt of a rusty sword that shall snatch her life away.

"Why Baba?" she whispered, as she stared into those chocolate brown orbs that she had inherited as one of her most spoken physical traits. As her scrutinizing gaze locked upon the reflection of herself in those sharp orbs, Mitra felt an icy wave of disbelief wash over her being. The answer to her question, that had risen within her mind since the moment the blackness of her setting began to fade, faced her from within his eyes. The face that had earned the contempt and vengeance she had observed in the eyes of the men poised on the battlefield, who had been inseparable parts of her life. The face of the voice that resonated within the depth of her mind just until moments ago.

'Didn't think we would meet again like this, did you my Flower?'

An uncontrollable wail slipped her lips as she sobbed uncontrollably from within, witnessed by the voice of her brother alone. She had wanted nothing more than to be able to see him once again and know what his thoughts were during his last moments. But, witnessing his death firsthand, was more than she had bargained for.

She felt the breath nearly knock out of her being, as the curling of her father's arm wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling her tight against his front. In a secure embrace. Uncontrollable tears pooled her orbs and spilled ruthlessly from the corners of the Prince's eyes she adorned at the moment, as her brain registered the fate of her brother at the hands of her dearest father. Pressing her face against the perspiration and blood infused armour sheathing the mighty shoulders of Vasusena, Mitra desperately attempted to muffle the open-mouthed bitter sobs that berated from her insides.

As his other arm, holding the hilt of the long sword, unwound itself from around her waist, a horrified Mitra shuddered against his tall frame. Well aware of what was to come next.

'No...No!'

"I'm ending your suffering now."

'Baba!!'

"Mitra!"

The name of his beloved daughter escaped his parched lips in a scream, forcing his shuddering body to sit upright in bed. The eyes of the great archer scanned the surroundings of his location, veiled by the darkness cast by the blown out diyas, and lit solely by the thin rays of moonlight filtering in. He was situated within his bedchamber in Hastinapura.

Running a hand through his raven black curls, ruffled by sleep, Dhananjaya trembled with the beads of perspiration littering his temples and muscled shoulders. As they traitorously evaporated against the night breeze flowing in through the opened windows near his bed, leaving behind the presence of a chilling sensation against his toned skin. Similar to the one that gripped his heart at the moment, and made each and every hoarse breath of inhalation a burning sacrifice against his thoracic cavity.

Unable to remain stoic within the damp air that surrounded his chambers, Arjuna scrambled out of his plush bed, parting with the sheets that had draped his frame in a restless sleep just moments ago. His mind as tousled as their silks, with the worry that ebbed away the small saving of peace he harboured since the departure of his daughter to Dwaraka. But one fact was as clear as crystal within the centre stage of his mind. His daughter was alone and suffering. And he was not near to hold her within the protective embrace of his arms.

"Rukmini."

The honeyed call of her name from the sole voice that ruled her heart and soul, halted the hastening steps of the chief queen of Dwaraka, approaching the golden doors of her chamber. With tears blurring her lotus eyes, Devi Rukmini turned towards the direction of the endearing voice, to gaze upon the figure of her Manmohan seated on their swing. Upon the elevated platform that rested above the marbled flooring of their balcony. The diluted rays of moonlight, reverentially showering their obeisance upon the Lord of the Universe, outlined the soft and set features of the Yadava Kula Tilaka, as he remained seated alone, amidst the sprouting hours nearing the break of dawn, and signifying the closure of dusk.

Even in the limited glow of the night, Rukmini could visualize the small smile that rose on the lips of her Lord, devoid of the usual mischievousness that still managed to set her heart aflutter after many years of marriage. It took one shake of his head, in the negative, to crack the heart of a mother housed within the bosom of the Jaganmaatha.

"She's emotionally distraught," murmured the Queen, with a quivering voice that mercilessly tugged the heartstrings of the beloved who held her heart since time immemorial.

"I know," murmured Krishna with a far off look clouding his eyes. "But it is necessary, Rukmini." A lone drop of pearl slipped the lotus eyes of the Jagathpitha who held the vision of the three worlds within a single glance itself. Proving that the firmness coating his voice was as usual insufficient to mask the butter-soft nature of the mother's heart, that beat with an intense love beneath the muscled planes of his broad chest, emitting the radiance of bluish-black hues.

Despite being aware of the events of the future yet to unfold, Dwarakeshwari could not find it in her heart to sit back and allow the pain of realization to guide the moulding of her children onto their destined paths of life. Which mother could witness the suffering of her child, and do absolutely nothing to alleviate it? If the birth mother of a human being, herself a mere human who shall perish and take form in the repeated cycle of birth and death, feels this way – then what to say of the mother of the universe? The compassionate form of Adi Parasakthi who herself is the mother of mothers and has mothered each and every being of the three worlds from within her heart.

"I am a Mother."

"Then I myself am the Father, Devi. The beginning, middle and end of it all," smiled the Paarthasarathy who had revealed this universal truth to his eternal companion upon the fields of Kurukshetra years back. Along with being the charioteer of the vehicle of one's life, he was also the maneuverer, who skillfully handled the reigns of the untamed horses of one's mind. 

"pitaham asya jagato

mata dhata pitamahah

aham ātmā guḍākeśha sarva-bhūtāśhaya-sthitaḥ

aham ādiśh cha madhyaṁ cha bhūtānām anta eva cha."

Bhagavad Gita 9.17 & 10.20

Translation: I am the father of this universe, the mother, the support, and the grandsire. O Arjun, I am seated in the heart of all living entities. I am the beginning, middle, and end of all beings.

A defeated sigh escaped the lips of Sri Krishna's idolized queen, as her shoulders slumped beneath the constant war that battled with rage within her mind. The side of her heart that upheld a mother's dharma, which never failed to berate the other for accepting defeat before the immense trust held for the words of her better half.

"She needs me, Kamalanatha."

"And she has you, Mukundapriya," he smiled as another tear slipped his eye and traversed its journey down the magnificent cheeks of Narayana. "Always with her."

Why else were they called Lakshmi Narayana? They were not just one half of each other. They were, are and always will be one another. If Narayana resides in each and every beat of one's heart, then where else would Maatha Lakshmi be?

A salty droplet of fluid escaped the beady black orbs of the baby koel, wetting the cheek of the Princess who had after much struggle, fallen back into a restless sleep. With a soft brush of his wing, Mitra's feathered companion gently removed the shining drops of perspiration hovering over his dear one's pristine forehead. Her fragile body's response to the deep psychological trauma experienced that night.

Pecking her hair parting once more, the koel swiftly flew over towards the entrance of the chamber, into the awaiting hands of the one who had along with raising him, fathered him as well since time immemorial.

"My dearest Kuru Maharathi," chuckled Krishna, as the the baby koel hopped and flapped his wings repeatedly – emitting the immense joy of his heart at being held in the hands of Krishna. "But, raised by this Dwaraka nagari, you will always a Yadava gem by heart."

As a watery smile broke out on the face of the elder Yaduvanshi, he used the tip of his butter-soft finger to wipe away the pearl of ambivalence that slipped past the glassy black orbs of the younger.

"Do not shed these precious tears, my Son," whispered Krishna as the tip of his divine finger trailed over the patch of bluish-black feathers sheathing the smooth scalp of the bird.

"Son of Vijaya. Darling of Subhadra. Blessing of Chandradev. Wielder of the mighty Raudra. And this Krishna's beloved shishya. Till the seven seas evaporate to nothingness and my seven hills recede beyond recognition, this universe and its innumerous habitants shall forever sing your glory."

As the caress of the rosebud lips replaced the finger upon the feathered scalp, a gentle shudder of pleasure surged through its recipient. With all sense of foreboding and resistance, known for binding one to the illusions of this mortal world, vanished into nothingness - the identity known to the world as Prince Abhimanyu wholeheartedly embraced the glow of light that emanated from the soul housed within the unreachable depths of his heart. Despite the radiance of the spark that gradually devoured the feathered body, once again within a ball of flame that gave rise to its creation, nothing but the flicker of longing to return home shone against the night black orbs of its holder.

The silent calmness of the atmosphere enlivened with the whistling of the summer zephyr, as the glow of the flame held between the reddened palms of Keshava, grazed against the mighty planes of his chest, and delved into the endless ocean of beginning, middle and end within.

yathākāśha-sthito nityaṁ vāyuḥ sarvatra-go mahān

tathā sarvāṇi bhūtāni mat-sthānītyupadhāraya

Bhagavad Gita 9.6

Translation: Know that as the mighty wind blowing everywhere rests always in the sky, likewise all living beings rest always in Me.

The petal like lids, veiling the lotus eyes beneath, opened once more. The glance, now satiated with the submersion of what is truly his within himself once more, fell upon the delicate profile of the young damsel asleep on the ivory-furnished bed. The Kuru family's flame of hope, that had thus far withstood the untameable winds of catastrophe and confusion that had wracked havoc upon her innocent being.

"You have the willpower to withstand cyclones, my dear," he whispered. "Faced till now were mere zephyrs."

"You have thus far begun to live to your purpose as the guiding light of those deeply shattered by the outcomes of the Kurukshetra war; mother of all battles. You've unknowingly helped others view occurrences of their lives, along with their counterparts, beyond the dichotomous view of merely 'good' versus 'bad.' As nothing in this world can be categorized as pure black nor white – hence giving rise to the various shades of greys in nature.

The time has now come where you must begin to acknowledge this truth in terms of your own inner battles. In terms of the ones who once were. The ones you lovingly called and continue to call family.

Why do you fear, my dear? What do you fear? The resurfacing of the innocence-shattering realizations that you've buried with urgency within the dark abyss of your mind?

A truth, regardless of how painful it may be, will never allow one to move forth unless faced. It must be faced and acknowledged. Only then will one be able to develop the clarity required to analyze situations from not one, but various perspectives – thereby enabling the future destined for the soul housed within the current shell."

The stillness of the night bore silent witness to the feet of the Lord, as bluish black and endless as the sky sharing the hue, as he slowly made his way over towards the bed occupying the centre of the large chamber. The petite body of the young princess lay ensnared within the aqua blue silk of the sheets, providing the soothing caress of softness, against her supple skin. The fitful silvery moonlight showering a mellow glow upon the laying figure; the beloved descendant of its reflective source of radiance. With the fine lengthened fingers of Kaar Muhil Vanna; the one with the dark raincloud-hued skin, now emitting a silvery glow under the reflection of the sun's twilight hour blessing, as their butter softness stroked the raven black tresses of his Priya Sakhi. An immaculate scene of ethereal bliss, which even Raja Ravi Varma would have yearned to recreate with the magical stroke of his paint-smeared wand of a brush.

"Enabling the future destined for you, my Kuru Kanya," murmured the rosebud lips, that sanction the release of the soul-soothing tunes, while sealed in their act of breathing life into the wooden instrument of love, as they pressed against the porcelain forehead of Mitra.

Abhimanyu's diary opened up Mitravinda's self-questioning as it had been intended to. Now, let us wait and see how the journey of the Kuru Princess unravels towards the enablement of her destined future. The damsel known to the world as Daanveer Putri and Vijaya Nandhini – will she become something more?

To Be Continued...

And that was the final part of the Abhimanyu's Diary series! I can't believe this emotional and heartwarming series has finally come to its closure. Have I done some justice to it? I've thrown in the multiple thoughts and emotions that have been clouding my mind into this piece of writing. Nothing would make me happier than hearing your thoughts on it :) And please do vote if you enjoyed it!

Yet, the journey of DaanveerPutri continues! As Krishna has mischievously hinted, we may be unraveling the answers to some more questions as we progress through this next stage in the plot. I'm as excited as you are to uncover them!

Loads of love,

Geitha (Your Author Friend)