Glossary:

Terms/Concepts:

*Mojari– a type of footwear common in regions of the Indian subcontinent. They are made of leather, and traditionally designed with extensive embroidery

Names of Krishna used in this part:

*Dwarakadheesh – meaning 'King of Dwaraka'

Names of Arjuna used in this part:

*Gandivadhari – meaning 'wielder of the Gandhiva bow'

*Madhya Pandava – meaning the middle (third) Pandava among the five brothers

*Pandu Putra – meaning 'son of King Pandu'

The scattered rays of Lord Surya Narayana, amidst the semi shield of Lord Indra's clouds was a welcoming early morning atmosphere upon the skins of the occupants of Kurukshetra bhoomi. It was a sudden, yet blessed, change from the skin prickling heat the warriors had grown accustomed to over the past few days. Perhaps, indicating a pleasurable incident to take place, among the grief-gifting occurrences that have rained down upon them thus far. 

A beautiful pair of feet, adorned by a modestly intricate pair of oxidized silver anklets, pitter-pattered against the sandy grounds, sending a minute upheaval of sandy wind on either side of the wheatish complexioned soles. Returning the occasional greeting of the members of the armed forces, and a handful of the Kaurava brothers, the future princess of the Kuru dynasty sprinted towards the main tent of the Kuru warriors. Taking in a deep breath to satisfy the flaming oxygen needs of her parched lungs, Mitra entered the tent, currently housing some of the exceptional monarchs of the Kaurava army – personalities the world shall continue to analyze and compare for eons to come. Were they protagonists or antagonists? Or neither? Or even more, a mixture of the two shades, dependent upon the shattering circumstances of their lives and the lens one chose to view them through?

"Baba," called out Mitra, attracting the attention of all gathered in the tent, supposedly engaged in witnessing the heated discussion taking place between Angaraj Karna and Gandhararaj Shakuni.

The tent of the Kauravas, submerged endlessly in the humid air of consistent thirst for revenge or duty, if only for some brief moments lightened as if exposed to an unplanned mist of monsoon showers – via the smile of innocence housed on the pretty pink lips of the one and only daughter of Daanveer Karna.

Rather than sporting looks of displeasure at the abrupt interruption, the faces of the warriors resembled pleasure, ranging from mild content to full-fledged glee as they fell upon the young damsel dressed in the chaste shade of ivory. Both the faces of Karna and Duryodhana housed immense joy at witnessing Mitra after a night, and now dawn commencing with war-related brawls among the Kaurava elders. The brief emotions of paternal pride that surged across the chocolate brown orbs of Vasusena was expected, as was the softening of the orbs of Duryodhana, which was a rare sight amongst the eyes that have burned with ambition and unquenchable greed from years.

From her father, and most favourite uncle, Mitra's eyes hesitantly drifted to meet the aged, yet wise ones of Ganga Putra Bhishma, as her petite hands folded themselves into a pranam. A knowing glint, along with another emotion, incomprehensible by the young mind of Daanveer Putri, filled his dark orbs, as the grandfather of the Kauravas and Pandavas and protector of the Kuru dynasty's throne offered a small, yet loving smile to the young princess.

Returning his silent pleasantry with a smile of her own, Mitra let her eyes flit over to the other figure worthy of immeasurable respect standing next to him – the revered Guru of both the Kauravas and their despised cousins – Guru Dronacharya. The aged Brahmin, come Rajaguru of the Kuruvanshis. The sole name behind the excelled skills in weaponry, especially the archery prowess, possessed by the Pandava Prince Arjuna and praised by the world till this day. The seed giving rise to the root of one of the popular phrases among the vast collection of Tamil literature for centuries, 'Villukku Vijayan' meaning 'For Archery – it is Arjuna or Vijaya.' A shadow of a smile graced the wrinkled skin surrounding the aged eyes and thinned lips, as he regarded the princess with softening eyes and the slightest nod of the head.

"Putri, did you need something?" asked Karna, as Mitra's eyes snapped back to meet her father's questioning ones.

"Baba, is it okay if I go for a stroll near the riverside?" she questioned, with pleasing eyes. "I just want to take a stroll along the banks of River Saraswati, and if time permits, sit by the flowering trees for some time."

"Putri, you will have to walk by the camp of those Pandavas to get there," came the agitated voice of Duryodhana. "I don't trust those despicable cousins of mine, or their allies. They would go to any extent to win this war."

"Especially that Bhima," came the gruff voice of Dushasana, for once deprived of the smirking conceit it always held. The beady eyes that swam in boundless despicable oceans of arrogance and explicitly expressed his demonic nature, briefly portrayed a pang of unease as they regarded the fragile daughter of his elder brother's best friend. "That ogre is blinded by affection for his own and will spare no moment to rip apart anyone he considers a threat."

"My daughter is not a threat for anyone," came the calm voice of Karna as his gaze intently held Mitra's. "And I do not believe anyone gathered on these fields, whether they be a Kaurava or Pandava, is a threat for her as well."

As Duryodhana was about to oppose the statement of his, Karna turned towards his best friend, clasping a reassuring palm over the shoulder of Dhritarashtra's first born.

"My dear friend, I'm positive that we have nothing to fear regarding the safety of Mitra on these fields. Rest assured that she will be safe," he explained to Duryodhana who hesitantly nodded in approval, obliging to the trust of Mitra's father. Karna, his best friend who remained by his side during thick and thin, was his everything. And Karna may be the biological father of Mitravinda, but that did not make her any less a daughter of Duryodhana, whose eyes failed to differentiate between her and his own daughter, Lakshmanaa.

"Brilliant! Absolutely spectacular!" came the snide remark, startling the other occupants of the room as they turned their attention towards the owner of the voice.

With limping strides, Shakuni forced his legs, one permanently injured by his thirst-driven vow to avenge the darkened life of his beloved sister, as he advanced towards the King of Anga.

"It's absolutely spectacular to hear that the King of Anga, the most trusted friend of Hastinapura's Crown Prince, has placed his trust in the hands of the Pandavas. Or should I say, in the hands of his archrival," snarled Shakuni as his beady black eyes, holding utmost maliciousness and distrust for the individual they were currently holding captive. The King of Anga whom his heart refused to place the slightest bit of trust in. Yet, the father of the young girl who had managed to light herself a glowing corner, somewhere within the dark depths of the vengeance-pumping block of stone he knew to be his heart.

Karna faced him, his eyes refusing to break the intensity of their locked gazes, as his voice, filled with calmness and the touch of finality, filled the chilling silence crowding the room.

"As a warrior I have and will never place my blind trust in those I consider my enemies, Gandhara Raj. I do not trust my enemies, rather I place my trust in the ethics of those I consider worthy of such high trust. And the Pandavas, known for their righteousness and perseverance of ethics, have gained that trust in my eyes."

Shakuni's eyes narrowed, indicating his disbelief at the words of Karna, as the latter stepped closer towards him. His eyes bereft of any trace of softness, rather sparking with the unbearable radiance of Surya Narayana's effulgence, as he regarded the now cowering Gandhara Raj.

"No amount of trust will make the Madhya Pandava any less my archrival than what he remains to be... as I know where my duty and loyalties lay," came the cold voice of Karna. Yet on close observation one could identify the glassy layer of wetness that now sheathed the pain-obscuring fiery brown orbs. "But, I have sufficient trust in him to know that he will never lay a finger or eyes on my Mitra with an unforgivable intention."

Unable to hold the fiery gaze of Angaraj any longer, Shakuni's seething eyes flitted away. Only to lock with a similar pair of doe brown eyes, which softened the burning rage of his own. Words were unrequired to convey the inner emotions of the man whom the world considered to be an emotionless schemer, who had brought upon the downfall of his own sister's family. Returning a small smile of her own, Mitra indicated her acknowledgement of the unstated words behind the softened, yet intent gaze of Duryodhana's maternal uncle. 'Be Safe.'

"Go ahead and explore the fields, Putri. I do not have any concerns, but just ensure you return before sunset, alright?" came the permitting voice of Karna, catching Mitra's attention.

Nodding her head in silent agreement, with a smile pasted on her face, Mitra turned away from the gatherers and walked towards the tent opening – her head now clouded with a mixture of emotions. Happiness at being granted permission to explore the fields. The content feeling of acceptance and cherishment experienced from both the stated and unstated words of those who cared for her. Slight confusion at the excitement her heart held against the beratement of her mind with crossing the Pandava campsite. And last but definitely the most pinching emotion – the unexpressed guilt at the silent craving of the heart to lay eyes once again on her dear father's archrival and his beloved son.

Taking in the beauty of the bright green surroundings of Mother Nature's ethereal touches as she walked along, Mitra allowed her senses to envelop the buzzing of insects and gentle breeze of the sweet winds – masking the speeding thud of her heart as she recognized the territories she was entering.

Keeping her gaze lowered, in a feeble attempt to avoid having to lock gazes with the questioning stares of passersby, the mojari-covered feet of the princess strode through the dewy grass, leading her towards the Pandava campsite which she must pass by. Her choice proved to be ideal, as she fervently attempted to ignore the whispers around her as she passed by guards and warriors of the armed forces – ranging from 'What is a female child doing on these grounds?' to 'Is she that daughter of Angaraj Karna who was rumoured to have been seen on the fields?'

'Uncle Duryodhana, you were right...how foolish was I to believe walking by the Pandava campsite would be an acceptable course of action? What did I expect? That none would question?' her mental thoughts kept firing nonstop. 

As she passed by a slope of grassy land, a sudden clang of sharp metal against itself caught her rapt attention, as she raised her lowered vision to identify the source of the noise. Mitra's curiosity perked as her inquisitive orbs roamed over one of the most handsome faces she'd ever witnessed before, as the owner of the heart-stopping features busied himself with inspecting the sharpness and strength of his sword as it came down upon a bar of metal. Next to him stood another man, about the same height as his partner, only differing by a mere few inches. He was toying with the handle of his axe, while his lips moved in sync – indicating that the two were in the midst of a conversation. Dressed in raw silks of extensive monetary value, with rich armour covering their upper bodies, Mitra concluded that they must be princes belonging to one of the ally kingdoms of the Pandavas. 

In mind of the unnecessary consequences that could result from being caught staring, Mitra moved one foot, ready to turn and walk away. But to her utter distress, the slight jingle of her anklet was sufficient to catch the attention of the handsome prince handling the sword, who's eyes snapped up to lock with the gaze of Daanveer Putri. With her mind reeling backwards, unable to lay finger on the reason behind the struggle to break eye contact and dash away, Mitra remained rooted to the grassy spot, as she observed a small smile pull up the lips of the initially shocked Prince.

"She must be your anklet princess, Nakula," smirked the other Prince still grasping the axe in his arms, as he raised his eyebrows at his partner.

Mitra's eyes widened in response to the words, baffled by the incomprehension of the meaning behind them. 'Anklet Princess'? And did he say Nakula? Was that not the name of one of the Pandava Princes? Regardless, not wanting to make a fool out of herself any further, she started taking quick strides away from the spot, not heeding to the words of the two men, who somehow made her feel as if though she were in the presence of her Uncle Duryodhana.

"Your anklets are beautiful, my dear. But not as much as you!" chuckled one of the voices, which she assumed to be of the one who had smiled at her.

Refusing to swivel around and betray her reddening cheeks, Mitra sprinted away with a small smile tugging on her pink lips. Away from the two sons of Madri who smiled at the retreating back of the young girl, who resembled the blessed emotion of what it would have felt like to have fathered a daughter or niece.

"What just happened there?" muttered Mitra to herself, as she quickly strode away from the Princes, now bereft of any remaining traces of curiosity at coming face to face with anyone. But luck was definitely not in her favour as without even the slightest opportunity to recover from one shock, her mind was sent reeling backwards, with the audibility of a specific pair of voices that had etched themselves a spot in her heart.

"Perfect aim, Abhimanyu. Just correct the tilt of your elbow here."

"Like this, Pithashree?"

"Yes, exactly!"

'Oh good Lord,' thought Mitra, as she sped up her steps, not wanting to risk being seen by the owners of the voices, whom she had easily recognized to be the Pandava Prince Arjuna and his son Abhimanyu.

'Oh, come on! Did you not want to catch a glimpse of them earlier? Why are you avoiding the opportunity now?' questioned her heart, as it played witness to the Princess scurrying away from the scene. Much similar to a mouse shovelling away from a recognized death trap.

'I thought you learned to keep yourself silenced,' fired the irritated voice of her mind. If it had eyes to burn, it's opposing companion, Mitra's heart would be a pile of ashes by now. 'Can you not see that she for once is taking the logical decision?'

'Can you both keep silent?!' she mentally exclaimed, trying not to trip over the hem of her long ivory hued skirt, as she treaded unsteadily through the murky blades of shining grass. Yet, luck once again failed to reside in her favour, as she found herself falling forward – realizing only partway that the copper-hued hem of the stubborn white skirt had fallen hostage to the area below the front sole of her footwear.

"Ouff!" she exclaimed feeling the taste of Mother Earth, as rough grains of sand and soil in her mouth. Attempting to lift her slightly crumpled lehenga-draped body off the ground, Mitra hissed in slight pain, as she felt a sting across the skin of the exposed portion of her flat abdomen and palms that had come in contact with the sandy rocks. Blowing air on her palms to tame the sting, Mitra averted her gaze from the cuts to meet a pair of eyes that appeared to be swimming in waves of shock.

As he recovered from the initial waves of shock, Subhadra Nandhan Abhimanyu remained staring at her, his orbs filled with a mixture of pleasant surprise and unease as his gaze shifted towards her hands.

Feeling another piercing pair of eyes on her, Mitra allowed her gaze to waver as it proceeded to meet the one that had struck a chord within her since their first meet. 'Why have you become something to me?' she heard the agitated question of her inner voice, as her expressionless eyes drilled into the warrior sharp ones of Gandivadhari Arjuna. 'You are my father's archrival, and I am his daughter. Then why do I feel as if though I mean something more to you, and you to me?' she hesitantly thought, as she observed the mixture of nameless emotions flitting past his orbs while moving towards her hands. Was that worry she saw? Or pain? Dread? Or...was it a cyclone of emotions within him. Similar to the one that was wreaking havoc in herself?

Unknowingly, Mitra blinked her eyes – a silent reassurance as if letting him know she was alright. Why did she even feel the need to have to reassure him? Would he even require it? Was she not his archrival's daughter? Mitra sighed deeply as she knew the answers to these questions were not meant to be uncovered as of now. Yet, making her heart soar with a surging sense of peace, the grim features of the Pandava Prince lightened with the slightest curve of his lips upwards in response. Did he acknowledge her silent reassurance? Why did her heart soar with that smile though? Again, questions with no immediately available answers.

'You are my father's enemy. You cannot smile at me. You cannot worry for me. You have no right to do so. And I have no right to accept it either,' she chanted repeatedly in her head, as a mantra, attempting her very best at masking the inner peace felt in response to the curve of Arjuna's lips. Yet, she felt her entire being numbing with the icy sensation surging down her spine in response to the upward lift of her rosy cheeks. With wavering fingers, Mitra grazed the stretched sensory organ of her face – filled with disbelief as she played witness to their traitorous act of returning the warm smile of her father's archrival. Unable to hold herself steady any longer, she turned about and sprinted away from the campsite. From the father and son. Severely ignoring the shooting ache of her joints that had hit the grassy Earth just moments ago – accepting it as a self-induced punishment for the traitorous act of hers that she had allowed to slip past her control.

"I'm sorry, Baba."

The soft gurgling of the Saraswati River in the background aided in settling her restless senses, as Mitra remained seated on the rock near the flowering trees. Once again staring intently at the scratches adorning her soft palms with a blurring vision, she struggled to fight the onset of a heart-breaking sob. Not due to the slight burn of the cut, rather it was the burning ache of the heart that predominated.

"Did I betray Baba's trust by my actions today?" she questioned herself.

Which child develops a soft spot for the one who is the sworn enemy of his or her father? Why did she have to lay eyes on him? Why did he have to break her fall that day by Mahamahim Bhishma's tent? Why did he have to address her as 'Putri?' Why did he have to smile at her? Why did his eyes have to expel a torrent of emotions, ranging from longing to worry, within a single glance?

Wiping away the traces of the traitorous tears that had somehow managed to escape the rims of her doe eyes, Mitra cleared the remaining signs of the mild breakdown from revealing itself to her father upon a single glance. Just as she prepared to set back towards the Kaurava camp as instructed earlier, her shining eyes caught side of the beautiful patches of yellow lilies flowering the branches of the nearest tree. Yet among the hundreds of lilies, the orbs of the one of a kind Princess came to rest upon the sole daisy that adorned the topmost branch of the sapling. With a glint in her eyes, Mitra soaked in the dove whiteness of the petalled flower representing the innocence of simplicity tinged by purity, sheathing its heart of faithful love from all sides – the bright yellow-hued centre of the bloom.

"Why desire for it, when it is beyond your reach, Mitra?" she mumbled to herself. Only partially acknowledging that it was not just the flower she was referring to.

"Did you want that daisy, Sister?"

Mitra bit her tongue in response to her immediate recognition of the owner of the voice. Why did he follow her here? Why did luck have to refuse her companionship today of all days? One of the voices she desperately wanted to run away from had followed her here as well. Inhaling a deep breath to calm her raging senses once again, she forced herself to respond.

"No, I did not, Prince," she responded, purposefully keeping her back faced towards him – a feeble attempt at hiding the emotions at play in her eyes.

"You are Daanveer Putri, right?"

"Any doubt regarding that, Vijaya Putra?"

Abhimanyu chuckled, understanding that he had struck the wrong chord in their introduction.

"Forgive me, but I assume the intent behind my words have not come across the way I'd meant for them to be. I'm Abhimanyu. May I know your name?"

"Mitravinda," she smiled, still unwilling to turn and face the Prince.

"The Possessor of Friends..."

"What do you mean?" questioned Mitra, eyebrows scrunched in response to the statement of Abhimanyu.

"The meaning of your name, Sister. Mitravinda means the one who is the possessor of friends. It is also the name of one of my maternal aunts," he replied, referring to the 6thQueen of Krishna's beloved Ashtabharya.

"Thank you for letting me know," replied Mitra, who had never thought of questioning her mother regarding the meaning of her name. It had sounded beautiful, so she had never housed any complaints.

"My pleasure to define such a beautiful name for you. And are you sure you do not desire the daisy? I thought I saw you looking towards it, so I assumed you would have desired it," replied Abhimanyu with a small smile adorning his moon-like face as he regarded the young Princess.

Mitra shut her eyes in pain as she once again recollected the happenings of the past days and the morning.

"But, why desire for something that is beyond one's reach and was never meant to be, Prince?"

"Hmmm, a valid thought indeed. A thought that tends to cross my mind frequently as well," spoke Abhimanyu as his eyes clouded with the memories of his childhood. "But, whenever I felt this way, my Mamashree Krishna would pull me out of my self-misery with his intriguing words as always."

The mention of the mysterious King of Dwaraka succeeded in catching the spark of attention in Karna's daughter, as her eyes automatically lit up with a flame of curiosity. The wonderous man whom all believed to know the past, present and future. Unaware of the implanted seed within her heart - destined to grow into a forest of unconditional friendship till the end of time, Mitra gave way to feed the growing curiosity within her.

"What would he say?"

"One must deliver oneself with the help of one's mind, and not degrade oneself. The mind is the friend of the conditioned soul, and an enemy as well. For one who has conquered the mind, the mind is the best of friends; but for one who has failed to do so, the mind will remain the greatest enemy." —Bhagavad Gita 6.5-6

Ignoring the shiver that cascaded the length of her spine in response to the words of the mysterious Dwarakadheesh, as if foreshadowing an event of the future to take place, Mitra scoffed, "So I have to befriend my mind for this daisy?"

Abhimanyu chuckled as he recognized the immature innocence tinged by the rebelling nature of Maharathi Karna's daughter. His father had once told him that Angaraj Karna was known for his incomparable act of generosity and charity, hence known as Daanveer to the world. Now seeing this rebellious nature of the young girl, Abhimanyu with a smile wondered whether it was a trait picked up from the great archer himself.

"It shall do one good to be aware of the lesson, right? Who knows? Today it may as simple as the daisy. But tomorrow...it may be something of more value to you."

Feeling her legs turn to mush with the intensity of the hidden truth behind his words that she was yet to face in the upcoming days, Mitra forced herself to hold her balance, while turning around to face Subhadra Nandhan.

"How would I know what would happen tomorrow?" she questioned the Prince, with worry filling the specks of the innocent chocolate brown orbs.

"You wouldn't. And neither would I," sighed Abhimanyu as he gave her a warm smile. "But by no means would that mean what is destined to take place will not take place. Yet, that is the beauty of life, is it not? Not knowing what awaits you around the next corner is something that makes life worth living and exploring."

"But what if it is not pleasant?" she questioned once again with worry now coating her voice.

"Isn't that a fear many of us share, Sister?" questioned Abhimanyu with a knowing smile, failing to lighten the unease that had been clawing his heart from the start of this battle. How many of them were to be lost to the hands of death? How many of them were to survive and burn in the hell of remorse for the remainder of their lifetime? "But, Mamashree has his ways of dispelling such fears that arise at times as well."

"What does he say in those times?" questioned a curious Mitra.

"The non-permanent appearance of happiness and distress, and their disappearance in due course, are like the appearance and disappearance of winter and summer seasons. They arise from sense perception. And one must learn to tolerate them without being disturbed." —Bhagavad Gita 2.14

The words were dripping with the touch of ethereal wisdom. Then why did her heart clench itself into a tight fist? Why did she feel like these words of universal truth were meant to fall on her hearing now? In this very moment. As if preparing her for a sharp turn of events that were scheming to flip her world on an entirely new axis.

"Words of pure wisdom, but will it be practically possible to live them, Prince?"

Abhimanyu heaved a deep sigh as he shifted his unfocused gaze to the distant scenery behind her head. "Only time will tell, Sister. But it fails to wait for anyone. When we are forcefully placed in such a situation by time, we will have no choice but to abide by it."

His eyes then flitted back to the pristine daisy adorning the topmost branch of the tree, as the corners of his thin lips turned up in a smile.

"But on a pleasant note, this daisy is not beyond your reach, Sister," he stated, observing the confusion that marred the enchanting face of the young girl before him. "At least, not when I'm here."

"What is it with you and calling me 'Sister,'? she questioned the Prince now stringing an arrow to his bow which was apt for a warrior. "You do know that I am your father's archrival's daughter, right?"

Her mind refused to accept that the son of Arjuna could potentially view her as a sister. 'He's addressing me as such out of respect,' she thought.

With awestruck eyes, she watched him stretch back the string, letting the feather of the arrow lightly graze his cheek, before releasing it with lightning speed. With her chocolate brown orbs now swimming in pools of admiration, she watched the tip of the arrowhead shoot through the stem of the flower, holding it secured on the branch, resulting in its dispatchment and fall towards her awaiting palm. The tender graze of the soft white petals against the stinging cuts of her palm soothed her in a way she would never be able to describe.

"Nothing can change the basic fact that you are Angaraj Karna's daughter and I am Pandu Putra Arjuna's son. But that does not mean the rivalry between our fathers must be passed down between us, right?" he questioned, as the shadow of a smile bestowed itself upon the lips of Mitra.

"And now do you expect me to call you Brother, Prince?" she questioned with a smirk and upraised eyebrows.

"Not at all. As someone once told me, we should expect nothing in return for what we do," he smilingly replied.

"Let me guess... Mamashree Krishna," laughed Mitra.

"Correct," chuckled Abhimanyu, his eyes sparkling with boundless mirth in response to the pure childlike laughter of hers. "And you indirectly accepted me as a brother just now, Sister."

"How?"

"Because you referred to my uncle as 'Mamashree.' Meaning you indirectly took the place as the daughter of my parents...and hence my sister."

Mitra narrowed her eyebrows at the sharp thinking of the now grinning warrior Prince.

"You really are your Mama's nephew," she taunted, with a smile on her lips.

"I will take that as a compliment," he laughed.

The rosy orange streaks splayed across the darkening horizons caught the attention of Daanveer Putri as she remembered the words of her father, asking her to return by sunset.

"I must leave now, Prince," she voiced half-heartedly. "I promised Baba I'll return by sunset."

"Take this with you, Sister," murmured Abhimanyu as he passed her a small vial containing a yellow creamy-textured substance, that had been hidden beneath the waistline of his dhoti. "I had asked Father what could be used to heal cuts quickly, and soothe the stinging pain left behind. And he had obtained this from Uncle Nakula. It will help soothe the cuts on your palms."

It took each and every ounce of her inner strength to blink away the tears that burned with a thirst to see the world beyond the rim of her kohl-lined eyes. He cared for her. Who were these warriors, who were so deeply despised by her Uncle Duryodhana and his family? Were they really as bad as the Kauravas believed them to be? Who was right and who was wrong? Or was determining right versus wrong not so simple in this particular context of rivalry?

"Thank you, Prince," she murmured as her tiny hands accepted the vial placed in her palms. "Now I must leave."

"Farewell, Sister. And remember, life will take unpredictable turns when you least expect them. But, accept what was meant to be with open arms, and ensure the blissful smile of yours remains a constant."

Nodding her head in silent acknowledgement, Mitra offered him one last smile before turning away. Her eyes unknowingly capturing the image of Vijaya Putra Abhimanyu – his moon-like face, expressive eyes, thin-lipped warm smile and the shine of child-like innocence – one last time to remain etched in her memories for a lifetime.

"Thank you, Brother," she whispered. The acknowledgement never meant to fall within hearing of the warrior Prince who was to valorously lose his life to the hands of death on the upcoming 13thday of the Kurukshetra battle – a sacrifice still revered by many till this day for the re-establishment of dharma among mankind.

To Be Continued...

And that is Part XV of the Abhimanyu's Diary series - exploring the memory of Mitra's second and final meeting with Abhimanyu. It also briefly captured the surface level of some of the heartwarming bonds shared between Mitra and other characters. Hope you all enjoyed it! The next chapter will once again pick up from the continuation of Mitra's journey towards Dwaraka. 

Please do comment your thoughts - I'd love to hear them as always :) And please do vote if you feel it's worthy.

Loads of Love,

Geitha