"Straighten the curl of your arm here," came the soft yet deep voice of the Kuru army's commander in chief. He who was currently present as the trainer, amidst the vast troops located upon the sandy training grounds of the palace courtyard. "The correct posture makes all the difference."

Despite the beads of perspiration rolling mercilessly down their temples, and grazing the curves of their deeply tanned necks, the heads of the warriors nodded obediently in command to their revered Madhya Pandava, as he issued orders of appropriate instructions upon the ranks. A day's worth of strenuous training and unflinching attention, resulted in the drooping of quivering limbs, and flickering eyelids - the darkened patch of skin beneath dotted by beads of perspiration. Training long hours was never unusual under the guidance of their Athi Maharathi, known better as the Mahanayak of Mahabharata. The Gudakesha who had conquered sleep, and could be sighted upon the grounds, be it training or warzone, during both the scorching heat of the days and nights; with Chandra dev and his reflecting rays of the day's reminder as the sole companion.

Yet the past few days, had in fact been unusual.

Vijaya held the bow of one of the new recruits, positioning it expertly for the learning purpose of his audience. The charcoal-hued coat of the slim bamboo-made instrument appeared toy-like between the large, calloused hands of the Pandava Prince. He who hoisted unending fame upon his broad shoulders for his showering of magnificent arrows upon the battlefield. Their iron heads shimmering in the bright light of the Sun God, as their reed and bamboo-made shafts quivered beneath the jolts of triumph pulsating beneath the veins of the ever-victorious Vijaya.

The droplets littering the perspired skin of his upper body, unsheathed by the usual dove-white garments, sparkled as diamonds beneath the evening rays of Surya, who cast down a golden glow upon the Princely son of Indra. His illuminating rays of splendour further defining the curves of the warrior's taut shoulder muscles, as they rippled beneath the voluntary flexing of Mahabahu's mighty arms. With his lengthy fingers expertly wrapping themselves around the sinew thread of the bowstring, pulling it back towards his strong jawline, and allowing the rears of his scratched knuckles a caress against the layer of unkept stubble his taut skin now sported. The starstruck gazes of his trainees, unwaveringly following each move. Their worshipping eyes refusing to part with the narrowing of his sharp ones, as the latter zeroed in on the imaginary target beyond his immediate sight.

And there she appeared anew in all her glory. Uncontainable within either his far or near sight, as she flitted by all sides. Dancing with blithe in her steps, even behind the closed lids of Partha. Dainty fingers gripping the mid-lengths of her ivory white lehenga, as she pirouetted in uniform circles, laughing gleefully as she observed her father's affectionate gaze, unwaveringly upon her visage. The linear pattern of rubies, belonging to the 'corundum' family of stones; revered for their loyal position as the 'King of all Gemstones,' dazzled magnificently. While offsetting glares of luminosity, as they warmed against the rays of light showered down by the hot ball of glowing gases they were astrologically related to.

Loosening his grip on the string, Arjuna straightened once more as he turned towards his troops. Internally condemning himself for having lost his focus upon the mirage of his dear daughter once more, who was currently situated miles away from the shadowing marbled corridors of Hastinapura.

"Now that you've observed my demonstration, I want you all to take up this position."

Walking up and down the lined ranks of the new recruits, some more skilled than others, Dhananjaya's mind wandered off to the moments before their departure, where he had held the two princesses who possessed his heart, within the confines of his arms. The slender arms of his Vijaya Nandhini wrapped around his strong torso, while the alta-dyed palm of his Yadava sweetheart; the princess of Dwaraka, rested atop the skin sheathing his beating heart, wherein she resided a Queen. A few days visit it would be, they'd promised. Yet, the longing heart of Vijaya, who'd immersed himself unendingly in state affairs and training of soldiers to harness the horses of his wandering mind, knew alone the extent of the wait. An eon itself had passed within a heartbeat.

Now walking among the younger recruits, comprising the youthful descendants of some of the senior soldiers of the armed forces, Arjuna smiled affectionately as he witnessed the sagging shoulders of a sternly focused young lad. The curled locks of the boy's raven black hair, and the scratches littering the scrawny dark arms, hoisting the wooden bow between two tiny hands, reminded the great warrior much of himself. Flooding his mind with episodic memories of the days, years back. Where the nerves of the young Kaunteya had tremored with reverential awe and delight, as his small-boned fingers had grasped the weapon of his liking for the very first time, upon the grassy terrains before Guru Dronacharya's hermitage.

Taking hold of the scabbed elbows, Arjuna gently raised the leveling of the lad's shoulders, thereby ensuring his aim leveled parallel to the dotted mark upon the bark of wood resting some feet away; upheld upon slender poles dug deep into the dampened grounds.

"Ensure your shoulders do not lower beneath its parallel lining to the target, Son," instructed Arjuna, as he patted the young one's head.

Just as the wavering vision of the man, falling upon the glaring refractions of the Saharan desert's mirage, of what his desperate mind and parched lips wished upon to be the source of liquid to quench his thirst – Arjuna felt the longing of his heart shine before his eyes. The optical illusion, alluring beyond words to be deemed false, as the boy swivelled his head to face the Pandava hero.

The pearly white smile, bordered between the upward curling of the rosy, pink lips. Their satiny edges lifting the apples of dimpled cheeks, glowing a soft rouge. The chocolate brown orbs of Vijayadhari's bloodline, within which the Gandhivadhari Vijaya sought his rays of hope, shone with a radiating glimmer, as they mischievously regarded the nuance lifts of her father's facial features. Translating the turmoil of emotions raging beneath the scalp that sprouted the ever luscious ebony locks of his.

"Baba, you had given me your word that archery lessons would last no more than half a prahar today," whined the heartbeat of Phalguna, as his unblinking gaze held her child-like antics with awe. "You've failed to keep that word once more!"

It took the warrior every ounce of his self-control, as he bit the inners of his cheek to withhold the near escape of the good-natured chuckle, which threatened to push its way past his parted lips. Affectionately running his hand through the baby-soft, yet unkept hair of the confused and shy lad before him, Arjuna at last dismissed the recruits, granting them their much-required rest after a day's worth of training.

Shwetavahana flicked his wrist, enabling the silk of his dove white angavastra to wrap once more around the joint of his upper limb, adorned by a thick jewel-encrusted band of gold. As he paced forth beyond the many chambers, through the flaming, torch-lit corridors of the ancestral palace towards his own lifeless one.

'Baba'

The silent whisper of the term he held preciously close to his heart, especially post the catastrophic 18th night of the war – gnawed his senses as his golden-footwear trudged across the marbled floors, shining dimly in the reflection of the golden flames housed on either side of the elaborately carved stone walls. Arjuna felt tormented by his inability to maintain an internal peace or adequate sleep, since having woken up during the ripened hours of madrugada. Upon having heard the desperate call of his daughter from miles away in the Dwaraka nagari lands.

An unfathomable chill coursed its way down the spine of the Madhya Pandava, as he failed to differentiate its source. Was it his skin's response to the kiss of evening breeze against the veil of perspiration layering his upper back? Or his conscious mind's acknowledgement of his sudden awakening that night?

No, he was not going mad with longing. She had called out to him.

"yato yato niścalati

manaś cañcalam asthiram

tatas tato niyamyaitad

ātmany eva vaśaṁ nayet

Bhagavad Gita 6.26

Translation: From wherever the mind wanders due to its flickering and unsteady nature, one must certainly withdraw it and bring it back under the control of the Self.

"And I assure you, no harm will reach her in my presence. I will put myself before her to protect her."

A small smile hovered over the lips of the great archer, as he felt the soothing words of his Madhav, forever etched as priceless treasures within the depths of his soul, wrap their harness around the raging horses of his imaginative mind. Where would he be without the guidance and embrace of his Shyamal-toned charioteer? The confidante who had not only harnessed the snow-white horses of Shwetavahana's ivory chariot, four years back upon the war-zoned lands of Kurukshetra, leading the warrior towards his triumph over foes. But, perpetually bound together the raging horses of Partha's mind and senses as well, thereby guiding the eternal companion towards the sole goal of his consciousness – which was Sanatan Saradhi himself.

"jitatmanah prasantasya

paramatma samahitah

sitosna-sukha-duhkhesu

tatha manapamanayoh

Bhagavad Gita: Chapter 6.7 Verse 7

Translation: For one who has conquered the mind, the Supersoul is already reached, for he has attained tranquility. To such a man happiness and distress, heat and cold, honor and dishonor are all the same.

Crossing beneath the marbled archway of the least travelled corridor in the palace, the Madhya Pandava subconsciously quickened his pace, with bated breath. Refusing to identify a need to linger even a moment longer than deemed necessary, near the doors leading to the chambers of Hastinapura's former King and Queen.

Despite residing within the walls of the same palace, the world of the Pandavas remained within a separate dimension from that of the former sovereignty. With the only forms of connection between the two sides being his mother, the emperor and now Mitra.

He had been mildly surprised to learn from his dear mother, who herself eagerly awaited the return of her pari, that she was not alone in this wait. His Uncle and Aunt, who seldom left the isolation of their chamber, nor interacted with the other members of the family, had approached the wing of the Pandavas to question the return of the princess.

The Pandavas had not been surprised by the warmth their darling still managed to extract from the heart of the former Raja Maatha, who once recognized as the epitome of compassion and affection, had now been reduced to a mere cold shell of the lively soul she'd been. The ghost of a smile on her visibly aged features, the sole reminder of the endless flow of endearment that had once coursed her being. Being the flesh and blood of Vasusena, who had himself been nothing less than a son in the eyes of the Gandara Princess; tucked away from having to witness the tragedies of their lives, behind the satin softness of her ribbon cloth – Mitra was the last remaining connection the elderly couple held towards her father. And through him their first born. It was during her visits alone, where the crestfallen features of his uncle would somewhat retain the shine, they once held during his years of reign, as he regarded Duryodhana's dearest with nothing but fondness.

Though it greatly pained his heart to re-live the tragedies faced by his own at the hands of Duryodhana and his brothers, sanctioned by the biased heart of an emotionally weakened father, Arjuna failed to despise his uncle. His inborn humility, one among the five foremost aspects of humanity mastered by Phalguna, made it a struggle to nurture hostility towards the now childless monarch. Rather, he found the bravely beating organ of his chest cower at the mere thought of having to face, or interact with the elder male of his paternal lineage.

Was it owing to the truth that the unstable nature of the latter's heart, had once housed love and protectiveness over his late brother, therefore inducing the paternal uncle in him to open his arms to his nephews, years ago? Or was it the absence of the streak of passion in the now sunken blind eyes. The paint stroke of a once existent desire to live and cherish, now stripped bare along with the loss of his hundred sons, at the hands of a rage stricken Bhimasena? Among which the immoral fall of his first born, through whose eyes the uncrowned King had invigorated at the ability to live his idle dreams. The dreams that had been snatched away years back in the name of his disability. While he was patronizingly gifted in charity - the role of a Regent; the title of honour temporarily held by one, till its rightful ruler takes over the reins of monarchy.

Entering the quarters allocated for the Pandava brothers, Arjuna felt the hint of his smile bloom further, as he acknowledged another one of Nakula's shrill shrieks behind Bhima's closed doors. No, he was not stepping in to save his dear young brother from the innocuous strikes of the mighty elder one. It had already been thrice since the break of dawn, and Dhananjaya knew he'd have to pledge the remaining ounce of his sanity, to speculate what it was that the elder Madreya must have committed, to have Vrikodhara on his heels once more.

Throat constricting afresh, with his ears reverberating the echo of Bhima's humourless chuckle, Arjuna found himself blink back the misting of his eyes. As he subtly realized that his quivering smile alone was not the only feature glistening upon his face. The plight behind Mitra's absence in the palace, had spared none.

The second Pandava had ceased to be his ebullient self in the kitchens. The robotic movement of his arm spoke volumes of his state of mind, while stirring away the contents of the pot upon the raising flames, as observed over multiple occasions by the arrow-sharp eyes of Vijaya. Even the trace of the exuberance on his features, with the sprouting of his insatiable appetite, were absent and situated miles away. In the presence of his dear taste tester, who took on the role of approving the multitude of dessert recipes invented by the great Ballava.

And with the absence of his usual stylist, Nakula had taken to once more pestering his twin brother, into offering comments on his choice of daily outfits. And the pitiable youngest Pandava on the other hand, could be seen drowned among his books. Appearing preoccupied before his bickering twin brother, while distracting himself from the unbearably lone library sessions, that had become the norm with the departure of his reading companion.

The silent despondency of their eldest, though obscure upon the visions of many, remained traceable in the eyes of the Madhya Pandava. 

Arjuna's gaze softened, as he sauntered by the ajar doors of the emperor's chambers, his mind well attuned to the on-goings behind the mahogany blocks of entry. Yudhishthira seated near the head of his plush bed, his calm eyes scrutinizing the many scrolls before him. Bordered by pillows and armrests of various reds and blues, while his accustomed hand rested atop the velvety face of an azure one that lay slanted upon his lap. Temporarily replacing the loss of the raven-black locks of curls, that regularly lay splain upon the mauve-hued, lavish silk dhoti of Dharmaseela. As his ring bedecked fingers grazed over the scalp of its bearer, who prior to the evening meal, would usually be seen nestled in a dreamless slumber upon his lap. 

Vijaya's pace subconsciously slowed, as his stroll led him towards the doorway of a chamber, that still managed to ignite a flaming warmth of young love within the depths of his chest. But along with it, the splintering sparks of guilt and remorse that singed the very atrium of the heart - through which the nectar of prideful love had coursed years back, during the famous swayamvara of Panchala.

Lost within the storm of his thoughts, Arjuna took lingering steps towards the sealed stony doors. Letting the tips of his fingers trail over the numerous ruby red gems, engraved within the outlines of hand-carved fiery lilies, Dhananjaya swallowed back the lump of remorse obstructing his throat. Sighing in silent defeat, as the light of the phosphenes behind his closed lids conjured the celestial image of the ethereal, dark-skinned beauty behind these very doors, whose flaming nature put the very fierce red blooms beneath his fingers, to shame.

Draupadi. His Panchali.

An agonizingly familiar pain, one that the heart refused to grow accustomed to, despite years of endurance, coursed through each nerve of the archer, as he remembered all.

The brief flashes of her shy, yet exuberant smile, moments after he, with his focused eyes set down upon the mere reflection in the pond, had sent a razor-sharp arrow through the gleaming orb of the revolving fish, suspended above at great heights. Yet the fleeting spell of pride, at having won the hand of Aaryavarta's most divine belle in marriage, and its following dreams of a lovely marriage life, destined to shatter with the oncoming words of his dear mother. Who, in her oblivion, had ordered the sharing of her daughter-in-law, her Partha's beloved, among the five brothers. Thereby sealing the pre-written destiny of the woman, who had garlanded the great archer in dreams of becoming Arjunpriya alone, as Pancavallabha instead; meaning the beloved of the five Pandavas.

Arjuna still underwent the numbness he'd endured that very fateful day, as he'd held her gaze, post the world's most unconventional wedding. How could he ever forget that very moment, years back, which still haunted his days and nights till this very sunset. The drying of young and naïve love that had pooled limitlessly within the richl kohl-lined eyes, as the tidal wave of reality washed its shores. Bringing with it, the beginnings of doubt and regret, as her unwavering gaze had firmly held his. The famous archer, to whom she had pledged her heart. Could she pledge her utmost faith?

She had. And suffered with the loss of it, the wounding of her dignity as well.

Seventeen years had rolled away since the mortifying incident, the culminating push for the mother of all battles. But Arjuna's insides shrivelled till this very day as his eardrums attuned to the distant echo of a woman's pleading wails, that had reverberated against the walls of the very courtroom he now regularly made his royal presence known to. The invisible fingers of blooming love that had once caressed his heart, now clenched the mourning organ in a tormenting grip, as his remorseful eyes contacted those blazing ones; capable of displaying the extremes of every emotion known to mankind. The same eyes, that had dispelled the heart-shattering extremity of pain, indignity, and ignominy, as she'd once more held his lowered ones, while her elegant frame was hauled mercilessly into the grand courtroom of Hastinapura. The tearing silk of her magnificent chilli-red saree, within the sinful clutches of the wicked Dushasana. 

Blinking back the tears that threatened to slip past his blurring vision, Arjuna swiftly stepped back from the grand doors, and turned away to resume his steps once more towards his own chamber. It's not that Draupadi and he were uncordial with one another. She was a magnificent Queen, and excelled at conducting herself as the rightful Empress of Aryavarta. And beneath all that, she was his first wife. And he, her husband. Their love for one another transcended levels of measurable indications, and that itself shown within their silent glances and outpour of words.

However, rooting from the division of her wifely duties to the loss of their son, he had sanctioned the unbearable truth, years back itself. The slow, but sound realization that he would never again witness the radiance of her unguarded, childly love, bounding with trust. That which he had been blessed for moments alone to witness on her goddess-like features, during the hours of her swayamvara. 

It was a price the once naïve princess, deprived of a childhood and its reservoir of lessons learned, may or may not have been warned about having to pay. For daring to fall in love with a man like himself, who was tied down by his duties and word. But was that not how falling headfirst into the blinding emotion of the heart worked? Beyond one's own control? 

So she had, like many before her. 

And a hefty price she'd paid.

Hello friends! And that concludes another chapter of DaanveerPutri - focusing yet again on some other fragments of the great Gandivadhari's thoughts, or as titled here: 'Anagha's Rumination.'

How did you find it?

What do you feel about Arjuna's thoughts and contained emotions regarding the former King of Hastinapura? 

What about his love for Queen Draupadi, despite the constricting ropes of remorse that have tied him down for years? 

And what of the remaining Pandavas, and their silent sorrow?

Please do comment your thoughts and views, as going through and responding to your thoughts excites me beyond words! And please do vote if you feel it's worthy. 

Till we meet again with another update or post,

Loads of love,

Geitha (Your Author Friend)