A sojourn it is.
❝His scent is petrichor. He shall always be the golden page of my recollections, of beautiful memories. The greatest archer of the time❞
Derived from the Sanskrit word स्मरण (smaraṇa, "the act of remembrance, remembrance, reminisc...
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THERAPACIOUSFLAMES emerging from the darkest coals burning in the copper base were wafting the breeze of the dimlit chamber in a livid and acrid sharp odour, drowning that citrus scents of candles his wife had gifted to him.
Duryodhan threaded his fingers in his tawny tresses then to his bearded jaw, long deep sighs leaving his elevated chest in momentum before he pulled the dices in his fingers adorned with rings of sapphire and opal gemstones. "Mamashree, you win everytime and yet you insist on my playing with you. What requirement is of this other than mortifying me?"
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Petting the voracious umber fur of the eagle throned on his slacked shoulder, the king of Gandhar keenly traversed the journey of the chestnut pawn over the amethyst velvet game mat's small houses which his nephew moved to the designated place absent mindedly landing on the wrong square. He had raised his bushy eyebrows and a loop sided grin exposed his charred and decayed canines. The maternal uncle of the Kauravas was disappointed in this child he had raised with a fumes, soot, arrogance and ego potion made with balanced proportions.
"My child" Shakuni crooned dragging the pair of ivory dice towards him in a vigorous fashion, then began rotating them in his old swollen palms. "Pawh Baraha" he pecked the game foldings, which could turn an urchin to a king and an emperor to a servant, shutting his one eye nefariously. The dices fell on the oak table toppling over but alas depicting number nine, four obsidian dots on a cuboid and five on the other one.
"No luck in your favour at this hour Mamashree" sang in Dushasan, the plashing of blood red wine ringing the copper goblets as a cue. The second Kaurava walked with two glasses of scarlet liquid in his hands and sat beside his elder, facing their uncle. Duryodhan brought the rim of the perspirating wine goblet near his lips as Dushasan swallowed a honey date. The brothers however were keenly stabbing their gazes on the dices which as always flickered.
Shakuni moved his index finger, a tilt towards left and a sly grin emanated on his wrinkled face, his hooded elm eyes rotating between his two of the nephews who were as usual in a slug and satisfaction. The dice's cuboid, a little chipped ivory from the corners now showed the desired numbers.
