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...
(n): a mystical force present in all people that empowers them to effect the world, or to effect change in their own lives
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HER SOUL FOUND HER. Parthjaya didn't even gasp for she knew it all. Dreams being a reality wasn't a pristine season for her. She wasn't crying her heart out. She wasn't just a shadow witnessing a dark hand ruining a woman. She was shaking internally for those chakras in her were enlivened due to the movement of her soul to the divine, where no one saw her but she saw it all. The dice hall had faded before her murky teared eyes as she felt herself being sucked by a whirlpool of winds and fainting in a death sleep. I am dead now sorry Krishna, I couldn't keep your promise.
Fate bows to no ones wills and plans. When we think to fall this charisma will make us rise to the top of mountains whereas can bury us in the pits of downfall if we fly with wings of wax as Icarus of Greek mythology. Therefore when she was awakened by the pelting of stones on the windowsill by some eagles, she knew it all. She opened her eyes perfectly lined with kajal, her lips painted with tint of roses parted, leaving defeated and understandable sigh as she clutched the silk mattress of teal in her fist removing the duvet in sapphire. Everything happens for a reason, I know it now Krishna.
She turned to the left side facilitating herself to get up from the bedstead and a sharp pain shot in through her left arm. She hissed in pain and then it hit her. Gazing around she saw that one familiar chamber. The wafting scent of citrus and blooms of hyacinths on the parapet. The curtains and drapes in opulent colors swirling as wild gales toppling brass vases and copper candle stands.
From the sepia wall of mulberry vines they stared at her. The woman decked in golds and silks whose beauty shall bring the moon to shame was seated on a chartreuse settee, her chin held higher with the trust she flaunted. A man with brimming pride and love, whose stature was as prodigious as those mountains of Aravalli ranges was standing behind her, his head held higher with love he flexed. They were framed in pearls of rarest collection.
"I am in Bhanumati's chamber" said the wane woman removing the stachys byzantina leaf smeared in turmeric from her left arm. The royal life size portrait of Bhanumati and Duryodhan looking at her with pity. She winced, not sure of the eerily mocking smiles of these lovers or of her freshly cauterized arm.
She remembered everything, all that mattered to her, mayhap much more important than her life. The pair of copper eyes which splashed with only love and passion for her were in a lustre of doubt. Why did you do it?
Mirror never lies they say. When she gawked at her obscure reflection in the gold mirror, a loop of that incident raged like a constricted ember in the bed of silent fire. She knew this fire shall burst out as a volcano on their relationship. The arrow of rust tears her flesh and she runs away vanishing from the eyes of that arche, unaware that another arrow of distrust shall more painfully tear her heart shot from the bow of another archer. She saw a girl in the swan colours and acorn gilded, a truth teller or a seer. A girl from kaliyug who was hopelessly in love with a warrior prince from 5000 years ago. A girl from kaliyug with darkest hair as midnight and eyes as brown as honey urning in the sun. A mythology and classic fanatic whom Krishna claims to have the seed of dharma in her heart. A girl who travelled the stygian and mysterious whirlpool of eons of time to learn the values of life.
