The Mahābhārata, an epic of unparalleled intrigue and profound mysteries, has revealed an untold tale of a couple that was lost to the pages of history. This enigmatic story revolves around an unsung heroine, whose life and transformation is the sub...
A/N -: Though, any story is fictional, a few incidents like Abduction of Subhadra and Rukmiṇi wouldn't be changed as they are the main spotlights of the epic. Likewise, a few extracts and reference of harikatha ( A form of Hindu traditional discourse in which the storyteller explores a traditional theme, majorly practiced in southern India) are taken for the story, so you might find marriage of Vatsala and the middle part of the update in other books based upon Vatsala but that doesn't mean I plagiarised their piece of hardwork. :D. Happy reading! I wished to pen up this note as Vatsala is a very rare and unsung character and only a few of them sustain the information of her imprinted in folklore and harikatha unlike Subhadra and Rukmiṇi who are mostly acknowledged probably by the majority of people.
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I sniveled a bit as my wound got exposed to the molecules of air. I rammed my fingers tightly on my father's palm as the herbal paste was smeared on the fresh slash by māṭa. My father's eyes softened as well as upheld a degree of stiffness. He pushed forward an air current through his lips in order to deduce the flaring sensation of the cut. His ocular perceivers always reflected the streak of tender and jovial looks butI failed to figure out the reason concealed behind the rigid stare of my father.
"Pitā." I landed my palm on his rough cheek. The sharp thick-edged beard of my father pressed my palm. It was quite bristle. "Did I commit any mistake?" I asked with a tint of uncertainty.
He chuckled and nudged off my hesitancy "I thought to reflect the behaviour of a strict father but no use."
I whined at the peculiar idea of my father for me. At a sudden my mother's eyebrows twitched at a particular spot. Her hands travelled till my cleavage to grasp the thread dipped in the colour of turmeric. Her disorientation convulsed more at thesight of the thread.
"Vatsu, what's this? How did it come to your neck?" It was my father's voice. He questioned as his face wrenched in agitation.
My brain was engaged in grasping the expressions of my parents. It took a couple of minutes to inspect her shock outof the blue. After that, my mind processed the information that was transmitted. I gathered the strength to weave my answer. I looked at the turmeric thread with irate as my brain was forced to recollect the past incidents yet there my heart was jingling in content at the recent memory of mine.
"This one! It contains a back-up story, māṭa and pitā! A few days ago, we children, Bhārgavi, bhrāta Cārudēha, Abhi and the daughter of one of the minister; Karma and son of the royal priest; Avyukt were distressed as we aren't left with anything to play!" I elucidated the quater of the tale yet my parent's eyes upheld the urge to acknowledge further.
