𝑰𝒏𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒌𝒉𝒂, a young cheerful girl from Kaliyug, is reborn as the sister of the Pandavas after she dies. She was the apple of their eyes, their soul, their peace.
She was Yudishthir's mind.
She was Bheem's strength.
She was Arjun's eyes.
She...
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Day 5
To be dusk
Pandava Camp
Kurukshetra
Satyadev, the Senapati of the Pandava army, got stabbed. His charioteer rushed him back to the camp, his blood dropping on the chariot seat.
"Inform Samrat Yudishthir and Indulekha won't hear a word of this," He ordered a soldier who escorted him inside the camp. He fell on the bed, his legs no longer supporting his body. His hands gripped his abdomen, putting pressure on the cut. The blood seeped through between his fingers, determined to flush out.
"Get the medic to the Senapati, now!"
Satyadev's ears rang, barely any sound passing through. His palm was taken off his wound, and cleaned by the maids. The medics heeded to his injury, slightly panicked by the blood loss. A few pastes were applied to let it heal, then they'd have to stitch it up. At least that's what Satyadev heard the doctors saying.
His little sister, Uttara, rushed to his side, her eyes widened at the gruesome scene. Unknowingly, tears brimmed up in her eyes. The woman, dressed in a light blue sari, frowned. She sat down beside him, her arms reaching out to the injury but faltering.
"I'm fine, don't worry." Satyadev said, making sure to provide enough oxygen to his burning lungs. Each inhale felt like his body would collapse and each exhale like it would never heal again.
"You don't look fine, Bhrata." Uttara mumbled, her kohl slowly dripping down with her tears.
"I already lost one brother, I cannot lose you too, Jyeshta."
He frowned at her, the image of Uttar's pyre flashing in his mind. He shook his thoughts away, not wanting the sorrow that came along with it.
"You won't lose me, Uttara. In this war, even if I die, I won't be leaving you." He flashed a smile, bearing through the pain.
"These poetic words might impress Bhabi-shree, but I've been hearing such nonsense since I was born. Be honest, is this life-threatening?" She asked, her voice hushed as she gripped on her brother's hand.
Satyadev sighed.
"They just need to stitch it up, then it'll be fine."
Uttara nodded, standing up.
"That better be true"
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"Come on, go fight"
Nakul's voice echoed in my mind as I heard my arrows squelch through the flesh it pierced.
I had been fighting, yes, but against my urge to sleep.
Every time I launched an arrow, I made sure not to waste all of my remaining strength on it. My charioteer kept giving me looks, judging me for my dark circles and lazy shooting. Ignoring the feeling of numbing and the constant stare from my judgemental charioteer, I sat down on the chariot seat. My right arm, which I couldn't strain else my blood vessels would burst, shook each time I held my bow. I put it down on my chariot to rest my limbs.
"Stop going ahead, fall into position."
Upon my order, he immediately halted the horses. With a twist and tug at the leash, the horses walked aside to form the vyuh. I could see Bhrata Arjun exactly opposite me, on the far end. Bhrata Karn positioned himself a few soldiers behind me, giving me a nod of approval for rest. Bhrata Bheem stood beside me, his hands gripping his mace tightly.
Bhrata Bheem was going to kill a few more Kauravas today. Unlike yesterday, when he'd only killed a few and sent Duryodhan into a slight state of shock, this time he vowed to finish most of the brothers off.
Slightly jarred at the brutal comments he'd made after that; I hadn't said anything about it.
As I stood up in my place, seeing the blaze of revenge in Bhrata Bheem's eyes, I realised that wasn't just a joke.
The revenge for the insult of his sister, the threat upon his niece's life, the constant troubles for his brothers and their daring to burn his mother, along with his siblings.
He was going to fulfil his vows, whatever he'd taken that day after I had left, no matter what.
With a growl, the army charged ahead.
Pitamaha didn't hesitate either. His arrows showered on us with no mercy, piercing through many of our soldiers. I saw one coming towards me and I should've dodged. That would have been the right thing to do if I had done it.
Instead, my warrior instincts asked me to deflect the arrow.
Survival instincts always win over warrior instincts but having trained myself to not do exactly that for 12 years, I launched an arrow towards his. My arrow, black with a sharp edge and narrow with a feather-like ending, clashed with his.
The ringing of the destruction caused was deafening.
The soldiers around roared, alerting each other of their presence. The soil was no longer dense, it flew up in bits as dust and dirt.
I didn't see my husband on the battlefield, but he was probably way ahead, being the army chief.
I got used to the clashing of swords and screams of anguish. Not being bothered by it anymore, I showered arrows onto the opposition. My hands had been scraped, my thumb still cut and let's not even talk about the arrow's wound on my right arm. My feet were numb, my breath disordered and my eyes drowsy.
But that's what war is, alright?
A symphony of pain, agony and death.
I heard Bhrata Bheem's roars as he slashed off the Kaurava brothers, Duryodhan's cry was yet louder. The cry continued as the conch echoed, a ghost of the love the eldest Kaurava had for his brothers lingered in the air.
"He did it, he started it. He killed Kauravas."
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