My Days in Mahabharat

"You are different"

Indraprastha

I pranced down the sandstone stairs of corridors facing the front lawns. The sway of cold morning breeze brushed my cheeks swirling around my body and paving it's way from my curly hair lurching them. It was a morning of nature's bliss this day and I was on serotonin.

The daybreak was festooned with the pink foamy clouds, tinctures of cerise lengths, lights of the sun glittering the sheer layers of sky. Cuckoos singing the dawn chorus in melody, sparrow, ploughbills and doves were off on their journeys in the swathes of sky vast above pulchritudinous city of Indraprastha.

The green gauzy dupatta which was cumulated around my neck rests asymmetric from the left shoulder dipping in the puddles of dew and residue of fountain sprays in buoyant fashion. I lifted my satin lehenga from my left hand sequined in the uniform colors at the hem flitting from the cowsheds to the stable.

The stable was quiet until he heard my anklets’ jingling. The affectionate neighs and slight gallops of him then echoed in the domesticated arena. “You know I’m here? How?” I mocked with a false confusion whilst my mischievous eyes knew it all backwards. My hands rested on my hips as I raised my arched brows.

Purple, the snowy white strong and mighty horse. The soft and supple fur, powerful limbs, his mane resembles snowstorms when it flows with the air. His doe eyes were adorned with black outlines like kohl and his iris was lavender colored, so I named him, Purple.

It was a part of my daily routine to spend some time in embrace of mother earth.

Purple whinnied and tossed his head happily as I stroked his neck. He has always been a listener, a listener to my not so effective romantic poetries, my soliloquies, melancholic blabber, my vocals of heart, raving remarks of him, Arjun. I wrapped my arms round his scruff caressing his mane with my eyes closed in rhapsodic reminiscent. Purple's soft nickers were returns and sympathies of my unrequited love or I should say unintentionally unrequited.

“I hope my Saibya isn't jealous of your Purple. Looking at you, I feel that I'm less solicitous to him”

Arjun had entered the stable breaking my blissful paradise to delightful heaven. He was feeding his horses a few haylage and garden fresh grass stroking their temples.

His lustrous hair were claimed by the winds who love to flirt with them. The dusky complexion of Sabyasachi was glowing more as the sun was rising in warmer tones. He was dressed in a pearly white silk dhoti embroidered​ with gold threads and so was his ivory silk angavastra weaved with silver threads in the intricate patterns of swans and lotuses. He wore some minimalistic jewelry, his broad and sculpted chest embellished with a single lariat necklace hanging from his neck till his torso. Those scarred and calloused yet nicely shaped fingers were decorated with a big spherical gold ring.

The winds would swish around his temples exposing his earrings as the strands of tresses would fly in undulating manner. He looked godly in his all accords as I could smell him of sandals, honey and mostly of the Petrichor.

“Simran” he called out waving his fingers in front of my brown eyes which have been gawking him. I jumped on my place a little fidgeting the roses and a few buds of a nearby shrub unnecessarily.

“What? Are you in Indraprastha or somewhere in a land of your dreams?” he shuffled closer moving my hands away from the bush scrunching his slightly thick brows. A pinprick of blood oozed from my fingertips.

Never in my wildest dreams I had imagined that I will get into my fantasy land, Mahabharata and fall in love with this man, Arjun.

“It's all natural Arjun, rose bushes have thorns in them”

I sucked a few drops of scarlet blood from my finger and looked over my shoulder to find him standing spot contemplating the simple universal truth I casually announced. He curled his lips placing his left hand on his waist.

“You sound like Madhav sometimes, I mean it was simple rose bushes have thorns. What's special about them?” he enquired like a curious child.

Krishna! I know! Your Nara, He is a tough job!

I chuckled at my own thought and at Dhananjaya's eager ways present before me. I held his wrist in my small palms endeavouring to drag him covering the distance between our paces. He himself walked ahead standing firmly beside me. We slackly sauntered in the lawn on the sides of flower bed, breathing the misty air scented with orchids, fuschias, dandelions and tulips. He pulled the tips of my hair mischievously in intervals suppressing his laughs habitually. My peripheral vision could catch him staring at me and following my every movement.

“You are different” he divulged shredding a few rose petals in his fingers. I settled myself on the lush greenery managing my lehenga in its circumference. I wrapped my arms around my knees closer to my chest looking at my feet peeking from the brocaded hem.

“Of course I will be different, I am from kaliyug” I answered watching a pair of love birds on the branch of flamboyant tree. Arjun traversed his gaze at the pair of those fischers. He sat down beside me resting his arms on his knees and carefully placing the end of my dupatta near me to avoid it getting beneath his foot.

Everything was hushed except the chirping of birds in azure sky, neighs of horses in the stable, moos of cows in the shed, aeolines of winds in the garden, splashing of water in ivory fountains and ponds, stamping of servicemen in the galleries, clanking of swords from the arsenal and. . . our breathes.

“You are so jovial and lively when with others but you keep quiet when you are with me. . . I mean- ” he framed layering his words still gazing at the love birds.

“I listen— I listen to the Parth who is calm, composed and quiet when with others” my voices layered sheers of love whose revelation is mysterious.

The archer stared at me, and kept staring. I don't know why but it was so serene to feel his copper eyes over me and avoid looking at him.

“Pranipat Prince Arjun. Emperor Yudhishthir has asked for your presence in the court” a hand maid approached to us.

He blinked spontaneously vacillating between his gazes travelling towards me and then the palace. “Tell Jyesth Bhrata that I am coming” he spoke as the handmaid exited with a bowed head.

He placed his palm on the ground pressurising it with his body weight and he got up swiftly rubbing his palms brusquely to shed the soil. He ran his fingers in his hair shaking his head wildly. He smiled at me and took his elephantine strides towards the court wrapping his angavastra around his left wrist.

“Apologies no apologies” he scurried hastily breaking out in laughter.

He was as fast as a cheetah. I didn't comprehend when he sprinted back and went away.

I was yet again sitting with rose petals trapped in the stands of my hair for Arjun can never let go of his mystic to shower me with flower petals, not romantically of course. I faintly ruffled my curls to let get of these fragrant shredding. An unevenly torn piece of that rosy petal imprinted itself on the tips of my fingers. I smelt it to only realize its fragrance have been transformed into Petrichor.

‘Rose bushes have thorns’

You're the rose of my love which have thorns of unawareness, unrequited passion, non-expression, demeanor, my one sided pain, grief and Love.