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...
of or relating to Orpheus or Orphism / mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding.
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THOSE DEAD BONES PLUNGED AS AN IMPENDING CATERWAUL of raw doom on the tapestry of woven yarns sewn only to kill the five elements of righteousness.
"Everytime? How do you do it every single time Mamashree." Duryodhan laughed out a presumption of sheer victory even in his loss. Tasting that filthy dust of defeat was his last dread until that lamenting over sourness assured his real win. Just as always his thirst for gold throne was made firm with each depleting and faltered step towards it, nonetheless his dear maternal uncle shall always heal him.
"My child how much I love you" said a grinning Shakuni, his ember decaying incisors gaping like fangs of a venom. "Mamashree it was an incur of doom for them, when they insulted Bhrata in the luxury of their abode. Now they shall repent" Dushasan gritted in his teeth, smirked in suit glancing at his elder who quickly nodded heads of agreement with his best friend's arm resting on his broad shoulder. "True words anuj, true words"
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"Mitra insulting someone by inviting them to their home is the highest of brutality to a person's chastity. They shouldn't have laughed at you, that boisterous Bheem and a narsiscistic Nakul." Karn sneered lackadaisicaly moving the rusted iron stick in those burning coals of campfire. "It was all overconfidence and pride dancing on their vile heads. They are all sinisters so is their pretentious wife. They act to be the virtuous of the world yet, a blasphemy is the seed of their tree" Duryodhan gnashed his lower lip, a pinprick of blood oozing out from his vengeance.
"I always say, snatch a king's gold and wealth and make him a beggar. But steal and destroy his pride and make him a living dead. You were laughed as a clown in the opulent halls of the Indraprastha, the crown prince and coronated king of Hastinapur's pride was stolen and ruined that wretched day." Gandharraj picked up the elm wood pawn and threw it violently in the stagnant pool of old moss stained teal waters.
"Indeed. My good friend was made as a nothing. How my heart burns as my eyes still have the nightmare of you, Mitra, wasted and despondent amidst the wrath of flames each moment in a hunger to ravish you! It shatters and frightens me to even imagine the consequences, your decision of suicide, if I hadn't. . ."
