HELLO MAHABHARATA

62. Kärsiä

kärsiä: to suffer, experience, undergo (something negative = genitive-accusative)/ finnish word

POMEGRANATE PEARLS PAINTED HER FINGERS SCARLET. She smiled briefly touching the flues of that one iridescent feather tied to the glittering diamond bracelet on her wrist as she fastened the bowstring of her bow. "I am being like you now, see, grazing the goats on the hilltops of a serene afternoon, under these flamboyant trees, the peacock is dancing near that lake, I can hear some cows mooing and all I need is a flute"

"You play horribly". The peacock feather chimed and she heard the divine voice of Krishna whom she could imagine clearly giving a deadpan.

Simran rolled her eyes while reclining comfortably on the sturdy and sable trunk of the ancient flamboyant tree which was as if sheltering her with its swerving and almost weak but very stalwart branches nurturing those blossoms in coral. "You must know that I am very ambitious and hard working as well, so I will try my best to not bore you or anyone" answering in her defense she was twisting the loose and stubborn tendrils kissing her cheeks around her fingers hiding a curl on her lips seeped with crimson pearls' juice.

And she was sure that she heard a chortle, deep as the never taken paths of the woods and gravely calm as the lake in gossamer of afternoon sun.

She pulled out a sharp arrow from the bamboo quiver resting on that rock and began sharpening the shaft to build it as a painful weapon, the periodic scraping was a rhythm of some man's preference, his best loved tune. Perhaps the forest was in a fit of giggles led by the blue lord at the obliviousness of the two people.

"I cannot stake the hearing senses of my beloved cows and goats and peacocks and sparrows and arrow arum flowers. Not happening. You are not getting any flute"

Hastily pulling the bowstring of her bow, she shot that arrow towards the western direction, the solitary silence of the gust was interfered as the sharp arrow teared the seven birch trees caving deeper in the woods, some vireo birds shockingly hid in their nests and frogs dunked in the teal stagnant waters at the abruptness. She was irrefutably confident that she heard some deliberately muted footsteps spoilt in attempt by the crushing of dead birch branches.

Unfortunately or fortunately was left for her to decide as that arrow was caught smartly in a hand, or she missed the target intentionally.

The doyen fingers in dusky tones with scars on the tips were circling the fletching of falcon feathers, in no time catching the arrow before it pierced his heart, perhaps it already pierced his heart. The umbra expanded with each moment on the ochre ground as the creator of the suspicious sound revealed himself by stepping forward from behind the birch tree, komorebi kissing his seraphic dusted skin. The air was damp, earthly moist suddenly or she was hallucinating. Not this time. Parthjaya turned around, bow hanging on her shoulder like an archer and her unibrow furrowed along with her parted lips.

"I don't believe you need a flute now my angel" Krishna's rhetoric sang in her mind, his omniscient snort fading as the banging beats of her heart reverberated in the quiet of woods.

"No, I need arrows now" seething, she darted herself raging like the forest fire towards the hand caressing her arrow.

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"WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS DOING SO? LET THEM BE AARYA, THERE IS SO MUCH MORE FOR YOU TO SEE" Bhanumati dropped the fruit knife clanking in the copper salver and the half-cut oxidizing apple slipped from her milk white hands.

She was knackered, completely. Building him by gathering bricks and being his robin bird, she was lost in an abyss but her hope wasn't, it shall always scintillate in her soul. What choice do I have? The mother of Duryodhan's children shut her kohl embellished virescent eyes and saw them. Laxmanaa laughed as she wrote letters to her friends in far kingdoms and Laxman practised routinely hard enough to impress his elders. For my children, their smiles won't fade, ever...