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The winds were moving softly, yet it was not a breeze that someone could take solace in. No, it was like it moved not because it wished to do so, but because it was its duty to do so. The Sun had hid itself in the horizon a bit early, not ready to face the world it lighted so graciously for longer. The water of the rivers were just slightly alkaline, as if it had been mixed with salty tears shed in the company of none. It seemed that Nature itself was mourning the loss of its finest warrior.
The Shiv Mandir was not occupied with the auspicious sounds of bells that soothed one's restless soul today, instead the void was being filled with gut wrenching wails that would shake fear in the hearts of the calmest.
A woman sat amidst the lighted earthen lamps as she cried her heart out for the man she held as dear as she did her son.
He was no less than my son. She thought as no tears came out anymore, the cloth on her eyes soaked with pearls of grief.
Grief over her fate, for she was the unfortunate mother who had to listen to the news of the death of her 100 sons and one more yet did not have the freedom to die alongside them.
Grief for the people of her kingdom, for it was plunged into the abyss of misery that this War was, and could do nothing apart from sitting idly and knowing that life was crumbling by each passing day.
Grief for her Vasu, her son, her Sun in a world that was lightless. And once again, her life was barren, its fulfillness died with the man who so dearly used to call her 'Queen' teasingly, only to see her frown and being scolded to use Mata instead.
Oh, she had known that Death would be a constant visitor to her home during this War, but she had not expected it to steal Vasu from her.
It was a blow to her conscience, already weakened by the news of the deaths of her sons and grandsons that drove the lady out of her chambers to her God, screaming at the Shivling in agony.
And she had been there since then, and when the news of her eldest son's death had come to her there, she had merely nodded with her lip quivering, her chest hurting from weeping for so long. And now she has another loved one to mourn.
The Queen of Hastinapur was lamenting on her current state, reduced to a bundle of sorrow and tears, when she heard it.
Two pairs of footsteps, one heavy and hesitant, the other quick and impatient.
"Didi." Came an all too familiar voice from the threshold of the temple as the footsteps died, the addressed woman turning her head in that direction.
Gandhari jerked at the sound, and though her eyes were restricted by the cloth, she knew way too well who had come in her presence.
Ignoring the woman, she addressed the man whom she imagined to be all curly hair and slender fingers and dark as his name.
"Krishna." Her lip curved in a melancholic smile, her tone hoarse from the lack of use. "Have you come to gloat?"
