"Simple," they had said. "Just wrap it around," Dharmendra scoffed as he wrestled with the saree.
Who knew a fabric could be so... rebellious?
Then came the blouse.
Ah, the blouse! A garment so cunningly designed, with hooks so small, they must have been forged in the very fires of trickery. His long fingers, skilled in the art of swordsmanship, fumbled and trembled before these.
"Damn these infernal contraptions!" he muttered, frustration evident in his tone. His face flushed, both from exertion and embarrassment.
He cursed under his breath, sweat forming at his brow. The hooks seemed to slip through his fingers, as if deliberately eluding capture. He could almost hear the fabric laughing at his struggle.
His eyes narrowed, determined not to be bested by mere clothing. He tried again, gripping the delicate fabric with the gentleness he reserved for his most precious possessions. One hook, two hooks... then they all slipped free again.
"By the gods," he muttered, his frustration mounting with every failed attempt. The delicate hooks seemed to mock his efforts, slipping away just as he thought he had them secured. It was as if the blouse had a mind of its own, rebelling against his every move.
And let's not forget the jewelry and makeup.
The Yuvraj of Dharmasamrajya, Dharmendra, who has faced down the fiercest of warriors, now battled with an eyeliner.
A more fearsome foe he has never met. It demanded precision, grace, and a steady hand - qualities apparently he possessed only on the battlefield, not in front of a mirror.
With kohl smudged like the aftermath of a particularly wild battle and bangles jangling with his every defeated movement, the kohl around his eyes gave him a look that was part fierce and part panda!
"Ughh! I will just put on the veil and cover my face."
In a final act of desperation, he grabbed the veil and draped it over his head, obscuring his face. The translucent fabric provided some solace, hiding his imperfect makeup job from the world.
In the luminous embrace of the moonlit night, the crown prince, Dharmendra was, donned in the attire of a Gopi.
With his identity concealed beneath the traditional garb, he moved stealthily through Vrindavan, his warrior's gaze sharpened by the singular intent of finding Krishna and ensuring his sister's well-being.
The garments, though beautifully crafted, were a far cry from the armor and robes he was accustomed to, and he couldn't help but grapple with the swathes of fabric that seemed intent on impeding his mission.
As he neared the secluded spot, guided by the ethereal sound of Krishna's flute, the sight that greeted him brought his covert expedition to a halt.
There, in the gentle sway of the swing, was his sister, Devashree, her head resting peacefully on Krishna's shoulder, enveloped in the tender safeguard of his melody.
The protective fire that had fueled Dharmendra began to waver, tempered by the undeniable harmony of the moment before him.
Krishna's flute wove a melody so pure, so healing, that it seemed to create a sanctuary around him and Devashree, a sanctuary that even the prince, with all his might and resolve, could not breach.
Hidden in the shadows, Dharmendra watched, a silent observer to the scene that unfolded. Witnessing the depth of care and adoration that Krishna held for Devashree, he found himself grappling with the duality of his protective instincts
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Krishnapriya Devashree
FanfictionIn Vaikuntha she is Narayan's Sri; on Prithvilok, she is Krishna's Devashree Call them Krishna and Devashree or Narayan and Lakshmi; both are as eternal as time. Experience their joy and pain by accompanying them in their trials of Dharm and Adharm...
