Love Across Time : Mahabharat

Ninety Three : Tangled Mess of Emotions

-𝓣𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓮𝓭 𝓜𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓔𝓶𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼-

A strangled gasp ripped Aanya from her slumber, flinging her upright as if yanked by invisible strings. Disoriented, she blinked at the familiar, yet oppressive, darkness of their makeshift shelter. The rhythmic snores of Draupadi, a counterpoint to the storm raging within Aanya, were the only sounds that dared break the suffocating quiet. But the terror wasn't a product of the night. It clung to her like a shroud, a chilling premonition that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness, a taste of bitter ash on her tongue.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Aanya tried to banish the gruesome tableau that had played out behind her eyelids. It wasn't just vivid, it felt real, the stench of blood mingling with the metallic tang of fear. The glint of sunlight on sharpened steel seemed to sear her retinas. The crimson tide that spilled across the battlefield, staining the once fertile earth, felt slick beneath her bare feet. The heart-wrenching cries of warriors, the agonizing whinny of dying steeds, all echoed in her ears, a grotesque symphony of war's brutality that drowned out even Draupadi's gentle breathing.

Tears welled in her eyes blurring the image of Draupadi's peaceful slumber. A choked sob escaped her lips, muffled by the hand she instinctively pressed against her mouth, terrified of waking her friend and exposing the vulnerability that clawed at her insides. Sleep, a refuge for most, had become Aanya's tormentor. Each night was a battlefield of its own, a relentless assault on her sanity, a chilling glimpse into the horrifying reality that loomed on the horizon, a reality she desperately wished was just a nightmare.

A suffocating silence pressed down on Aanya as she rose, her movements a mournful echo to the rustle of dead leaves clinging to skeletal branches. Even Yudhishthira, usually plagued by restless nights, lay uncharacteristically still outside, his face a map of worry lines deepened by the harsh moonlight. With a heart heavy as a stone sinking in a stagnant pond, Aanya slipped out of the shelter. The cool night air, once refreshing, now mocked her with its fleeting comfort against the inferno raging within.

The gentle murmur of the river, a lullaby from a lifetime ago, mocked her with its false serenity. Arjun. The ache for his presence, a physical yearning like a phantom limb, was a constant throb in her chest. Abhimanyu, safe but distant in Dwarka, was a gaping hole in her world, a constant reminder of the fracturing of their fragile family. But the quietude held a far more terrifying sound, the deafening roar of what might have been.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her ears still echoing with her screams in Dyutsabha. Would things be any different if she hadn't stepped into that hall that day? If she hadn't encouraged Dushala to defy fate? Was she wrong to try and defy the destiny?

Aanya sank to her knees, the cool earth a poor excuse for comfort. She was falling apart, crumbling day by day under the weight of Dyutsabha. All she craved was a peaceful life, a dream that now seemed as distant as the stars themselves. Here she was, alone without her husband and children, drowning in a sea of darkness that threatened to consume her whole.

"For every flame you conjure, a piece of your humanity burns. Power exacts its toll." Kanha's words echoed in her mind, that scraped against the raw wound of her conscience. She cast her gaze upwards, but the moon, once a source of solace, offered no comfort tonight. Its pale luminescence seemed to mock her, a cold, indifferent orb in a sky devoid of answers. Her life, she thought with a bitter twist of her lips, was becoming a twisted reflection of that moon, perpetually alone, adrift in a vast emptiness, forever separated from the constellations she held most dear.

A strangled sob escaped her lips, a sound filled with despair. Was this truly her only path? Was justice a cruel deity, demanding a sacrifice of blood and innocence in exchange for its favor? "Is there no other way?" she whispered, the question a plea to the uncaring stars. "What kind of justice is this, built on the The question, a desperate plea, hung heavy in the air, unanswered by the indifferent stars that glittered down like a million cold, uncaring eyes.