Krishnapriya Devashree

49. Doomed

Devashree stood by the window of her chambers, her gaze distant and thoughtful.

Krishna and Balram had left for Kalinga days ago, and the palace, despite its usual bustle, seemed emptier and quieter.

She missed Krishna's presence acutely-the comfort of his smile, the warmth of his touch, and the reassuring sound of his voice discussing state matters or sharing light-hearted banter.

The palace felt less vibrant without his laughter echoing through its halls, and she found herself listening for the sound of his footsteps, a habit that tugged at her heart with a gentle pang each time she remembered he was not there.

Krishna had looked back at her one last time before departing, his eyes holding a promise of swift return, but the uncertainty of separation lingered, a silent shadow that followed her through the day.

Balram's absence was equally felt, his robust energy and protective nature a constant reassurance in Krishna's periods of absence. Revati, too, seemed quieter, her smiles a touch more wistful as she went about her day.

Devashree and Revati shared quiet looks of understanding, each feeling the absence of their husbands, supporting each other through the routine palace duties that refused to pause.

In the solitude of her room, Devashree allowed herself a moment of vulnerability.

She traced the edges of the letter Krishna had left for her, his words inked in a hurried hand, filled with affection and reminders of his undying love.

With trembling fingers, she traced the curves of each letter, feeling the indelible imprint of Krishna's presence in every stroke of ink. She read it often, the paper was worn from her frequent handling, each word committed to memory, each sentence a balm to her aching heart.

The days were filled with managing the affairs of the state, overseeing the ongoing projects that she and Krishna had planned together, and ensuring that everything was in order for his return.

A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Maharani, you asked to be informed of any developments in the training grounds," Satyaki's voice came through the door, respectful yet tinged with concern.

"Yes, thank you, Satyaki," Devashree called back, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

She straightened her saree, tucking away the letter into a drawer-a private treasure for her eyes only.

As she walked through the corridors of the palace, the sounds of daily activity gradually filled the air-the distant clatter of kitchenware, the soft chatter of servants, and the rhythmic tapping of hammers from the ongoing repairs.

Her steps took her towards the palace gardens, and the disciplined chaos of the training grounds. The gardens were lush with the late season's bloom, flowers in bursts of color that swayed gently in the soft morning breeze.

There, by the edge of the garden, near a bed of marigolds, stood Subhadra and Revati. The two were engaged in selecting flowers for the day's pooja.

Catching sight of Devashree approaching, both women straightened, their expressions brightening as they offered her a respectful greeting.

"Devashree," Revati called out warmly, offering a small basket of freshly picked jasmine. "We thought these might brighten the altar today."

"Thank you, Jiji. They're beautiful," Devashree replied, accepting the flowers with a gentle smile.

"And how are you today, Subhadra? Keeping the spirits up?"

Subhadra nodded, her youthful energy a stark contrast to the more composed Revati.