Krishnapriya Devashree

53. Yagyaseni

Devashree wandered restlessly for the second consecutive night.

Each room she entered felt more oppressive than the last, filled with memories and moments shared, now overshadowed by the weight of her current solitude. The throne room, once a place of shared decisions and whispered jokes between her and Krishna, now echoed back her own heartache with stark, merciless clarity.

The pain of their parting-lingered like a persistent shadow, darkening even her most cherished memories. Her mind replayed their last conversation over and over, each a sharp stab to her already wounded spirit.

The physical exhaustion from lack of sleep was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil that churned within her. Lying down only made the absence next to her more pronounced, the cool, untouched pillows a stark reminder of Krishna's absence.

She paced from her private chambers to the balconies overlooking the sea, where the sounds of the waves striking the shore should have soothed her. Instead, each crash felt like an echo of her breaking heart, each retreat of the water a pull at her soul, urging her towards despair.

The stars overhead, usually a sight she loved to share with Krishna, now seemed to mock her with their calm, untroubled light.

"How can you shine so, when the light of my world is gone?" she whispered to them, her voice a mixture of anger and pleading. As she wrapped a shawl tighter around her shoulders, the fabric seemed to hold none of the warmth it once did when Krishna was with her.

Devashree found herself kneeling before the shrine in the chamber. The flickering flames of the oil lamps cast a soft, golden glow around the room, shadows dancing gently across the walls.

"Protect him, please," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the whisper of the wind outside. Her hands were clasped tightly together, the knuckles white with the intensity of her grip.

"Keep him safe on his journey, bring him back to me, unharmed."

She remained kneeling for a moment longer, collecting her strength and calming her heart before she rose.

It was then that she sensed it-the subtle shift in the air, the faintest sound of a breath that was not her own, a presence that hadn't been there before. Her spine stiffened, and a chill ran down her back, the hairs on her neck standing on end.

There was someone in her room. Just behind her.

She could feel the weight of someone's gaze upon her, a gaze she had not invited nor expected at this late hour.

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs as she slowly turned around. The shadows seemed to deepen, each corner of the room a hiding place for whoever had silently entered her sanctuary. The lamps flickered as if stirred by a draft, their light momentarily dimming, casting the room into semi-darkness.

There, just behind her, the outline of a figure loomed. It was too dark to make out features, too shadowy to discern intentions, but the figure's presence was unmistakably ominous. The silhouette stood still, almost blending into the darkness but for the faint outline visible against the dim light.

Devashree's breath caught in her throat, her mind racing with possibilities. Who could it be, standing so silently, watching her without a word? The sense of intrusion was palpable, and the ominous presence of the unknown figure sent a shiver of fear through her already taut nerves.

"Who's there?" Her voice was steady, belying the rapid beating of her heart.

The silence stretched, taut, like a string waiting to snap.

*******

After the celebration and the grand feast of Panchal, Krishna's steps led him beside the lakeside in the evening.