Kshatrani - The Warrior Princess

Aspirations

Prince Arjun stood in the practice grounds, stringing his bow, feeling the thrill of his practiced art. His fingers moved with practiced precision. The bowstring hummed with tension as he drew it back, his eyes locked onto the distant target. In that moment, the world around him faded into silence, leaving only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the unyielding focus of his gaze.

With a sharp exhale, Arjun released the arrow. It soared through the air, a swift and silent messenger of his intent. The arrow struck the target with a satisfying thud, embedding itself in the very center. A wave of exhilaration surged through him. This was his element, his sanctuary. Here, under the open sky, with his bow in hand, he was unstoppable.

It was this time his father's absence struck him the most; when he thought of who he had become.

"My Arjun will become the best warrior this world has ever seen," Pandu declared, holding a toddler Arjun in his arms. "He will protect his older brothers with everything he has."

"Yes, Arya." Kunti placed a hand on Arjun's cheek, smiling with maternal pride. "We are blessed with a son who carries the prowess of Lord Indra himself."

Arjun was just five years old, his small hands barely able to wrap around the hilt of a wooden sword. Pandu knelt beside him, his strong hands steadying Arjun's grip. "Hold it firmly, my son," Pandu instructed, his voice a blend of patience and encouragement. "A warrior's strength lies not just in his arms but in his heart."

Arjun swung the wooden sword, mimicking his father's movements. Pandu's laughter echoed through the woods as he gently corrected Arjun's stance. "Remember, Arjun, every warrior starts small. With each day, you grow stronger."

The sky was a sombre grey on the day Arjun had learned of his father's death. The once vibrant gardens now seemed a shadow of their former self, their silence echoing the void in Arjun's heart. He was just eight years old, but the weight of the loss made him feel far older.

He clutched a small wooden bow, the one his father had made for him with his own hands, his knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. His eyes, usually bright with determination, were now clouded with tears that he fought to hold back. His older brothers stood nearby, their faces etched with sorrow, but Arjun felt utterly alone in his grief.

He recalled the countless hours he had spent here with his father, Pandu's voice guiding him, encouraging him, teaching him. Now, that voice was silenced forever. The reality of it struck him like a physical blow, and he sank to his knees, the bow slipping from his grasp and clattering to the ground.

Kunti approached, her own face lined with grief, but her eyes were filled with a deep, unspoken strength. She knelt beside Arjun, pulling him into her arms. "He loved you dearly, my son. We must honour his memory by staying strong."

Arjun buried his face in his mother's shoulder, his small body shaking with sobs. "How can I be strong without him, mata?"

Kunti held him tighter, her hand gently stroking his hair. "We will all learn to be strong, son. We must. It is what he would've wanted."

He had learnt to shut his emotions out- he didn't cry when his mother Madri gave up her life, he couldn't cry when his brothers cried. He could only channel his grief into something tangible.

His father had been the only person he considered a mentor until he met his Guru. Dronacharya had asked him a simple question- "Arjun, what do you see?"

"The eye of the bird, Gurudev."

"Then shoot."

Shoot, shoot, shoot- his relentless mantra, it drove him breathless with being. With unwavering concentration, Arjun released the arrow. It flew straight and true, piercing the eye of the bird with perfect precision. A hush fell over the practice grounds as the other boys watched in awe. For Arjun, it was a moment of profound clarity and purpose. His practice became an almost meditative ritual, the rhythmic draw and release of the bowstring a symphony of focus and intent. Every arrow he shot, every target he hit, was a step closer to becoming the greatest warrior the world had ever seen.