Chandra Charitam [The Moonchild Series | Part I]

~*~|| Espejismo ||~*~

Abhimanyu was running through the corridors as fast as his little feet could carry him. 

The light golden anklets which his Matulani Satybhama had apparently gifted him on his birth, had raised such an unholy din in the fairly empty wing of the Vasant Mahal that it could raise the very dead from their eternal sleep. 

The little prince had realised it rather late that his chaser will be hearing the increased chiming erupting from his feet and track him easily. 

It was a grave strategic faux pas. 

But the youngest son of Arjuna was loathed to remove his favourite ornament even if it did ultimately manage to get him caught. 

His beloved uncle, the dark skinned Madhava, had regaled to him the fascinating story of how Matulani Satyabhama had received the anklets from Bhoomi Devi herself after she had defeated and killed the horrible Narakasura. 

It had been one of his favourite stories and Abhimanyu had conjured up extremely vicious images of a gory battle fought for honour and glory by Krishna and his wife against the mighty demonic ruler of Kamarupa. 

His mother hadn't been very pleased with her brother for she was under the misconception that he was too young to know of war and battles. 

She of course, had no idea how keenly he watched the drills organized by his father for training their best archers and how cleverly he had managed to cajole his uncle Bheema, into letting him witness his majestic wrestling duels. 

He may not be tall enough at the moment but that was no reason for underestimating his capability as a warrior. 

"Stop! Abhi, if you do not come back here this instant then I am going to beat you!"

Subhadra's annoyed shout only made her son increase his speed and the maidservants approaching from the front almost lost their footing as he came barrelling from the corner like a clumsy ball of clothes and hair. 

"Gotcha!"

Abhimanyu squealed in a manner completely unbecoming of a warrior as he found himself being lifted right off the ground by a pair of familiarly muscled arms and hoisted against a ripped torso. 

He groaned in frustration and buried his little face in the crook of his father's shoulder and was assailed with a waft of his cedar scented and thunder washed fragrance. 

"And from whom is my brave son, running away?"

Arjuna's prussian eyes twinkled in mirth as his youngest pulled out his scrunched face from the former's curly hair and glared at him like the question was a personal affront. 

"Mataa...", Abhimanyu grumbled. 

"Is that so? I thought warriors aren't supposed to escape from any battle?", the Commander General of Indraprastha's dauntless forces, pressed his lips, hiding a growing grin. 

"Mama Krishna told me, sometimes it is wise to retreat so that you can live to fight another day", Abhimanyu informed his father gravely, with all the sobriety that a three year old can muster with a lisp. 

"Wait you--ahh! There you are!"

As if on cue, his mother; the ethereal and oftentimes unduly angered, sister of the Dark Lord himself and the youngest wife of Savyasachi - Subhadra, turned the corner, panting. Her beautiful hair which had been tied in a thick braid was askew and the peacock coloured silken robes which had wrapped her svelte figure like an amorous lover were dishevelled.