prāṇācārya - (n.) Physician
━━━𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆, 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏.𓇢𓆸
❛. . .You might now be able to see them,
From where you are;
But look closely-
A candle flares from afar, yet...
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M I T H I L A, MATA GARGI'S ASHRAM
SAUDAMINI'S POV
An eerie silence reigned over the inky black abyss.
The flame of the lamp sputtered, its light waning as the oil dwindled, Devi Gargi's ashrama was still, devoid of any rustle.
Sitting in my hut, beside my cot, I stared blankly at the letter clutched in my hands.
"Not again," I whispered, a lump forming in my throat.
I knew his words would be like icy fingers, tracing over wounds that would never heal. And with each word, I would feel the poison seeping into my veins.
And I was afraid to confront it.
This ashram had treated me well and I wasn't willing to break the fragile bubble of comfort I'd created here. My heart ached every time I had to open the letter, but I had little choice.
With trembling fingers, I traced the inscription on the seal. It was my father's signet ring.
Steeling myself, I broke that seal, The parchment crackled as I unfolded it, revealing my father's familiar handwriting. My eyes scanned the first few lines, my lips pressing into a thin line as the familiar questions swam into view, blurring my vision.
“Veda,” it began. This name was always a cause of curiosity within me. It wasn't a name anyone else used, and while I didn't dislike it, it felt...different. Perhaps it was a nickname, or maybe it held some special meaning for him. I wished I knew.
I continued reading, my breath catching slightly in my throat. I knew the questions that were coming, the ones that always left a sour taste in my mouth.
Why can’t he see how this hurts me?
A surge of annoyance swept over me as there it was again, the usual questions about the princesses: what were they learning, were they doing well? A familiar knot of distress tightened in my stomach.
Despite years of receiving these letters, I still had a hope inside me that perhaps, this time there would be a word of encouragement or a question about my own interests?
But as I continued reading, that hope began to dim. His words, though carefully chosen, were only conveying his subtle curiosity about the princesses' activities. Were they learning new skills? Were they excelling in their studies?
And am I learning from them?
"Not again," I whispered, a tear tracing down my cheek, as a wave of anger, hot and unwelcome, crashed through me.
Isn't the one who mends the warriors after battle just as important?
More tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over and tracing a glistening path down my face, a bitter laugh escaped my lips, breaking the silence of the room. The princesses. Always the princesses!
