🔶🔹Ŧħōʂɛ Ðāÿʂ ļŋ Ęxîɭɛ🔹🔶

~*~The Lake Of Death ~*~

Disclaimer

The story is an a blend of author's imagination with the events mentioned in the original text of the Mahabharat, and the incidents shown in the tele-serials made on Mahabharat. Some of the incidents and dialogue exchange between the characters are added by the author to make the narrative more interesting. The base plot line has been kept as it was in the original text of Mahabharat. So, readers are requested to respect author's imagination.

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Arjun's POV:

The twelfth year of our exile was taking huge toll on jyeshth. The man who had been standing like a strong banyan tree since last eleven years, seemed getting crumpled under heavy weight of guilt and self-hatred. Time and again, we have seen him, cursing himself for the decisions he had taken on the day of the dice game.

One night, I woke up to drink water, when I noticed jyeshth's sleeping mat was unoccupied. I went out to look for him, only to find him pacing outside the cottage. Under the glimmer of moon light, I could clearly see the streaks of tears on his cheeks.

Post that night, I noticed that most of the nights he would lie awake, perhaps haunted by his guilt. Panchali had also confirmed, sometimes jyeshth jolted up from his sleep, screaming her name. When she tried to ask him about it, he declined to confine to her. In the mornings, when we saw his drawn face, we knew that he had suffered. It saddened us to see him like that, but we could not anything to him.

End of Arjun's POV

[1] The twelfth year of exile seemed as long as the other eleven years together. As the end of the exile was approaching, I was perhaps losing my patience. Most of the nights I could not sleep, because every time I closed my eyes, every cruel word said that day at the Dyut Sabha would echo in my ears. The obscene of Dusshashan pulling Kalyani by her hair to the Kuru Sabha, Duryodhana's grin while inviting her to sit on his thighs, the attempt made on stripping the daughter-in -law of Kuruvansh came flooding infront of my eyes. Most nights I was plagued by the horrific nightmares of that day. But I do not want to share my pain with my brothers or Kalyani, for I didn't want them to know how broken I had been from inside.

Amidst this ocean of grief, Rishi Markandeya, came at our hermitage. His words of wisdom reminded me about virtue of patience, which my depressed soul had forgotten. Rishivar stayed with us for around a month. During his stay, he also narrated us about the adventures of Lord Rama, Mother Sita and his brother, Lakshman. He informed us about the greatness of Lord Hanuman. Then he took leave from us after showering us with his valuable blessings.

Through leaps and bounds, we had reached almost end of our twelfth year and only one month was left for us to begin our incognito life. One morning, I was about to sit for my morning prayers, when a distressed old brahmin came to us breathlessly. "Help me!! Maharaj! Please help me otherwise I will be ruined." He cried.

I got up from my place and went to him. "What happened Brahman dev? Why are you so tormented? Please have this water and tell me how can I help you?" I asked, handling a small earthen pitcher of water to the old brahman. My brothers had also gathered around us by then.

The old man took small sips of water from the pitcher and started narrating the incident which made him so anxious, "Maharaj, I had a pair of gifted arani sticks. I used them every day to kindle sacred fire. Today, hanging those pair of sticks outside my hermitage, I went inside to bring ghee (clarified butter). On coming out, I saw a stag running into the wild and my arani sticks, entangled with the stag's antlers were gone. I am an old man; I could not keep up with the pace of that wild stag. But without those arani sticks, I won't be able to perform my sacred fire ritual. Please help me to get back my arani sticks."