Mahabharat - The Changed Fate

Chapter 7 : The Color

Location: The Royal Palace, Mithila

The air was thick with the fragrance of blooming flowers, a testament to the serenity of the royal gardens in Mithila. The palace, with its towering golden spires and intricately carved walls, stood in the backdrop like a silent sentinel watching over the kingdom, its reflection rippling gently in the nearby lake. The sound of birds chirping and the soft murmur of a cool breeze rustling the trees set the perfect scene for a leisurely walk.

Avika, known fondly as Maithili to her dear friend Krishna, was walking beside him, her face bathed in the soft glow of the late afternoon sun. She seemed lost in her thoughts, her long hair flowing behind her like a silken veil, catching the light as they strolled along the stone pathways lined with roses, jasmines, and lilies. The garden, a true masterpiece of royal design, was a favorite retreat for her, a place where she could escape the overwhelming pressures of court life and enjoy peaceful moments.

Krishna, however, walked with his usual grace, his blue complexion blending seamlessly with the skies above. There was always something mystical about him. His eyes, twinkling with mischief, held worlds within them, and today was no different. Avika could sense that he was thinking about something, and it was only a matter of time before he voiced it.

As they walked in silence, Avika's thoughts drifted to the conversations she had overheard earlier in the day. The palace had been abuzz with rumors of alliances, marriages, and the changing tides of kingdoms. But amidst all that chatter, Avika had found herself feeling somewhat distant. She had not yet experienced the kind of love everyone talked about so fervently. Not the love of a family, which she knew well, but the kind of love that poets spoke of – deep, romantic, all-consuming.

And then, as if on cue, Krishna broke the silence.

"Maithili," Krishna began, his voice soft yet filled with curiosity, "do you know the true form of love?"

Avika blinked in surprise, turning her head to look at him. His question seemed to echo in the vastness of the garden, and for a moment, she wondered what had prompted him to ask such a thing. Krishna, of all people, was asking her about love?

She couldn't help but laugh softly, her amusement evident in her tone. "Govind, you, whom the whole Aryavarth takes as an example for love and friendship—you, who are celebrated for your divine bonds with Radha and the gopis of Vrindavan—are asking me, someone who has never fallen in love, this question?"

Krishna smiled at her in return, his eyes holding the warmth of a thousand suns. "Ah, my dear sakhi, Maithili," he said, teasingly drawing out her name, "so as you said, you don't know anything about love. Then how about this: let us both go to Rangraj and ask him to make the color of love for us?"

Avika stopped in her tracks, raising a skeptical eyebrow at him. She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression a mix of confusion and amusement. "But Govind," she countered, "do you think love has a color?"

Krishna chuckled softly, his voice like the sweet notes of a flute in the wind. "Maithili, how would we know whether love has a color or not unless we try making it once?"

Avika's brow furrowed, her thoughts swirling as she pondered his cryptic words. "Govind," she said after a moment, "is it even possible for me to think of the color of love when I don't even know what it feels like? How can I imagine something so abstract when I have never experienced love from someone who is not family, someone with whom I share a bond different from all others?"

Krishna paused, turning to face her fully now. His expression was thoughtful, and for a brief moment, he seemed older, wiser—an embodiment of the divine love he was so well-known for. "Maithili, do you think it is possible for me then?" he asked, his voice soft and filled with sincerity.