Janani - The Warrior Mother

Chapter 13

3 years later

"Give this to Jiji for me," Subhadra said, holding out a rolled piece of parchment as her brother ascended the chariot. He smiled sadly, gratefully accepting the letter and promising to deliver it.

She sent a letter with him every time Krishna went to visit them. He could never take her, risks associated and all, but she could always write to them. She wrote about their sons, older now, replicas of their fathers.

Draupadi always wrote back a response. Through her, Subhadra knew that Arjun, Bheem, Nakul and Sahdev had gone their own separate ways, practicing penance to achieve divine weapons. Her letters were always tear-stained, ink blotted out in places her tears had fallen. Hearing about her children always made Draupadi cry- the fact that she wasn't there to see them grow herself.

It really should get easier as every year passed by but it did not. They were happy, but then again, they weren't. The first few birthdays weren't even celebrated, but slowly the boys began a tradition-one where they would have kheer on special days.

It included their anniversary, a day marked with quiet reverence on her part. She would go to the temple that day, relive the moment when she took his hand and changed their destiny forever. 

It was as painful as it was liberating.

She shouldn't do it to herself, she really shouldn't, but it brought her a brief sense of real happiness- sitting there by the lamps as darkness fell in complete and utter silence. She believed if it was silent enough, she could hear him as if he was right there, next to her. 

"You're late," she murmured, the words slipping from her lips without thought, as natural as if she were greeting him after a long day.

A soft chuckle echoed in the stillness, the sound so familiar it made her heart stutter. "Oh, am I now?" Arjun's voice, rich with teasing warmth, filled the room. "I thought I'd let you have some time to yourself, but it seems you can't do without me even for a moment."

Subhadra could almost see him, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed and that mischievous glint in his eyes. It was so real, so tangible, she wished she could watch him forever.

"Oh, the arrogance," she replied, a smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe I've grown quite used to the silence, enjoying the peace without you around to disturb it."

"Is that so?" His voice was closer now, as if he'd pushed away from the wall and taken a step toward her. "And here I was, thinking you missed me."

She let out a soft laugh, a sound that felt both joyous and bittersweet. "Perhaps a little," she admitted, turning her head slightly, as if she could catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. "But don't let it get to your head, dear husband."

"Too late," his voice dropped to a low whisper, and she could almost feel his fingers brush against that spot on her neck. "It already has." The phantom fluttering of her heart was a cruel reminder of how desperately she missed him.

"I wish you were here," she whispered into the silence, her smile fading from her lips. "Truly here."

His image wavered slightly, the warmth he brought slipping away like sand through her fingers. "I'm right here," his voice echoed, but it was fainter now, more distant.

She reached out, but her hand grasped only air. The silence returned, heavier than before, and the room felt colder, emptier. She drew in a shaky breath, her gaze lingering where he had been just minutes ago.

It never got easier.

"Maa!" that was Abhimanyu, running up the stone steps. "Maa, where are you?"

"I'm here, Abhi," she called out, voice steadying as she stood up. She turned to face the doorway just as he burst into the room, his brown eyes shining with excitement, a wide grin on his face.