Wisdom of the Wounds

Ch 25. Wounds and Words

The silence after Avyukt's last breath hung heavy over the courtyard like a dark clouds on a rainy day. Medhasvini sat frozen, her hand still clutching his, but there was no warmth in his touch that she love so much, no flutter of life left. The air around her felt thick with sorrow, as if the very world had stopped moving with that last breath.

 The suitors—the men who had hoped to win her hand—stood still, their faces a mixture of disbelief and shame. Not one of them had stepped forward when it truly mattered. Now they stood, cowards in the shadow of a true warrior.

Kanha, who had watched the entire sequence unfold with an unreadable expression, stepped forward, his eyes locked on Medha's helpless expression. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle but firm,

"Jiji", he said softly, his voice cutting through the oppressive stillness.

Her body trembled ever so slightly at the touch, but she didn't move. The weight of the moment, the pain of watching the man she had grown to love more than ever- fight and fall, was suffocating. The tears that had threatened to spill over for so long now poured freely, the accordion of anger mixing in with the strings of sorrow.

"Why?", she whispered, her voice cracked.

 "Why did he have to fight? He was already—", she couldn't finish the thought. She squeezed her eyes shut as fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks, trying to forget everything she had just seen, hoping it was just a bad dream. 

The courtyard of the royal palace was quiet except for the faint rustling of the trees, the distant hum of the river, and the muted whispers of the servants spreading rumours like wildfire. Inside the chamber, where they now were, the flickering oil lamps cast long shadows on the walls, and the stillness of the room closing in on everyone in the room.

The Pandavas stood close by, their eyes reflecting concern but their posture remaining as stoic as ever. The warrior brothers, always ready in battle, felt not so strong today. Yudhishthir's brow was furrowed, his normally serene demeanor clouded with worry, seeing his best confidante laying lifeless.

 Bheem stood beside him, his strong hands clenched, his jaw tight in frustration. Arjun, ever the protector, had his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though it was clear that no blade could save Avyukt now. Sahadev, usually the calmest, had been watching Avyukt carefully, hoping for any sign of improvement, while Nakul, the most tender-hearted of them all, stood closest to Medha, his eyes filled with sorrow for her and her grief.

Kridha could not bare to look at him but her eyes were constantly trained on Avyukt. The life that had once been so vibrant in his eyes, the fire that had driven him to face death without a second thought, had faded into........nothing. How could someone so alive, so full of spirit and strength, be taken away in a flash of a second?

Her fingers gripped his hand tighter, her tears falling like a boundless river. There was no sound in the room except for the soft murmur of prayers being offered in the corners, as the Pandavas sought solace in rituals and healing charms.

Suddenly, Yudhishthira moved forward, his gaze fixed on Avyukt's face. Everyone in the room sucked in a breath as he bent close to examine the prince.

"He's breathing...," Yudhishthira whispered, his voice barely audible.

"What?!", Bheem's voice was urgent and rough, his muscles tensing, ready to take action.

His Kshatriya senses had felt the same thing, the faintest rise and fall of Avyukt's chest. He moved closer, bending over the bed as well, leaning in with cautious hope.