Saga Of The Timeless (A Mahabharata Story)

54. Fragile Hope

2 months later................... Total 3 months since Tvarita Left.

Tvarita's POV

Life had settled into a strange, monotonous rhythm since I arrived here. Every day felt the same, except for one thing: the leather bag. It sat there in front of me like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. I don't know what was inside, but my hand kept reaching for it. I didn't want to open it, didn't want to face what it held, but something in me refused to let it go. If I tried to throw it away, it would somehow find its way back.

Guru Parashuram and Mata Dharini had been incredibly patient with me. Their kindness, their understanding—it only made my guilt heavier. They didn't ask me about the bag, didn't press me for explanations. But I could feel their unspoken questions hanging in the air.

Today was like every other day. I was sitting by the lake, where I had once sipped the last of the vodka I had . Yes, vodka. I had tried to get my hands on the ancient madira here, but it wasn't the same nor was it available. Nothing was the same.

"Uuhh," I groaned, running my hand through my matted, greasy hair. When was the last time I'd even thought about washing it? I didn't care anymore. Nothing seemed to matter.

I uncorked the bottle and took a long gulp of vodka, the burn sliding down my throat like a temporary relief from the storm raging inside me. Without thinking, I began stripping off my clothes, not caring that I was out in the open. This place was secluded, hidden from the world. No one came here except for mata Dharini and some females, and if they did, they wouldn't find me.

The cold water of the lake wrapped around me as I dove in, its icy touch numbing my senses. But it was nothing compared to the numbness I already carried inside. The smell of sweat and dirt washed away as I dunked myself beneath the surface, scrubbing away the filth of the days... or had it been weeks?

I lost track of time. Hours, maybe more, passed while I drifted in the water, staring up at the sky, the mountains in the distance, the heavy clouds that mirrored the weight in my chest.

"Putri Tvarita." Mata Dharini's voice echoed through the stillness, pulling me from my daze. I didn't answer. I just kept staring at the mountain in the distance, pretending not to hear her. But I could feel her presence behind me, always watching.

"Savitri, get some fresh clothes for Devi," she called to one of her helpers.

"Of course, Mata," Savitri answered, then retreated to fetch the clothes.

Mata Dharini tried again, her voice soft but firm. "Putri Tvarita."

I didn't turn. My eyes were fixed on the mountain—so far, so unreachable, like the peace I kept chasing.

I heard her footsteps on the grass, turning to leave. But something inside me stirred, and before I could stop myself, I called out.

"Mata..."

She stopped, turned back, and looked at me with that familiar, gentle gaze.

"Yes, Putri?"

My voice cracked, words heavy with the weight of everything I'd been holding in. "Will this pain ever stop?"

Mata Dharini's expression softened. She came closer, sitting down on a nearby stone. "Oh, Putri... of course, it will. But only if you allow yourself to heal."

"How?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, the question born from exhaustion and desperation.

She gazed at the lake, her voice quiet but full of wisdom. "Putri, worse things have happened to you than most can imagine. The pain you feel, anyone would break under it. But you're still here. You're still standing. This pain—it's real, and it's heavy, but it doesn't have to define you. Healing doesn't come from drowning in it. It comes when you decide to face it."