Undying Legacies | Mahabharata one-shots (✓)

9. Ink and Yearning

Sutasoma sat in his room, clutching a blank scroll in his trembling hands. The soft candlelight cast shadows across the walls, dancing softly in the quiet evening. His heart felt heavy, a mixture of love and longing swelling within him, almost too much to contain. He tried again and again to put his thoughts into words but found himself held back by the fear of not saying enough, or worse—saying it all wrong. Every time he pressed his pen to the paper, the ink seemed unwilling to flow. How could he truly capture the depth of his love for his father, Bhima, and his mother, Draupadi, or the admiration he held for his other fathers? The magnitude of it all seemed to dwarf his words.

His brothers had each taken their turns, carefully penning words of devotion, strength, and encouragement to their parents—words that came with a seeming ease that only deepened his own insecurities. Prativindhya, the eldest among them, had written his letter with a confident, almost stoic elegance, reflecting Yudhishthira's calm and steady demeanor. Satanika's words had echoed the valor and steadfastness of Nakula, while Shrutkarma's letter was infused with fierce duty and passion, much like Arjuna. Even Shrutsena, the youngest, had carefully crafted a note that held the clever wit and playful humor he inherited from Sahadeva.

But Sutasoma felt as if his own words were slipping away, like water through his fingers.Was it enough to say "I miss you" when he ached for them every day? Was it enough to say "I love you" when they were the very source of his strength, his courage? 

His father was Bhima—the mighty warrior who carried the family's burdens on his shoulders without a complaint, who loved fiercely, fought even more fiercely, and always stood tall. To be Bhima's son was to carry a legacy of strength and resilience, and yet here he was, faltering before a piece of parchment. A single tear slipped down his cheek.

Why couldn't he find the courage his father would expect of him?

In the silence of his room, he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. His mother's soothing voice drifted into his memory, her hands combing through his hair as she whispered words of comfort, telling him to trust himself. And his father—his father's booming laughter filled his mind, the way he would lift him up effortlessly, making Sutasoma feel invincible. These memories reminded him that love didn't always need the right words. His father loved him not through grand gestures but in every shared moment, in every look , and in the strength he had instilled in him.

Finally, he set his pen to the scroll, surrendering to his heart and letting his love guide him.

To My Beloved Maa and Pita's,

There's so much I want to say, and yet my words seem so small. But I hope you will feel the love I carry in my heart for both of you, though these words may not hold all that I wish to say.

Maa, I miss you deeply. I miss your voice, your kindness, and the wisdom you always share with us. Even from afar, I feel your strength guiding me, your love lighting my path. You are always in my heart, your teachings a part of me. I know that you worry about all of us here, and I promise that I will be strong, as you would want me to be.

Pita, I miss you more than I can say. I miss the sound of your laugh, the look of pride in your eyes whenever you looked at me, even if I had done nothing to earn it. I carry your name with me every day, and I hope I can live in a way that would make you proud. You taught me to be strong, to be fair, and to always follow my heart.

To my fathers—I miss each of you dearly. Pita Yudhishthira, I miss the way you always encouraged us to look beyond ourselves, to be fair, to honor every promise. Pita Arjuna, I remember all the times you would show us how to be precise and graceful, how to balance the warrior and the heart. Pita Nakula, your gentle care for us, your laughter—I miss those moments. And Pita Sahadeva, your kindness, your wisdom that always seemed to reach us just when we needed it most. Each of you has given me so much, and I carry all of it with me.

I feel your absence every day, and there are moments when I am filled with a sadness that words cannot hold. But then, I think of all you have taught me, all the love you have given me, and I remember that no distance can separate us. I promise to be strong for you, to live by the values you all have given me, and to remember, always, the love we share.

You all are always in my heart, and I am always yours.

Yours, always,

Sutasoma

When he finished, Sutasoma's hands trembled, but not with uncertainty. They trembled with the weight of everything he had poured out, of every emotion he had kept hidden in the quietest corners of his heart. He felt raw, exposed, yet strangely at peace.

He glanced over at his brothers. For the first time, he noticed that Shrutkarma's hand was shaking slightly as he wrote, his face hidden but his brow furrowed in concentration. Prativindhya was quietly tracing a finger over the edges of his scroll, as if steeling himself to put down words he could barely speak aloud. Satanika, usually so composed, looked up with eyes shimmering slightly, offering Sutasoma a small, knowing nod. And Srutsena, usually the most lively among them, held his quill tightly, his lips pressed together as he paused, staring intently at the blank space on his scroll as though gathering the courage to write from a place far deeper than he was used to.

It was then that Sutasoma understood—none of them found this easy. None of them felt adequate in the face of their parents' love, in the shadow of their greatness. But they each held a small, private corner of that love, a part that belonged only to them, just as he did. And in that quiet understanding, he found a solace, knowing that they shared not only the same soul but the same insecurities, the same yearning, the same depth of devotion.

When Sutasoma finally rolled up his scroll, he felt lighter. The longing remained, the ache of missing his parents still raw, but his heart was filled with a warmth that was stronger than any distance. He was not alone. They were not alone. And in that shared love, he found a strength that was beyond any words.

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The end ! 

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