Words - once spoken can only be forgiven. The irreversible nature of them have always made the oldest caution the young lest they carry the regret like their ancestors. Alas! No one learns this lesson until it is too late.
(Blurb to be edited)
Vāc i...
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The training grounds hummed with the sounds of wooden swords clashing against each other, the rhythmic thud of feet shifting over the packed earth, and Nakul’s steady voice correcting Anveeksha’s stance.
"Again," he instructed, watching as his daughter squared her shoulders, gripping her training sword tightly. She lunged, her movements still a touch hesitant but steadily growing stronger under her father’s careful guidance.
A few steps away, Abhijishya sat cross-legged on the low wooden platform, her gaze flickering between the parchments she was reviewing and the small boy sitting beside her. Prativindhya—Vindu to those who doted on him—was happily preoccupied with his wooden elephant and horse, rolling them across the platform with a soft hum.
Charu sat beside her, subtly watching over the child while keeping an amused eye on the training session.
"I think she’s getting better," Charu commented, nodding toward Anvi.
Abhijishya hummed in agreement, watching as Nakul adjusted Anvi’s grip.
"She is," she said, though her voice was distracted. Her fingers idly toyed with the edge of the scroll in her lap, mind racing not over the reports, but the impending reality of the Rajasuya Yagna.
The thought fully struck her only when Reva arrived, slightly out of breath, her face alight with excitement.
"Krishna and Satyaki will be arriving soon," she announced, her voice laced with anticipation.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, Abhijishya’s fingers curled around the parchment, realization settling in. It wasn’t just a visit. It wasn’t just Krishna returning to Indraprastha after many months. This was the first step. The Rajasuya Yagna was no longer a distant idea—it was now a reality.
She exhaled, steadying herself before folding the scrolls. Turning to Charu, she gently smoothed back Vindu’s soft curls.
"Mind him for a while?"
But Vindu, sharp-eyed and observant even at his young age, had already caught onto her movement. His small hands clutched at her sari.
"Dhruvi Ma?" His voice was uncertain.
Abhijishya hesitated. At two years and six months, Vindu had started noticing patterns—when she left, when she returned, and how sometimes, it took too long.
Charu leaned in with a warm smile. "Shall we go see the peacocks in the garden, Vindu?"
But the boy shook his head stubbornly, his lower lip jutting out in the beginning of a pout. His grip on Abhijishya’s sleeve tightened, his big eyes watching her as if gauging whether she would vanish if he so much as blinked.
Abhijishya softened, brushing a kiss against his forehead.
"I’ll be back soon, my dearest Vindu," she murmured. "Will you be good for Charu?"
