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 passage of time was relentless, measured not just in the seasons that had come and gone but in the small changes that left their mark. Indraprastha had grown—its streets busier, its walls stronger, its people more hopeful yet wary of the future that loomed. The Rajasuya was no longer a distant dream but an impending reality.
The army stood ready, trained and armed, waiting for the day they would march under the banners of Indraprastha. In just a month, the four Pandava brothers would leave, setting forth in different directions to claim the allegiance of Aryavarta.
Yet within the palace, time had been marked in different ways.
Prativindhya—Vindu—was almost five, a lively child with an overabundance of energy, always eager to follow his uncles into the training grounds. Shatanika, or Nika, was nearly four, fiercely protective of his younger brothers, sometimes scolding them with an air of importance that resembled Yudhishthir. Sutasoma, at two years and nine months, had begun his own battles—mostly with the palace staff who struggled to contain his curiosity. Shrutasena, just a year and six months old, was a whirlwind of giggles and chubby mischief. And the youngest, Shrutakarma, at only two months, was blissfully unaware of the growing storm outside his mother’s arms.
Subhadra, heavy with child, was on the verge of giving birth. Her usual sharp wit was now tempered by exhaustion, but she carried her burden with grace, her presence a source of comfort to the ever-busy palace.
And then there was Anveeksha.
Anvi, now thirteen, had changed the most. No longer a child, yet not quite an adult, she hovered in the space between. She was moody, sharp-tongued at times, fiercely loving at others. She doted on her younger brothers, but where once she had clung to Nakul’s side, she now watched him from a distance, a shadow of unease in her eyes.
It took Abhijishya weeks to notice.
The night breeze carried the scent of night-blooming jasmine through the palace gardens. Abhijishya found Anvi sitting alone beneath the great neem tree, hugging her knees to her chest.
She sat beside her daughter without a word, waiting.
After a long silence, Anvi finally spoke. “Why must he leave?”
Abhijishya sighed, brushing her daughter’s hair back gently. “Because duty calls him.”
Anvi turned to her, her young face filled with emotions too complex for a girl her age. “Then what of his duty to me?”
The words struck deeper than Abhijishya expected. She hesitated. “Anvi—”
“Do you know how many nights I go to bed without even seeing him?” Anvi’s voice wavered. “And now he will leave for years? Do I not matter to him?”
Abhijishya’s heart ached. She reached for Anvi’s hands, holding them between her own. “You matter to him more than anything, dear. If he had a choice, he would never leave.”
