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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Abhijishya sat in the shaded alcove of the royal garden, her gaze softening as she watched Prativindya and Shatanika play. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a patchwork of light and shadows on the ground. She watched with quiet affection as the two children mock-fought, their laughter echoing in the air. Shatanik’s voice carried, high-pitched and demanding, “Vindu! You’re not playing fair! You’re not even pretending to lose!”
Vindu, ever the little strategist, grinned mischievously. “I am losing, I’m just a clever loser!” he declared, parrying an exaggerated blow from Shatanik’s tiny wooden sword with a swift twirl of his own.
Shatanika huffed and crossed his arms in mock annoyance, “You always do that! You just wait for me to tire myself out!”
Abhijishya watched them with an absent sort of attention, a soft smile playing on her lips at the sight of their energy. There was something about watching their carefree antics that brought her a fleeting moment of peace in the chaos of her thoughts. Yet, despite the beauty of this domestic scene, there was a knot in her chest that refused to loosen. The weight of what loomed ahead, the Rajasuya Yajna, the worries about Nakul’s departure, and the growing unrest within her own body, sat heavy on her.
The sound of soft footsteps drew her attention back to the present, and she turned to see Virupaksha, the Minister of Trade, approach with a respectful bow. His robes swished around him as he walked up to her with a serious expression.
“Rajneeti Mantrika,” he began, his voice careful, as if measuring every word. “I regret to inform you that there has been an issue regarding the merchants and their tax contributions. Some of them have been... evasive in paying their due taxes, and it is affecting the treasury.”
Abhijishya's brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded. “How severe is it? And which areas are being affected?” she asked, trying to focus her attention entirely on the matter at hand.
Virupaksha started to explain the specifics, and for a moment, Abhijishya felt her mind start to whirl. There was little time before the Rajasuya Yajna, and now, this. Yet, her gaze kept drifting back to the children. Shatanika had started whining again.
“Vindu, you’re cheating! You can’t use your sword like that!” Shatanika yelled, his voice sharp and whiny. “It’s not fair, you’re always winning!”
Abhijishya felt the stirrings of frustration that she had never allowed herself to feel before. She had always been patient, even in moments of stress. Yet, today, the sound of Shatanik’s whining seemed to gnaw at her, unraveling her composure thread by thread. She gritted her teeth, her fingers tightening around the edges of the desk where she was now seated. It was as if the sound of his voice, the relentlessness of it, was a metaphor for everything else she could not control: the impending war, Nakul’s departure, the nagging uncertainty within her own body.
"Shatanika," she snapped sharply, before she could stop herself, “Enough. Stop whining! You’ve been complaining all day!”
The garden seemed to hold its breath. Shatanika froze, his little face full of confusion and hurt. His bottom lip quivered, and his eyes welled up with tears.
