अन्तः अस्ति प्रारंभः।
The end is the beginning.
A caterpillar dies, to birth a butterfly. Water evaporates to rain down. Dead carcasses fill the stomachs of vultures.Life gives way to death and death to life. In a vicious circle of different karmas...
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Just after the introductions, Mihira heard the eldest Kaurav princes being announced along with the Gandhar King and Karn and she looked down at the empty plate and contemplated if she could bash Karna's head in with the plate and be done with it.
No suggestion of disrobing, no disrobing, no humiliation of an Empress (who hadn't been born yet) and no war.
One look at Krishna and his raised eyebrow had her lowering her head. Fine, she grumbled in her thoughts, I shall behave.
As perhaps an insult or punishment for being late despite having been told the dinner time before, Krishna did not introduce the Kauravas as he had done with the Pandavas, he just silently gestured at the empty chairs at the table with an indulging smile.
The first man to enter was a short man, shorter than Sahadev, and walked with a limp. He had no cane to take support from and he seemed to have no issues standing upright when greeting the other important people. He had bulky gold rings on his fingers and some skin of his hands where they met the rings had turned greyish. Mihira remembered Rukmabahu saying something about gold and it's reaction to several things but she did not remember the exact words and couldn't help but blame the grey skin on the man's innate cruelty.
The man behind him was tall with broad shoulders and prominent cheekbones, his gold earrings caught in the firelight and seemed almost too bright in the room— as if screaming to be the centre of attention. He had a solemn face, and scars on his shoulders were displayed proudly, as if he was taking deep pride in showing that he was indeed a warrior. Karn. The filth of Dwapar.
Behind him was a man taller than even Rukmi, his hair straight and his stubbled jaw making him look like a rouge. He walked with the gait of a self assured person, being used to the luxury, the attention. And yet, even as he walked forward, his body had been leaning toward his slight left, where another man was walking like a shadow of protection. Dushasan. The inspiration of many monsters in the future.
The last man in line was tall, not as tall as Bheem but seemed to be powerful. With the height and the muscles, he looked like he would thrive in cases where had to use brute force. He was wearing black and red clothes and Mihira really wanted to stab a fork in his throat for wearing black to a good occasion. Her eyes settled on his for a moment and sheer terror gripped her heart. Mihira felt her nails dig into her palms as her hands fisted at her knees.
Her ankle burned, her shoulder felt as if it was being torched and her breath stuttered in her chest, a silent protest of years of self preservation being crushed under a man's gaze.
She had never seen Kali Purush, she had been focused on Bhaya but she had known the cold ice in his voice and a shred of that ice was in the eyes of that man. Duryodhan.
Mihira wanted to press her machete in his chest and twist it and twist until she opened his ribs and checked if his heart was as rotten as the air around him felt.
