HELLO MAHABHARATA

5. Dusk

dusk /dʌsk/ noun: dusk; plural noun: dusks. the darker stage of twilight. Old English dox dark, swarthy

AT THE HOUR OF DUSK, the sun was on its aptitude to set. The abendrote misty sky was painted with hues of orange and reddish strokes in swathes around the vast yonder. The fierce crimson sun was merging at the glimmering horizon claimed by the milky white waves of the pious river, the Ganga. Serene and cool winds, dusk melodies of the birds returning to their abodes, immensely mesmerizing scents of the night lilies approaching the twilight enthralled the riverside. The environment was pulchritudinous in its all accords.

With a thunderous rumble, from the river rose a godly man. His sturdy and strong arms traveled upto his luscious shoulder length black tresses, he pushed them away from his beaming temple with his finely shaped fingers. He wore a janeu around his chiseled and broad chest and a spotless white dhoti. Water droplets were dripping from his silvery dusky structure.

With his lion like gaits he advanced towards the Mahadev temple adjacent to the banks. Taking the milk carafe in his calloused palms he performed his evening prayers to the shivlinga. He folded his hands and rising them to his temple he chanted loudly, "Har har Mahadev"

After completing his veneration, he walked towards his mighty brawn white horses who were grazing the green lush fields. A blinking pearl lingered in his illecebrous irises, he noticed a sparkling glitter as his gaze fell at the banks of river. In the golden lining was some figure lying there. He decides to deduce and his strides moved faster to the arena.

There was a young girl, who lay there unconscious.

A maiden of wheatish complexion like the crops of blossomed wheat grains which was glowing in the golden rays of the dusky sun. The ebony colored curly locks of hers were tied in messy bun with a few strands falling over her sharp features. She was wearing small gold hoops on her earlobes and probably silver studs on her auricles as for piercings. The clothes she wore were all eccentric to his conventional morality for she wore a red shirt and red pyjama with cherry prints.

He leant on one of his knee to observe her. She had a bit chapped pink bow shaped lips slightly dry from lines of commissure. The long, heavy and her curled plexure of lashes were lying on her eye orbits and her eyebrows were somewhat in a unibrow resembling the archers weapon.

Like a romantic hero from a novel, he was walking in smooth long strides as the girl rested in his strong and safe arms. With a sway of breeze he had picked her up eventually her curly hair which were initially tied in a bun were now open and those long locks were flowing with the breezes. He carefully laid her in his chariot, while making sure she doesn't get hurt in any sort. With a sharp click of halter ropes, the galloping white horses ran towards the grand palace.

Throughout the way he would glance over his shoulder then and now, just to confirm if she was alright and fine. This time when he looked back he noticed a peacock feather in her hand. He halted the chariot as it came to standstill and jumped back from his place.

The curly tresses were a bit damp as from a curl falling over his glowing forehead had dews of water droplets travelling to the girl's face and with this other one on her closed salmon eyelids. With a soft stumble, she had scrunched her brows and slowly opened her eyes.

She glanced at his straight and thick eyebrows in unison, his deep copper eyes looking directly at her. A curl from his wet hair cradled on his face probably the one due to which she regained her consciousness. Water droplets were still dripping from that strand. The mesmerizing scent in the misty air, resembled the smell of the sand when the first raindrop claims the earth, Petrichor. She felt his still wet arms on her shoulder. His right hand held her hand in which she was tightly clenching her morpankh. As the realization hit her, she withdrew her slender hand away from his calloused one.

"Are you lost?"

Arjun's voice layered in tones of husk was the most civil a woman shall ever dream of, but she shifted a little away from him for no words were ready to escape from her mouth. She was too petrified. She kept staring at him. His well built arms and broad chest on which he now wore an ivory upvastra but his torso and biceps still visible.
Holy moly! Who is he?

"What happened? Why are you such frightened? If it is because of me then you must not be. I assure you" his lips curved in a smile. "Devi, you were lying there unconscious on the banks of Ganga. I decided to take you to the palace. There you can get examined up by the royal physician. I saw this morpankh in your hand that is why I came back. This morpankh is just, it is exceptional. I mean not like ordinary- is it not? Pardon me am I not-it is...."

She gawked at him like a hawk.

"Oh I see you cannot speak-is it?" he spoke with an extremely sympathetic tone. Suddenly she could feel herself getting into his arms and pushed to his chest. He ducked her and himself downwards. An arrow flew above their heads, if they wouldn't have ducked it would surely have pierced her forehead.

He sprang from the chariot with his copperish bow gripped in his hand. He pulled the bowstring aiming to shoot. He muttered something in his mouth and to her surprise a cyan scintillating arrow appeared on the bow. This was magic to her. She felt her head spinning like maniacs and she fainted, again. What is this kind of sorcery?

"Please forgive me. I was just trying to get those mangoes from the tree for my little daughter. Please don't kill us. I'm a poor old man!" a lean man with very less muscles on his body came in front. "Please get up. Never I can do that what you just said" Parth assisted taking his bow back in his single hand and helped the old man to stand from his other one.

He again aimed on his target. Pulling the strand of the bow from his other hand he muttered a few hymns in his mouth, his lips chanting in a rhythm. A bright glowing arrow appeared, yet again which he shot and it went deep, straight to the mango tree, withering all the fruits to fall on the ground.

"Now you may go and take these ripe mangoes for your daughter Shriman" The old man joined his wrinkled and creased hands periodically as he had walked to that tree. "May Mahadeva always shower you with his blessings. Thank you so much. Thank you. Har har Mahadev"

When he turned around to his chariot he took a deep breath at the vista. For before he could further interrogate the strange girl, he found her lying unconscious as her head rested on the rim of the chariot but her hold on the peacock feather was strong enough. "She fainted again. I believe she is not well. I must take her to the palace" he ascended on the chariot. With a single click of the halter ropes he pulled the horses and started taking it towards the palace.

Parnipat

Simran still is unaware of the fact who helped her and where she is. How can this happen when Krishna himself told her?
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