DharmaAtmaja [ Editing ]

1 | Crowned - Light

The beating of heartbeats reverberated through the palace, each note amplifying the tension in the air. The wind shifted, rustling through the carved archways and whispering through the gardens, carrying the scent of flowers trampled underfoot by servants rushing with cloths and basins. Even as the sun bathed Indraprastha's courtyards in a golden hue, the atmosphere felt heavy, laden with the raw reality of life and impending change.

The Pandavas paced with unease. It was rare to see them, warriors who had faced armies and kings without faltering, rendered helpless. But today, they were mere men, husbands worried for their beloved Draupadi. Her cries rang through the corridors, drawing the very essence of agony into the hearts of those who loved her. The sharpness of her pain echoed, creating a dissonance with the once-calm sanctuary of their home.

Yudhishthira stood apart, his hands clasped tightly, knuckles white. His usual composure wavered, and deep lines marred his forehead. He whispered prayers, invoking Maha Vishnu, the preserver of the worlds. But for all his wisdom and faith, he felt powerless.How could he ever stand, listening to her struggle who was the his life's light, knowing he could do nothing to ease her pain?

As he closed his eyes, exhaustion and worry dragging at him, the world around him shifted. A sudden memory of a dream enveloped him.

The air was thick, heavy, pressing against his chest. A voice called his name, hollow yet familiar.

"Lalla."

He turned, and his heart clenched. Emerging from the shadows was his father, Rajrishi Pandu, the man who had uplifted Hastinapura once. Pandu's form was worn and frail, half-submerged in a pit of dark, sluggish earth that pulled at him, threatening to swallow him whole. His eyes, once bright with royal authority, were now muted, haunted by unspoken suffering.

"Pitashri!" Yudhishthira cried, his voice raw. He lunged forward, stretching out his hand, but the distance between them was insurmountable. The earth swallowed his father deeper, and Yudhishthira's own strength felt like a brittle thing, easily broken. Desperation surged through him, an unfamiliar, piercing sense of being unable to save the man he had always looked up to.

Then, a gentle touch on his shoulder interrupted his turmoil. He turned, startled, and saw a young girl standing beside him. Her presence was arresting, her forehead marked with a bright Surya Tilaka, and a light in her eyes that seemed to carry the warmth of dawn itself. Her expression was one of infinite calm, as if she carried the wisdom of ages within her youthful frame.

"May I?" she asked, her voice soft, steady, and grounding.

Yudhishthira, feeling a strange sense of trust wash over him, nodded. The girl moved with a quiet grace, extending her hand toward Pandu. As she grasped his wrist, the darkness beneath his father's feet began to recede, the earth hardening and blooming into life. Grass and small flowers sprang up, transforming the muck into solid ground. Pandu stood, his frailty still evident, but there was a flicker of peace in his eyes. He looked at Yudhishthira, trying to speak, but his lips formed no words, only pain and longing.