Madri scrutinized her own image in the mirror. She was a sharp beauty. Finery and velvet were her second self, she was proud of her war cuts. She was the severe combination of the Kshatriya princess who would tame Princes around in a crowd.
And where does she sit now?
As the second wife of the king of Hastinapur.
The second Queen.
The second love.
Irony could make a cut deep in her soul, but the love and affection she harboured for her king was unfathomable. It was the only solace she had, but was it even enough?
She appreciated the moonlight that fell on her face, illuminating her features. She was glowing, in the sheer absence of her husband's compliments!
Where was he?
She swiftly got up from her seat, ready to shout and ask for the news of her King's arrival, only to close her mouth and feel the chilly winds of the beautiful night lifting her veil.
She walked ahead, reaching to the balcony of her chamber. The stars created an enormous expanse as she shivered under the ultimate infinity of god's creation. She was always a star-gazer, finding her joy in the burning of gases.
Joy in burning, huh?
The intoxication of the universe's beauty was enough to pull her out of her thoughts and finally let her retrospect her own behaviour.
I hope that I am doing it all fine, lord, am I? A question ran in her mind. She felt herself widening her eyes, taking in the answer to her rhetoric question.
Why there is a need to feel celebrated?
You are a miniscule of this universe, which was formed out of a dreary and impossible explosion of infinite capacity. It was nothing but a vast scene of destruction.
And look at what the seamless explosion of gases has made-
Life.
Breathe and flesh.
So why do you think that there is no reason to feel celebrated in each and every moment of your life?
You are the impossible. You are the contradiction of this world.
And you are still alive.
Madri felt her lips curl in a grin. Her theories never let her feel any less deserving. She is ambitious and she relishes it to no extent.
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