HELLO MAHABHARATA

47. Quiddity

Quiddity /ˈkwɪdɪti/noun. the inherent nature or essence of someone or something. Late middle English, from medieval Latin quidditas.

DUSK WAS ALWAYS A PRIME FORCE of her serendipity and trouivalles in them were a hygge. For she never believed the setting sun's abendrot rays would demarcate the outline of two boys as an epiphany of contemporaneousness to her, a girl from kaliyug.

Now when they walk down the hustle bustle of alleys, basking in the purity of love, appreciation and adoration of citizens; as they pass through a bloom of ecstasy formed in her core. Sight is never needed it's the perspective that breaks stereotypes. Arjun's small step and a simple theory, made her fall for him in head over heels, again.

Customarily or as a fact accustomed, a child always prances in the middle clutching hands of adults on his either sides. When Parthjaya had slipped her hand in those small, delicate and soft palms stained in crushed berries and sand; Arjun stopped her nonchalantly. A smile never faded from her happily bright face taking it as a usual token of his fake jealousy, she lightly patted Swastika's back beckoning him to step down and followed suit.

"He's a child, I brought him in, he is my responsibility. What if he gets lost in the crowd? So we've to keep him in between us." She had asked rather stated as they descended the chariot standing at the juncture of market arena. Arjun shook his head raising his brow when the green eyed boy had grinned at him cheekily, an action of him which intends a tease when ever he takes Dhananjaya's fake glares of jealousy and the small boy assumes it to be real. How victorious Swastika feels in those little moments can't be replicated in words.

Dry winds of autumn were whirlpool like brisk and spontaneous with the onset of Kartik month. Hence evenfall breezes swirled joyously flirting with his dark locks who was busy shielding those unripe green eyes with those calloused palms off dust and had his other arm protectively curling his wife of the husk duster. "Were you flying?" Arjun joked pulling Swastik closer who was blown off the swept. She sensed the bubble of defeated snub in the boy therefore mended, "None shall tease my boy from now" She coughed voluntarily and held the relatively small palm but her dear husband interrupted.

Sabyasachi instead walked to her and stood in between. Twirling a strand of her escaping loose hair on her jawline habitually, he held her hand from his right Swastiks's tiny one from his left and looked into her flummoxed eyes. Now enough of this teenage jealousy, the kid is walking in between not you Arjun.

"You're my responsibility. And if you claim Swastik as your responsibility then being your husband he's mine now. Not just yours my wife, he's our responsibility"

While they walked the busy lanes, his fingers intertwining hers graciously and Swastik clasping his weensy palm around Arjun's index finger; family was all her conscience chanted and her heart swelled with the words her lover just spoke. Does he really love me so much? Shwetvahan couldn't help but get enchanted by altruism in her and how she's unaware of this gold. Wherever she walked and just smiled to everything, it perked and enlivened. You don't even know how much I love you.

Balmy warm glaze of the orange dusk in a golden skyline crashed behind their backs, creating an outline and a grey painting on the pathway canvas. The silhouette of the three marching before her eyes. The small world that Simran had always imagined was slowly coming to that reality. A loving husband, man of my household and maybe the boy?

"He does this purposely I'm telling you...wait little storm" Arjun's trailed voice yelping while Swastik tugged or actually dragged him to the nearby jalebi stall snapped her sojourn of daydreams. "Deal with it" she said giggling at the two where the younger was dominating the elder. Perhaps, it is in their veins for they can do anything for their loved ones.