This a story of a dancer who made the Vibhatsu sway to the tunes of her ghungroo. The lashes of her eyes were all it took to sweep the Kriti of his feet. But did she know - she was the dayita of her savayasachi. His burning copper eyes were the spark she needed during hopeless time His curly hair seemed have her as it's prisoner. "Am I the only prisoner of yours though?" " o illustrious one . They said time heals but I've realised - time doesn't heal but new pain numbs the old one . Am I right keshava?