Her hair, a cascade of raven waves, flows like the ocean's endless rhythm, each strand mirroring the ebb and flow of the sea she was born from. Her eyes, the most enchanting shade of seafoam green, hold the mystery of the deepest waters - calm yet fathomless, gentle yet fierce. When she smiles, it is as if the world itself is bathed in light, the sun rising from behind a darkened sky. Even the hardest of icebergs would melt in the warmth of her gaze. Her presence is a symphony of nature itself, a reflection of the oceans, the winds, and the skies - beautiful, powerful, and unyielding.
She was Padmaja, the princess of the Trivandhya alliance, born of land and sea, the youngest of the great Trivandhya empire. She was the princess of Saurashtra, her roots deep in the soil of the sacred land, yet her heart belonged to the boundless waves. She was Mahalakshmi herself, the eternal consort of Krishna, born of the lotus and the ocean, of grace and strength.
She was the one who shared his burdens, who wiped his tears and lent him a shoulder to lean on when the weight of the world became too heavy. The divine protector, the guiding hand for those who faltered, Padmaja was the mother goddess of the universe, the Sarva Swamini - the all-mother, the one who embraced all in her arms, offering love, protection, and wisdom.
To the Pandavas, she was not just a figure of power but their savior, their guide, and their unwavering protector. She was the strength that bolstered their resolve and the heart that healed their wounds. She was the embodiment of compassion and power, the very force that balanced the cosmos.
In her, the world found solace, in her, the divine found its purpose. She was the dawn, the moonlit night, the sun's warmth - both the protector and the protector's light. And no matter the storm, no matter the darkness that loomed, Padmaja, the princess of land and sea, would always rise - a beacon of hope, an eternal mother to all.
Her eyes, brown like the mud she fell on, shed tears.
Her hair, soft like a silk sari draped around her, laid on her shoulder even though they were ruffled.
Her breath, like the winds in a monsoon, stops.
Maybe Div wasn't meant to be taken to Dwapar Yug. But, either way, she couldn't escape her dark fate. Like the warriors who died in Kurukshetra, like the mothers who cried behind their blindfolds, like the brothers who attempted to love one another.
Like the demigods of Mahabharat.
Div, thrown back in time to Dwapar Yug, struggles to simply survive in this era.
Fighting battles of love, lies, and death, Divya Kulkarni decides to change the dark side of Mahabharata.
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His eyes, bloodied like the soil of Kurukshetra, gazed upon the world.
His hair, dense and thick like the forest of Khandavprastha, swayed with the air.
His breath, scented like the rain, stops.
Maybe Aadi did deserve to be taken to Dwapar Yug. But neither was it his choice nor was his life, there, pleasant. Like the young kids of the Kuru lineage, like the widowed mothers, like the maniacs driven with revenge.
Like the demigods of Mahabharata.
Aadi, brought back in time to the Dwapar Yug, tries to figure out the people in this era.
Fighting the battles with friends, lovers and enemies, Aaditya Vishvakumar decides to change the dark side of Mahabharata.
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#1 in bharat
#1 in kaurav