@aahcaimhconenew @prince-soma-asman-kadar @nanaosakixbleachqueen
Mina's Tale of Eternal Love
The scent of jasmine and incense curled through the quiet chamber, mingling with the heavy, golden heat of a Bengal evening. Little Prince Soma sat cross-legged upon a mound of plush, cream-colored silk cushions, his knees tucked neatly beneath him. His dark, earnest eyes were wide, reflecting the flickering glow of the oil lamps that lined the walls.
Across from him sat Mina, her raven-black hair pulled back in a simple, elegant braid. She leaned forward, her presence as steady and comforting as the heartbeat of the palace. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft as a temple bell, vibrating gently against the stillness of the room.
"Long ago," she began, a small, knowing smile touching her lips, "in Brindavan where lotuses bloomed like stars upon the river Yamuna… there lived two souls whose love was sweeter than honey."
Soma shifted, his small hands tightening around the tattered ear of his stuffed elephant—a precious gift from his mother that smelled faintly of her sandalwood perfume. He didn't blink, afraid that a single flutter of his lashes might cause the magic to vanish.
Mina’s fingers, calloused and warm, traced the intricate embroidery of the silk shawl draped across her lap. The pattern depicted a maiden dancing beneath the watchful, shimmering plumage of peacocks.
"Krishna, the cowherd boy with skin the color of a storm cloud and eyes like deep pools of mystery, played a flute that could make the very mountains weep with joy," Mina whispered, her eyes drifting toward the window where the first fireflies of the night were beginning to blink into existence. "And Radha… ah, Radha was his heart, his shadow, and his song. She was the melody to his flute."
Soma leaned in, the stuffed elephant tucked securely under his chin. "Did they play together, Mina? Did he love her the best?"
"Better than the stars love the night, little Prince," she answered, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "In Brindavan, the world stopped when they walked together. The trees bowed low to shade them, and the breeze held its breath to listen to the whisper of their devotion. But their love was not a quiet thing—it was a fire. It was the absolute surrender of one soul into another."
Mina reached out to gently smooth a stray lock of hair from Soma's forehead. "You see, Prince Soma, they taught the world that devotion is not about possessing someone. It is about realizing that your happiness is mirrored in theirs. Radha did not ask for crowns or palaces; she only asked to be the tune that Krishna played. And in return, Krishna carried her memory in every note, for all eternity."
Outside the palace windows, the night had deepened, and the fireflies were now a rhythmic, golden pulse against the velvet dark—a perfect, silent audience for a legend that even the gods envied.
Soma sighed, a sound of pure contentment, and rested his chin upon his elephant’s head. "I want to love like that," he murmured, his voice drowsy. "Like a song that never ends."
Mina smoothed his silk cushions, her heart swelling with a protective ache. "And you shall, my little Prince," she promised softly, as the incense smoke danced like spirits in the lamp light. "For those who learn to cherish the melody, the song will always find its way back to them."
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