𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓷𝓾𝓶𝓪𝔂𝓪 ͏ 𝅄⠀ ׂ .⠀⠀𓈒 ⠀ ⠀.
The years had passed like gentle waves in the ocean. Nandabhavana, which was once filled with void and emptiness
The mistress of Vraja who once yearned for an heir as Rishipātni Dharā, had performed penance to obtain Sriman Narayana as her son. Now, Jagatnāyaka Himself had descended into her arms as Kamsa’s Kaal.
Little Krishna was learning to walk. The same hands that reign the universe
his little crimson-hued palms were wrapped around his baba’s fingers. His tiny anklets, as if made of stars, jingled as he stepped forward, wobbly yet determined.
By afternoon, everyone was busy with their own tasks. Nandarani had retreated to rest, as her work had exhausted her to the bones. Nandraay was occupied, listening to the Brajavasis and counselling them on their daily challenges. Little Nandlala was left with Sumitra, Nandarani’s trusted maiden, while little Adhokshaja was busy playing with his wooden toys.
Little Krishna’s eyes roamed around, as if searching for someone… or perhaps remembering someone. Her brother remembers…? And his Bhagini wouldn’t come? That could never happen in the cycle of yugas. Shakti dwells in the heart of Srimān Narayana it does not matter whether as Shri or Girija.
A lady stepped in, decked in red garments that complemented her Syamavarna just like Krishna. Uma, the daughter of Nandabhavana. The child who lived in Yashoda’s house, only to be parted after birth. She was Kamalaksha’s Yogamaya.
Uma’s eyes were glued to her brother—the charming toddler of Nanda, the one whom even her Svāmi yearned to behold. The toddler tilted his hazel eyes, sparkling with excitement.
Uma chuckled and made her way to him, picking him up with a gentleness that only a mother could offer. Krishna squealed at his sister, making soft chuckling sounds that revealed half-moon dimples on his cheeks.
Uma’s heart swelled with bliss. She was holding her bhrata—her shadow and she was in her home, her own abode… so close, yet distant. Krishna began playing with the bead necklace resting against her neck.
She was Mahakali, she was Jaganmata yet her heart yearned to be a mother. Not the austere wife of the mountains, not the other half of Daksha but her heart called out to Yashoda… the mother she longed for.
Krishna’s tiny hand reached up and wiped the tears that slipped down Gauri’s cheeks. The toddler pouted at his sister’s distress, and that was enough to pull Uma out of her dilemma.
A sweet mist seemed to fill the hall a love that could never be expressed in mere words. Krishna turned his head toward the kitchen, as if signalling Uma “see, it’s from there.”
Uma entered the pakagriha of Nandarani, with little Krishna balanced on her hip. The heavenly aroma filled the entire room it was kheer, left alone… perhaps forgotten.
Krishna bounced in her arms, demanding the sweet dessert. A soft giggle escaped her lips as she sat down, placing Krishna on her lap and serving the delight into a small bowl. It had been years since Uma had experienced the bliss of food made with the pure love of her mother.
She was Annapurna herself… yet her heart felt half-empty.
Seeing his sister lost in her thoughts again, Krishna’s little fingers reached into the bowl, scooping enough kheer, and gently brought it toward her lips.
Girija’s eyes filled with tears. She opened her mouth without a word.
The kheer… it was something she could never explain.
Tears now flowed freely, expressing a sense of completeness—her Maiya had fed her.
Krishna clapped in excitement, clearly demanding, “Now feed me, dear sister!”
Uma let out a gentle laugh that echoed through the pakagriha.
After a while, Krishna had a surprise for her. His little mind struggled, trying to form her name
Hearing those words, Parvati could no longer hold back. She pulled her brother into a tight embrace.
He was the most precious child in the universe. And she couldn't wait when she will run after him As Subhadra
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