Tell me a non canon pairing that you could kill or die for
Here is mine : Draukarna (Draupadi + Karna) from Mahabharat
I hope they are happily residing in an universe away from all the Pandav Kaurav fiasco.
Ik they ain't getting together, ik this is unrealistic but I can't stop shipping them. It physically hurts how I want to see them together. Like just look at them. Think about this : the sun and flames. Ugh still there are people who would codemn this as blasphemy. I am not interferring with anyone's belief, it's just about me a delusional teen spoiled by palace of illusions and some other great ffs.
A Story Lost In Time (on Wattpad) http://my.w.tt/UiNb/pU872utANw Draupadi or Krishnaa as she was known and Karna or Vasusena as was his real name are one of the two most intriguing characters of the Mahabharata. Legends and Folk tales have abounded of their secret passion for one another. This story is one among the plethora of tales dealing with the forbidden love of these two great characters. Book One, titl…
I did feel like writing a Mahabharat fic after a pretty long time, and this was something that I really wished to write. So after screaming into people’s inboxes. Here it is:
Tagging because I need feedback.
@anabeeeeee: This is the DrauKarna I was telling you about.
@spookyangelicaschuyler: Now you’ll know why I suck! HAHA!
@ghadiakanya: I promise I’ll write you the ‘Jatle Diye’ fic post exams. We’ll both nee cheering up.
@reallyeclecticdreamer: See I finally got my pen and paper out and wrote this!
@nirantar: This is my warm-up exercise for our collab. I hope this passes for readable
@pratigyakrishnaki: Welcome back, Triv!
@brainyisalwayssexy: FEEDBACK BHOOT! :D
***
Fandom: Mahabharat (TV 2013)
Relationship: F/M
Ship: Karna/Draupadi
Sequel to this fic.
***
A horse seemed to rest his weary hooves in front of the humble dwelling in the state of Hastinapur. The rider wasn’t a usual rider that horses were accustomed to carry. Yet she was as adept as any of the Mustang’s male riders. A surreptitious restlessness seemed to surge through the faraway silhouettes of the stretches of the sky, as she seemed to shed her darkness to circulate light and warmth in the realm whose slumber awaited her arrival to freshen itself into activity.
The rider’s blood rippled through her veins, replicating the dilemma of her being, even as she took her steps towards the cottage.
What if he shuns me?, she pondered.
Nevertheless, standing rooted to a spot would not disengage the mesh that the neurons in her brain had tangled themselves into. So, she, in the most resplendent manner of her tremulous stride glided towards the doorsteps of the minuscule cottage.
Daybreak was near. The rays of the sun would clarify a lot more than the world set to spin on its rote of life.
Today, the sun would determine the fate of the fireborn.
***
Radha was dumbstruck as her eyes beheld the empyrean beauty of the Panchala Princess standing in front of her. She hoped her haggard frame did not look as confused as her interior. Last night when Vasusen had come in after having been spurned by this very girl standing at her door, she had been nothing less than disgusted with her haughtiness. Her heart had been filled with pity for her gallant son, even as it scorned their humble origins. Somehow, the slanders heaped upon her boy by some chit of a princess had sent her instincts into a whirlpool of grimness that rued the fact that her child had to bear the high-handedness of royals who followed caste norms to the core. Vasusen still had to bear the brunt of being the descendant of a Suta, despite his divine demeanour, despite his supreme skills in archery, despite his excellence as a warrior.
Radha stood stiff, while Panchaali neared her, with her hands folded.
‘Mother,-‘ she bowed in reverence before the elderly lady. ‘-I assume, you’re the one after whom the mighty Angaraja is known?’
Radha couldn’t help being mesmerized by her gait, and her voice. Yet, she held herself steady.
‘And you, I assume, are the princess who belittled my boy to be unworthy of her hand?’ she spoke, her stiffness firmly in place, towering over Panchaali’s bowed frame.
Panchaali felt her insides squirm. Which mother would tolerate an insult –and an insult to this degree- to her son?, she wondered as she straightened herself.
‘Mother,-‘ Panchaali contemplated the next words her lips would frame by way of a consolation to Vasusen’s distraught mother. ‘-I wish to speak with Angaraja.’
Those were the first words she could think of. And those would be the last ever words she could ever think of in the dilemma that she was in. Wasn’t this all spewing into a universe of incongruities?
Both the women hadn’t noticed the sun descend itself into the cottage, behind the elderly lady, as it rose afresh, clothed in a lean, muscular embodiment, that made its divinity bearable to the human sight.
‘Tell her,-‘ he spoke with a gravity that could have defied Shiva in his grimness of demeanor, ‘-that she is no longer eligible to be courted.’
Panchaali could feel bile log itself into a lump in her throat. Was it made of the same acrimony she had spewed in her swayamvar hall, was a question she framed for her profoundly muddled self.
‘I do not seek to be courted, Angaraj!’ she found her voice to be stronger, and remarkably clearer than her ravelled state of mind.
‘It wouldn’t be befitting of a married woman to seek so. As is her presence in a Suta’s cottage, especially on the day succeeding her wedding.’ Vasusen’s tone was firm, and cold, reflecting his gaze.
But it was Radha who had spoken the next words following her son’s steely retort.
‘Come in, Princess. Your breath evidences your weariness.’
Vasusen didn’t wait to exhibit his stupefied countenance at his mother’s gesture.
****
Radha found the Princess of Panchaal to be a very pleasant guest. Her demeanour demonstrated nothing of the rancour of the spite of the previous day, as she engaged herself in a very formal conversation with their seventeen-year-old guest, trying to decipher the exact reason behind her presence.
The reason, which she already had received a hint of both in her fiery eyes, and the surreal eyes of her son.
***
The days when Vasusen was present in their household, were the best. They recuperated the memories of the times when she had been the mother of an exceptionally gifted boy. His elevation to kingship, warranted his presence in the land that he ruled, thus resulting in the absence of a son, and an affectionate brother to his younger sibling. Yet, whenever, the burden of kingship sagged his shoulders, Vasusen would always find solace in the thatched shrine of his parents’ humble abode to relieve himself of the dross spewed by the regularities of his new existence, which still, however obscurely bore traces of the vitriol that haunted his status as a charioteer’s son.
He was conveniently ignoring Panchaali, who in turn made no conspicuous attempt to win his attentive gaze. And when he realized that his mother would not let go of the lonely girl, out of her characteristic affection, he busied himself with his brother, much more than he would have in the usual course of his visits.
Both Radha and Panchaali watched as Vasusen tapped on his brother’s shoulders to straighten them in order to enable him to flex the bowstring properly.
‘He is a very affectionate brother, isn’t he?’ Panchaali said.
Radha smiled proudly at this compliment. There were so many, many likeable attributes of her child. Most of which remained hidden under a very cold, steely masquerade that he chose to eclipse the venom he bore within him. Hatred spewed hatred, Radha had known that by way of her experiences with this world. Vasuen was trying very hard to adhere to the path that she had taught him to abide by. This adherence in spite of all the corrosions that life threw in his way, was a test of austerity.
‘He has a lot to him, Princess.’ she replied looking affectionately at her children.
Panchaali didn’t volunteer to further the conversation.
‘Why are you here, Princess?’ came Radha’s voice, apropos of nothing. The question seemed to startle the listener, initially because of its unfamiliarity to the context of a casual conversation.
Panchaali flustered. Radha sensed her discomfiture. It was all to evident in her gait. One look from Panchaali conveyed everything it needed to, when she mustered the courage to look directly at the woman who was a mother.
Surely enough, when did mothers need the skills of a clairvoyant to sense the disturbance of a younger one? When did a woman need the appendage of a tongue to convey her dissonance to another of her clan?
Radha took Panchaali’s hand in hers, her touch conveying the warmth that soothed the fireborn.
‘Come with me.’ she said formidably.
***
‘Do not force me into this, Mother!’ Vasusen was now making no endeavour to conceal his spite, as Panchaali stood behind Radha.
‘I’m only asking you to listen to her, child. Is it too much to ask for?’
‘She doesn’t warrant consideration!’ Vasusen spat, almost setting the cottage afire with his face that reddened with every passing second at the sight of the girl, who had acrimoniously shouted acerbic insults at him, only a day ago.
‘Such obstinacy is not characteristic of the child I had brought up,-‘ Radha shot back, relentlessly, ‘-This is not my Vasusen speaking! This is the voice of the haughty King of Anga violating my humble roof with its wounded slight of pride!’
Vasusen breathed desperately. How could he explain to his mother, that talking to someone who had molested his pride as a warrior, had hurt him more than any poisoned arrow shot with extreme dexterity ever would.
‘A King must allow the liberty of defense to a miscreant.’ Came a soft melody of a voice. Vasusen turned to look at the possessor of the voice, which had the same texture as the rancourous one, that had chastised him the day before.
But somehow, she didn’t possess the spite that had been a integral part of her bearing yesterday.
‘Am I not correct, Angaraj?’ she continued. ‘Isn’t the offender allowed a chance of defence?’
Vasusen’s expressions cemented themselves into the incomprehensible.
‘Tell me, Angaraja,-‘ she spoke further,’-isn’t this denial unbecoming of a King’s conduct?’
Both women knew, he had lost.
***
‘So,-‘ Vasusen said through a deep, long drawn breath, deliberating upon Panchaali’s narration, ‘-she asked you to marry the five of them.’
Panchaali nodded expressionlessly.
‘That still doesn’t explain your presence here, Princess.’ he said.
‘It doesn’t.-‘ she said, ‘-I haven’t reached that part yet, Angaraj.’
She sensed his impatience on his apparently neutral countenance.
‘Didn’t Krishna try to persuade you to agree on this proposal?’ he asked.
‘He did. It was I who refused him.’
Vasusen seemed lost in thought, hearing of the preposterous proposal.
‘What occupies you more than my appeal, Angaraj?’
‘I’m pondering what arguments Prince Yudhishthir would have presented in order to corroborate his action.’ he said.
‘Well, the imagery of the alliance of the tree spirit to the ten Pacheesa princes, and the origin of life by their union, was argument enough to entreat my father’s approval,-‘ she said.
Would a mere imagery suffice for a father to agree to his daughter’s prospect of acrimony?, he thought.
‘We are a prejudiced lot, Angaraj. Sometimes, rote adherence to ethics calls for meek submission to prejudice, without a second consideration for humane factors.’
Vasusen didn’t voice further questions.
‘Dharma, the cosmic order,-‘ he breathed, ‘-requires a lot to keep people tethered to itself.’
Panchaali’s lips curled themselves upward in a smile that reflected her dichotomous feelings of confusion and relief. Confusion, for the response her next few sentences would elicit from her listener, and relief for his consideration.
‘I do owe you the truth, Angaraj.’ She said, drawing a deep, lotus scented breath.
‘Please speak further.’
Panchaali readied herself for her purpose.
‘Had Kaanha not instructed me otherwise, during the ceremony,-‘ she looked directly into Vasuen’s eyes, ‘-I would have garlanded you.’
‘And what if I’d failed?’
‘You wouldn’t have failed. The moment you lifted the Pinaka, the moment you flexed the string, I knew.’ she said.
‘I was mesmerized by your entry.’ She continued. ‘The very gait you bore, that serenity on your face resembling the soothing aura of the early morning sun. Your stride bearing the firm bearing one meant to conquer the celestial in his being, were too captivating for me to let go.-’
‘-And yet you did. Such conduct was not expected of a Suta, was it?’
‘Your lineage makes no difference, Angaraj, I realize.’
She couldn’t decipher the transmogrification of his expressions.
‘And it is a realization that has dawned too late. I do not say this because, I seek escape from being wived by five men, and neither do I expect you to be my savior,-‘ she said, ‘-I say this because, I owe you the truth. I say this to unburden my conscience of the guilt of the spite I had spewed in my speech, at Kaanha’s insistence. I say this, because, I owe myself the crime of not attending to the clamours of my soul, and yielding to the cacophony of supposed adherence to ethics. My defiance doesn’t result from fear, it is only a manifestation of my apology.’
‘And you say, you don’t fear refusal.’ He asked.
‘Refusal is your right to exercise, Radheya.’
Vasusen’s gaze deepened at the mention of his name.
‘How did you know, that I would be here?’ he asked.
‘Your turbulence wouldn’t let you rest in the grand silks of the palace bed. The ravages of your heart couldn’t soothe themselves in the Sura that kings devour. The dissonance of your soul couldn’t drown itself in the mellifluous flawlessness of a court singer. That heat that singes one’s being seeks to be calmed by the fresh spring water present in a humble cottage. The cacophony of one’s turbulence craves for the simplistic melody of a mother’s voice. The wounded pride of a King humbles itself to normalcy in her lap. The vitriolic venom shuns itself to nectar in the warmth of her bosom. These comforts aren’t within the capacity of the meager luxury of a palace to provision. It is only one’s origins that is replete with such comforts, that are the staple food to satiate one’s soul.’ she answered.
‘What do you seek, Panchaali?’ enquired he.
‘I told you.’ She said, ‘I told you that I owe you the truth. I now have absolute clarity in my conscience. There is no burden that I bear, no cloud to murk my vision any further, now that I have lightened myself of the burden of truth.’
‘Do you hold no apprehensions of the consequences?’
‘Had I held apprehensions, I would have consented to the alliance they sought to tie me in.’
Vasusen breathed again, and this time she felt a tremor in his breath while she neared him with absolute solidarity of her stride.
‘I do not seek acceptance, Radheya.’ she said, her voice bearing the calm succeeding the catastrophe of a storm. ‘Spurn me, if you will. I shan’t retaliate with spite. With my disclosure, I find myself liberated of the strings of mundanities that manacle the marionettes of our existences. I shall find solace in austerity, for I have been true to my conscience. I am purer, my being now transcends my carnal encasement now that I seek to shun the divine connotation stamped to my birth. I shall live a life of purpose framed by the Gods, but that shall be bereft of the celestial predictions riveted to my origins.’
‘Did your creators forget to inculcate fear in you?’ he asked.
‘Fear isn’t for fire to inculcate.’ she answered.
‘They say, you’re an instrument that would be the cause for a metamorphosed posterity.’
‘Posterity doesn’t warrant rancor in its origin, Angaraj.’
Vasuen realized that the warmth of the fire in front of him that melted the steel he housed within him as a result of yesterday’s spite.
‘You are one to revere, Yajnaseni.’ he breathed. Her ethereal fragrance inundating his nostrils. ‘You weren’t one to be divided, for you are no prize to be coveted. You’re a seraph to be enshrined in a sanctum sanatorium-‘
‘-And where shall such divinity find solace, Radheya?’ she interjected.
‘I would fain bear her in my heart.’ he answered, reverently.
‘And I would heartily seek sanctity therein. I shall be honoured to occupy space in a place that ensconces the luminosity of the sun in its fold’
‘And what of the predictions attached to your birth? Shall you not offend the Gods who sired you?’
‘My sire bears consideration enough to differentiate between adherence to the desired course of one’s heart, and abiding by decrepit ethics that propel one towards destruction. The former brings harmony in its wake, and the latter brews venom that results in a monody of harmony and peace. He wouldn’t desire such destruction of the ones wrought in his hands.’
‘And what of the allegiances I bear? The Kaurava Scion isn’t one who appeals to the ethical ideologies pandered by texts. He isn’t one favoured by concourses.’
‘That makes no difference to me. Your allegiance to them is one bound by merit of conscience.’
‘Panchaali,-‘ he breathed, ‘You disarm me with every syllable you speak. Turning you away shall be my fall from the meagre grace I own.’
‘Do not fear, Angaraj. Spurning me shall not result in me yearning to be your nemesis in my next incarnation.’ she smiled as her eyes gleamed with a naughty twinkle.
‘I think you would make a fine negotiator, Princess.’ he smiled back.
‘Does the state of Anga require the services of a statesperson?’ she inquired.
‘I cannot vouch for the need of a statesperson. But the King of Anga certainly needs a sensible Queen by his side.’
‘Does he?’ she asked, stars glittering in her line of sight.
‘And his quest for a Queen, ends here.’ came his reply.
He neared her. The reverent tremor that had possessed him only moments ago conveyed itself to her. Every line of their empyrean frames trembled with the gradual compression of their distances.
‘We do have an alliance to solemnize, don’t we?’ she whispered.
‘Shan’t the alliance consummate itself in the presence of fire?’ he whispered back.
‘Radheya!-‘ he felt her chant his name. As he felt every pore of her body repeat the incantation.
‘Panchaali!-‘ he chanted back.
Their eyes met, and so did their lips.
No ethics would stop them from unifying themselves into the sacrosanct fold of each others’ hearts.
And if there was a the fell prospect of war to herald posterity, it would materialize, in some way of the other, there were enough circumstantial instruments to result in such a consequence.
***
Note: I know it is bad, tiring and boring. But I hope it suffices as a warm-up exercise.
1.
She stares straight at him,
Bearing more warning signals than the dead-end near the highway,
In her eyes,
They forbid him to near her,
They forbid him to hold her dear,
For she believes, that the fire she holds in her breast,
Would char anyone who dares.
2.
He looks back at her,
His eyes replete with love, and sacred passion,
And a phantom repentance,
Of the wrongs to her,
That in this life,
Seek penance.
3.
She holds the relic of a love,
that never did see the light of the day.
A love that she never vented,
A love that she, bound by destiny, and divine intent,
Thrust away into obscurity,
The moment it surfaced.
That love, she had spurned,
With vehement rancour, and rigour,
When it sought to court her,
4.
That very love,
Slighted by fate,
Regressed from its purity,
To cloak itself in vile vengeance,
Steeped in arrogance.
Vengeance that unleashed itself in,
Flagitious deceit,
5.
That night,
That deceit,
The fleeting moment of vile strength,
Masked the infirmity of virtue,
Crowning unprincipled principles,
Seeking solace behind decrepit laws.
That night, he still remembers,
By way of a salvage from the embers,
Of a life long forgotten.
6.
She was divinely sired,
And he, was sired by the divine,
Yet, that night forsook all piety,
When he claimed his retribution,
7.
They pawned her in unison,
A voice vented its perversion,
While he, drenched in vicious pleasure,
Branded her to be promiscuous,
Invigorating their pursuit,
Which sought to quench their vulgar lust,
For the nakedness of the fireborn's being.
8.
Decadent laws, stayed rotting,
Decrepit codes, bowed,
Leaving her to be clothed exorbitantly,
And her perpetrator to be numbed,
By the hands of her deific companion.
9.
That night,
Gave way to a war,
Egregious and gory,
A war meant to shape the course of destiny,
A war that vacated her of the remainders of tranquility she clung to,
A war envisaged, engineered, and effected at the hands of the celestials
A war that they deemed her to be the instrument of.
10.
The war ended,
Churning out centuries in its lores,
Yet, the love left itself concealed,
Finding mentions only,
In infinitesimal notes.
11.
And today,
In a world, where the Gods no longer walk the earth,
Where lores are mere words passed on soullessly,
Where people are nothing more than puppets,
To their own fiendishness,
She is reborn.
12.
This time again,
She is wrought with fire,
And her exterior, still does bear,
The ravages of her sire.
She carries the phantom burden of her past,
She heaves the divine burden of her beauty,
Which is still ethereal, and repulsive, at once,
Coveted, yet uncared for, as she had been.
13.
And reincarnated is he,
With an innate incompleteness,
And a furtive repentance,
For the one who he seeks,
To consummate his soul.
14.
This time,
He won't let go,
This time,
He cares not for pride,
Neither for her apprehensions,
He knows, he is her peace,
He knows, he is her sense of the tranquility,
That lies, thrust away, in an ignored corner of her battered heart.
He shall protect her from the assault and battery of the world,
That still seeks to defile her purity.
15.
She turns him away,
She wards him off,
Yet, he cares not,
For, he wants her rancour,
He craves for her anger,
He yearns for her tears,
All of which shall be eternally,
Dissolved in the purity of his love,
This time, devoid of vile pride.
16.
This time, he is her rescuer,
This time, he is her purger,
And in his pursuit,
He would defy destiny,
Divine or mundane,
For in her, he finds salvation,
And her salvation, seeks asylum,
In the pure sanctum of his being.
This was perhaps the most gruelling task that he had been entrusted to do. Time and again, he gave it a thought. He cudgelled his brains a million times as to how he would frame his persuasion into words to entreat acceptance from the listener.
And, he was a God.
He was a God incarnated in the form of a human.
He had been sent for a supreme purpose, for which his prospective listener had been sent as well.
And yet, they were both human, and hence, some characteristics of the human race had been imbued in them as well. They were meant to act as humans, and feel what humans felt, beginning right from, anger to sympathy, forbearance to intense desires, practically everything that humans were supposed to feel, restrain, and let go of.
Today, her decision would be a determinant of the fate of the entire world.
Though fate can never really be denied. Fate would wean its desired course in some way or the other.
Kanha's steps took him inside, even further, in that little dwelling in the forest in which the Pandavas were residing, for now.
And he saw her there. Sitting on the cot, inside that little cottage, in the forest, her dark lustrous skin, setting the otherwise dimly-lit room aglow.
Such was the intensity of the Fireborn.
She had been endowed with the intensity of the fire which had sired her.
And, she could make a God, think a million times for presenting her with a proposition. She could make a God think about his indiscretion, at a place, and at a time when she had to make her own decision to choose someone worth her hand.
And now, she was thinking if she had chosen what she had wanted to.
"Krishnaa." Kanha softly called out to her. She answered just like he had known she would, she merely turned, her simmering gaze fixed on him.
"Are you here with a proposal which entreats me to marry the Pancha Pandavas?" she asked him, sternly, her eyes locked in his endearing gaze.
"Krishnaa," Kanha inhaled deeply, framing his next sentence, "You need to understand the frail nature of this situation. This is what nature demands of you."
Nature demands me to be a wife to five men to accomplish the purpose of my birth, she thinks. What utter nonsense.
She glared at him, her gaze echoing her thoughts. Kanha felt it burn through his heart, drilling into his being. Had anyone else been there, he would have been charred into a mass of soot.
Kanha, inhaled, again, breathing Krishnaa's lotus fragrance within himself, which did not have its usual soothing effect. Instead, it muddled him even more.
He was asking a woman to drown herself into a lifelong struggle. True she was a goddess incarnate, sent to fulfill a purpose, a purpose involving numerous, egregious sacrifices on its altar. Yet, there had to be a lot other ways of doing that.
"Kanha," Krishnaa spoke, "You must tell me what you think. You must tell me if Mata Kunti's words are really as irrevocable as you'd deem them to be had someone else been in my place."
No one else can be where you have been placed, Krishnaa, Kanha thought.
"If you want an answer, Krishnaa, you must know, destiny cannot be denied. Kunti Ma's words were meant for you. I forbade Karna's participation despite your desire of letting him do so, because that was not meant to be."
These words sound frivolous even to me, Kanha thinks.
'I will not marry a Suta!' her own words singed her ears. She alone knew how they had torn her apart. Some of the spectators therein, might have marvelled at her rigidity of not letting a low-born charioteer participate in her swayamvar, but, she knew, that she had been the weakest then. Perhaps ever weaker than the one who had won her, and was now inclined to get her married to his brothers.
Karna would never have let this happen to me, she thinks.
"So you are here, at Kuntidevi's behest to explain to me the moral, ethical, and scriptural authorities that authorise my marriage to five men, to fall within the ambit of your so-called Dharma, that you seek to preserve." she said. Her voice of the sweetest melody, had a caustic, vitriolic edge to it, so much that Kanha felt his his insides twinge.
"Krishnaa, this is needed to keep them united. You are their bondage, that which binds them together."
"The pious, progeny of the Gods requires me to keep them united?! The Son of Dharma, requires me to keep them united so that they can be strong enough to face the Kauravas. Well, then, does Prince Duryodhan, have to consent to his wife getting married to the rest of his brothers to keep them united?!" Her voice was even more caustic, and now, it had an unmistakable edge of castigation in it.
"No wonder why the Kaurava Scion could have them uprooted from their palace in a snap of his fingers! And now, they need me as an instrument to get their share!" she continued.
Kanha cannot help but agree. Those words sounded much worse when she said them aloud.
"So what do you want, Krishnaa?"
"I want to return to my former choice, Kanha." she said, her sonorous voice resounding her solidarity.
Kanha gulped. "You want to shun Dhananjaya, and go to Vasusen, instead. Do you know what that entails?" he asks.
"Condemn, acrimony, and a few tongues uselessly wagging about me being a rebel, favouring Adharma." she replied haughtily. "Nothing that wouldn't result if I comply to this proposed ridicule of me being a unifying force for the Pandavas."
Kanha inhaled again, thinking deeply about something, possibly the implications.
"How can you be so sure of Vasusen? He is, after all, with the Kaurava Scion. And above all, he was faced with severe insults during your swayamvar. How do you know that he would yield?" he asked.
"Truth transcends everything, Kanha. You taught me that. Angaraj is noble enough to consider the truth." she answered.
"Don't you feel scared? You know the baleful fate of the spurned Amba."
"Ah, Shikhandin!" Krishnaa breathed, "A result of the Gangadatta's vow of eternal celibacy. Perhaps Vausen is an exception. He has always been so, isn't it?"
A contemplative silence followed.
"Are you sure?" Kanha asked her, his features, relaxed, to an extent.
"Why should I always do someone's bidding? Is that what my unusual birth warrants of me? My father sought our birth to complete his pursuit of revenge on the Acharya, and to insinuate his way to the Kuru household. I do not see any way in which I won't be doing that if I do not take the Pandavas to be my common husbands."
But they need you, without you, they would be weaker, than ever, Kanha thought.
"Is the progeny of the Gods that weak, Kanha?" her query came out loud, and clear.
"I hope that they aren't." Kanha heard himself say. Krishnaa's face lit up.
"And even if they are-" he continued, "I will be by their side. Sometimes, they have to understand and act in ways suited to ensure their survival, and I will take care of that."
Krishnaa's lips curved into, a heavenly divine smile, illuminating the dark cottage, like there was a festival of lights therein.
"And, Kanha, won't you be there if Angaraj-" she tried to pose a question.
"I'm meant to be there for you, Yajnaseni."
So, that night, opposing Kuntidevi's wishes, the Princess of Panchala, made her solitary way to Anga, in the pursuit of her love, who she was sure, would not spurn her, and even if he did, Agnijyotsna, did not need a the mundane tag of husband to justify her existence as a woman, even in this orthodox land of Aryavarta. Kanha would always be the angel on her shoulder, illuminating her path, showing her the way, whenever she needed him.
So, the Yajnaseni sped her way on the horse that Kanha had arranged for her, tracing her way to her destination.
If the war is destined to happen, it shall, no matter how circumstances are maneuvered, Kanha thought as he watched her leave.
Whatever will happen, will happen, eventually, Fate just needs to change her course accordingly, he mused.
And it will, I'm sure, he nodded to himself, complacently.
