Oct 25, 2025
Dwarkadhish Temple
15 CE, Gujarat
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Dwarkadhish Temple
15 CE, Gujarat
The tent breathed softly, as though it too had learned to be careful.
Krishna entered without sound, the folded clothes resting against his forearm plain cotton, unremarkable, chosen only because they would not demand anything of her. He did not announce himself. Somehow, it felt wrong to disturb the stillness with his voice.
Rukmini stood near the lamp.
The flame trembled, and so did she not with fear, but with fatigue that had finally been allowed to surface. Her red saree clung to the story of the day: dust along the hem, creases at the waist, the anchal loosened at her shoulder where the pin had long surrendered. She did not try to fix it anymore. It slipped and flowed as it wished, obedient only to her breath.
She was still adorned as a bride, yet no longer armored by ceremony.
Her hands were raised to her head, fingers caught in the remains of a bun that had once been neat, obedient, proper. Now it resisted her gently, curls escaping, strands falling across her face, brushing her lips, her eyes. She sighed in frustration and quite resignation.
Krishna stopped just inside the tent.
The sight of her reached him slowly, then all at once.
This was not the girl who had fled in terror hours ago, heart racing, courage trembling. This was a woman who had crossed the threshold of everything she had known and stood here now, alone except for him. No attendants. No sisters. No familiar hands to ease the weight from her body.
Only him.
His chest tightened at the thought of this girl leaving everyone and everything behind for him. He wanted to honour her in every way possible!
She sensed him and turned, startled. Her eyes widened slightly before softening, recognition settling in. “Krishna,” she said, instinctively lowering her hands, suddenly shy of being seen undone like this. “I was just… my hair" she mumbled.
“I know,” he said gently, smiling before he meant to.
It was not the smile of a god who had charmed worlds into devotion. It was quiet, uncertain, almost boyish and it surprised him as much as it did her. Heat crept into his cheeks. He was aware of it, faintly amused, faintly undone.
He looked at her and she looked tired. Not fragile but spent, as she had carried courage for too long without setting it down.
Without thinking, he stepped closer.
Close enough to see the faint marks the necklace had pressed into her skin. Close enough to notice how her breath changed.
He lifted his hand and his own heart won't stop thumping from nerves that weren't cooperating with him.
“May I?” he asked, softly, as though even the air might overhear.
Rukmini’s lashes fell. Her nod was small but absolute.
“Yes.”
The word rested between them as trust became audible.
His fingers entered her hair with care, he found the first pin and eased it free slowly, mindful not to pull. When it came loose, he felt the tension in her shoulders release just a little. Another pin followed. Then another.
Rukmini was still with her soul nearly collapsing, she was aware! Way too aware!
With the last pin removed, her hair fell open completely thick, dark, wavy, curling gently where it touched her shoulders and spine. It spilled forward too, brushing her arms, her waist, alive in a way bound hair never was.
Krishna inhaled sharply before he could stop himself.
It was absurd, the thought that crossed him then , that her hair was exactly like his, only longer, softer, and it smelled like fresh flowers. The realization made something in him give way.
He brushed through it gently, his fingers spreading, then easing together again, slow and patient. Not fixing. Not arranging. Just… tending.
Rukmini exhaled.
The sound was so soft it barely existed, yet it settled into him like a confession.
Her head tipped slightly, unconsciously leaning into his hand. When she realized what she had done, she froze but he did not withdraw. His touch remained steady, reassuring.
“You need to rest Rukmini,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
“Yes,” she admitted quietly in an agreement
The necklace caught his eye again heavy, ornate, ceremonial. It no longer belonged to this moment. He hesitated only briefly.
“May I?” he asked once more.
Her fingers curled into the edge of her saree, knuckles whitening for a heartbeat before she nodded.
His hands moved to the clasp with care. When it opened, the necklace slid free, and she straightened slightly, as though a burden had been lifted from somewhere deeper than her neck. One by one, he loosened the rest. The bangles chimed softly as they left her wrists, the earrings that tugged gently before giving way.
Each piece he set aside felt like an unfastening of expectations, of roles she had carried without complaint.
When he was done, she stood before him unadorned.
Red saree. Bare skin warmed by lamplight. Hair loose, framing her face, brushing her collarbone.
Nothing else.
The realization arrived slowly this time, blooming rather than striking.
She is my bride. She chose me.
His breath felt suddenly insufficient. He was overwhelmed at how she put all of her faith on him!
Rukmini looked up, sensing the stillness, the way his presence had deepened. Their eyes met and held.
Her cheeks flushed instantly. She was aware now of how she stood, of the openness of herself, of the quiet intimacy they had crossed without naming it. “Krishna…” she whispered, uncertain, breath shallow.
He smiled softly but his heart was in no better state than hers.
“Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for trusting me with everything. ” he said slowly.
The words were not dramatic. They were simply true.
Her breath hitched. She lowered her gaze, shy to the very marrow, yet she did not step away. The air between them felt warm, charged not with urgency, but with something gentler and more restraint.
Desire was there too unmistakably so.
But it was tamed, held carefully between respect and an unnamed curiosity, breathing quietly rather than roaring.
Krishna stepped back at last, though it took effort. He placed the clothes into her hands, his fingers brushing hers a touch so brief it almost wasn’t one, yet it lingered all the same.
“Rest,” he said softly. “I’ll be outside.”
She nodded, clutching the fabric lightly, as though grounding herself.
As he turned away, heart steady and irrevocably claimed, Krishna knew this much with perfect clarity.
Their love, was gently blooming on trust and gentleness between the two and it did not announce itself loudly unlike their elopement which was making noises everywhere around the subcontinent.
Krishna could not help but let out a chuckle at the thought of the theatrics of his wedding. The world surely would remember it! But he would remember this moment, which was only theirs- even beyond mortality.
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Hey so this idea just popped in my head randomly while I was trying to complete my assignment due. I don't know- the whole time, I was not getting enough ideas but here we are!! With the exams looming over my head! My thoughts are being THUNK (ik it's not a real word) It's not that nice as it's not even properly drafted but the slump is getting to me and it's so tiresome to deal with it but I have been reading your blogs and somehow it motivated me. Do drop in your thoughts. UwU ✨💓🤍
@irantaboutkanha @bigsimp69 @mimaridoesmurari @merevasudevmeremadhav @kannammasnape @kikarou @euph0synee Don't 't know if I am missing or not if I am sorry as you can very well observe how terrible I am terrible at this!
Rukmini Patra
If you ever feel weird for rereading favourite chats before sleeping.. don’t worry—even today, as a daily ritual, Dwarkadhish listens to Rukmini Patra before He sleeps. Some loves are forever
This sacred tradition continues at the Dwarkadhish temple, keeping the essence of Rukmini & Krishna’s eternal bond alive. It is believed that reading this letter with faith can bless one’s heart with the love they seek. A beautiful reminder that devotion and love always find their way.
Subhadra-harana
The wheels of the chariot hissed over the earth, flinging dust and starlight behind them as they tore through the sleeping countryside. Dwaraka shimmered on the horizon like a dream fading at dawn; golden, distant, and no longer hers. Subhadra did not look back.
They were being chased.
Her hands trembled on the reins, just slightly. Not from weakness, but from the weight of what she was leaving behind: the palace, her brother’s trust, the silence of a role she had outgrown. The dutiful princess who never said no was gone now, her place taken by a girl running toward her own choice, terrified and alive.
Her hair whipped behind her like a banner of black fire, wild and untamed, alive with motion.
They streamed behind her like black silk caught in the wind, gold bangles chiming with every jolt. Her cheeks were flushed from the effort, her tinted lips parted in breathless urgency- but her eyes, gods, her eyes. Beautiful, dark, burning with resolve and something wilder. Something freer than Arjuna had ever known.
He couldn’t look away.
He had thought her beautiful the first time he saw her, standing on temple steps in saffron, sunlight glinting off her earrings, laughing at something Krishna said. But this, this was different.
This was fire.
The fierce set of her jaw. The way she bit the inside of her cheek when the horses bucked. The way her silks clung to her in the rushing wind, golden thread catching the light like flame. She was frightened, but magnificent. Braver than anyone he had ever known.
Because she had come for him.
“Subhadra-” he called over the thunder of hooves.
“Don’t distract me,” she snapped, half-laughing, half-panicked. “Your cousins can shoot a hundred yards away per minute, can’t they? Pray, I don’t crash us instead.”
A glint of silver flared on the ridge - armor, bowstring, pursuit. Without turning, Arjuna reached for an arrow and loosed it in one smooth motion. The shaft struck the rider’s shoulder, knocking him clean from the saddle without drawing blood.
Another scout emerged, and another arrow flew- precise, unhurried, disabling rather than wounding. He did not look back. He didn’t need to.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” she said suddenly, voice barely audible. “Dau... he’s always protected me. He thinks this match with Duryodhana is a gift. He doesn’t understand it feels like a cage.”
Arjuna said nothing. His heart was too full; full of her words, her trembling defiance, her hands white-knuckled on the reins, and her gaze locked on the horizon.
“But I want to choose,” she continued, her voice steadier now. “Even if it hurts. Even if I’m scared.”
And then, she smiled- a small, wild, lopsided thing.
“Bhrata Krishna told me that freedom isn’t the same as fearlessness. I think he’s right.”
Arjuna laughed then, soft and helpless, undone. Gods, he was undone by her; by her honesty, her stormlight, the impossible strength in her fragility.
“You terrify me,” he said, almost reverently.
“Good,” she shot back, grin crooked, the corner of her mouth lifting just enough to show the barest flash of teeth. It was almost a gummy smile, unguarded and bright, as if joy had caught her off guard.
“I terrify myself.”
He looked at her then, really looked, and something in him broke wide open.
“No one will blame you for choosing your heart,” he said quietly. “But if they do... I’ll take the blame. I’ll say it was me who begged you to run.”
Her breath caught. “You would?”
He shrugged with that boyish charm she was beginning to recognize as armor. “I’ve always had a knack for trouble. Besides, it’s no hardship- being abducted by a goddess.”
That startled a laugh from her; sharp, sudden, real. And for a moment, she didn’t see Arjuna the warrior or the exile, the legend or the prince. She saw the brahmin who had offered her a mango in the gardens. The one who smiled like he knew sorrow and still chose light.
And now, he looked at her like she was everything.
The wind tugged at her dupatta, greedy and relentless, as though the sky itself wanted to keep a piece of her. But her hands were steady now- her fear still present, but no longer alone. It had found a companion. A joy.
Beside her, Arjuna turned slightly, abandoning even the pretense of watching the road behind. His eyes were on her, and they were full of awe; something tenderer.
“Should I worry you’re better at this than me?” he said, gesturing to the reins. “Stealing chariots, outrunning armed guards, breaking a dozen royal laws... all while looking like the goddess of dawn?”
She flushed. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“So distractingly poetic in the middle of mortal peril?”
He tilted his head, mock thoughtful. “Only when I’m doomed.”
“Doomed? To what?” she asked, cheeks pink.
He leaned in slightly, voice a hum beneath the wind. “Doomed to you, Priye”
She turned away with a smile she couldn’t hide. “Well, That was shameless.”
“Was it? I was going for tragic hero swept away by overwhelming love. Did it not land?”
“It landed,” she muttered, lips twitching. “Hard.”
He chuckled, low and delighted. “You’ve ruined my judgment, you know. I used to be strategic. Focused. Then you showed up wielding reins like a sword and smiling like rebellion, and now I’m ready to duel Lord Balarama with one hand and write love poems with the other.”
Subhadra laughed, loud and unguarded. “You are the worst fugitive I’ve ever met.”
“But I’m your fugitive, aren’t I?”
She tried to maintain her dignity, and failed. “And if I crash this chariot, charming prince, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
“I’d blame the stars,” Arjuna said lightly. “For making you so lovely, that I forgot my own name.”
Her hands faltered- just slightly- because she wasn’t used to being seen like this. Like she was the only one. Like she was wild and holy and someone’s whole sky at once.
And it was Arjuna, Arjuna, who looked at her like that.
The same Arjuna who bore god-gifted weapons and too many scars. The one Balarama called reckless, and Krishna called beloved. The one who sat beside her now, watching her like she was the thing he had been searching for across lifetimes.
“You’re staring,” she murmured, flushed.
“Can you blame me?” he whispered. “You stole me.”
“You let me.”
“I would’ve let you steal me a hundred times over,” he said, the playfulness fading to something real. “I would’ve climbed into that chariot myself if it meant waking beside you tomorrow.”
She drew in a breath- startled, shaken.
“I don’t know what tomorrow will look like,” she admitted.
“Neither do I,” he replied. “But I know I want it with you.”
And then- with the world blurring past them, the city vanishing behind, the sky wide with dawn- she reached for his hand.
He took it without hesitation. His grip was warm, calloused, grounding.
“I thought I was brave,” she whispered.
“You are.”
“I thought I was reckless.”
“You definitely are.”
She laughed again, fierce and soft. “But you... Arjuna, you’re everything I didn’t know my heart had been waiting for.”
He leaned in, close enough to taste her breath, to feel the quiver of her exhale. Their foreheads touched; a quiet meeting of storm and stillness, fear and excitement. “Then let’s go,” he said, voice low and sure, “and find a future that frightens us… and choose it anyway.”
And the chariot surged forward, wheels singing over the earth, trailing dust and starlight; two hearts running into the dawn, hand in hand with their courage, and the unknown.
A Strange Charioteer by Giampaolo Tomassetti
Women in Mahabharata - Revati
She is the princess of Kushasthali, the kingdom over whose ruins Krishna establishes the city of Dwarika. She is named after her grandfather (or just an ancestor) Revata. She traveled to various places with her father the King Raivata-Kakudmi as the latter chased his passion for good music.
After one such long excursion [to Brahma-loka], father and daughter return to their kingdom, only to find it taken over by the Yadavas. Seeing no way of recovering his kingdom from the colonisers now, Kakudmi marries Revati to Balarama, one of the oligarchical chiefs of the Mathura-Dwarika kingdoms, in an effort to secure at least some political influence, at least for this daughter (since he leaves anyway).
His gambit pays off somewhat, as even though Revati doesn't gain any specific visual political advantage, she remains the apple of her husband's eye.
Revati is known for being taller than Balarama, and the stories often end up with Balarama forcibly curbing her height by pulling her down with his plough. Breaking the metaphor, we can assume she was either taller than or older than Balarama (or both!), and that she never held either of those things over her husband's head.
Revati and Balarama are one of the rare couples in Mahabharata who are truly deeply, madly in love with each other and who aren't afraid to show it off (absolutely no control on pda).
For all the complications that could have arisen from Balarama's drinking habits, Revati adapts to it like water to a bowl and becomes a true 'saha-dharmini' to him in every sense of the word. Both of them are also known for being talented musicians and loyal patrons of several artists and performers in Dwarika.
Magha describes Balarama's default manner of speaking as:
Ghoornayan madiraa-swaada-mada-paatalita-dyuti,
[He speaks] With gyrating eyes, reddened by the effects of liquor
Revati-vadan-ochhishta-pari-poota-tate drishou.
And purified completely by the kisses of Revati['s face].
Her sons are Nishitha and Ulmuka. Folklore also gives her a daughter named Shashirekha/Vatsala. (So...technically, Midnight, Torch and Moonlight)
Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. Red and gold and orange, he often said they looked more like sunset than fire that poets called them.
Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. They grew in Dwarka by bunches. Against the green and brown of trees, they looked like waterfalls of the furnace, he said.
Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. He had planted his first plant of palash in the palace of Dwarka, he had watered it everyday after his sword practice.
Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. He fought ferociously against his grandfather, Vasudev, when he wanted to tear down his palash tree for the renovation of the palace.
Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. He hid in the branches of his palash tree when he ran from his mother. He stepped on his uncle, Krishna, and reached those heights with loud laughs. He watched his mother run around the tree as he hid.
Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. He wrapped them in leaves and took them to his father every time he was allowed to visit him. Arjun wore them in his hair proudly, said the flowers matched his ascetic clothes.
Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. When he was married, everyone who had seen him grow threw palash flowers on his head. He laughed when his aunt Revati claimed she specially ordered the flowers from Vidharbh for him, he knew she could possibly do it just for the ostentatious idea.
Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. Uttara wore the same colour as them the next day of their marriage. His aunt Rukmini and Elder mother Draupadi teased him red for it.
Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. His uncle Balram gave him a new bow for the upcoming war. It had palash flowers carved at all seven joints.
Abhimanyu loved palash flowers.
His pyre burnt the same colour as them.
KaJu
Pt.4 -> Masterlist
Arjuna and Subhadra departed for Dwarka in the next morning before dawn, while Karna departed for Anga Pradesh. As the new-found brothers had both left together, they exchanged subtle tensed glances between themselves, but they didn't speak any words to each other as they left.
Arjuna was reminded of how they’d left at dawn for Panchal three months ago. That day seemed so far behind him now. Unlike that day of his battle, the weather today was comfortingly chilly…but he was still tensed, lost in the trail of his thoughts about what Karna had told him…