My entry for @whumpmasinjuly Day 12: Caught, featuring people caught in different ways, both literal and metaphorical. @whumpmasinjuly-archive
Note on the Sanskrit:
Pitashree: Father (respectful)
And so we open, with fathers and sons in focus.
Note on the cast of characters
Devavrata “Bhishma” Kauraveya- Head of the family, also of the one-party government
Dhritarashtra Kauraveya- Devavrata’s first son
Duryodhan Kauraveya- Dhritarashtra’s eldest son.
Pandu Kauraveya- Devavrata’s second son and political heir
Pritha Kauraveya- Pandu’s wife
Yudhisthir Kauraveya- Pandu’s eldest son, his political heir
Bheem Kauraveya- Pandu’s second son, a police officer
Arjun “Parth” Kauraveya- Pandu’s youngest son, the darling baby of the family, an elite Airforce officer and doctor.
Krishn Varshenya- Arjun’s best friend and pilot, also his maternal cousin.
More characters to be added as necessary!
Tagging @themorguepoet @khudrang @dreamer-in-sleep and @hindumyththoughts for being my betas, ( @themorguepoet is basically my co-writer in this one!), @harinishivaa @blue-lotus333 and @justabitofwhump
Let me know via ask/comment/DM if you want to added to/removed from the taglist!
Story below the cut.
Ekam: Pandu
Pitashree’s hands tighten around my shoulders in the inescapable vice they were. “You will do your duty. The nation demands that of you. Even our beloved child…is secondary. The will of the people is supreme.” His eyes are starring into mine, forcing his will on me.
He pauses for a moment. “You must forswear…” Even he must pause, before taking the child’s name, my son’s name, in such a context. “…Arjun.” Arjun. Arjun, whose guileless, dimple-cheeked smile makes him look half a child. Whose hands held me in the last true embrace I remember. Arjun, whose sincerity echoes in his actions, whose very name is a testament to purity.
My father’s hands shake me back into bleak reality, away from treasured, cherished memories. “The implications of the videos, plastered across media, are too dire. We must act, and act now, lest it be a matter shaming our family more than it already has.”
Though I nod mutely, his voice echoes across time. “Pitashree,” it says, dulcet, lilting, “You will see, I’ll make you all proud!” Fatherly instinct drives me to deny any possibility of my son, Pritha’s son, ever bringing shame to us, and yet. The videos do show a different truth. The same child who wanted to serve his country turning his familiar smile onto enemies of the state, freely discussing with them, sharing bits of information to them…interspersed with my fond memories, bring to my mind an aspect of my son we had always thought of as innocent idealism, yet, with the stark picture painted by these videos…could it have been genuine sympathy for our enemies?
The interviewer’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “The nation grieved with your family, sir, when the initial news came out., especially with the reputation he had, of being devoted to his duty.” I force myself to nod as he pauses, the video montage flashing to one of the earlier videos.
“I cannot imagine your shock, sir,” he continues smoothly, “when his collusion with the enemy was revealed.” I swallow, sticking to the script, having essentially no other choice. One child, no matter how beloved, comes after the people, I repeat the refrain in my mind, but it is cold comfort. “Shocked, yes,” I go along with him, nodding.
It is not far from the truth. I had indeed been shocked.
Watching the same video again hardly reduces the emotion that rises, at the sight of Arjun and Krishn in that state. My son is on one knee, his wrists soaking the rope tying them red. He had, in spite of that, wrapped a rough bandage around them, hardly caring about the other wounds on him, before he had bandaged Krishn’s surface gashes gently. He had gone on to give the same gentle, considerate treatment to the militants that held him captive in our neighbour’s land.
The captors had quite a time with both of them, knocking them around, obviously enjoying hurting them. Krishn had at least defended himself to some extent, but Arjun had hardly raised a finger in his own defence.
Even bleeding, clearly in pain, he had prioritised treating them. In the records, even the militants seem shocked by his obvious care.
“Given the nature of what we see, I am with the people, sir,” the interviewer manages to sound regretful, a regret I doubt he is actually feeling. “You and your son are known to be quite close. How can we be certain that we are in safe hands, when your child can commit so gross a betrayal?”
“I am first and foremost a son of the nation,” I reply heavily.
“Thank you for saying that, Mr. Kauraveya. However, it recently came to light that your son had already had leanings towards the militants, and that the possibility of you intentionally keeping it from the public cannot be denied.”
The reminder of Duryodhan’s so-called ‘candid’ interview is enough to escalate the volume of my voice, though I could hardly deviate from the script. “Rest assured, sir, that both I and my father put the nation first.”
I pause, having to take a deep breath before I say what I must. Even so, I know my voice is far from calm and composed. “Father takes his responsibility as the leader of the nation very seriously. As his spokesperson here, I will do my part in condemning any action that can erode national prestige and harmony, even if, as seen here, said action is done by my son.”
I look directly into the camera, trying to convey sincerity I definitely do not feel. Even though Arjun had definitely done something he shouldn’t…the father I am shuddered to say the words I have to.
“The people of our country are my first priority. He who forsakes them will find himself forsaken in turn, my own son though he might have been.”
I manage to hold my face to impassivity as the reporter says the customary thanks. Father merely offers a nod as I rush out, unable to breathe, even, in the bright glare of the studio.
I flee.
The moment my feet cross the threshold of home, I am stopped in my tracks. “Arjun would never forgive me if I did to you what you deserve. And, that, Senator, is the only reason you stand unharmed within physical reach of me.”
I cast my eyes to the floor, unable to face my wife’s indignation. “Prithey…” I begin, my voice an entreaty. She pays it no mind. “Make no mistake. The single sole reason I do not forsake you as you have done to a far better man than yourself is because of him alone. Because I know my child. I know that he is innocent enough to love and respect men who barefacedly disown him.”
Stung, hurt, I retort “I did not have a choice!” Pritha merely raises an eyebrow. “We all make choices, Senator. You have made yours in full view of the world. And I make mine. I am my son’s mother, and that alone. I will not allow those who betray his trust to get close to me. Therefore, leave. Leave before I lose what little forbearance I am holding on to because you are my son’s beloved but entirely undeserving father.”
I hesitate for a moment. My hesitation drives her anger to the zenith. “Get out of my sight!” she commands, firm and clear.
I am lost for words. What could I even say in the face of a mother’s fury?
Her eyes speaking volumes beyond her incensed words, she turns and leaves without according me even a glance.
I stand there, alone, whatever cold comfort my duty had given long lost, an intruder in my own family, protected only by the child I had forsaken.
