#krishnaa

A very rough draw of Draupadi

Krishnaa was loved, that she knew.

It was the deep laugh of her father, his affectionate pats on her head. It was her mother’s teary eyes that fell on her, the longing in the queen’s eyes to see her as an infant.

It was her siblings’ unspoken acts, somehow always ensuring she had everything she needed.

Love was what she felt most deeply.

It was her husbands’ lovelorn looks. The archer’s copper eyes forever enchanted, it was the way she was respected as the queen- and the goddess of their house.

A goddess and a mother, so full of love.

It was her children, the subjects of her queendom, it was every person-old and young-who never slept hungry in her watch.

Krishnaa was loved, that she knew.

But, then why were her cries for help unanswered?

“Protect dharma and it shall protect you,” that she did but wasn’t she loved? Wasn’t she loved? Why did no one stand up? Why did no one-?

And now she doesn’t believe that.

But you’re Krishnaa, the fire of the preserver incarnate. You’re fire’s daughter, aren’t you? So burn your culprits, burn the dice hall— why do you stay gentle even in a crisis like this? Agnijaa, PavakaPutri, so many epithets circling back to fire who sired you. Who are you? The dusky empress remains silent. Who are you? Shachi, the queen of heaven.

“Protect dharma and it shall protect you.”

“What is dharma?”

“Krishna.”

“Krishnaa?”

“Krishna.”

Love is what that grounds people. Love is what she has always felt so deeply.

So when she bled in that court, her heart heavy with rage and sorrow-

“Have mercy on them, Kalyani.”

She loved them. She loved her family, the people of her queendom. And she loved her husbands, deeply.

“Give them a chance to repent.”

That she did.

Maybe that is why she was loved by Shri and Hari both.

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This needs to be edited so heavily. So at first I wanted to do something else (you can notice by how the format suddenly changed) and it turned into something else entirely.

For someone who had both Shri and Hari as her close confidants, she had to be so full of love and mercy. Something rarely discussed as an aspect of her persona, I believe.

saw elephants. saw krishna two different times on two different elephant formations (once with only one and another with 3). was very ..gold. yep. very gold and very briiight. hopefully just like my future.

ooh it also started raining just as we were about to start lighting the lamps. very heavy rains, in fact. i was one of the first ones to light the main lamps but mine never caught fire, cuz, rain.. :(

was able to do the diyas after, though. so that was really a good experience. have done this before but my memory has never once served me right in my life, so why would it now? lol.

and...had a really really bhavya darshan of sri krishn. cursed my eyes for being near sighted as well lol. but yeah it was a really divine darshan. had the darshan twice, actually. once before shiveli (krishn on elephants), with everyone, and once after it, only for us 😍

all this happened last night and i still can't believe it happened, actually. very slow processing happening, actually.

The first time I saw her, I was clad in disguise, Betrayed by the ones we called family, Bound by my mother’s words- You brothers will suffice. Yet I stared, amidst the kings and princes of Bharatvarsha, Where steel and pride were woven thick, Where men sought glory, aiming at the near impossible. Yet there she stood- unshaken, unmoved, Born of fire, a flame no storm could quell. Her hair, a river of endless midnight silk, Her lotus eyes, a single glance, and hearts would tremble. Yet in their depths, my gods… Not a maiden’s dream, but a warrior’s strength. Gold and diamonds adorned her form, Yet they dimmed before her radiant glow. For she was not the moon’s borrowed light, She was the brimming fire of a sacred Agni Kunda. Then she walked, and the air grew still, A hush of petals upon a royal garden, The world inhaled the scent of a lotus dream. Oh, but she was not soft alone, Thunder echoed in the step of her stride, A tempest roared within her veins. She, a no mere flower, But a storm waiting to rise. I, the son of Indra: you, the blessing of fire. Would I be the bow or the arrow you set to flight? Would I ever know the strength that shapes the storm, The brilliance of her fearless light? I am but a Brahmin in disguise, Standing before a flame that will not bend. And in her gaze, I glimpse a path, A journey that will never end.

PandavaPanchali Week Day 3:

𝐀𝐑𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐏𝐀𝐃𝐈

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆

A bow taut and an arrow nocked in her grasp, she turns to look at the archer whose body mimics her stance, copper eyes of serenity staring ahead at the target. Petrichor mingles with the scent of blue lotuses, dark limbs as if in a dance venerating the heavens that rain upon them.

A soggy white upavastra tickles her waist and midnight dark curls inebriate him, the greatest archer of the era. Arjuna slightly leans in, letting himself breathe into the nectar of her presence. A smirk curls the garnet lips of his wife. He composes himself then, correcting her shoulder and Krishnaa lets him: let him think I do not know how to have the correct stance.

“Look ahead, Krishne, your aim lies before you.”

She has little loss, even though he’s in abundant victory of worshipping his beloved.

“Does it now, Partha?”

Rain splashes upon swarthy skins, a rhythm written in the stars. The clouds rumble and lightning comes to highlight the sharp edges of her cheeks, along with the depth of his eyes. Krishnaa hasn’t looked away from them yet, and his gaze is yet to rest on hers— controlled, but very wavering. Like some sculptures breathed life into, finally they stir and thunder echoes between them.

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