#shrutakarma

Set on day 15 after Drona's death, BORI what BORI, this is HEAVILY based on BRC, inspired by This Clip and my monkey brain, contains dollops of angst, read at your own risk.

Shrutakarma had made a mistake coming into the main tent, he thought. But he was so, so exhausted and Keshav mama asked him to wait there until he got back. Father had been a wreck, that much shrutakarma saw. It took multiple attempts to hold him back from murdering someone and even as he walked back to the camp, father's eyes were bloodshot and murderous. Why were they murderous? Shrutakarma felt like the earth had been pulled out from under his feet, most of his family gone in a few short hours, grandfather, his uncles, his brothers- Father had no right to look this angry right now! He hadn't lost anyone today.

Keshav mama sat down on one of the chairs with a tired sigh, massaging his forehead with his hands. He seemed to be thinking about what to say, but finally, just as he was about to say it, father entered, a sword in his hand. Wonderful, Shrutakarma thought. It looked like he was going to lose yet another mama today.

Keshav mama ran to him, looking from his face to the sword in his hands. Then he did it again. Then he placed a firm hand on father's shoulder, a warning in his eyes. Shrutakarma released yet another long-suffering sigh. Was this how Shikhandi mama felt? Was this how jitu mama felt?

"I am going to kill Dhrishtadyumna!" Father seethed.

Shrutakarma rolled his eyes. He remembered the state of the camp not even three days ago, when soubhadra- Shrutakarma tried to chase those memories away, but the difference between how father expected to be treated and how he was treating mama was so stark, that Shrutakarma couldn't help but notice. And just then, the senapati entered the tent, along with someone else. Shrutakarma wasn't able to identify the second person, but he felt it was someone close to mama.

Father was actually serious.

Hadn't he lost enough? If Shrutakarma could cry, he would have.

"And what has my brother done, for you to decide that you are going to kill him?"

Mother. Mother was here. Shrutakarma let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. She wouldn't let anything happen to mama, or to him. That he was sure of. Not that she had noticed him. He had perfected the art and craft of becoming invisible, and he was all the more glad for it right now.

"Panchali!" Father shouted, raising his sword, but stopping short.

"Oh, why did you stop?" She asked, her voice like steel, sharper than father's blade. "I'm just an obstacle in your path, aren't I? Remove me! To get to my Dhrishtadyumna, you will have to do that, you know,"

Father took a step back, and for the first time since that morning, seemed to actually think about what he was doing.

Mother pressed on, though. "I mean, it isn't like I am important to anyone in this family anyway. I am the same Draupadi who was dragged by her hair to the royal court of hastinapur, the same one who disrobed, while five brave warriors stood watching."

Shrutakarma felt his cheeks heat up in shame. Logically, he knew. He knew he was away in Indraprastha when that had happened, he knew he was a child, but such was the power of mother's words. When she spoke about what had happened that day, she could make anyone listening feel ashamed, whether consciously or unconsciously. He finally looked up, really looked at mother, and even though she wasn't really looking at him, he realized it was impossible to ever be invisible to her.

"And in that same court, your beloved teacher was there as well. You may not remember his presence, but I certainly remember his silence. It still rings in my ears. And when my son- my unarmed, injured, son was massacred in a way befitting only hyenas, he was the commander in chief that did it. He called the attack."

Mother finished what she wanted to say, her chest heaving and her eyes still fiery. Just then, Shrutasen entered.

"Aai, soma-"

And just then, her expression instantly changed. She scrubbed her hand over her face, and when she removed it, her eyes were softer. Still fiery, but now more like a hearth than a blazing yajnakunda.

"I'll be right there," She said softly, and adjusting her saree, she quietly walked out.

"You're a coward, aren't you, Dhrishtadyumna? To not only kill Acharya that way, but to hide behind your sister?"

Shrutakarma got up with a start. "Oh, lay off, will you!" He shouted, sick of his father's behaviour. "For someone who just lost his son, one would think you'd have more sympathy for mama! I just lost all my remaining cousins!" Shrutakarma's shawl flew about as he gestured outside the tent, where the bodies were kept.

"I should have sent you to a gurukula, maybe you'd have learnt to respect your elders then," Father shot back.

"Oh come on, for all that you are getting heated up about your guru, you won't let me say a few words in support of mine?"

"Now I've had it, Dhrishtadyumna! You've turned my own son against me!" Father's voice broke. Shrutakarma could not find it in him to care.

For the first time since mama had entered the tent, Shrutakarma looked at him.

His hair was dishevelled, the vein in his temple throbbing as if it was going to burst. He looked frenzied, frantic, far from the picture of composure he usually was. For all that people spoke about the Parshata's anger, he had realized that it was a contained, quiet sort of anger.

Mama hadn't raged and yelled and cried when his sons died. He hadn't made loud oaths, hadn't wailed and wept. He had simply gotten down from his chariot, quietly walked through the bloodied, muddied battlefield, unsheathed his sword, and beheaded the killer. It was clean.

Only two pieces for his charioteer to load back into the chariot and take back to the camp. And Shrutakarma didn't know whether to laugh or cry at father's audacity and wild, wild accusations.

"You did that yourself! Don't you remember? When we met each other, you- you walked right past me! Alright, forget that, you tried after that. But then, I came to check up on you, two days ago, and you- you literally asked me who I was! You didn't even recognize me! Do you have any idea how that made me feel? Oh, of course you don't, for all you do is just go on doing whatever you want, uncaring of the consequences!"

"Shrutakarma, my dear, I did not mean it in that way when I said that one should act without being expectant of the results! In fact, it is the opposite. Acting without caring about the consequences and acting without being attached to the results are two very different things,"

Shrutakarma had never felt so annoyed with Keshav mama until this moment. "I did not know you were a part of this conversation,"

"And I did not know you were. I mean, I thought this was between your father and Dhrishtadyumna,"

"And? If someone had come after father, arguing with him after soubhadra died, wouldn't you have defended him?"

"Because I am the same age as him! You are a child!"

"Am I a child when there's nothing childlike left in me?Am I a child when I go out and see the same things you do? Why am I a child now, when we both do the exact same thing out there? You never treated soubhadra like a child, and I am three years older than him!"

Keshav mama was left speechless. Shrutakarma realized he truly did not have any argument.

"Madhav is right, you-" Father swallowed, a little bit calmer. "What is just and unjust is a complex topic, and what your uncle did was-"

"I dont recall you killing Jayadrath fairly!" Shrutkarma burst out, pushing past the lump in his throat, his eyes welling up with tears.

"B- but that's different! He is the reason my son got killed. He-" Father spluttered out, not noticing that Shrutakarma was almost in tears by now.

"If you recall, Prince Arjun," Mama said in a deathly quiet voice. "Senapati Drona wasn't just the aiding and abetting the killers when my family died, but he himself was their killer. Forgiveness, as you very well know, does not come easy to us. I was simply avenging my-" he swallowed, breaking off. "seven brothers, four children, and of course, my father."

How was mama able to stay afloat when he had lost so much, Shrutakarma wondered. He did not think he would have stayed that composed. He shut his eyes tight to ward off the tears. He breathed heavily and finally turned to face Arjun.

"You aren't old enough to remember the time your father died! But everyone who raised me is dead! And- and until this moment, I held out hope! I thought, at least I have my actual father, instead of all the people who raised me. I thought- I thought I should be grateful!" Shrutakarma's voice shook and wavered, and he hated it. He hated that he seemed weak in front of him. He paused for a moment, getting his bearings and said with the hardest tone he could muster, "I realize now, I made a mistake."

Father seemed to be caught off guard at this, dropping his sword to the ground and staring at him, dumbfounded.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Keshav mama walk out of the tent.

Shrutakarma finally took a long, deep breath, and tried to hide his tears as he went out to find his brothers.

From the clink of the armour, it seemed mama had followed him as well.

having a resemblance in appearance, character, or quantity, without being identical.

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TW: Mentions of fire

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Reminder: This is a work made from my own imagination, with inspiration from the actual itihasa, and not meant to hurt anyone's sentiments.

Thank you.

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Unedited: you've been warned.

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The sons of Draupadi were always told they looked like their fathers- but they weren't identical. They had their own traits, but they greatly reflected their fathers.

That's why they were called the UpaPandavas, after all.

It had been a source of pride for them, to hear that they were like shadows of their fathers- some of the greatest warriors to walk on earth.

It had been a source of comfort for them, growing up, to see similarities between them and their fathers in the mirror in their absence.

They'd got countless remarks on that. Perhaps, accompanied by a pat on the back, a hand ruffling their hair, or an arm swung around their shoulders, along with gentle chuckles, teasing giggles or roaring laughter.

Their fathers had always doted on them; and how similar their sons were to them, and yet, still had a charm- perhaps, that was the work of their uncles.

Whenever their mother would see them, she'd always pout and remark how they barely got any of her traits, but in the end would always end up showering them in affection.

But for the first time, it is a source of pure agony for everyone, as their tent is being engulfed in fierce flames.

For the first time, they wondered, why did their have to be so similar to their fathers.

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जय सीतारामलक्ष्मण की!

Hello!!!! :D

I hope y'all liked this piece- it's my first one to do with the Mahabharata!!

I had a particularly hard time figuring out the title for this one, but I am quite satisfied :D

I've been having extreme brainrot for the past few days, and I saw some content on the Upapandavas and *whoosh*- would you look at that, an idea :D

I think I can improve on it- so I may come back to edit it sooner or later but we'll have to see ToT

I hope y'all enjoyed this piece- and as always, constructive feedback, criticism and comments are always appreciated and they mean a lot to me! <3

Its fairly short, I know, but I swear I'm making longer stuff which is coming up TvT

Stay safe, healthy and hydrated<3

hope y'all have a good day/evening/night!

Thirteen years ago, Krishna had taken Dhrishtadyumna and Shikhandi aside and told them in no uncertain terms that they would not be taking out their anger of the Pandavas on their sons. Thirteen years later, Shikhandi takes them aside and looks them in the eye, telling them with pride, and a hint of warning that their boys have changed and grown into men. Nakul knows why his tone holds warning, even if the others may not get it. He gets the message loud and clear.

They have changed, and you are not to fault them for that.

So he doesn't.

He just observes.

He observes Draupadi's brothers run into the room, Yudhamanyu and Uttamaujas running to her and each of them grabbing one of her hands and pulling her ahead to join the rest of them. They're twins, just like him. She's a twin, just like them. Just like half of Panchal's sons. Kumara and Panchalya tackle her in a bear hug, with Prince Satyajit shouting 'careful, careful' in the background. A rare exclamation of joy, rarer in these years, slips out of her mouth when she sees a laughing Shikhandi and a softly smiling Dhrishtadyumna. She shakes off her younger brothers and runs to them. After all, they are her favourites.

With her husbands, she cannot afford to have favourites. With them, she cannot be free. She is always their wife, their queen, and although she gets love in both Panchal and Indraprastha, she gets freedom only with her brothers. It reminds him of himself, a memory flitting across his mind of rambunctious young boys, one getting him in a headlock, another trying to pull it apart, one leaning tiredly against the wall and yet another pulling him to join his brothers. Call him soft-hearted, but his heart always clenches when she laughs freely, like she hasn't done for so long, and that can only be done with her brothers.

But then, from behind them, her sons show up. He observes Kalyani tear up, hands on her mouth, and how Prativindhya is quick to put an arm around her and pull her close and wipe her tears. He towers over her now. He'd always wondered how his second-eldest nephew was doing. A part of him had died after that day, and Nakul feared it wasn't coming back anytime soon. He'd always been close to his mother. Sutasoma and Shrutakarma, he notes, are probably crying more than her, and his heart does a little flip-flop. Shatanik is stone-faced, thoughts flitting through his mind and flickering in his eyes, but his mouth doesn't betray any of it. He looks calm, and absently, Nakul murmurs, 'you've changed, duckling,' and promises himself never to say that out loud. The children are painfully aware of that fact, they don't need to be told. But when she hugs the four of them, Shatanik looks up, caught in the moment as if a deer in the headlights, and then hugs all of them, shifting them and almost picking them up with the force of his hug. Nakul shakes his head in fond exasperation. He had never been good at showing people he loved them. And being trained by the Parshatas would have exacerbated that. But it was alright, he knew how to read emotions from the slightest curl of a fist, the minutest furrow of eyebrows, and the tiniest twitch of an eye.

He observes Prativindhya, turned away from his father, his face painted with slight disgust and his hands crossed. He observes how Sutasoma is quick to swallow, unsuccessful at hiding the lump in his throat, his eyes murky with the film of tears on them. He sees Bheem look at him for only a moment before nearly crushing his son in a hug, picking him up like he was feather-light and asking him about his health and his food and what he'd been up to. He sees Shrutasen stand stiffly as Sahadev looks at him, really looks at him, both of them so stiff and awkward it makes him want to tease his brother and push them closer for a hug. But he knows Shrutasen was barely eleven when they left, and does not know how to interact with a man he scarcely remembers. He also has more important things to do, namely, seeing his own son.

This time around, Shatanik observes him. He's rough around the edges, and his arms on his father's and he is intently looking at him, his eyes narrow and searching. "I've missed you kid," he says, gruffly. He does not call the man in front of him duckling. He does not feel he would like that. Shatanik nods. "Same," he whispers.

But Shatanik's eyes keep darting across the room, and he turns to look. The sight makes a deep, deep discomfort buried within him resurface, and he rolls his eyes at how predictable his brother is being. Shrutakarma is ecstatic to see his father. After all, Yudhamanyu must have told him a lot of stories.

But Arjun has walked right past him to see Subhadra and Abhimanyu. Arjun probably doesn't even realize what he has done in his excitement. But Shrutakarma walks off to stand in a corner, downcast. The action had been done, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, and Shrutakarma cannot see intentions. He can only see effects. But despite all that had happened, Nakul smiles. He remembers the kid.

He remembers a five year old, running through the stables with Shatanik and the stablehands running behind him and stopping only when he came to the strange horses Krishna had given him. He remembers Shatanik listening to him patiently as he rattled off about each of them, his face alight with joy and excitement. Nakul looked at the two of them, how their eyes seemed to search for each other in a crowded room and deduced that he had continued being loyal to Shatanik, and Shatanik, in turn had morphed his patience into a fiery protectiveness.

Shatanik guides him over to his youngest nephew and Nakul just smiles and opens his arms. He bites back a gasp at how quickly Shrutakarma comes to him and hugs the poor boy back. Shatanik rests a hand on his brother's back, and a thin smile splits his face. Nakul drags him into the hug, pressing his head Shatanik's neck, taking a deep breath and smiling to himself. Vindhya and Shatanik are taller than his brother and him respectively. Shatanik awkwardly pats his shoulder.

Shatanik needs time, he senses. To come to terms that this is real. There is a lot going on behind that large forehead, and it needs to settle before his son comes to him.

Abhimanyu ran. Like he had attempted to do when mother caught him neck deep in her jewellery trunk. Like he had tried to do when he found himself trapped in the chakravyuha. Like he had tried to run from their blows- This time, he finally succeeded. He ran like a man finally freed. His bare feet truly felt the damp grass, and the cool wind caressed his hair. When he stopped, he found himself- once more unconsciously- in front of a large stone building.

The royal crest of Panchal adorned the front of it.

अज़ब निराली मोह की माया समझे समझ नहीं आये

How many kingdoms did he have to raze before he could finally rest, subhadra wondered. What was the need for another Ashwamedha Yajna? What was the need for more war, more destruction, more loss and more death?

She never understood how her brother, who in one breath said that one must escape from worldly trappings, could espouse even more conquest and bloodshed with another.

Hadn't they lost enough?

अंगना से तोहरी चहक तो जाए

A flock of birds chirped noisily outside his window while he worked. When had he last heard Prativindhya's voice chirping just like those birds outside of his window? When was the last time someone had excitedly rushed into his room, saying "Baba, baba-!"

Yudhishthir had lost his son long before he died.

When was the last time there had been anything but bitterness between them?

Yudhishthir missed his son, and he thought he could endure a thousand words that cut like poisoned daggers, only if he could hear his son's voice again.

He would take all the shouting, all the caustic insults over this deafening silence.

तोहरी महक नहीं जाए

Prativindhya had expensive tastes, and when yudhishthir met him again, even if Prativindhya wasn't allowing him to come closer, the smell of attar or musk would always emanate from him even from afar. After all, he was yojanagandha's son. At points when vindhya was feeling particularly angry, Yudhishthir would use his own sense of smell to stay out of vindhya's way.

How he wished he had sought him out instead of avoiding him, how he wished he had tried to apologize and repent. He wished he had tried to bridge the chasm between them, but-

But wishes didn't do anything, and all he could do was live out his days and hope whatever came after would be kind, he hoped that whatever he was born as in his next life, his son didn't have a father like him.

नैन समंदर सात भरे पर

Arjun tried not to think much these days. If he thought, he would feel, if he felt, he would collapse, and he could not collapse. He was a commander on a conquest and collapsing would mean death, or worse, defeat. It was as simple as that.

But- but wasn't Shrutakarma at the very back of his mind even when he was alive?

Didn't getting distracted and not thinking about how his sons were doing kill them?

So he thought. He thought about how they were as opposite as men's thoughts and words, he thought about Shrutakarma's quietness and Abhimanyu's loudness, of Shrutakarma's hesitance and Abhimanyu's confidence.

How Shrutakarma often went unnoticed, behind the scenes, and Abhimanyu was always in the spotlight, blazing and burning until-

Until he flew too close to the sun.

No, no, that wasn't right. That made it seem like his death was his own fault.

It wasn't.

It was Arjun's wasn't it.

He took Susharman's bait, he allowed himself to be led away from the battlefield, he-

And after he thought they had won the war, he allowed himself to relax, he had a good night's sleep before losing it forever.

Arjun stared at himself in the lake near the campsite, his face haggard, his eyes bloodshot from the sleepless nights, and tried to cry, but he felt so exahusted. As if his tears had dried up and his eyes were tired from all the crying and- and he couldn't cry.

If he could, he thought, his tears would have made another lake right next to this one and then gone on to fill the seven seas.

भरे ना करेजवा के घाव

He had not been fair to Shrutakarma, he thought. He shouldn't have said that to Shrutakarma when he checked up on him after Saubhadra died.

Shrutakarma's shattered face when Shikhandi told him that his injured hand meant that he probably would never be able to draw or write still haunted him.

And that fact was made all the more prominent when, in a fit of rage, Nakul had shouted at him,

"You weren't the one who reminded him to keep water aside for himself, and not give it all to the horses, you weren't the one who wiped his tears after his brothers, yes, I mean Panchal's princes because he grew up with them, were killed by your beloved guru, you weren't the one who found him asleep standing up FREQUENTLY, you- what is wrong with you? You had the most remarkable son in all the three worlds, why were you never there for him?"

मुनिया मोरी

He asked that question to himself all the time. What was wrong with him? Why could he never understand Shrutakarma?

Shrutakarma had been blunt, though, never one to mince words. Had he been alive, maybe he could have answered that question.

Nakul had apologized later, of course, but it didn't change the fact that he had spoken the truth.

(+ his kids in the Javanese mhb‼️)