Veera
Sumitra screamed in pain, strands of her hair plastered to her face, her nails digging into the nearest medic's hand.
Did she hurt the medics? The queen of King Dasharath would have been horrified at her own actions, the Sumitra in labour couldn't care less.
Pain had dulled her senses, morphing her gentle self into something else entirely.
It wasn't long before the queen had not even the energy to scream, reduced to a state of near hyperventilation. She sucked in air in huge gasps, panting, her eyes clutched tight to avoid the macabre sight that was her own body.
Pain pervaded through her entire being, snapping her bones and sending her into a strange slumber, till she could no longer feel a thing. But she could still hear the familiar sounds of the Sarayu, thumping and flowing through Ayodhya's heart.
𝘈 𝘭𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱.
But her mind, perhaps sensing the danger of giving in, took her back to her home, to her Kashi. To her mother's rosaries, to her father's crown, to her brothers' weapons, to the world she had known and loved before stepping foot in Koshala.
It took her back to the sound of Maa Ganga's flow, so much like the Sarayu's and yet so different in its stark vitality.
It took her back to the magnificent temple at Kashi where she'd prayed ever since she was a little girl, where she'd spent countless nights chanting and pouring milk down the Shivalingam in hopes of securing a husband like Anagha.
Her prayers had been answered, in the form of the kind, strong, yet gentle king of Koshala.
𝘚𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘶..... 𝘎𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘢.... 𝘒𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪..... 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘢..... 𝘒𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘢.... 𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩.....
𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘢𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘷, 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯.
"Queen, please," the ayurvati murmured. "Don't fall asleep. It's almost over."
"Almost over, you say?" She tiredly whispered, her head almost lolling back, long tresses flowing wildly down the bed.
She closed her eyes, breathed, and sat up, using every last ounce of her strength before falling back on the bed, back into the powerless stupor, hoping it was over.
𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵.
The pain didn't quite recede and she had almost given up, until the ayurvati squealed in delight, right before Sumitra heard a scream that would've scared her to her bones if she had been completely conscious.
𝘈 𝘤𝘳𝘺, 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥'𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘺.
𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥'𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘺.
She turned her head around, only to find the ayurvati's joyous expressions melting into one of concern.
"My lady," she gulped, looking into Sumitra's eyes, "Please. Just a few more moments."
Had she been asked to repeat the ordeal a few minutes ago, Sumitra would've shook her head and resigned herself to death.
But her child's cry had given her new vitality. It had breathed new life into her body.
It had made her want to live.
Every bone in her body still hurt, but now, she could scarcely feel it over the need of saving herself and the child who still had to see the light of the day.
Gathering all her courage, she lifted her body up again, grabbing onto the nearest bed post for support.
Pain, hot, burning, searing pain flared in her body, traveling upwards through her spine, and she screamed loud enough to all but drown out the cry of her younger child, so much softer than the first had been, but a cry, nonetheless.
𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘵.
Relief washed over her in waves, cooling her flushed face and her burning eyes, returning her famed grace back to her.
It was over, finally over. She could rest now, slip into the welcoming abyss that would take her to the land of oblivion again, lined with the sweet dreams of her memories.
The princess of Kashi let her drooping eyelids meet.
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