#uttar

“Huh?”

“I- You always called me saubhadra. I don’t know, it sometimes felt weird. I felt left out sometimes,”

“Ah,” Shrutakarma nodded, but didn’t really say much more. “I- I’ll add that to my ‘being a decent brother’ list. Considering you’re going to stay with grandfather for a while?”

“What’s a while? But yes. I don’t think I am going back home yet.”

“Fair. I get it. Honestly, if I didn’t have my own duties to attend to-”

“What?” Abhimanyu said, but then seemed to realize. “Ahh right. The vishwedeva thing,”

“Yepp,”

“Soma is really good at managing- EVERYTHING!”

“And he splits time between two families when you just hang out at grandfather’s place,”

“I don’t get how he does it!”

“Just tell me where to go, okay? I haven’t visited Uttar before,”

“Yeah, I will! Have stayed with him for years,”

“That’s your person, then!” Shrutakarma said emphatically. “You are loved for more than how you died, abhimanyu! And I think- now take my words with a grain of salt because I don’t know either of them well, but like- I don’t think Uttar and Shwet look at that when they see you. I think you are also placing yourself on a pedestal, you know? Think about it…..”

“Huh,” Abhimanyu said. “If you say so,”

Shrutakarma sighed. “You are SO DENSE, MY GOD!”

“And?”

Shrutakarma rolled his eyes. They walked in silence for a bit with abhimanyu only speaking to show the directions before coming to a stop in front of a yellow palace with life size elephants adorning its entryway.

“Abhi!” a young man came bounding out. He looked a little younger than them, but shrutakarma knew enough to know he was a bit older than abhimanyu. This must be Uttar. His hair was wild, his smile cheerful and there was… something around his neck.

“I was just about to send word! You haven’t said anything since the- you know. The trials thing,”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t worry about me!” Abhimanyu waved him off.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing much, just- got a new commission to design something for some minor god and-”

“Ooo, busy busy” Abhimanyu said in a sing-song voice. Uttar cuffed him on the head. Shrutakarma laughed, and finally, they seemed to realize he was there.

“And who’s this?” Uttar asked, even though he knew who it was. Right. Yes. He was trying to make conversation.

“Shrutakarma,”

“What does he want?”

“Well he wants to get to know me. He said he wanted to ‘BE A BETTER BROTHER’ or something. I figured I’d give him a chance. Since I missed out on that while being a gharjawai….” Abhimanyu trailed off.

“Ohhhhh dip, you did!” Uttar said. “Well, come in, I’m not free all day, I have commissions!”

Settled on a settee in Uttar’s design studio, Shrutakarma looked around. He was used to feeling uncomfortable when Abhimanyu was in his element. But right now, as his little brother and Uttar talked a mile a minute while Uttar’s hands kept moving— measuring and cutting and stitching— he felt strangely at ease. And then, he realized. The discomfort was with war. The discomfort was with how Abhimanyu’s life was made to revolve around war. How Aunt Chitra was constantly told that giving birth to abhimanyu was the purpose of her life. He didn’t even realize he had zoned out.

“And I was like-”

“Abhi! Should I use the blue one or the purple one for this one?” Uttar interrupted him.

“Hmm, I don’t know… What are you using for the border? Yellow, right? Then I think blue would look great!”

“Hey, that’s just the dwarka flag!” Shrutakarma put in.

“Not true! The dwarka flag is yellow in the middle and blue on the borders! And the shades aren’t the same,”

“Oh, who cares?” Abhimanyu rolled his eyes.

“Yellow and purple would actually look great, Uttar, don’t listen to him!” Shrutakarma went on.

“Hmm, now I’m not going to say that Prince Yudhamanyu wore that combination way too much, am I?”

“But…. You just did?” Shrutakarma shrugged.

“Thanks for the inputs, I’m gonna go with grey and purple.” Uttar deadpanned.

“HEY!” Abhimanyu threw a pillow at him. He missed.

Shrutakarma gulped. Abhimanyu could miss a target here. And Uttar wouldn’t die even if something hit him. They were safe.

“Hey, you paint, right?” Uttar asked, breaking the silence they had settled into.

“Yes, why?”

“Well I was wondering if you would like to work on some of my pieces, paint the cloth..”

“I’m not that good at it, I’m not really good at anything,”

“Come on, just try once?” Uttar pleaded, running his hands through his hair.

“Aw, okay, alright…”

“I’ll call you when I get a commission!”

“Thank you, but I mean. Aren’t my- I mean- we- I mean- Don’t most of your commissions come from the vishwedevas? It’d be weird!”

“I just worked on a Marut commission. Dad’s also one. Shit happens, okay?”

“Point taken,”

“So…. it’s a deal?” uttar asked.

“It’s a deal,” Shrutakarma smiled.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Abhimanyu got up to open it. Grandfather?

“Oh, hello! Shrutakarma, I didn’t know you were here!”

Shrutakarma sank deeper into the pillows. He wanted to disappear.

“Saubhadra, your parents came to my place, searching for you. I told them you’d be here, but… they said they would wait.”

“No no no no no noooooo” abhimanyu shook his head, his knuckles growing tight on his dhoti.

“You have to face them, sometime or the other. Especially…” Shrutakarma trailed off.

“Abhi, do you want me to come with you?” Uttar asked, dropping the tape measure he was holding. “Maybe I can-”

“No, Uttar. I’ll be fine. I will talk to you later, don’t worry!”

Shrutakarma’s brow furrowed. He quickly got up and extended a hand to Abhimanyu.

“Let’s go. I’m here for you.”

He noticed when Abhimanyu held his hand tighter than usual, but didn’t say anything.

He loved the sight of Panchaali laughing lightly, he treasured each one of those in his mind. She would often be puzzled by his steady glances, but still humored his behaviour. She and Bhraata Bheem would be sharing an inside joke about Bhraata Arjun, and then instantly dissolved into laughter, tears glistening in their eyes, those ones of pure joy, which he would reverently preserve in his palms, if he could. If he could, he would lock this blessed time within his heart, away from the cruelty of fates. And then his musings would be disturbed, for it would be time for Krishnaa to feed the needfuls that they welcomed as their guests, before the royal family accepted any meals for themselves. No one left her presence with any want in their hearts. No one ever will.

Their beloved Abhimanyu used to run around all of them, trying to hide from his mothers, and more often than not, he would hide his nephew in his arms. A master in evasion, he passed through the rooms as a breeze, slipping through their hands. Whenever he got a hold of his little nephew, he would show a toothy, guilty smile, one which made him weak. And the little menace knew that. The only words he could manage to whisper, inaudible to their little prince, were a request and a blessing, "may the valorous Saubhadra always remain elusive to the ones who wished him ruin, untouched from the malicious clutches of the vengeful".

Nakul used to laugh, because he would sometimes spend his free hours under the guidance of the royal herder, learning about how to attend to the large population of cattle under the ownership of the palace and how best to provide for their welfare. His twin would tremble with humorous chuckles and tease him about the absolute uselessness of this kind of knowledge for a Kshatriya prince, joking about the times when the advisor of the Samrat will have the absolute need to milk a cow. When he retorted back, about how Nakul himself was spending a bit much time in the stables, he would defend himself by explaining that a prince should have mastery in the art of horse riding, a skill too useful for a warrior. His mind reflected on the cruelty of fate, for this interest would certainly be of service to his twin, in the future that stormed nearer. He himself encouraged his brother to hone this skill of his but, on the outside, he would pout a little in return, tell him off or threaten to tell Bhraatashree about his unmannerly teasing, and their childish squabbles would continue. He relished every moment of it, he loved when Nakul complained about petty matters, because it meant that he was happy, he was comfortable, that he was still optimistic...

He buried back the immense remorse in his heart, whenever the king played a harmless game of dice, only a mere diversion from the daily duties. His family tried to distract him from his habit, but only a halfhearted attempt. When invited for a round, he would try to lead the king's mind away from that weakness of his. "Any riches of the world would turn to dirt if obtained through a mode so neglectful." he used to advise respectfully, "Only a coward would attempt to seize anything precious and worthwhile from behind the shelter of a game so trivial" always countered the Samrat, his belief immovable in all Kshatriyas always adhering to their morals. So their game would continue, and he would try to prevent his mind from wondering mirthlessly about how it would feel to be in the place of one of those bags of gold, a general possession, only on display to be gambled away...

Patration: perfection or completion of something

Arjun

Draw the string of the bow, and lose it again. The routine may feel mechanical, soulless to anyone on the sidelines, but it feels like a prayer to the one practicing. The whistling arrows are singing the hymns in his stead, the blood drawn from his hands is the sacrifice to the holy fire, every arrow finding it's mark is one cycle of chanting complete. There is no one else present in that world in which the devotee Paarth worships his gods, the bow and arrow. The center of the target beckons to him as his moksha, and as certain as an ancient sage meditating for centuries, he attains it.

His was the aim to master the art of archery, and thus Savyasachi was born into the world, the one who wields the flame-blessed Gandiva with dexterity of both his hands; the Gudakesha who lords above the constraints of sleep. His was the aim to raise Indraprastha as a part of the heavens, and so Dhananjaya was brought into existence, the winner of absolute wealths in the four directions and all the three worlds, the very one called Kiriti who graced the crown gifted by Devendra.

His was the aim to become stronger for retribution, for their tears and their scars. And for that wish, born was the warrior Jishnu, the unsurpassed, uncontrollable one who subdued his opponents, the Vijaya who defeated all in the fields of war, the one who was blessed with the feared Pashupatastra by Mahadeva. In his name-fellow Krishna's words, he was the Parantapa who scorched his enemies. But, even then he didn't relinquish the title of Vibhatsu, whether referring to the honorable one or the one who incited terror in the hearts of his foes, all the difference lied in the eyes of his beholder.

His was the aim to finish their Agyatavas successfully, so came Brihannala into creation, for achieving that target. Each movement of the teacher who taught Matsya's princess was a precise and well-crafted one, never spurred in a moment; each gesture sharper than the finest of blades, the disciplined motions preconceived even before the melodies flowed into the air, leaving the spectator entranced beyond mere words. The gracefulness mesmerized all before they could grow any suspicions. The princess adored her mentor and the prince realized all too late why he was so affected by the sways of that dancer, flaring like the fierceness of the one who was perfected by the heat of wars. When the prince was finally blessed with knowledge about their guests, it all became too clear.