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Subhadra - Blog Posts
Manifesting Sriya Reddy as Draupadi in the upcoming Palace of Illusions movie. This goddess got both the acting chops and the looks, Suzhal bears testament. Divine powers, please let it happen. Please
Just a little longer
“Arjuna.”
The name was spoken gently, but Krishna’s voice cracked like a leaf in the wind. He knelt beside his brother, his other half- his steady hand reaching for Arjuna’s shoulder, the other resting over the blood-soaked cloth covering the boy’s face: Covering much of the brutality left by the unjust of the battle today.
But Arjuna didn’t move.
Not even a flicker of acknowledgement.
He sat there in the dust, knees drawn, back bowed, cradling his son in his arms as if he were still small- still a child with ink-dark eyes and tiny fingers that used to tug at his bowstring in play. His armor, dented and smeared with soot and gore, pressed cold against the boy’s lifeless cheek.
This was his Abhimanyu. His child. His heart’s first dream, his soul’s fiercest prayer, his son that lay unmoving in his lap.
And now they wanted to take him away. To prepare the pyre. To burn what remained.
They might as well set him on fire.
Because Arjuna knew, he knew, that whatever he was before this moment- it had died with his son.
Oh.
How could he explain it to Krishna- to his god, his breath, his dearest soul- that it wasn’t just a body in his arms, but every hope he'd held across battlefields, across exile, across aching, endless years of longing for peace?
That this boy was the proof that something good had come from his hands- not just war and ruin and killing. That this boy had been his reason to believe in a future.
And now… Now, there was no future left.
“No,” Arjuna rasped, the word so raw it sounded more like a wound than speech. “Just a little longer.” His voice shook, nearly breaking under the strain. “Please.”
For thirteen long years, he had dreamt of holding his sons. Of running his hands through their hair. Of showing them the stars he used to name with Krishna. Of teaching them to shoot and pray and love.
He had nothing left- nothing but this. This boy. This lifeless body, so small again in his arms.
He deserved this.
Even if he deserved nothing else from fate—no crown, no kingdom, no forgiveness—he deserved to hold his son for just a while longer.
Nakula stood some feet behind, unmoving. His jaw clenched, his knuckles white, and his eyes swollen. He was murmuring to the grieving Upapandavas, trying to comfort children when he, himself, was breaking. He didn’t know how to mourn this.
He didn’t know who to mourn first- his moon-faced nephew, who once giggled in his arms as he spun him through the gardens… or his sister-in-law, now a husk of herself, drained and crumbling beneath the weight of her cries, or his brother, his brilliant, unshakable brother: now hunched and hollow, clutching loss like it was the only thing keeping him from vanishing too.
Sahadeva knelt in silence, palms joined in prayer, tears slipping down his face without resistance. Of all the brothers, Sahadeva had always sensed what others didn’t speak aloud- and what he saw now in Arjuna terrified him. Because he wasn’t just watching a father grieve, he was watching his brother unravel.
No one could move him.
Not even Bhima, whose arms had once uprooted trees and torn chariots in half, could loosen Arjuna’s grip.
The mighty warrior, the Vrikodara, had tried. He had knelt beside his brother, voice thick with grief, hands gentle despite their strength.
“Arjuna, Brother, please, let him go.”
Yet Arjuna clung tighter. His arms- bloody, bruised- wrapped around Abhimanyu’s still form like a man shielding fire from the rain.
Bhima tried again, but he could not move. Because it wasn’t just muscle holding Abhimanyu’s broken body: It was grief. Grief so dense, so ancient, so fierce that even Bhima’s strength turned useless against it.
Arjuna looked up at him then- his eyes rimmed red, lashes stiff with unshed and shed tears, dust clinging to the curve of his cheek. And in them, Bhima saw something that hollowed him out completely.
A boy. Not a warrior. Not a prince. He just saw his younger brother crushed under the weight of a loss the world had no name for.
“Just for a moment, Dada,” Arjuna whispered, his voice cracked. “If I let go now…” Arjuna’s voice faltered, and the tremor in his fingers spoke what he couldn’t say. Bhima read the unsaid words in his brother’s eyes. I’ll forget. I’ll forget how he felt.
It wasn’t just about holding Abhimanyu’s lifeless body. It was the desperate, aching need to remember: to etch the feel of his son’s broken body into his very bones.
And in that moment, Bhima realized: Arjuna wasn’t just fighting to hold onto his son. He was fighting to hold onto himself.
Bhima swallowed hard.
He had no reply. Only a tear that rolled, hot and unwanted, down his cheek and into the dust. He stood up and stepped back, shoulders shaking, fists clenched uselessly at his side.
Then, it was Yudhishthira who approached, his heart breaking into countless pieces at the sight of his younger brother, his warrior, his Phalguna, reduced to a shadow of himself.
With the gentleness of a father, Yudhishthira placed a hand on Arjuna’s shoulder, feeling the tremors that wracked his brother’s frame. His voice, usually calm and commanding, was a mere whisper now, heavy with sorrow.
“Phalgun,” Yudhishthira whispered, the name coming from him as a caress, as a gentle call to the boy Arjuna once was- so full of life, so full of promise. “My Anuj...” He paused, his chest tightening, fighting the tears that threatened to escape. “Please, let him go. We need to prepare him for the rites. You must let go, brother.”
Arjuna’s eyes remained distant, fixed on his son, his hands clutching Abhimanyu’s body as if he were afraid it would vanish, as though the very air would steal him away. His lips quivered, but no sound came.
Yudhishthira’s words were a soft echo in the storm of Arjuna’s grief. He knelt in front of him, his eyes filled with pain. "He is at peace now, Phalgun. But his soul cannot move on without this- without us giving him this final gift." The king’s voice faltered, and the man who had so often held his brothers together was now nothing more than a fragile thing, broken at the sight of his younger brother's agony.
Yudhishthira’s hand remained gently on Arjuna’s, the touch conveying all the unspoken love between them. But it was not enough. Arjuna didn’t move. His grip on Abhimanyu tightened.
Finally, it was Krishna who knelt beside him- quietly, like dusk folding itself over the ruins of a battlefield.
And in moments like this, one remembers why he is called divine- not solely for his miracles, not only for his might- but because he speaks truth even when it tears through the soul like a blade.
He placed a hand on Arjuna’s back, feeling the tremble that coursed through him, the quaking breath, the silent storm of a grief so heavy that not even gods could shoulder it.
“Arjuna,” Krishna whispered, his voice gentle- aching, threaded with centuries of love and lifetimes of brotherhood. “Our Abhimanyu… he fought like fire. He bore your name with pride. He made you proud. He made us all proud.”
Arjuna didn’t respond. His arms only curled tighter around his son’s lifeless body as if to protect him from the cold that had already taken him.
Krishna’s voice softened, but each word pressed like a blade to the soul. “Now you must do what he did. Fulfill your duty. He upheld your name, Parth. Now you must uphold his.”
He paused, then added, almost pleading, “Do not let grief cloud his honor. Let his farewell be worthy. Let your love walk with him across the fire, not cling to the ashes left behind.” Still, Arjuna didn’t look up. His cheek was pressed to Abhimanyu’s blood-matted curls. The tremble in his hands had stilled into something far worse: numbness.
“You taught him how to live, how to aim straight, how to stand tall even when the odds crushed around him.” Krishna’s voice broke slightly, despite himself. “Now teach him how to cross over. That too- is a father’s role.”
Slowly, painfully, Arjuna turned his face toward Krishna. His eyes- once bright with clarity and resolve- were red, hollow, and unfocused. The storm had passed, but it had taken everything with it.
His voice, when it came, was no more than a cracked breath, so fragile it barely reached Krishna’s ears. “My gods, Hai Prabhu,” Arjuna rasped, “I will-I will do my duty. But hai Krishna- just a moment more. Please… Please, let me stay with him… just a moment more, Madhav.”
The plea struck Krishna like no weapon ever had. The great Vishnu, the keeper of dharma, the anchor of the universe: could do nothing but close his eyes, crushed under the weight of a sorrow he could not lift.
“I know,” Krishna whispered. “I know, Parth.”
His hands, steady as they rested on Arjuna’s shoulders, now trembled as well. The bloodied cloth between them was growing colder by the minute.
“But you must let him go,” Krishna said again, voice raw. “You must walk him to the pyre. Not because you are ready but because he deserves that walk with his father.”
“I will be with you, Arjuna. Always. Your brothers are here. Your family is here. You are not alone. We still need you.” He paused, his fingers tightening slightly on Arjuna’s shoulder.
“You must let go, Parth. For the sake of his soul… and for your own.”
Arjuna’s eyes lifted to Krishna’s, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to still. Just them. Just grief. Just love. And the impossible moment between a father’s heart and his duty.
Then, like a bursting dam,
From deep within Arjuna’s chest, there came a cry- raw, wounded, primal. A sound not meant for the world of men, a sound that shattered through the silence and scraped at the sky. His fingers, once iron-bound in grief, began to tremble. His arms, bruised and bloodstained, slowly- painfully- unwound from the broken body of his son. And into Yudhishthira’s waiting arms, the boy was passed.
The eldest Pandava held Abhimanyu as though the weight might crush him- not his body, but his soul. His knees nearly buckled, but he did not flinch. The calmest brother, the pillar of their house, stood trembling.
Yudhishthira looked down at the boy: his nephew, his brave-hearted kin, and then up at his broken brother.
His voice cracked as he whispered, “He will never be forgotten, Phalgun. Not while I breathe. Not while any of us remain. Your son will live on- in every tale sung of courage, in every heart that knows his name.”
At Arjuna’s cry- a sound so devastating it reignited the weeping of Subhadra’s wails in Draupadi’s arms- Sahadeva and Krishna moved like lightning, instinct propelling them forward. Sahadeva caught his brother’s shoulder, steadying him with arms that had never seemed more desperate, while Krishna pulled him close.
No one there, no soul present, would ever forget how Arjuna wept that day. And Arjuna himself would never remember whose arms caught him, whose embrace cradled his collapse. Because in that moment, the world became nothing but grief.
He could barely see Abhimanyu anymore- blurred behind never-ending cascading tears. Just a flicker of a face he once kissed goodnight: a boy who had once run to him, laughing in a sun-drenched courtyard.
Arjuna’s body buckled, and he fell into Krishna’s chest, breath hitching, the sobs powerful and shaking.
And Krishna- His Madhav held him like a friend, like a brother, like the god who had carried oceans and now bore the storm that was Arjuna’s grief.
The fire had not yet been lit. The pyre stood ready.
But for Arjuna, the true burning had already begun: deep inside his chest, where no flames could be seen, and none could ever be extinguished.
His heart was already ashes, and in that quiet, trembling moment, Arjuna let go: of his son, of a piece of his soul.
The Coconut Saga- Mahabharat crack fic Series Part V
The temple was almost ready. Almost… The garlands were strung up, the lamps were lit, and the rangoli- somehow, miraculously- had survived Krishna’s meddling (that was debatable). Balarama had managed to keep his sanity intact, and Arjuna had been dragged into much chaos, but for once, it seemed like everything was going smoothly.
That was all, until Krishna suddenly stopped in the middle of the courtyard, looking deeply troubled.
“I swear I left it here…” he muttered, scanning the area. Arjuna, who had just collapsed onto the temple steps after hours of work, groaned. “Madhav, I don’t like that tone. What did you do?”
Krishna tilted his head. “It’s not what I did, Parth. It’s what the universe has done to us.” His sakha turned to him, genuinely distressed, “The coconut is missing.”
A long, painful silence.
Arjuna questioned slowly, “What?”
“The sacred coconut for the puja!” Krishna flailed his hands. “It was right here, and now it’s gone!”
The coconut was precious. Oh, the coconut was previous…
The one that was specifically brought, by Vasudeva himself, from the Southern kingdom, that coconut was missing.
Arjuna stared at him, unblinking. Then, slowly, he inhaled. “Madhav,” he began, his voice calm, measured, dangerous. “You had one job.”
Balarama, passing by, immediately turned back around sensing chaos. “I don’t have the patience for this.”
Arjuna, however, was done. He sat up so fast his back cracked.
“The coconut did not have legs to walk away.” His hands flew to his head. “Where is it!? You were told to keep it with you all the time. It was the reason why I was doing all your work. YOU. JUST HAD. TO. KEEP. IT. Where is it Madhav???”
Krishna smiled at him. That infuriating, infuriating smile.
“That, dear Arjuna, is the mystery.”
“It's not a mystery! Keshava, It’s a disaster!”
Krishna, meanwhile, was suspiciously unbothered. Arjuna turned to him sharply. “Did you… Did you eat it?”
Krishna gasped, deeply offended. “Parth! How could you suspect me of such a thing? I did not! I just left it here, right behind th--”
Then, from behind them, came a soft crunching sound.
The duo turned slowly.
There was Subhadra. Munching.
She just blinked at them.
Krishna was the first to speak. “Bhadre,” he began with forced calm, “do you have any idea what you have done?”
Subhadra, mid-chew, looked at them blankly. “I was hungry.”
Arjuna made a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a scream.
“Hungry!?” He threw his arms up. “HUNGRY!? it took weeks to get that coconut from the south! WEEKS, MADHAV! WEEKS! not to mention Vasudeva-ji himself got it!”
Krishna stroked his chin. “It did, didn’t it?”
Arjuna whirled on him. “You knew this, and you left it out in the open!?”
“Technically,” Krishna mused, “it was the universe that left it there.”
“I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND.”
Balarama, who had just returned from checking on the priests, stopped mid-step when he saw Arjuna pacing in a panic, Krishna looking suspiciously thoughtful, and Subhadra chewing.
He stared at them. Then at the half-eaten coconut. Then back to them.
“…I don’t want to know,” he said, turning away.
“YOU HAVE TO KNOW!” Arjuna ran up to him, grabbing his shoulders. “SHE ATE THE PUJA COCONUT!”
Balarama closed his eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out. Then he turned to Krishna.
“Fix this,” he ordered.
Krishna’s eyes sparkled. “Of course, dear brother. We will retrieve another coconut.”
Balarama crossed his arms. “Good. You have half an hour.”
Arjuna froze. “What?”
“The puja starts in half an hour.” Balarama’s expression was deadly serious. “I suggest you run.”
Arjuna bolted from the temple, dragging Krishna with him.
“Do you know where to find another sacred southern coconut, Madhav?”
Krishna, despite being yanked at terrifying speed, smiled serenely. “No, but I enjoy a challenge.” Arjuna nearly threw him off the road they were running on.
The first stop was a bustling market stall.
"Do you have a coconut?" Arjuna demanded, breathless. The merchant blinked. "Of course my prince, we have plenty-"
"FROM THE SOUTH!?"Arjuna added wildly. The merchant frowned. "That’s… oddly specific."
Arjuna slammed a bag of gold on the counter. "DO YOU HAVE IT OR NOT?"
"…No?" Arjuna turned to Krishna. "Madhav, what now?"
Krishna picked up a random coconut, inspected it, and shook his head. "The energy is all wrong."
Arjuna threw his hands up. "The energy? IT’S A COCONUT! Govind, your brother is gonna have our head."
The merchant stared at them, utterly confused.
Again the chase restarted, they ran down the street, only to find Satyaki standing with a group of traders.
“Satyaki!” Arjuna gasped for breath. “Please tell me you have a coconut from the South.”
Satyaki raised a brow. “Why?”
Arjuna looked at Krishna. Krishna looked at the sky.
Krishna, smiling: “Let’s just say, the puja is in danger.”
Satyaki narrowed his eyes. “What did you two do?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Arjuna snapped. “Subhadra ate the coconut.” Satyaki gasped. Then laughed so hard he had to lean on a cart for support.
Arjuna grabbed him. “DO YOU HAVE ONE OR NOT?”
“Why would I—AH!” Satyaki ducked as Arjuna nearly tackled him. “Alright, alright! Maybe I know a trader who has imported coconuts—”
“WHERE!?”
Satyaki pointed down the street. Arjuna was already running while dragging his Madhav along him.
By the time they reached the trader, they were out of breath.
“Co-Coconut…” Arjuna panted. “From the South.”
The trader frowned. “I don’t sell them these days, but I think my grandmother has one-”
"WHERE IS SHE?"
A bit shocked at the usually composed Gandhivdhari, the trader replied, taken aback, "She’s taking a nap at our house. It’s the one behind the Banyan tree."
With a quick Thank you, Arjun was back at it- dragging Krishna towards the house.
Arjuna grabbed Krishna. Both princes looked hassled and disheveled. "Madhav, you’re good with elders- people in general- FIX THIS."
Krishna knocked politely and, in the softest, sweetest voice, convinced the grandmother to part with her precious coconut.
Arjuna could have cried. He grabbed the coconut, his Sakha, bowed, and RAN. With only minutes left, they stormed back into the temple.
The temple courtyard was a whirlwind of activity, priests bustling around with offerings and flowers, the scent of sandalwood and incense heavy in the air. Devotees whispered their prayers, oblivious to the chaos that had just unfolded outside.
And then- Arjuna crashed in.
Barefoot, wild-haired, clothes disheveled, Krishna’s arm clenched in one hand, and absolutely breathless, but victorious.
He lifted the coconut above his head like a war prize. “WE HAVE IT!”
The head priest turned, completely unfazed. He took the coconut without a word, inspecting it with a casual nod before handing it off to an assistant. As if Arjuna had not just been on the verge of divine ruin.
Arjuna stared. “…That’s it?”
Krishna, as pristine as ever, smoothed his sash and beamed. “Ah, Parth, what a delightful adventure this was.”
Balarama, who had been watching this unfold from the side, sighed deeply. He had long given up trying to make sense of his younger siblings’ antics but today had been particularly exhausting.
He shook his head. “I don’t even want to know what happened.”
Arjuna ran a hand through his wild curly hair. “Good. Because I don’t want to relive it.”
And then, from the temple steps, a quiet crunch.
The three of them turned slowly.
There sat Subhadra. Casually popping another piece of the old coconut into her mouth.
She blinked up at them. “Well, that was fun.” She tilted her head, looking genuinely amused. Then, without a word, she reached behind her and casually tossed something at Balarama.
A perfect, untouched coconut.
The real one.
The one Vasudeva had gone through great pains to acquire.
Silence.
Balarama caught it instinctively and stared at it like it was an illusion. Krishna’s eye widened in realization, and he smiled. Arjuna froze.
Subhadra brushed her hands off, looking smug. “I never said I ate the puja coconut. This one was just from the kitchen.”
She turned to glare at Krishna, “This is what you get for ruining my Rangoli, my loving Bhratashree” Then, she bounced back to the temple to help the elders with the puja as if nothing ever happened.
More silence.
Krishna chuckled. “Well, well, Parth, it seems we went on an adventure for nothing.”
Arjuna felt his soul leave his body as, beside him, Balarama rubbed his temples. “I have no words.”
Holi hai bhai holi hai- Mahabharat crack fic Series Part IV
The streets of Dwarka were alive with color. At the heart of it all was a chase: a glorious, chaotic chase that had the entire city stopping to watch.
Pride of the Kurus, the mighty Arjuna ran.
He darted through the palace courtyard, his once-pristine white garments a casualty of the festival’s wrath.
Arjuna, draped in his usual pristine white, had been an easy target from the start. It had taken only moments for the Yadavas- led by none other than Krishna himself- to turn him into a masterpiece of colors. His, once immaculate angavastram now bore splashes of deep crimson, streaks of gold, and bursts of bright blue and green. A particularly enthusiastic handful of pink dust had settled in his curls, softening the sharp angles of his face, giving him a boyish charm that was almost at odds with his warrior’s presence.
Yet, Arjuna still looked striking, perhaps even more so now, with his usual regal bearing exchanged for the infectious laughter that lit up his face.
Behind him, Krishna pursued, a wicked grin stretching across his already color-streaked face, his hands overflowing with more vibrant powder. The midnight glowing skin of his was almost indistinguishable beneath layers of color, yet it failed in hiding that other worldly beauty.
His eyes gleamed with unbridled mischief, and his hands were filled with yet more powder- deep blue in one, a bright golden hue in the other. He moved effortlessly, leaping over fallen water buckets, sidestepping laughing Yadavas, his grin widening as he closed in on his prey.
"Parth!" Krishna called, laughter spilling from his lips. "You cannot outrun me forever!"
"You underestimate a desperate man!" Arjuna shot back, weaving through a group of revelers. "I have survived wars! I can survive this!"
The gathered Yadavas roared with laughter, cheering for both the hunter and the hunted. Some had even started taking bets, while others, like Satyaki and Pradyumna, shouted helpful (or not-so-helpful) advice.
"Arjuna, surrender with dignity!" Satyaki called out, shaking his head in mock pity.
"Or keep running! I have money on you lasting a few more minutes!" Pradyumna added.
"Parth!" Krishna called, laughing as he almost tripped over a toppled pot of water. "Why do you flee? Come, accept your fate!"
"You are my fate!" Arjuna shot back, twisting around a pillar to dodge Krishna’s reach. "BUT today you are my doom!"
The gathered Yadavas: Satyaki, Pradyumna specifically howled with laughter.
Arjuna, nimble as ever, made a sharp turn, only to skid to a stop when he found himself cornered. The steps to the temple loomed ahead, and blocking his escape was none other than Subhadra, arms crossed, grinning as if she had been waiting for this exact moment. Her golden complexion glowed more with the Kumkum smear on her cheeks.
"Swami...." she called sweetly. "Going somewhere?"
"Yes…" Arjuna said, eyes darting between her and the approaching storm that was Krishna. "Away!"
"Not today," Subhadra said, stepping aside just enough to leave him no option but surrender.
Before Arjuna could react, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind.
"Got you!" Krishna whispered, laughter laced in his voice.
Arjuna let out a half-laugh, half-yelp as he felt himself yanked backward against Krishna’s chest, trapped. He tried to twist free, but Krishna’s hold was firm, his hands pressing against Arjuna’s waist in a way that sent a burst of color from both of their stained garments into the air.
"No, no—Krishna, wait—!"
But Krishna had no mercy.
He smeared the powder directly into Arjuna’s cheeks, his fingers pressing streaks of blue and gold into his skin. Then, with gleeful abandon, he ran his hands through Arjuna’s already ruined curls, making sure no part of his dear Parth was left untouched by color.
The Yadavas erupted into laughter and cheered as Arjuna squirmed in protest, sputtering through the onslaught.
"M-Madhav- you absolute menace!" Arjuna managed between gasps of laughter.
By the time Krishna was done, Arjuna was unrecognizable, his entire being transformed into a walking celebration of color.
The watching onlookers erupted into cheers, some pounding their fists on the ground in mirth. Even Balarama, who had initially stayed dignified, let out a hearty chuckle.
Arjuna, wiping his face and spitting out some of the powder that had managed to get into his mouth, glared at Krishna. "You planned this."
Krishna grinned, leaning lazily against a pillar. "Oh, Parth, I merely ensured you enjoyed the festival to its fullest."
"You attacked me!"
"I included you."
Arjuna groaned, running a hand through his thoroughly ruined hair, which only resulted in more color streaking down his face. But despite his grumbling, there was laughter in his eyes, and the boyish smile that broke across his lips only made him look even more endearing.
He turned to Subhadra, who was doubled over laughing, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.
"You enjoyed that far too much," Arjuna accused, looking at her with his loving smile.
Subhadra beamed at him, utterly unapologetic. "Watching my husband be defeated by my brother? Arya, How could I not!"
Krishna clapped a hand on Arjuna’s shoulder, his own fingers leaving fresh streaks of orange behind. "Come, Parth. We are one color now. Let’s celebrate properly."
And with that, he dragged Arjuna back into the revelry, as Dwarka cheered for their favorite mischief-makers.
As Arjuna plummeted toward his fate, his mind was a storm of regrets and unanswered questions- yet woven through the sorrow was the undeniable truth of all he had lived for.
Arjuna had died long before his body ever fell.
He had died the day he placed his grandsire on a bed of arrows. He had died the moment he first saw his son's lifeless body.
And truly, he had stopped living the day his Madhav left him.
What was left for him in a world where Krishna did not walk?
Somewhere along the years, through war and bloodshed, he had always known-he would not die on the battlefield. Despite his name being synonymous with it, despite his life being defined by it, war had never been his final fate. His end was meant to be something quieter, something lonelier.
As he fell, the jagged rocks tearing through flesh and bone, his life did not flash before his eyes in a blur of bloodstained memories. No, instead, he saw the moments that had made life worth living.
The first time he held a bow, the wood smooth beneath his hands, his heart hammering with certainty-this was his calling. Pitamah's hand rested on his shoulder, firm yet gentle. "Steady, Arjuna. A warrior's hands must never tremble." And in that moment, with Bhishma's unwavering faith in him, he had never felt stronger.
"You remind me why I became a teacher, Arjuna," Guru Drona had said, resting a hand on his head, after the first time he struck the eye of a moving target. Just those words, simple and rare, had meant more to him than any title or prize.
The way Subhadra had laughed when she took the reins, wind whipping through her hair as they rode into the night.
The way Draupadi had looked at him that day in Kampilya-steady, knowing, fierce-as if she had chosen him long before she ever placed the garland around his neck.
He had been so tired for so long.
