Never let go 😍

The beaches of Dwarka, as Yashoda had found, were laden with rocks. The ocean threw itself relentlessly against the unwavering rocks, almost as if it wanted to swallow the pretty island whole. Still, she often came down there whenever the din of the palace became too overwhelming. Even though at first she had been somewhat afraid upon witnessing the apparent hostility of the sea god, the constant susurration of the ocean rising and falling had proved to be strangely comforting. Yashoda found herself spending more and more time sitting on the beach observing the citizens go about their day.

Even though she was technically a queen, Yashoda found greater comfort among the common people who frequented the beaches. She would watch, fascinated, as the fishermen would tug along their long boats over the rocks, into the sea, and disappear for the day. “Godspeed!” She would call out to the nearest man as they would wave out to her on their way out. Yashoda would sit on the rocks watching, as their boats swam up and down as the turbulent sea carried them away. Once the boats were gone, Yashoda would take a stroll along the beach, casually surfing the little shops nestled on one side.

One morning, she spotted a young woman sitting on the street under a makeshift canopy with jewellery of pearls laid out before her. A long single-strand necklace made of ivory pearls caught Yashoda’s eye. She perched down beside the woman. Picking up the necklace, she held it against her neck, checking out her reflection in a small mirror that the woman had erected in one corner of her little shop.

“It suits you greatly, Madam!” The girl smiled encouragingly.

Yashoda smiled and nodded, “Say would you exchange that for this one?” She said as she unhooked and held out her gold necklace.

The girl took the necklace to inspect, but dropped it the next moment as if it were burning, “I cannot take this Madam, it’s real gold!”

“So what?” Yashoda inquired, “Where I am from, your pearls are worth much more than that!”

“Might be true, but Madam, if I take this home, they’ll call me a thief! They gave Lord Krishna a chance to explain himself, I might not be that lucky!”

Yashoda shook her head, cursing herself for not having considered the possibility. She said in a small voice, “Could you then put this aside for me, please? I don’t have any money on me, but I promise I’ll come and get this. I come here often, Niryama the sailor knows me!”

“I’ll keep it till nightfall. Pay and get it if you like.” The girl replied in a cautious tone.

—

That afternoon, as Yashoda walked lazily along the seashore her long gold necklace gleaming against the golden sun dawdling across the sky. A warm amber hue caressed her dark skin. The beach was empty for as far as the eye could see. Yashoda wondered if the shore was cleared out on account of the arrival of the princess who was now happily skipping away in front of her, kicking up a storm of dust over the sharp rocks with every footstep.

“Oi,” She called out to the young princess, “Tell me, Dwarka is better or Mathura?”

Subhadra smiled as she turned back, “It’s peaceful here. Truth be told, I do not miss Mathura.” Her smile turned downcast, “Here, I don’t wake up or go to bed with anxiety. Prayers for the safety of my brothers do not keep me up at night. Here, I can go to bed without a knife under my pillow. Oh God,” She drew in a sharp breath, “Let me never go through such a war again! Here, everybody knows someone who lost something. I would literally die I ever lose anything or anyone.”

“I apologize, my dear!” Yashoda looked down, “I did not realize you carried such weight in your heart. I would never have mentioned this otherwise!”

“There’s no need for that.” Subhadra shook her head, “How were you supposed to know? I try not to let it be obvious. Rama and Krishna worry if I am not happy. It’s hard maintaining the cheer around here.” A bright smile returned to her face, “Never mind me! How come you have never gone swimming in the ocean with the other ladies? Are you afraid?”

Yashoda grinned, “A little. The waves do seem to get pretty big at times-” She stopped. In the distance, a tall, dark man, wearing lemon yellow garments, approached. He was adorned in gold, peacock feathers fluttering slightly in the wind, tethered to strands of silky black locks. The man walked up to Yashoda and stopped right in front of her. She could feel Subhadra’s gaze darting to and fro between her and the man’s faces.

Turning to Subhadra he smiled warmly, “I just saw Father and Rama looking over a list of the Kings of our land. Go see if they fixed your marriage already!”

“If you want privacy, just say that,” Subhadra made a face, “All you doing right now is getting sand mixed in your food!” She taunted.

“Get going!” He shooed her, chuckling.

As Subhadra’s silhouette vanished towards the palace, Yashoda looked at Krishna more intently. The sun’s rays had taken on a reddish hue, that made the jewels adorning his dark body gleam desperately. He slowly bent down to touch her feet.

“I must apologize,” He whispered, his expression now grim, “I should have come sooner.”

Yashoda drew a deep breath. She could feel her throat closing out of emotions that threatened to burst out right that second. She touched his shoulder, and then she let her fingers run down along a long-running scar. “This wasn’t here before.” She managed to say, “Last time I saw you, you were as tall as me, now look at you!”

“It has been a long time,” Krishna smiled, but the hint of sadness remained.

“You grew up.” She whispered.

“You, somehow, did not get old!” Said Krishna, causing them both to break into laughter. The apprehension on both sides seemed less apparent, although it remained, cowering behind their smiles.

“Maybe I was too hasty in saying that you grew up,” She joked back.

With the tension somewhat broken, she took his arm as he led her along the beach to a bigger rock standing in the middle of the beach. Reaching in front of it, Krishna knelt before her. Yashoda looked at him somewhat incredulously, “You want me to climb that?”

“It’s a good vantage point. That’s where I go to sit when I crave a good sunset!” Krishna smiled.

“I am getting old, you know,” she said as she clambered over the rock with some difficulty, “No! Keep your charms to yourself, I really am!”

Krishna, who had propped down beside her, put his arms around her neck. Almost like a child, he whispered, “No, you’re not!”

Yashoda’s face fell as her smile disappeared behind a thick film of tears forming in her eyes. Removing his hands from around her, she said, “Seventeen years, Kanha! For seventeen years you left me alone. Not even a single letter! All that doesn’t go away with a cute face and a hug!”

“I had no choice,” Krishna sighed.

“Why not? Your brother managed!” She said angrily. Now that the emotions from the first encounter had worn out, Yashoda felt a wave of anger and hurt wash over her. Several memories from the past couple of decades flooded her at once.

“You left, Kanha, casting not a single glance backwards! You killed Kamsa, then you moved on. We were the ones you left behind! I can even understand you not writing to us, but what about your friends? Girlfriends? You just left them, and never came back! Your friends cried their hearts out for weeks, and you never even wrote to them!”

“I couldn’t,” Krishna whispered.

“Why not, Krishna?” Yashoda pressed. Her anger wouldn’t let her stop, even though her eyes recognized the hurt in Krishna’s.

“Because, Maiya, it would’ve been as good as walking into my enemies’ lairs and marking off Gokula in bright red ink! I couldn’t put you, or Baba, or anyone else in harm’s way just because I missed you!” Krishna drew a sharp breath, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice.” He whispered.

Yashoda gently touched his face, her anger dissipating at the sight of Krishna’s sullen face, “I’m sorry too, I should’ve understood without you having to spell it out.”

Krishna and Yashoda sat quietly staring at the blank horizon, their breaths rising and falling with the waves of the ocean.

After a long time, Krishna broke the silence, “We missed the sunset.” Yashoda looked up at the horizon. The sun had long set, and now only a pale pinkish glow remained to tell the tale.

“We’ll have another.” She said.

“No, the rest of the week is going to be stormy, and then you go back.” Krishna’s face was inscrutable.

“Do you want me to stay longer?”

Krishna stared at her for a long time. “No,” he said eventually, “I hope you understand.”

Yashoda didn’t say anything. Instead, she laid her head on his shoulder, caressing his arm gently as they both quietly stared into the darkening horizon.

Eventually, the stars came out. The waves glowed in the moonlight. Still unrelenting.

Yashoda sighed, “I hope you don’t think that I only thought of those who were left behind. I also thought about you. How we at least had one another, but you, and Rama…you were all alone. Then the war started. I would stay awake all night, in case you called unto us. I remember the day when Akroora came again, this time asking us to come to Dwarka.” She smiled fondly, “Your Baba then said that we had a duty to the land of Mathura. Someone had to stay back, and we chose us. Your Baba had called for a vote, I still remembered how every single person voted to stay. Even though they all had a chance to go with you, they all stayed. They said they wanted to protect your childhood knowing that you couldn’t.”

“I am forever indebted to them, Maiya, you know that I am!” Krishna said.

“I am not trying to convince you to return Krishna, you belong here!”

Krishna laughed derisively, “Is it bad that when you said I belonged here, I could immediately think of at least ten different reasons why I definitely do not?” He shook his head, “Only today, I spent three hours debating what colour we should paint the walls of the parliament! Seventeen years of non-stop battles, building a new kingdom from scratch, and I get to decide what colour we paint the freaking walls?!”

Yashoda stared at her son. She had suspected this from the day she had arrived in the city. Here it was, the crack beneath the plaster!

Krishna sat with his head held in his hands, his breathing heavy with emotion, “My wife will not speak to me because she thinks I abandoned the search for my missing son. When I ask the cabinet, they tell me that my son is not in their freaking budget! I give half my life to them, and this is the thanks!” On Krishna’s face, there was a manic smirk, “I can’t go back, and I can’t stay here, so tell me, Maiya, then what the hell do I do?”

Before her eyes, Yashoda saw a sobbing little boy, who would come running into her arms, away from the groups of older boys teasing him, rather than the distressed young man who sat pressing his temple nursing an obvious headache. Alas, this time she could not just scare off everyone who had upset her son. Yashoda composed herself. She had always been good in crises.

Yashoda cupped Krishna’s palms in hers, “Then, you get the hell out of here. No-” She stopped Krishna, “Not forever, but you need a break. You’re no help to anyone in this state. So, here’s what you’re going to do: you will plan a trip out of here, and you will take your wife with you. When you’re back, you will march into that parliament and make them hear you. If they don’t like you, then you will make them fear you.” She caressed his face illuminated slightly in the starlight, “And, when you are done with all that, for god’s sake, get a friend!”

Yashoda jumped down from the rock. She looked up at her son, “I am extending my visit by a month whether you like it or not, and you will now walk me to that little shop over there and buy me the necklace I want.”

Krishna sat dumbfounded for a second as he watched his mother walk away determinedly, before smiling to himself and hurrying down behind her.

For the first eleven days of the festival, the royal palace of Dwarka seemed rather small in the face of the hordes of brahmins, kshatriyas and ordinary people who had flocked to the island in the hopes of generous donations on this occasion. Krishna himself was engaged in performing the yajna from sunrise to sunset. Throughout the day, Yashoda would sit knitting, on the balcony overlooking the yajna grounds, gazing at Krishna. She felt as if she couldn’t bear to let him out of her sight for another moment!

Alas, but at night she had to. Every time Krishna left the altar at the moonrise, throngs of people would throw themselves at his feet, hoping for just a sideways glance or to have their outstretched palms even lightly brush against his feet. Yashoda would watch enraptured, as Krishna would patiently work his way through the crowd, smiling and interacting with the people that gathered around him. Yashoda could never see where Krishna went from the yajna grounds. The crowd always seemed to cut him off her sight.

However, she got some updates from his wives, Satyabhama and Jambavati. Apparently, after the day’s prayers, Krishna would proceed to the dinner grounds to oversee dinner for all guests. He would go to bed past the second prahara of the night, only to rise before sunrise the next day. “Doesn’t he get tired?” Yashoda would exclaim, “How much longer can he keep this up?!”

Satyabhama would laugh sadly, “Good luck getting him to understand that! He is too concerned for the well-being of our subjects to care for his own health.”

“Thank the Gods that this yajna lasts only eleven days!” Jambavati would add.

—

Nanda had already met his brother Vasudeva and his wife Devaki, on the day they arrived. He had been horrified to find Vasudeva still twitching at the faintest noise, and Devaki mostly lost in her own thoughts. Their long imprisonment under Kamsa’s reign had clearly left its mark on the two of them. Rohini had been too busy to meet them. In fact, Nanda and Yashoda did not get to meet her till several days later. As a result, the responsibility for catering to them had fallen mostly on Balarama’s wife Princess Revati. Nanda had been a little disappointed at firstat the apparent disregard, but Revati had quickly won him over with her attention to detail and a rather dry sense of humour.

To him, the best part of this trip so far had been Revati’s little daughter Shashirekha. The toddler had taken to following Nanda around all over the palace, breaking into sobs if he put even a toe outside the palace without her.

Whenever she saw them together, Revati would say, “Don’t encourage her tantrums, Baba! If she doesn’t let you go, I’m going to send her back to Gokul with you, and you can have fun raising a daughter,” She would laugh, “At this age, no less!” She would add after a suggestive pause.

“And you’re what, a millennium old? Fancy having you pull the age card!” Nanda would chime back while hoisting the child up on his shoulders after feeding her about half a bucket of butter.

They both knew of the emotional dagger that threatened to pierce through Nanda’s heart at any time. Revati did not seem to care. When Revati had come up to them to introduce herself the first day, she had been extra kind to Yashoda. “I’m on your side,” she had whispered, as she embraced Yashoda. Of course, they had been talking about choosing the best south-facing room at that time, but in his heart, Nanda knew of her anger at the very first glance. However, Nanda realized that Revati’s constant quips were the least that he deserved for making that choice all those years ago.

—

Even though Jambavati and Satyabhama had warmed up to Yashoda considerably, Rukmini never seemed comfortable around her. Then again, she seemed comfortable with no one. She came out only to fulfil her part in the yajna as Krishna’s royal consort, after which she promptly returned to her quarters.

After several days of observing her, Yashoda finally asked, “Does she not like participating in such festivals?”

“She has been like that ever since the child was lost! She hardly talks to us,” answered Satyabhama, “And who could blame her? It has been almost a year now, and I still cannot stop my tears when I see that empty crib. To think he wasn’t even my own child!”

Jambavati sighed, “Now she seems like a mere husk of the person she was. I miss that happy twinkle in her eye! I only wish she would let us into that tower of despair she has imprisoned herself in!”

Satyabhama said, “Even Krishna only pretends to be happy in front of others. He was devastated! He blames himself for what happened. I’ve seen him stare out into the ocean for hours with his fists clenched. He even fights with us when we suggest otherwise. I do not understand how a man who shows such unbounded compassion for those around him can be so unkind to himself! He forgave my father who accused him of being a greedy thief, and yet he fails to forgive himself!”

Jamavati nodded, “Krishna and Rukmini used to be the happiest people we knew, and look at them now! It kills us to see them in such pain!”

Yashoda quietly brushed away a tear. “Why did the princess not return to her father’s place for the birth of the child?” She asked.

“Krishna feared that her brother might imprison her there to exact revenge on him!” said Jambavati.

“That poor child!” Yashoda exclaimed, “Did her mother also not come?”

Satyabhama answered, “Her mother, the blessed queen Sudhimati, passed away in her childhood only. Rukmini always says how much she misses her! Mothers Rohini and Devaki try their best, but who can replace your own mother, right?”

“My mother also left us, many, many moons back. Still, not a day goes by when I don’t miss her! My father already cannot get enough of our Krishna. I wish she could have met him!” Jambavati smiled.

Yashoda sighed, “No wonder she’s going through such a hard time! Such events are difficult enough when you’re surrounded by family, but to be living in a foreign land, stripped of all that is familiar, I cannot even imagine how tough it must be!”

—

Krishna had spotted his foster parents around the palace on the very first day of the yajna. In fact, every day of the yajna he had seen Yashoda sitting on the balcony quietly knitting a small sweater, and Nanda sitting on a lower pedestal right behind Vasudeva, humming along with the sacred hymns. One did not become the most powerful person on the earth by missing these kinds of things.

Why had he not talked to them then? It was the same question that Krishna asked himself every night as he drifted into an exhausted sleep. Fear? Guilt? Anger? Even Krishna could not ascertain. All he knew was that every time he tried to walk up to them, his throat closed with emotion, his eyes threatened to water and then he simply walked away. Maybe it was time? Maybe, he had put too much time in between himself and his parents, and now they were simply too far away.

Yashoda was packing a small suitcase when a golden-complexioned woman appeared in her doorway. “Maiya!” The woman called. Her beautiful face burned like fire as the last rays of the setting sun bathed her. Her dress was dishevelled, its now-faded colour reminiscent of the night sky.

“Radha!” Yashoda exclaimed with joy, as she pulled the woman into a warm embrace. “It’s been so long! Do you not miss us?” Yashoda complained. Radha shook her head absentmindedly as she stood playing with her long, unruly curls.

After a long pause, Radha whispered, “I heard from the gopis that you were going to visit him. Dwarika is a long way from here. I thought I’d come and see you before you left.”

“Yes! That pesky Subhadra finally talked me into going. Krishna is performing a yajna. She invited us for that!” Yashoda’s face fell, “I’m so sorry, my dear. I should’ve invited you sooner. I just didn’t know how to ask you, when it was my child that left you behind!”

“I did not come here to ask you to take me with you, Maiya. I just came to say goodbye!” Radha smiled softly.

“Why not, Radha? Come as my companion, I am sure your family won’t object to that!”

“My family is not the problem. I just don’t want to go.”

Yashoda sighed, “I know! You must be very upset with him! I understand. You must be thinking that he got married to other women and forgot all about you!”

Radha chuckled, “Radha is not someone you just forget Maiya. Even now, after so many years, with just one word from me,” she snapped her fingers, “He will come running from his Dwarika and fall at my feet! Still, I trust my Krishna. If he chose to get married, his queens must be remarkable women. It’s not so easy to move on after you’ve known me!” She smiled, “Whatever it may look like, I am thrilled for him! Believe me when I say that I pray every day. I practically beg the Gods that he may forget me. How will he be happy unless he does? You might ask me Maiya, do I not love him anymore? Tell me this, who in this entire world has ever gotten over your son?” Radha smiled sadly, “If you must know, we did not part willingly. We only gave each other up in the face of his destiny. Let us not fool ourselves into thinking that the society that tore us apart all those years ago will let us live in peace now. Like it or not, he and I are done! I refuse to reopen this old wound just for a moment’s delight.” Radha forcefully wiped a lone tear from her cheek, “Think of him also, Maiya! He will be torn apart if we come face to face again. I cannot in good conscience put him through that!”

Radha started laughing. Yashoda looked at her, puzzled. Radha said, “I am just so happy for you Maiya! You will get to see him, touch him and listen to him! Oh, what wouldn’t I give to have just a glimpse of him, but alas, that is not to be! You know, the greater good and all that nonsense?” Radha gripped Yashoda’s palms, “Promise me, you’ll bring something of his? Even if it is a scrap of cloth he touched or something he threw away! Don’t tell him it’s for me, just get me something?”

Yashoda felt her eyes well up as she pulled the now sobbing Radha close to her chest, running her fingers through her distraught hair.

—

Yashoda leaned back against the cushion on the chariot seat. The journey from Vrindavan to Dwarika had been a long and tiring one. It did not help that their escort to the city, one of the Yadava cousins, could hardly stop talking. Yashoda let her mind wander back to Vrindavan for a bit. Radha had come to see them off. She had walked alongside the chariot up to the edge of the village, beaming the entire way. However, Yashoda had noticed her puffy, red eyes. She kept turning away to hide her face, trying not to upset them.

Ever since Krishna had left, the poor girl had been left completely exhausted. Yashoda had also heard from people about how Radha had left her family and lived in a makeshift shelter near the river bank. People had also found her talking to birds and trees as she wandered through the forests of Vrindavan. Whenever Yashoda thought of Radha, she felt a painful twinge in her heart. She felt as though she had somehow let down the poor child. Even though people in the village gossiped about her apparent insanity, Yashoda had seen a rare resolve in Radha. This was a person who lost the one thing in her life that she actually cared about and still refused to give in. Only if life had been a little kinder to her!

—

“Kaki!” Yashoda was shaken from her thoughts by the cheerful voice of Satyaki, their escort. They had reached the gates of Dwarika. “Kaki, the chariot only comes this far. Do you see that stone bridge over the ocean? That will lead us right into the city. Shall I order a palanquin to be brought over?” Yashoda declined with a smile.

Nanda had already started walking, clearly impressed with the grandeur that lay ahead. Every shikhara of the city, built on an imposing island off the coast, was wrapped in gold. The buildings were painted in varied, attractive colours. The moon-marked flag of the Yadavas flapped proudly over the tallest spires.

“Is that real gold on the pavement I see?” Nanda exclaimed. Satyaki nodded, laughing, “Well, we had an excess and couldn’t figure out where else to put it!” He explained. Nanda nodded approvingly, “And this bridge? We heard of the Rama-setu, and now you guys seem to have figured that out as well! How did you pull this off?”

“Oh, Krishna hired some fancy architect, he took care of the science for us. We don’t usually get involved in cosmetic matters!” Satyaki beamed as Nanda raised a brow.

Yashoda let the men walk on ahead, engrossed in their discussion.

The ocean splashing up against her feet made her feel strangely giddy. She had always wanted to see the ocean ever since she was a little girl. She turned away from the dazzling city and took a deep breath. The salty air seemed to alleviate all stress from the arduous journey. The ever-stretching skyline of emptiness seemed to fascinate her. Was she standing on the edge of the world itself, she seemed to wonder. Why had Krishna chosen this place to be their haven?

The last few decades had been tough on the whole family. First Kamsa, then Jarasandha! Yashoda wondered if choosing this island, in the middle of nowhere, was Krishna’s tiredness finally seeping through the cracks.

Yashoda had asked Rishi Garga when he had come over to perform Krishna’s namkarana, back when she had still known him to be her own flesh and blood, “Swami, how much happiness will my lalla get in his life?” She had asked the clairvoyant sage.

“He will bring endless joy to anyone who sets their eyes on him,” the Rishi had replied. No matter in how many ways Yashoda had framed her question, the Rishi had stood firm in his answer.

Yashoda sighed as she now wondered if Krishna was happy at all.

Yashoda unravelled her long braid as she beckoned over Subhadra. Pointing at a matki hanging from the doorframe she said, “Do me a favour and pour a cup of milk for your brother and put it on that stove, please! He will be up soon, and I have to take a bath! do you know how to do these things?”

“I know all sorts of things, Maiya! I can fight, cook, hunt, drive chariots, build mud houses and camouflage in forests! Pouring milk is a cakewalk.” Subhadra said excitedly.

Yashoda sighed, “I keep forgetting you are a child of war.” She shook her head, “Anyway, you are such a talkative girl! You and Krishna, the two chatterboxes, must drive Rama crazy back in the city?” She exhaled from a blend of sadness and relief, her eyes watering slightly. It had been ages since she had said Krishna’s name out loud. Most times, Yashoda couldn’t bring herself to utter his name. It hurt too much.

Subhadra kept talking excitedly, “Oh, Krishna doesn’t talk at all! Sometimes, it seems like he isn’t even listening. I could talk to him for ages and he wouldn’t remember a thing later!”

Yashoda turned to face the girl, “What do you mean he doesn’t talk?”

Subhadra shook her head, “He’s like an ascetic at heart. He takes all due interest in the happenings of the family, but something is always amiss. All his words are carefully measured. Especially since he and Rukmini lost the child-” Subhadra sighed, “Nevermind, I shouldn’t talk so lightly of the tragedy.”

—

Nanda stood on his balcony staring absentmindedly at the garden below. He knew the princess was innocent in the throes of his grief, but he could barely bring himself to look at her. So long as Krishna lived under his roof, Nanda had never allowed himself to think about the lost child lest he grew resentful toward the living one. However, ever since the brothers had left, Nanda had found himself questioning the divine plan again and again.

Many times over the past years, he had gone over that night, wondering if there was anything he could have done differently. He sighed. Yashoda had never truly forgiven him. After that day, they hardly spoke outside of necessity. He guessed he should consider himself lucky that she didn’t leave him altogether, but he couldn’t help but be resentful at times. It’s not like he enjoyed making that choice!

Nanda’s mind wandered back to one sultry summer night, a few months after Krishna’s departure. He had just completed reading one of the rare letters from Krishna, “Yashode, the boys would be leaving to go to a great gurukul down south.” He had walked up to Yashoda standing in the darkness and taken her palms in his, “Why do you not talk, Yashoda? Are you not happy for the boys?”

Yashoda had jerked her hand away, “It would take a very selfish mother to not be happy at her sons’ success! However, given I have no children, my reaction hardly counts. As a distant aunt of the two princes, I am ecstatic.”

“Surely, Yashoda, you can’t blame me! I had no choice!” Even in darkness, Nanda had seen her eyes blaze with anger.

“Of course, you didn’t!” She had said through gritted teeth, “You could not have done anything differently at all! You could definitely not have woken me up! We could certainly not have taken all three of them and ridden away under the cover of the night! Let us not forget, Kamsa did not saunter into my bedroom and rip my child from my sleeping arms. You did.”

“It was part of a greater plan. How could I have gone against God himself?”

“What God, Nanda? I could have forgiven everything, only if you had not lied to my face for seventeen years! Everybody knew, even the boys, just not me! Yet, none of you thought I was worthy of being trusted with this knowledge. What did you think, Nanda? Would I have treated Krishna differently if I knew at what cost I’d gotten him? What did I ever do for you, my husband, to think of me so lowly?”

“Yashoda, I only meant to shield you from the pain! I wanted to ensure you didn’t bear the blood of that girl on your hands as well!” Nanda had said through tears.

“All you managed to do was make sure I lost two children at once.” Yashoda had said in a heavy voice, “Anyway, let’s not do this anymore. I would hate to be another source of worry for the boys. Let us keep out of each other’s way and carry on with our lives, separately.”

Yashoda had then stormed out of their bedroom, and taken up permanent residence in their guest quarters.

Nanda pulled himself back to reality. There was no point putting it off any further. He had to face the girl sooner or later.

—

“Hello!” Nanda said softly. The girl turned to face him. She said, “Maiya has gone to take a bath. She asked me to keep an eye on the milk.”

“And are you?” He asked.

Subhadra turned back and gasped, “How is it already boiling over? I just put in on there!”

Nanda pulled up his dhoti and squatted beside the stove, poking the matki with a pair of tongs.“

Nanda could feel the girl hovering over him. "What use will that be, baba?” Nanda sniffed. He wasn’t sure what was making his eyes water: the smoke or her words.

Subhadra laughed as she grabbed the pot with a piece of cloth, pouring it carefully into a bowl, “Shall I pour you a cup, baba?” She asked.

Nanda shook his head. Subhadra asked, “Something else then? I could whip you up a fast breakfast before Maiya returns.”

Nanda smiled despite himself, “You’re a guest in our house, dear. You shouldn’t be doing any of this.”

Subhadra squatted down beside him, “Weren’t you the one who was saying how your children don’t need grand gestures, and now you’re treating me like a stranger!”

Nanda smirked, “You are just like your brother! Talking circles around me already! Fine, go make something, then we can eat together.”

Subhadra laughed and immediately went prancing into the kitchen. Nanda followed her and sat down on the threshold. His heart felt like someone was squeezing till it hurt. If that child had survived, she would’ve been in her late thirties, surely married by now. Before that, maybe she would have cooked him breakfast just like this young girl dancing around in front of him. They could have had a perfectly ordinary life! No one would’ve known if he had turned Vasudeva down that night. No one would’ve blamed him. He would have eventually forgotten the nameless dark child that had turned up on his door on that ridiculous, stormy night. He could’ve dismissed it as a bad dream.

Nanda was jerked out of the trail of thoughts by Subhadra’s lilting laughter.

Subhadra smiled as she arranged the plates, “You and Maiya both say such strange things about Krishna. It makes me think, either you misjudged him royally, or he needs help, like yesterday!” Nanda nodded, forcing himself to look into her hazel eyes for the first time. With a jolt, he remembered his son. The same dancing, deep, hazel eyes. Vasudev! Nanda smiled to himself, as he realized where she’d gotten them.

“You could come with us!” Subhadra said enthusiastically, as Nanda took a seat, “Krishna will be thrilled to see you both!”

“Will he? After all that I’ve done? Why are you so kind to me? Do you not know what I’ve done?” Nanda sighed.

Subhadra sat beside him, “I am not here to judge anyone, baba. I only know from all that Krishna says, or rather from what he doesn’t say, that he misses you both terribly. Truth to be spoken, in all the years I’ve been alive, I’ve seen Krishna smiling all the time, but I’ve never seen him happy. When I finally started hearing bits and pieces of his story, I realized- rather, I hoped, the answer would lie here in this old village, with you two.”

“You put me on a pedestal too high dear. I’m not worthy of such an honour.” Nanda sighed.

“Just come with us. You both can come as my guests! Get to know the new Krishna, and see if you can find the old one hidden somewhere in there!”

Nanda said, “Fine. I’ll think about it, but you will have to convince your Maiya. I’m afraid she has forgiven neither me nor your brothers after all the mess that happened.”

I have always imagined Shikhandini to be a woman, in heart and soul.

With my understanding of MB, I feel like she was forced to conform to a masculine form by her surrounding political situation. In this project, I have specifically attempted to show her feminine side.

I would be grateful if my humble attempt lives up to her brave legacy.

I hope the community isn’t too harsh on judging the quality of these artworks, they were created much earlier. <3