Yashoda's Ode

Arjuna: 3, Yadavas: 0- Mahabharat crack fic Series Part III

It was a bright afternoon in Dwarka, the sun hanging lazily in the sky, mirroring the way Krishna and Arjuna lounged on the shaded steps overlooking the field. A group of Yadavas lounged under the shade of a marble pavilion, their laughter echoing as they watched what had now become a familiar sight: Satyaki challenging Arjuna- a weekly occurrence

Krishna, reclining against a pillar, plucked at a blade of grass. Arjuna, sitting beside him with one knee drawn up, absentmindedly twirled a training arrow between his fingers.

"You do realize, Parth, that they won't stop until one of them beats you?" Krishna said, amusement dancing in his voice.

Arjuna let out a small chuckle. "And when has that ever happened?"

Krishna laughed, shaking his head. Below them, Satyaki was stretching his arms, rolling his shoulders with exaggerated confidence. Pradyumna and Samba stood on either side of him, whispering among themselves. The younger Yadavas: brothers, cousins, and warriors-in-training- all gathered around, eager to watch.

“They’re plotting,” Krishna remarked, watching the trio below with a knowing glint in his eyes.

Arjuna sighed, shaking his head. "They always do."

Krishna grinned. “And yet, you continue to indulge them.”

Arjuna turned to him, his expression softening just a little. "Let them dream, Madhav. They are young. It is good for them to believe, even for a moment, that they stand a chance."

Krishna hummed in agreement, a smile tugging at his lips. "And do you ever let them win?"

Arjuna smirked. "Nope."

Before Krishna could reply, below them, Satyaki called out, “Come on, Parth! Let’s see if you can still keep up with me.”

A chorus of cheers and laughter rose from the assembled warriors, all eager for the spectacle. Pradyumna and Samba stood just behind him, pretending not to be involved but clearly far too eager.

Arjuna sighed dramatically and rose to his feet. " Very well, Yuyudhana. Let’s not keep your admirers waiting.”

He rose, stretching with elegance that made even something as simple as standing up look like an art. Krishna followed lazily, clearly in no rush to interfere.

The younger Yadavas whispered among themselves. “Satyaki might actually win this time,” one said.

“He’s faster now,” another added.

Krishna stifled a laugh. "They have so much faith in Satyaki, don't they?" Arjuna shook his head in mild exasperation before stepping forward. "Come then, my friend. Show me what you've learned."

The wrestling match had barely begun when Satyaki, brimming with confidence, lunged at Arjuna.

It might have worked… if Arjuna weren’t Arjuna.

Satyaki lunged, fast and strong- but against Arjuna, fast and strong were never enough.

With an almost casual movement, Arjuna sidestepped at the last moment, caught Satyaki’s arm, and redirected his force mid-air.

THUD…

Satyaki landed flat on his back, staring up at the sky, the breath knocked out of him. The watching onlookers winced.

From the steps, Krishna called out, “That looked graceful, Satyaki. Do you need a moment?”

Satyaki groaned. “I-I'm fine.”

Pradyumna folded his arms. "That looked painful."

Samba grinned. "Not as painful as what we’re about to do."

Before Arjuna could even turn around, the two young Yadava princes pounced.

Samba went for his legs while Pradyumna leapt for his shoulders. A sound strategy, against anyone else that is.

Arjuna, without so much as a frown, shifted his weight at the perfect moment. He caught Pradyumna mid-air with one arm and smoothly stepped aside- causing Samba to charge forward into thin air.

Samba, unable to stop in time, crashed straight into Satyaki.

“Off! Get off me, you little menace!” Satyaki groaned.

Arjuna, meanwhile, glanced down at Pradyumna, still held securely in his grip, like a father humoring an impatient son. “You seem troubled, Yuvraj,” Arjuna mused, his voice smooth as silk.

Pradyumna glared, red-faced, struggled in his grip. "Put me down, uncle!"

Arjuna smiled. "Oh? But you seemed eager to climb me a moment ago."

Samba, tangled with Satyaki, cackled. “He got you there.”

Pradyumna, refusing to lose face, latched onto Arjuna’s arm and refused to let go. Samba, never one to miss an opportunity, grabbed onto his other side.

Satyaki, deciding that this was the perfect time for revenge, lunged at Arjuna’s back.

It was three against one.

For anyone else, this would have been a fight.

For Arjuna? With a single, almost lazy shift of movement, he broke Samba and Pradyumna’s grip, twisted, and let Satyaki’s own momentum carry him forward- straight into the dirt. The three Yadavas collapsed in a heap, groaning. Dust flew everywhere.

Arjuna dusted off his sleeves, completely unruffled. He turned to Krishna, who was watching with clear amusement.

"Was that entertaining enough for you, Govind?"

Krishna chuckled. "It was brief but enjoyable. I did warn them."

Satyaki, still sprawled on the ground, glared up at Arjuna. "I will win one day."

Arjuna smiled fondly. "I admire your optimism, Yuyudhana."

Pradyumna, patting away all the dust from his being, muttered defeatly, “I hate him.”

Arjuna turned to him with genuine warmth in his eyes. "I know you don’t, Pradyumna. But do tell me when you’re ready to train again, I will teach you how to be better."

Pradyumna, despite himself, looked away, the irritation in his expression replaced by something almost begrudgingly respectful.

Samba, still grinning, clapped Arjuna on the back. “You’re annoying, but I like you.”

Arjuna let out a soft laugh and mussed Samba’s hair like an elder brother. "Likewise, little prince."

Krishna, watching the exchange, smiled knowingly. "You see, Parth? They admire you more than they admit."

Arjuna sighed, shaking his head with a fond smile. "They will be the end of me one day, Madhav."

Krishna laughed. "Then you’ll have to stay undefeated, won’t you?"

And with that, the three bruised, exhausted Yadavas stood once more- ready, even in their defeat, to challenge Arjuna again another day.

reblog please my friends 🔪🩸☠️💣✨

 A friend threatened me to repost so I will!

Basically, there r tons of fake asses on tumblr who just want comments and followers, so someone started this to see who's actually a good friend. Everyone I tag better repost (and tag other people and preferably threaten them in a creative way as well) bc I'm high on caffeine and newfound lesbianism and will resort to violence.

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For the boy who was loved- Balarama POV

Balarama chuckled from his post beneath the tree. It was rare to see his brother-in-law like this: unguarded. Soft. He was always sharp-edged, always honed like a blade in Khandava's fire. Yet, it was not a rare sight in Dwarka or Indraprastha. Arjuna was always gentler around his brothers. His wives. His Krishna.

But with Abhimanyu, he was a different kind of gentle. With Abhimanyu, Arjuna melted- not like steel in flame, but like snow in morning light. There was no guard, no pride to uphold, no dharma too heavy to carry. Just a father, stretched out on sun-warmed stone, listening to his son ramble about horses and formations and the fastest way to take down an elephant from behind.

He watched as Arjuna scooped the boy into his arms and dropped to the ground with him in a heap of laughter and mud. "You'll make a fine warrior one day," Arjuna murmured, ruffling the boy's wet hair, "but you'll be even greater if you learn to smile through the battle."

"You'll be proud of me?" Abhimanyu asked, eyes wide.

Arjuna paused for a moment- then touched his forehead to his son's.

"My boy," he whispered, "proud would be too small a word."

He never forgot that moment.

Which is why, when the messenger arrived: dirt-caked and shaking, lips too dry to form the words...Balarama already knew.

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.”

Echos of a life lived- More thoughts

The mountain had taken the last thing he had left-his pride in himself.

Yudhishthira will not turn back for me.

The thought should have angered him. It did not.

He is still walking. Still moving forward.

Perhaps that was how it was meant to be. Yudhishthira had always been ahead of him, carrying burdens none of them could fathom. He would make it to the gates of heaven. He deserved to.

Arjuna had never been meant to reach the end, and maybe that was alright.

Because for all his regrets, for all his failures, he had also lived.

He had lived in the rush of battle, in the whisper of bowstrings, in the heat of the chase. He had lived in stolen moments, in Draupadi’s gaze, in Krishna’s laughter, in the arms of his children. He had lived in love and rage, in grief and triumph.

And now, he was falling.

But he was not afraid.

The sky blurred into the earth, the wind howled in his ears, and Arjuna- Pandava, warrior, brother, father- closed his eyes.

And let go.

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@aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna @sambhavami @mona-prithey @friend-shaped-but @lime-at-z

 A friend threatened me to repost so I will!

Basically, there r tons of fake asses on tumblr who just want comments and followers, so someone started this to see who's actually a good friend. Everyone I tag better repost (and tag other people and preferably threaten them in a creative way as well) bc I'm high on caffeine and newfound lesbianism and will resort to violence.

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✨INTRODUCTION✨

Namaste!! aap ka swagat hai, devi aur sajjano🙏

I've come to the stark realization that I've never introduced by myself properly. I still don't know how to use tumblr properly

I'm Yami. You can call me Yumjum, Yams, even Yami or whatever you want. I'm a student, and have no time, but still enough time to write occasionally.

I kinda enjoy writing about Mahabharata. It helps me cope with life. Please do note that I am no expert in Mahabharat, religious texts, or writing in general. So most, no all, of my stories are creative renditions and stories.

That being said, here are some of my works:

WATTPAD PROFILE:-

Prank gone wrong

Arjuna: Through the Lenses of Dwarka

The Archer Remade

Mahabharat crack fic Series

Shakuni Mama aur Shraapit Seedhiyan

Bhima and his mighty arms

Arjuna: 3, Yadavas: 0

Holi hai bhai holi hai

The Coconut Saga

Udderance

One shots

Merchants of Dwarka

Echo's of a life lived

Swept Away

Just a little longer

The sword

POEMS

FIRE AND RAIN

Bed of Arrows

The One Who Holds My Reins

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.

The road to penance

The forest thinned as Arjuna climbed, replaced by stone, frost, and sky. Trees gave way to rock, and then, rock gave way to snow. The air turned sharper, the wind colder, biting through his clothes and into his bones like old guilt.

He did not look back often. When he did, he saw only mist swallowing the trail behind him- thick and white and uncaring, as though the world itself had closed the door. Go on, it seemed to say. There is nothing for you behind.

By the third day, the silence was louder than any war cry. It crept into his ears, pressed against his ribs, filled his lungs until each breath became a question. He welcomed it. Silence did not ask why he hadn't spoken when the dice fell.

Silence did not ask why he had not torn the sabha down with his bare hands. Silence did not whisper: You are the archer who never missed, yet you missed the moment that mattered most.

He walked with those thoughts like ghosts at his side. And with the cold, always the cold. It was not just in the wind; it was in his blood, in the marrow of his bones, in the soft parts behind his eyes. It reminded him of the night Draupadi's laughter had gone quiet, and he'd sat outside their hut with his bow in his lap and nothing to shoot at but memory.

On the fifth night, he dreamed. No, not of war or fire or fate. Just Krishna: wild-eyed, grinning, sprinting barefoot through Satyaki's garden with a twelve-year-old Abhimanyu at his heels. That part was strange. He'd left his son when he was five. But in dreams, the boy had grown.

"Too slow, Abhi!" Krishna laughed, his beautiful curly hair flying, mango juice dripping down his chin.

"Mama! I had no shoes!" Abhimanyu shouted, brandishing a stick like a sword. "And you cheated!"

"All's fair in mangoes and mayhem, sweetheart." Arjuna laughed in his sleep. A rare, rusted sound. He actually even woke with a smile still caught in his throat. Thought it didn't last.

Because he remembered how Krishna had looked at him after the sabha. Not with anger. Not even with pity.

Just... sorrow, with a hole of disappointment. A quiet, soul-deep sorrow: as though he had failed, not Arjuna. As though he had given Arjuna the bow and watched him lay it down.

Then came the mountains. The real ones.

The ones where the wind was not the kind that whispered. It howled: an ancient, toothless cry that had clawed at these Himalayan cliffs long before kingdoms rose or dharma was spoken of in courtly verse. Arjuna bent his head against it, his breath ragged and clouding the thin air. The trail underfoot had long disappeared, buried beneath stubborn snow. Only the mountain remained: vast, unspeaking, indifferent.

He hadn't eaten in days. Not since he had crossed the last outpost of men and fire. Hunger had long since left behind the dull ache of need; now it gnawed at his spine, made his vision stutter. Yet he pressed on. Not as a warrior, just as a man trying to find stillness somewhere inside a body that would not stop trembling.

He did not speak. For there was no one to speak too, but also because words felt too loud in this place, too mortal. The silence was not absence- it was a presence, thick and echoing, forcing him to listen.

And so, it found him.

Shrutakarma, four years old, chasing him across a courtyard with a wooden bow and painted arrows, cheeks flushed with laughter, mimicking his father's stance with fearless delight. His brothers watching, chuckling at the youngest's theatrics.

Krishna's voice by firelight, warm with mischief: "You fight better when you're angry, Partha. But you lead better when you're calm."

Kunti's hand on his cheek before the exile, soft and worn. "You're still here," she had said. "You must let yourself be."

The memories struck without rhythm. Like stray arrows from nowhere.

And then the one that never missed. The sabha. The dice. Draupadi's cry. Bhima's fury. Yudhishthira's silence. And he-Arjuna. Partha. The archer whose aim was legend; had stood still.

Helpless... no, not helpless. Worse. He had been useless. All that strength, all that skill- and when it mattered, he had been a silent, watching coward clothed in gold and guilt.

No mountain wind could strip that memory away.

He stumbled. His knees struck the snow hard, sinking deep into the frozen crust. This time, he did not rise quickly; as the cold no longer bit, it seeped. Quietly. Thoroughly. A numbness that dulled not just skin, but thought. His fingers, that could easily lift the mighty Gandiva, had gone pale and unfeeling, curled stiffly at his sides.

He was not dressed for such heights. His garments, worn and travel-stained, were suited to forest shadows and monsoon rains- not to scale gods' shoulders. Frost clung to his long lashes like silver dust. The world tilted, weightless and white. Snow swallowed the sky and the earth alike. The only sound was his pulse; fluttering, fading, like the echo of a battle drum too far to reach.

He knelt there, a figure carved in stillness....

                                       ... and somewhere between sleep and death, he thought he saw fire.

A flicker of orange through the white; a distant warmth nestled between trees that shouldn't have been there. A grove where none had stood moments ago. Was it a memory? A trick of exhaustion? Or something older, something watching?

But he didn't crawl toward it. Not yet. Instead, something inside him stirred. A single thought: Get up.

Not for glory. Not for war. Not even for redemption. Just, get up.

This body may be broken by cold, but it was the same body trained to endure. To obey. To fight through pain until pain itself became silence.

He had trained in forests that tore at his skin, stood unmoving under waterfalls until the weight of it drove men to collapse. He had aimed arrows through lightning storms, focused past hunger, heat, and humiliation. When others had faltered, he had refined. Sharpened. Endured. So he walked.

Not because he was strongest. Not even because he was destined. But because he wanted to be better.

It was because he was Arjuna, and Arjuna would never stop walking.

So he breathed. Once. Twice. Ragged, shallow gasps. Then deeper. He forced the air into his chest like drawing a bow. Forced his limbs to move- shaking, clumsy, but moving.

The cold no longer defeated him; it forged him. The mind would adjust, the skin thickened, and his muscles would remember how to work even when they screamed.

He rose, not with grandeur but with grit: teeth clenched, eyes narrowed. He bent his will to the mountain.

One step. Then another.

He kept thinking: Somewhere- his fire awaited, somewhere- the gods watched.

Inside him, a flame sparked- a little smaller than a torch, a little stronger than death.

He crawled. Climbed. Walked.

At first, every movement was agony. The wind mocked him, tore at his garments, hissed in his ears like it meant to wear him down to nothing. His knees scraped over stone, fingers raw from catching himself against jagged ice.

Then eventually, His walk grew steadier. His spine straightened. His steps, no longer stumbles, became rhythm. The burn in his muscles dulled to a hum. Hunger faded into stillness. Cold into clarity. Until walking felt like breathing rather than a chore.

And only then, only when the mountain no longer seemed like a punishment but a presence, did he see it. The beauty.

Not in the grandeur alone- though the peaks stretched like ivory spires, and the clouds moved like silk across their crest- but in the silence between it all. In the hush after every step. In the way the stars unveiled themselves like old friends once the sun dipped behind the ridges. In how the earth, unmoved by empires or epics, simply was.

There was no battle here. No sabha. No war drums. Only a sky so vast it made his grief feel small. There was snow, soft enough to forgive. He walked in that silence for days, alone but no longer lost.

Then, at the twilight of the 23rd day, he found the boy.

A silence passed. Then Sahadeva smiled at him: warm, resolute. And just like that, Arjuna was struck. It was the same smile: unchanged, yet completely transformed. He remembered it from a lifetime ago, from when Sahadeva had barely reached his waist, toddling after him in the gardens of Shatasringa with sticky fingers and wide, eager eyes. That same quiet confidence, tucked behind innocence back then. Now it was sharpened with wisdom, with hurt, with years they should not have had to live through.

His baby brother. All grown now. Steady. Reliable. Speaking words that could anchor the drifting.

A breath hitched in Arjuna’s chest. A memory flickered- small hands tugging at his bowstring, soft laughter echoing through marble corridors, a tiny voice asking, “Will I be like you one day, Dada?”

He blinked, and that child was gone. In his place stood a man: weathered, watchful, fierce in his quiet love.

A tremble touched his voice. “When did you grow so much?”

Sahadeva simply said, “While you were carrying all of us.”

Arjuna had no reply to that. Only the weight of gratitude, guilt, and the ache of time’s quiet theft.

So he stepped forward, pulled Sahadeva into his arms, and pressed his forehead gently to his youngest brother’s temple: just like he used to, when thunder kept the child awake. His Chandan tilak brushed against Sahadeva’s skin, faint and fragrant- as though Arjuna were leaving a piece of his soul behind, tucked in the hollow of his brother’s being. And for a moment, the world softened around them again.

“We’ll keep this family breathing until you return. Trust me.”  Sahadeva whispered. “Trust me.”

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The Archer Remade - The Fire That Walks

Read The Fire That Walks from the story The Archer Remade by yumjum414 (kya hai jindagi) with 38 reads. bheem, bheema...