I am a newbie in India-forums and this is my first fan fiction. So I hope that this becomes a success. This fan-fic is set in post-war time. I always wondered how Vrishketu ultimately became close to his uncle who was also caused his father's death.This is a story about Arjuna and Vrishaketu as well as Arjun and Parikshit .I hope you shall like it. Your comments will be very much appreciated.
The greatest war of the ages was over. Millions had died. The older ones had lost their zest for life after cremating their younger ones. The younger ones had lost the shelter and protection of the adults. Many women after losing their father, brothers and sons had gone sati after their husbands. Those who had survived the war had forgotten to live. Silence loomed everywhere. the eyes saw sorrow, the heart felt pain, food tasted bitter. Only sobs could be heard, nothing could be said.
Yet in the looming darkness there was a ray of hope. Yudhistira had been crowned the Emperor. Yudhistira was the very dharma incarnate, never speaking untruth, never doing injustice, calm and rational even in the face of death. Surely, he will nurture the Kingdom back to prosperity. Surely with time wounds would healto leave only a few scars.
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A man was sitting alone in the lap of nature-at the bank of river Ganga leaning against a rock. This was the only place where he found solace. The war had snatched away his progeny only to leave a deep void in his heart. Their side had won the war.The humiliation of his family had been avenged His brother was the Emperor and his wife was his Empress. But Arjuna felt that he had fallen in a pit from where he could never rise. He felt no zest for life, no source of happiness except when he was around his Grandon Parikshit. He could not watch his sons grow up. He would enjoy the delights of fatherhood in his grand-fatherhood. He would teach the child to walk, to fight, to sing, to dance, anything that was in his power to share. When he grew up, he would be a great King, a beloved King.
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A few months ago, the house had eleven boys running all over the house. They created so much hustle-bustle that their grandmother had no time to rest running after them and catering to the many demands of stories, kheer, laddu, etc. Adhirath and Radha were very proud grandparents. This cottage was now abnormally silent. All the boys had ascended to the abode of God along with their father. Their mother decided to follow them. Only Vrishaketu, the youngest was left tp bear the heart wrenching pain of losing near and dear ones. He had been too young to have participated in the war. He wanted to. If he had been allowed he would have been happy to be with his family also. All his brothers had died a chivalrous death, so had his father. His mothers had gone sati after him. He was now left in the custody of his grandparents, the only family he had now. The Prince of Anga barely ate, slept even less. His nights were filled with horrible dreams- blood drenched bodies surrounded by Eagles and Jackals, his mother as she was enveloped by fire and many more.
Of all the places in the massive city, there was only one place he liked to be- at the bank of the Ganga River. There were numerous memories that were attached to it. Memories, he thought, was the only thing he was left with. His father used to come here every morning to pray to the Sun God. Many times he and his brothers used to come there along with his brothers and while he gave charity to the needy, they used to play around. Then their father used to teach them about the different formations, battle strategies and weaponry. While on the bank Vrishaketu used to lose himself in the memories. Memories were the only thing that were alive for him.
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