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Night had descended like a blanket of calm over the crimson battlefield of Kurukshetra. The carcasses of men strewn all over the toxic land were spread like an open feast for the gleeful scavenger birds circling atop the empty sky.

The sounds of crackling fire pervaded the mourners circling every pyre, irrespective of assignment. At nightfall, both sides were finally equal. 

After all, dead men had no loyalty to give to any Sovereign.

The air around the encampments of the Pandavas was stifled with despondency. They had lost quite an enormous amount of infantry, in the massacre that today's battle had wrought.

Courtesy of Bheeshma. 

The man was proving to be a lethal machine of war and absolutely relentless. 

The eldest Pandava was trying his best to up the morale of his disappointed men. 

"Mahaan mahim needs to be stopped. Post haste. If we want any chance of a victory, that is", Viraataraja, the sovereign monarch of Matsya Pradesh spat, rather rhetorically. He had just spoken what everyone was thinking anyways. 

The main issue wasn't that his opinion would be disputed, it is more a question of how do they stop the wizened super warrior. 

Maharathi Bheeshma had managed to hold even Lord Parushrama at bay. 

The man was near invincible. 

But Yudhishtira had to take control of the situation before the fear of their grandsire gets permanently engraved in everyone's minds. It would do them no good when they have to face him tomorrow, again. 

"It is a setback definitely, but I am sure that we will be able to make up for it, tomorrow. If we keep Pitamaha engaged with someone and divert his attention from our soldiers, we can retaliate properly", Dharmaraja announced gently, his defined features carefully arranged in a serene expression. 

The warriors seemed to latch onto that sliver of hope quite readily and began an enthusiastic discussion, on the pros and cons of that method. 

His brothers though, were not so easily appeased as they, once use to be, eons ago.

Yudhishtira mentally lamented that fact, more than he thought should be prudent.

But he was their oldest brother after all, and nothing pained him more than seeing his once so ebullient rowdy gang of siblings, so morose and silent.

He wondered when was the last time, the Madriputras had ganged up on their older brothers and played a prank. He pondered when had his beloved Vrikodhara, roughhoused his younger ones and laughed so hard that the very pillars of their palace shook.

But more than most, he mourned what the years had done to the youngest Kaunteya. 

Phalguna had always been the quietest amongst his siblings. Not even his Sahadeva's gentleness could compete when the madhya Pandava would go into one of his oft repeated, self imposed, maun vrat.

Yet the son of Indra, had one of the most exuberant laughs, the oldest Kaunteya has ever seen.

His smile could put the very sun to shame. 

His repertoire of witty one liners and carefully balanced sarcasm was used wisely and rarely but it never failed to delight his co conversationists.

The King of Indraprastha, remembered fondly of the days when the small, lanky, dark skinned youth with a head full of raven curls, would follow him around, like a duckling behind a mother duck, asking unending questions. 

His little thunderbolt, he used to call him. 

His insatiable curiosity was tempered with his unending faith in the careful answers his Jyestha would provide him with.

The merciless ravages of time, their entwined turbulent destinies, and his own trials and tribulations, have seemed to suck the very soul out of Dhananjaya.

His once bright, silver grey blue eyes, full of light and wonder had dulled into a milky moss of pale cyan and would only sharpen with the scent of death and mayhem. 

The innumerable scars littering his swarthy athletic body, which had once been a mark of pride, now stood out in silver maps of agony. 

His still luscious raven curls, even if some hidden streaks of grey caught the sunlight sometimes, showed but the stress of his penance and not the gentle wizened aging, he deserved. 

His face, still beautiful, still handsome in all it's chiselled glory, had lost any and all marks of that oblivious innocence that had endeared the son of Shakra to all who had the honour of meeting him - friends, foes, Gods and monsters alike.

The once much adorable fullness of his youthful cheeks had caved in hollow. It may have made his appearance more rakish, thus more appealing to the fairer sex, but the oldest Panduputra could only see it mournfully, as cadaverous.

Amongst all his brothers, his Partha had suffered the most. And the worst.

Having spend most of his life as an ascetic and the remaining in unending wars fought for both Hastinapura and later Indraprastha, it has taken too costly a toll for him to merely keep standing let alone be the beacon of light that he had always been, for his brothers. 

Yudhishtira knew that most days, it was the mere presence of Sabyasachi, in their ranks, that sustained the flickering lamp of hope in their soldiers' minds.

But how long can his selfless brother carry around the disproportionately humongous weight of such a massive responsibility.

As his wise eyes met Phalguna's exhausted gaze, from across the table, for the first time since what felt like forever, he felt a frisson of fear.

But what, even the most righteous of the mortals to have ever walked on Earth couldn't predict, was that it would happen so soon.

That he will have to endure what no older sibling, no parent, should ever have to see.

----------------------------

Unbeknownst to their leader's dank musings, the rest of the Pandavas, along with their Generals were in a deep discussion on the next course of action to be taken on the morrow. 

They were in the middle of mediating a rather heated argument between Satyaki and Nakula when a soldier announced Draupadi's entrance.

The former Empress of Aryavarta commanded the respect of whichever room she walked into. It had always been like that with Panchali. She made heads turn and consciences spin into dark tunnels of an amalgamation of envy, hatred, admiration and lust in equal measures. 

Those who couldn't have her would claim to be repulsed by her, while secretly lusting after her. 

Those who would see her as competition would lament her existence with a rank jealousy. 

Those who could only see her as their better, would want to worship the ground she walked on. 

Many had expected the fiery queen of the Pandavas to have finally dampen herself after such an unbearable humiliation which she had to face at the Kaurava court. It had been a general consensus that no pride can take such a bludgeoning and still survive. 

But the fire inside Agnisutaa had only burnt brighter. The warmth of a hearth which she had carried beneath her dusky skin had transformed into a raging conflagration which could reduce the entire world to ashes. 

Instead of her crumbling into nothingness with the agony of humiliation, she had forced every eye which had ever glanced at her intoxicating person, her long charcoal tresses fluttering wild, to immediately avert in shame.

Shame at not being present in the court to prevent such a heinous misdemeanour, shame at being present yet standing in silence, shame at the inaction, at being party to such devilry, shame at their numerous failings. 

She made everyone feel unbearably small in front of her. 

That was Draupadi - bewitching yet resplendent. 

That was the Princess of Panchal - unbeatable and unbreakable. 

That was Kuruvansha's first kulavadhu - a literal firebrand.

Everyone's eyes had immediately lowered to the ground, for a second, at her entry. Unable to look her in the eye immediately. Like waiting on a Goddess who will eviscerate you at the slightest hint of disrespect. 

Yet when they did look, she appeared uncharacteristically perturbed. 

Her beautiful features were contorted slightly in some illegible apprehension. 

"What happened Panchali? You look worried. Are the children alright?", Yudhishtira asked concerned, his mind wandering to their kids like it did, most of the time, these days.

"Forgive me the intrusion, Aryaputra. The children are unharmed. I was looking to get some counsel. I am feeling alarmingly at unease tonight. Like something terrible is about to happen. And try as I might, I cannot still my mind", the fire born queen iterated rather uneasily.

Bhima sighed and walked towards her to take her trembling hands in his own massive ones.

"It is just the bloodshed, my dear. Today has been a rather inauspicious day. We lost some brave warriors to those evil dunderheads who we have the misfortune of calling cousins. Pitamaha had been.... well, unstoppable."

Vrikodhara's words though infinitely gentle, for his wife's sake, simmered with an undercurrent of venom as was typical of him whenever he had to mention the Kauravas.

"The Prince is correct, sister. It is just your mind playing tricks. The war has unsettled all of us", Panchal's heir and Draupadi's older brother, Dhrishtadyumna tried consoling her.

Panchali didn't seem very convinced, even if her other husbands were nodding along. Her kohl lined amber brown eyes sought her third husband and seemed to get stuck there. 

Arjun who had been sitting inanimate like a granite statue throughout the evening, seemingly lost in his own mind, finally broke out of his stupor.

His brilliant hawk like gaze met with his first wife and his immaculate brows twisted in some shared thought. Now that Draupadi had spoken it aloud, even he could sense the chill which had slowly began to set in his bones. He had been strangely impervious to it before. 

It was confounding. 

Yes, they may have seemingly lost today but there was always tomorrow. So why was this particular evening making him feel so agitated.

Yagyasaini was a wise woman. And very perceptive to even the slightest shift in the atmosphere. She wouldn't voice out unimportant worries. 

His Krishnaa, was not prone to hysterics.

"No, something is not right Jyeshta. Even I am picking something up", Sahdeva said nervously, his intelligent gaze moving around the now alarmed room incomprehensibly.

"Where is Lord Vasudeva? I haven't seen him since we entered the tents", Drupada exclaimed suddenly, arresting everyone's attention.

Arjun realised it, the moment the words left his father in law's lips. He hadn't seen Madhava since they alighted from the chariot. His dusky friend had given an excuse of wanting to walk by the Ganga this evening for some quiet and Arjun had acquiesced, thinking none of it.

In hindsight, it had been rather uncharacteristic of the Yadava Prince. 

"He is by the river. I think maybe it is his absence which is making us feel so unbalanced", he answered, relaxing slightly even if a niggling doubt was growing at the back of his mind.

Draupadi though, seemed satisfied with their conclusion and smiled at Bhima when he released her hands. She turned towards Yudhishtira and joined her hands presumably to announce her exit when suddenly, of all people, Abhimanyu came barrelling into the tent. 

Completely unceremoniously at that.

Arjun found his body working automatically as he practically leaped from his seat to stare at his youngest son, bewildered. The uneasiness which had taken a back seat till now, raged into a full conflagration at Subhadranandan's terrified expression.

The sixteen year old's childlike gaiety had evaporated into an ashen pallor.

So much so that Panchali took a few steps towards him, in alarm.

"Abhimanyu! What happened, son?", Arjun exclaimed astonished.

The lad who had been staring at his father like he had seen a ghost, seemed to take a moment to compose himself, till the fright on his face was forcefully pushed down.

"Forgive me father, I saw a terrible nightmare and had to come and see you. It seemed so real that for a moment I was afraid that it might have been the truth, coming as a premonition in my dreams, to warn me. Mamashree, always says, the dreams seen at dawn have a penchant of materialising in reality", he bungled in a single breath. 

Then the young warrior seemed to suddenly deflate like a balloon without air, as his words tapered off into an awkward silence.

It may have been relief at knowing that he had just seen a nightmare or maybe it was embarrassment at how he had unwittingly shown such vulnerability in front of such an august audience.

Arjun had half a mind to whack his child at the back of his head for giving him a nasty scare for such an inconsequential reason and half a mind to clasp him to his chest and never let go.

It was the very first hints of Abhi's infancy that he had been allowed to unwittingly revisit, in such a long time.

He remembered very vividly, how his two year old toddler would climb over him in the middle of the night for safety, scared by his highly visceral dreams. Subhadra would always pretend to be annoyed at his indulgence as he made place for his moon like Prince, in his arms unfailingly, each time it happened.

"You will spoil him. He needs to go to the Gurukula soon", she would mutter sleepily and he would smile at her in the dark, his calloused fingers stroking his little boy's raven curls, so reminiscent of his own that it hurt and say,

"There is still time for that, my dear. Let me have this. Who knows when I would get to experience this again."

That had always worked like a charm and his wife's sleep drunk marble eyes would glitter at him from within the silken mass of her soft burnish mahogany hair.

He had not known then that how true his words would end up being. He could only get his child for one more year, before tragedy struck strong and true.

"That is it. I think we should ask the sages. Or at least get Govinda, from wherever he has gone to ruminate over the Universe's existence. All of us cannot be wrong, about the same thing."

Krishnaa's words rang sharp yet apprehensive and by the look on his brothers' faces, Arjun knew they were suitably worried now. 

Abhimanyu looked confused at their increased agitation. He had no idea what they were discussing earlier. He was still reeling a little from the graphic images of his nightmare, tugging at the edge of his consciousness relentlessly.  

All Phalguni could feel was a bone deep relief. His father looked seemingly well, if only a little disturbed. But then, when didn't he, nowadays. 

'It was just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. Uttara would laugh at me later. Maa and Pitashree will also find it funny. It was just a very nasty and unbelievable, impossible nightmare.'

He tried convincing his troubled mind but to no avail. His sharp senses, his father's genes according to everyone, had picked up the lingering tension in the room even before Draupadi had said anything. 

And now his heart refused to settle.

Draupadi on the other hand knew that her heart would only steady when her sakha shows his luminous handsome face in here. And she would give him a nice earful for wandering away without informing her.

Didn't he know better than to trust Partha, to relegate messages properly?

The man would hardly speak anymore.

And definitely not with her.

Her Phalguna had always been a man of few words. His eyes spoke more than his lips ever would. And once upon a time, they could carry entire conversations with just a single look. One glance from his cool thunder drenched gaze on her fiery scorching amber irises would make his unspoken words as clear as Gangajal.

Once they could still joke and banter with cleverly hidden verbal cues and a scathing wit which would have scalded lesser mortals. It was their hidden language.

Their own language of love.

Now, there was nothing. A barren empty wasteland chockfull of regrets, bitterness, guilt and a smothering need for vengeance. She had burnt her heart on the altar of justice and he had blinded himself with the need for deriving it for her.

His eyes were shuttered on meeting her, no longer having the fortitude to glance at her person with anything other than shame. His guilt, his self recrimination had distanced him from her by a gorge which seemed nigh unbreachable.

Draupadi sometimes wished she could hate him.

But she could not.

Try as she might. 

She never could.

Not when he let her be divided like she was a prize. Not when he left her for twelve long years. Not when he gave himself to other marriages repeatedly. Not when he brought his Yadavakumari from Dwarka. Not when he left her again during their exile, for five years of rigorous penance to appease Shiva. 

Not when he let himself be staked like he was nothing but a pawn for the King.

Not even when he didn't lift a finger to save her from those vultures.

She would rather jump into the very fire which had created her than even try to detest, Arjun.

And for that, she derided herself the most.

All these years of living like strangers had embittered them both so badly that even standing close to one another for too long made her skin burn.

Yet irrespective of the agony he has gifted her, their entire lives, if something were to happen to her husband, she would not survive it. And that was the bitter truth, at all its glory. 

Draupadi had not mentioned it explicitly to anyone in the assembly but her nervousness tonight was solely for her third husband. She couldn't put a finger on it but there was definitely something wrong. 

Abhimanyu's petrified gaze on his father, had just strengthened her shaky resolve to get to the bottom of it.

"Panchali has a point. Nakul and Sahadev, why don't both of you go and bring Vasudev back to the camp. I am sure, he will be able to reassure all of us", Yudhishtira finally broke the tense silence and the Pandava twins immediately got up from their seats, relieved to be able to do something instead of sitting uselessly.

"That won't be necessary Dharmaraja. Here I am, as summoned", a smooth mellifluous voice called out.

All heads turned towards the entrance of the tent where stood the Lord of the Yadavas, tall in stature like a lean stallion, his shoulders broad enough to support the Universe and his waist narrow and wrapped in the customary turmeric silk. The dark hue of his silken skin was glowing almost cobalt blue in the night lamps, a peacock feather was tucked neatly against the bejewelled headgear worn over his obsidian locks. 

Those beautiful eyes which otherwise always had a hint of mischief in their jade depths were trained unblinking at Yudhishtira.

Arjun whose heart had calmed down instantly at the scent of his Janardhana's sandalwood fragrance, started racing painfully as he finally beheld his friend's beautiful face. 

 Krishna's usual jocular expression was missing starkly, his marvellous face, a blank slate.  

Keshava had never looked so... so stoic before.

He has never felt so alien, so far away, so petrifying to Arjun.

Where was that smile which could melt the hardest of hearts, where was that warmth in his multihued eyes, where was that welcoming arms always spread open for those who loved and worshipped him?

Where was his Madhava in this magnificent clone of him, which stood so rigidly at their tent?

But before Arjun could utter anything, his words coagulated like quicksand against the dry desert of his throat. It felt like lead had jammed his jaw. He couldn't speak. It was like he was held unseeingly by unbreakable ropes.

'What was happening?'

Mercifully, his oldest brother continued, looking like he hadn't felt anything strange or different in their cousin and closest advisor and mentor, at all. As if all was well. 

Arjun, on the other hand wanted to scream.

"Thank Heavens Vasudeva! We were all worried. There seems to be a negative energy which has unsettled Panchali. We were conversing whether we should be worried. Now that you are here, you can help us make sense of it."

Krishna was silent for some moments and when he spoke, his words may have been a curse on their own as how they fell like the sky cracking open, on them all.

"I am sorry Dharmaraja. For this time and for the times ahead, I can no longer guide the Pandavas."

To be continued.

A/N:- Woah, 3.4k words is too long. I will make the further chapters shorter. Try as I might, I couldn't divide this. Also, on another note, I would appreciate reviews greatly. It helps in forming the story further and build up the motivation.