Chapter Text
Arjun's eyes fluttered open. He didn't know what he was expecting, but the warm pillow was a welcome relief to his aching head. As he stirred some more, he felt soft feathers shifting underneath him, like always. He lay embracing a long pillow by his side. His tired eyes darted around the room that he had woken up in. Everything felt familiar to him. The eerie familiarity sat heavy at the back of his throat, his breath hitched. He extended his arm to his right even before a thought formed. His fingers only curled around the cold fabric.
He sat up, startled, his heart racing, his eyes stinging. Slowly, as he looked around himself, more of the room swam before his eyes. It was Krishna's old room. No, theirs! In Dwarika. But that? Did that not drown in the ocean?
Arjun stretched his toes as his feet gingerly touched the marble floor. It was as cold as he had expected it to be. Krishna's uttariya lay scattered over the footstool that stood before the imposing mirror. The mirror was shrouded in fog. Arjun walked up to it. With a finger, he attempted to clean a spot on the mirror. It wouldn't work. No matter how he scrubbed, the mirror remained stubbornly hazy.
Giving up, Arjun bent down to gather the uttariya. It wasn't Krishna's. Arjun knew his taste by heart. Krishna would never own an uttariya that was this spotted and this heavy. Arjun dropped it back onto the footstool with a soft thud.
His eyes were drawn to the pair of armlets resting on top of the table in front of the mirror. They were the same shape as what Krishna usually liked, but they weren't his either.
What do you think of this? He said aloud before laughing ruefully at himself. Even in death, he would probably not cease turning to his side and expecting a bright, smile-wrinkled face grinning down at him. The empty room did not answer.
Arjun looked around, befuddled. The room was clearly Krishna's; Arjun wouldn't make a mistake there! And yet, none of the things here really belonged to him. Arjun walked up to the headboard of the bed. He ran a hand over the ornate carving. The long-horned deer carved onto the headboard stared blankly at him, covered in dust.
He had to go!
Arjun whipped around. His bow was nowhere to be seen. In the past fifty years, there hadn't been a single day when he had not slept with it nestled close to himself. Krishna had even had a special nook constructed along the side rail of this bed where Arjun could hang both his bow and his quiver. Arjun ran a hand over it. Of course, it was empty.
Arjun slumped down onto the bed, his hand automatically sliding rightward, towards where Krishna usually slept. Still, just fabric. Arjun sighed, albeit with his breath leaving him in staggered bursts. He looked towards the open balcony. It too was shrouded in mist. Arjun could hardly tell if it was night or day. But, couldn't he tell which day this was?
Krishna needed him!
Arjun stood up again, but his feet refused to move.
He needed to see him!
In painful flashes, he saw. His body jerked in spasms, falling backwards onto the bed, as his mind remembered. Dry dust grinding into his exposed skin. The world spinning around him. The sharp corners of rocks, not yet softened by rain, mercilessly slashing his skin. His fingers curling around air, and his ear and chin hitting the ground again and again, and again.
The sky, dark and grey above him, the howling wind chilling him to his bones. The feeling of his hair stuck to his face, held there by his own blood. He remembered his body not obeying him, his arms refusing to move, and his legs pinned under something.
He also remembered words. Words he surely had deserved. His brother had never truly lied as long as they'd lived.
That's right, he was dead.
How could he have forgotten that?
Where were his brothers? Draupadi?
Arjun opened his eyes and stared listlessly at the ornate ceiling. He was too tired to move.
Was this heaven? He couldn't tell.
Must be, he reasoned, why else would Krishna's room be here?
Arjun sat back up. Pulling his knees close, he held himself. Nestling his chin on his arms, his eyes fixed on the door.
And, he waited.
The mist travelled by, occasionally sending a listless gust of wind at Arjun.
He did not notice when he had fallen asleep. Waking up with a jolt again, Arjun rubbed his eyes. He did feel a little better, but the room was still empty.
He had to be somewhere.
Arjun sighed as he made his way out of the door. It led him into the hallway that he had walked through so many times. Sometimes with Krishna, sometimes without him. The usual guards were nowhere to be seen. This is heaven, Arjun scolded himself. He briskly walked across the hall and pulled open the door at the end of it.
He stared, confused. He was back in Krishna's room.
He laughed to himself. He must have been still so tired that he had imagined walking down an entire hallway. Shaking his head, he walked out of the door again. He was greeted by the same desolate hallway. This time, Arjun took his time, paying attention to his surroundings. He carefully grabbed the bejewelled doorknob and pushed.
He was once again in the same room.
Tensing up now, his instinct from his days as a warrior kicking in, Arjun ran out of the room, sprinting down the hallway, pushing open the door…and he stood once again in the same room.
Arjun shook his head as he backed up, turning and running once more.
Several times he repeated his endeavour, and each time ended up in the same room, staring at the same empty bed and the mirror and balcony and the footstool.
Frustrated, he kicked at the door, which bounced off the wall with a loud bang, but still, there seemed to be no one who was alarmed except for Arjun himself. Gulping, Arjun walked back around the bed. He wasn't sure if he truly kept running back into the same room, or if there were several identical rooms that was walking through.
Determined to solve this mystery, Arjun broke off a long piece of wood from the nook to hold his bow. Arjun dragged the piece across the room to the mirror. He made a large mark on the table in front of him. Then he walked out again.
Soon, he found himself staring at the same room. He quickly walked up to the mirror. There was the scratch that he had made. His shoulder slumping, Arjun then staggered forward, crashing onto the ground just in front of the bed.
How could heaven be a labyrinth? Should there not be gardens and nymphs and all that?
He grabbed fistfuls of the milky-white sheet, pulling it close to himself. No, the smell of Krishna's mild perfume hadn't persevered within its folds.
He traced the design that had been softly woven onto the sheet.
Arjun remembered.
It was the same sheet that had been on their bed that night.
The night when Arjun, the conqueror of sleep, had drifted into a deep slumber.
He had rushed to Dwarika, jumping on the first horse he had seen, even before Daruka had had the chance to finish his message.
He had ridden all day, crossing the path of five nights in one.
Krishna was performing a tapasya somewhere, his uncle had then told him.
He had let himself breathe.
He had thought he had time.
He had thus gathered up this very sheet, leaving Krishna's uttariya on that footstool, and pulling the long pillow close to his chest, he had fallen asleep.
He had planned to talk to Krishna, to bring him back, but instead he had found a hunter, who had shown him the way.
He was beginning to question if this was truly heaven, and whether Krishna would really walk into the room in just a minute and pull him close.
Arjun still held the sheet, now balled up tight against his chest, even as his arms ached, as he rocked back and forth, his back hitting the solid wooden bed-frame each time.
He should not have waited.
He should have gone to Krishna right that instant, and instead he had chosen his own comfort.
And let Krishna go in the darkness, all alone.
Arjun did not know what else to do, so he yelled into the fabric, hoping by some magic Krishna might hear him. He felt like he had been here for days, perhaps, most likely only hours, but he couldn't tell.
He yelled at the fabric, at the bed, at the mist floating past him over the balcony. No one came to comfort him.
Then he stood up. His eyes were red and his face pained. He picked up the piece of wood and threw it into the mirror. It crashed into a million pieces, leaving a hollow, ornate frame behind it.
Arjun collapsed once more onto his knees, and then pressing his forehead to the floor, he begged for someone to take mercy on him. He would even take a bitter enemy if only they walked in and killed him again.