What-Ifs Entwined

Yashoda unravelled her long braid as she beckoned over Subhadra. She had decided to make peace with her presence and her brother's absence, despite the constant lacerations at her heart. Still, in her mind, there remained the itching desire to test the remnants of her ties to Krishna through this young girl. She wished to see if even a lick of the simple soil of Vrindavan had reached Dwarika or had the glamour and glitter of Mathura prevailed. Pointing at a matki hanging from the doorframe she said, "Do me a favour and pour out a cup of milk for your brother and heat it. His preferred glass is on the top shelf, on the cabinet at the back of the kitchen. I had them cleaned yesterday. He will be up soon, and I have to take a bath. If you want, make yourself something to eat too. Do you know how to do these things?"

Subhadra smirked to herself. She had heard enough about her 'aunt Yashoda' from both her mother and brother to know when she was being tested. She shook her head, but replied enthusiastically, "I know all sorts of things, maiya! I can fight, cook, hunt, drive chariots, build mud houses and camouflage in forests! Pouring milk is not a problem."

Yashoda drew a sharp breath but maintained her composure. Of course! Ever since the war, even young girls in the neighbourhood learned basic fighting. Of course, thriving at the epicentre of trouble, Krishna would have taken care to educate his little sister.

"I keep forgetting you are a child of war." Yashoda 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 uttered Krishna's name out loud. Most days, Yashoda couldn't bring herself to speak his name. It hurt too much.

Subhadra kept talking excitedly, oblivious to the face of it, "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, her brow furrowing, "What do you mean he doesn't talk?"

Subhadra shook her head, "He takes due interest in the happenings of the family, but something is always amiss. All his words are so carefully measured. Especially since he and Rukmini lost the child-" Subhadra sighed, "Never mind, I shouldn't talk so lightly of the tragedy."

Yashoda turned away, still deep in thought. Of course, she had heard of the tragedy, and quietly put away the sweater she had been knitting at the back of a suitcase, under a musty, old blanket. She had, however, not imagined the effect it might've had on her little boy. She'd been too afraid to. All of a sudden, images flooded her brain, of Krishna and his young wife waking up in shock to find their firstborn gone forever. Her mind went back to the wretched day when that wretched Akroora had come with the wretched news that had shattered her world. God forbid you ever have to go through it, she had yelled. At Krishna. When she had found out the secrets he'd been keeping from her. Of course, she hadn't meant any of it, but still...

Yashoda abruptly wiped her welling eyes, and hurried out the door, lest that pesky girl see her face.

---

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 had 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 decades, 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 had hardly spoken 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 had enjoyed making that choice!

Nanda's mind wandered back to one sultry summer night, a few months after Krishna's departure. He had just finished 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 speak, Yashoda? Are you not happy for the boys?"

Yashoda had jerked her hands away, "It would take a very selfish mother to not be happy at her sons' successes. However, given I have no children, my reaction hardly counts. As a distant aunt of the two princes, I am ecstatic." Even in the light of the sputtering lamp by the door, he had seen her lips quiver, and her voice falter.

"Surely, Yashoda, you can't blame me! I had no choice!" Nanda had pleaded. Even in darkness, Nanda had seen her eyes blaze.

"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, that Kamsa did not walk 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?" Nanda had punched the pillar beside him in frustration.

"What God, Nanda?" Yashoda had replied in an icy tone laced with disgust, "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! 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. Then she had turned away, "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 felt the girl hovering over him, the loose end of her dress cascading over his shoulder. 

"What use will that be, baba?" The girl gently asked with a pitiful smile.

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 the glass, "Shall I pour you a cup too, baba?"

Nanda shook his head. Subhadra asked, "Something else then? I could whip you up a quick 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, startling him briefly before he composed himself. She shook her head, pulling a face, "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 couldn't help but smile, "You are just like your brother. Talking circles around me already! Fine, make something, and we can eat together."

Subhadra laughed and immediately pranced 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 all as a bad dream.

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

She arranged the plates on the floor itself, "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 this time!" Subhadra continued enthusiastically, as Nanda took a seat beside her, "Krishna will be thrilled to see you both!"

"Will he? After all that I've done?" Nanda sighed, "And why are you so kind to me? Do you not know what I've done?"

Subhadra gently held his hands in hers, "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." She looked down, her eyebrows furrowed, "Truth to be spoken, in all the years I've known him, 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, or 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 pulled his hand back, and focused the food on his plate. For a few minutes both of them continued to sit in silence. Subhadra fidgeted with the gemstones on her dress as Nanda ate.

Subhadra broke the silence after a while, "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." Subhadra slipped her fingers through his once more, holding tight. She looked intently into the eyes of the old man, "You think you are punishing yourself by hiding out here, but who is really the one getting punished here?"

Nanda stared at the princess for a long time. Those eyes. He had never been able to say no to those precious eyes. The stories she told, especially about her brother, tugged at his heart. He wished to run to Dwarika right that instant, and he wished he had done that decades earlier. Truly, the denial of the offer to move to Dwarka with him so many years back had been born out of a deep-seated guilt rather than any overflowing nationalism. Even after the war, Balarama had tried several times to take them for a visit. Every time Nanda had turned him down. In his mind, he smiled at Balarma's diplomacy. In the absence of Krishna, he had brought along the only other person capable of swaying Nanda's resolve.

Nanda sighed, "Fine, but you must convince your maiya. I'm afraid she has forgiven neither me nor your brothers after all that happened."

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