Chapter 5: The Dream She Was Never Meant to See

The cave was quiet tonight.

Snow had begun to fall again, softly pressing against the edges of the world like a hush from the heavens. Draupadi had wrapped Agnika close to her chest, the child’s head nestled under her chin, warm and steady.

Bhima snored nearby.

Yudhishthir, unable to sleep, sat in the corner reading silently.

The twins had long gone still.

But Draupadi… could not close her eyes.

Not tonight.

She missed Arjuna.

He had left days ago — gone deeper into the forest, seeking the gods, praying for divine weapons.

She had grown used to his silences, but now, the silence felt heavier without him.

She looked down at the little girl in her arms.

Agnika. So still. So peaceful.

But not for long.

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Somewhere in her sleep, Agnika’s tiny brows furrowed. Her small fists clenched. Her breathing grew shallow.

Then her whole body trembled.

Her legs kicked.

Her face twisted into fear.

And suddenly—

She screamed.

A sound too sharp for such a small child. Piercing, raw.

Draupadi sat up in alarm. “Agnika?”

The baby was shaking, eyes still closed but crying — no, sobbing — from someplace far, far away.

Draupadi tried to soothe her. “Shh… my child, I’m here. I’m right here.”

But Agnika's arms reached out blindly, desperate and wild, and latched onto Draupadi's neck, holding tight as if afraid Draupadi would vanish.

Her little fingers dug into Draupadi’s shawl. Her tiny face buried itself against her collarbone, trembling with silent cries that broke the mother’s heart.

Bhima stirred, sitting upright. “What happened?! Is she hurt?”

“No,” Draupadi whispered, holding Agnika closer, rocking her. “She was dreaming…”

“She’s too little to dream anything frightening,” Bhima frowned, coming closer.

Draupadi didn’t answer.

She looked down at the child in her arms.

Agnika had begun to settle, but her arms still clung tightly. Her fingers would not release. Her face was wet with tears.

Not the loud cries of hunger or fear—

But the broken sobs of someone who had seen something too real.

Something… wrong.

---

When Bhima gently touched her shoulder and asked again, “Krishnaa… what did she see?”, Draupadi whispered only this:

> “I don’t know.

But whatever it was… she thought I was being taken from her.”

---

Later, when Agnika finally drifted into uneasy sleep, still clenched in Draupadi’s arms, Yudhishthir quietly approached.

“She’s too young to carry such dreams,” he said.

“She’s too young to cry like that,” Draupadi replied, her voice low.

Yudhishthir saw the mark on the child’s back — faint, pulsing like a hidden truth.

And he said nothing more.

---

Outside, the snow continued to fall.

And somewhere, far beyond the reach of the cave, Arjuna prayed, unaware that a child too young to walk had just glimpsed a moment he had never stopped regretting.

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❄️ End of Chapter 5