Chapter 14: The Memory She Gave Back

That night, after the fire dimmed and most of the cave had drifted into slumber, Krishna stayed behind.

He sat quietly beside Agnika’s shawl, where she lay curled under warm cloth, her little fist tucked near her mouth.

Bhima was still nearby, asleep but lightly.

Draupadi slept with a hand outstretched in Agnika’s direction, even in dreams.

And Krishna watched her.

Not as a god.

Not as a warrior.

But as a man.

A man who had once made a thousand impossible choices and carried each one silently.

---

Agnika stirred.

Her breath hitched.

Her hands clenched.

And without waking, she let out a soft whisper — not a cry.

A wordless sound.

Then—

Her small chest rose, her brow furrowed, and her soul slipped into something that didn’t belong to her.

---

She was no longer in the cave.

She was standing in a marble hall, wide and echoing, where Krishna stood alone before a great court.

She saw him standing there before the Kauravas.

Saw him beg for peace.

Saw the fury in Duryodhana’s eyes.

Saw Draupadi’s humiliation lingering like smoke in the corners of that courtroom.

> And she saw Krishna pause—

Just for a breath—

Before letting it happen.

Because fate had to move.

Because karma had to rise.

Because war was inevitable.

But even so…

In that breath, in that moment no scripture speaks of—

> Krishna’s heart broke.

And Agnika saw it.

---

The dream folded.

She awoke with a sharp inhale.

Still small.

Still warm in her blanket.

But crying.

Not loudly — no sound came.

Just soft, wet tears down her cheek.

Krishna leaned forward instinctively, about to comfort her—

But she reached up first.

And in the most fragile voice, full of love and sorrow—

> She whispered, “I’m sorry.”

His breath caught.

She reached both arms up toward him.

He lifted her gently, slowly.

And in his arms, she hugged him — this little, impossible child — with a tenderness no god had ever been given.

She buried her face in his chest.

> “I saw it,” she whispered,

“The part you never speak of.”

Krishna’s arms folded around her.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then softly:

> “I have been called God.

I have held the wheel of time.

But no one… no one has ever said that to me.”

She looked up.

Her eyes weren’t glowing.

They were simply kind.

> “I forgive you.”

And something ancient inside Krishna finally exhaled.

---

In the cave, Bhima stirred.

Draupadi turned in her sleep.

But neither woke fully.

They just felt something…

lighter.

---

Krishna held Agnika close.

And for once, in all his lifetimes, he let someone else carry the weight — even if only for a moment.

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🕊️ End of Chapter 14