Chapter 19: What She Should Not Remember

The cave had grown colder.

Not from the wind.

Not from the weather.

But from something unseen.

Agnika stopped laughing that morning.

She no longer chased Sahadeva’s carved animals, or pulled at Bhima’s beard, or curled into Draupadi’s lap to hear stories.

She just… sat.

Her eyes didn’t shine.

They stared.

As if watching something far away.

Something awful.

---

“Is she sick?” Draupadi asked, cradling her.

“She’s warm,” Bhima said, placing a hand to her forehead. “But not burning.”

“She hasn’t spoken today,” Yudhishthir whispered.

“She hasn’t blinked,” Arjuna added.

Nakula waved a wooden toy in front of her face.

No reaction.

Sahadeva leaned forward. “I don’t think this is illness.”

“She’s remembering again,” Krishna said softly.

---

That night, Agnika thrashed in her sleep.

---

A battlefield.

Screams. Fire.

A chariot torn in half.

Karna falling, arms outstretched, calling for mercy.

---

A wheel.

Half-buried in mud.

Hands trying to lift it.

A god looking away.

---

A boy.

Trapped inside a circle of warriors.

Screaming for his mother.

No one comes.

> “Ma…”

---

A woman.

Dragged by her hair.

Eyes full of fire and shame.

Her voice echoing—

> “Will no one save me?”

---

A grandfather.

Lying in a bed of arrows.

Alone.

Forgiving everyone.

Even those who betrayed him.

---

Blood.

So much blood.

It seeps through her fingers.

And the voice of a conch shell…

> Long and low.

And full of endings.

---

She screamed.

---

Draupadi woke first, running to her.

“Agnika—!”

The child was shaking violently.

Tears poured from her eyes, but she didn’t seem awake.

Bhima rushed over. “What’s happening?!”

“She’s not burning,” Sahadeva said, touching her forehead, trembling. “But she’s—she’s boiling.”

“She’s breaking,” Krishna said softly.

The others looked at him.

“She’s too small,” he said, kneeling beside her.

> “The memories are coming faster now.

Too many stories.

Too many ends.”

---

Agnika whimpered.

Then clutched at her chest — a fist curled tight.

As if something inside her heart hurt.

She gasped.

Looked up at them all.

Eyes unfocused.

But full of knowing.

And said nothing.

Not even “Baba.”

---

Draupadi broke.

Tears streamed from her eyes.

“Please… someone… help her.”

Bhima knelt beside her, pulling Agnika into his arms.

> She didn’t cry anymore.

She didn’t speak.

She just breathed — slow, quiet, fading.

---

“She’s remembering Mahabharat,” Krishna whispered, brushing hair from her face.

“But why now?” Arjuna asked, his voice cracking.

Krishna looked toward the stars.

> “Because the sorrow of the end

always finds its way

to the child born from sorrow itself.”

---

Agnika blinked once.

Looked at Bhima.

Then Draupadi.

Then Arjuna.

Then—

> “Krishna.”

A whisper. Not a word.

More like breath.

Krishna met her gaze.

She didn't blame him.

She just… knew.

---

And as they watched,

The smallest warrior

of the greatest war

began to sleep again—

> Carrying everyone’s grief

in a heart too young

to bear it.

---

🕯️ End of Chapter 19