FIRE AND RAIN

The story of Arjun's life

Krishna had sent him here with a simple instruction: "Go. Learn." Learn what exactly? Krishna hadn’t said. But Arjuna was used to unraveling the mysteries woven into his friend’s words.

Krishna sending Arjuna on side quests like an open-world RPG, lol

https://www.wattpad.com/1527739311-arjuna-through-the-lenses-of-dwarka-the-master-of

The Coconut Saga- Mahabharat crack fic Series Part V

The temple was almost ready. Almost… The garlands were strung up, the lamps were lit, and the rangoli- somehow, miraculously- had survived Krishna’s meddling (that was debatable). Balarama had managed to keep his sanity intact, and Arjuna had been dragged into much chaos, but for once, it seemed like everything was going smoothly.

That was all, until Krishna suddenly stopped in the middle of the courtyard, looking deeply troubled.

“I swear I left it here…” he muttered, scanning the area. Arjuna, who had just collapsed onto the temple steps after hours of work, groaned. “Madhav, I don’t like that tone. What did you do?”

Krishna tilted his head. “It’s not what I did, Parth. It’s what the universe has done to us.” His sakha turned to him, genuinely distressed, “The coconut is missing.”

A long, painful silence.

Arjuna questioned slowly, “What?”

“The sacred coconut for the puja!” Krishna flailed his hands. “It was right here, and now it’s gone!”

The coconut was precious. Oh, the coconut was previous…

The one that was specifically brought, by Vasudeva himself, from the Southern kingdom, that coconut was missing.

Arjuna stared at him, unblinking. Then, slowly, he inhaled. “Madhav,” he began, his voice calm, measured, dangerous. “You had one job.”

Balarama, passing by, immediately turned back around sensing chaos. “I don’t have the patience for this.”

Arjuna, however, was done. He sat up so fast his back cracked.

“The coconut did not have legs to walk away.” His hands flew to his head. “Where is it!? You were told to keep it with you all the time. It was the reason why I was doing all your work. YOU. JUST HAD. TO. KEEP. IT. Where is it Madhav???”

Krishna smiled at him. That infuriating, infuriating smile.

“That, dear Arjuna, is the mystery.”

“It's not a mystery! Keshava, It’s a disaster!”

Krishna, meanwhile, was suspiciously unbothered. Arjuna turned to him sharply. “Did you… Did you eat it?”

Krishna gasped, deeply offended. “Parth! How could you suspect me of such a thing? I did not! I just left it here, right behind th--”

Then, from behind them, came a soft crunching sound.

The duo turned slowly.

There was Subhadra. Munching.

She just blinked at them.

Krishna was the first to speak. “Bhadre,” he began with forced calm, “do you have any idea what you have done?”

Subhadra, mid-chew, looked at them blankly. “I was hungry.”

Arjuna made a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a scream.

“Hungry!?” He threw his arms up. “HUNGRY!? it took weeks to get that coconut from the south! WEEKS, MADHAV! WEEKS! not to mention Vasudeva-ji himself got it!”

Krishna stroked his chin. “It did, didn’t it?”

Arjuna whirled on him. “You knew this, and you left it out in the open!?”

“Technically,” Krishna mused, “it was the universe that left it there.”

“I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND.”

Balarama, who had just returned from checking on the priests, stopped mid-step when he saw Arjuna pacing in a panic, Krishna looking suspiciously thoughtful, and Subhadra chewing.

He stared at them. Then at the half-eaten coconut. Then back to them.

“…I don’t want to know,” he said, turning away.

“YOU HAVE TO KNOW!” Arjuna ran up to him, grabbing his shoulders. “SHE ATE THE PUJA COCONUT!”

Balarama closed his eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out. Then he turned to Krishna.

“Fix this,” he ordered.

Krishna’s eyes sparkled. “Of course, dear brother. We will retrieve another coconut.”

Balarama crossed his arms. “Good. You have half an hour.”

Arjuna froze. “What?”

“The puja starts in half an hour.” Balarama’s expression was deadly serious. “I suggest you run.”

Arjuna bolted from the temple, dragging Krishna with him.

“Do you know where to find another sacred southern coconut, Madhav?”

Krishna, despite being yanked at terrifying speed, smiled serenely. “No, but I enjoy a challenge.” Arjuna nearly threw him off the road they were running on.

The first stop was a bustling market stall.

"Do you have a coconut?" Arjuna demanded, breathless. The merchant blinked. "Of course my prince, we have plenty-"

"FROM THE SOUTH!?"Arjuna added wildly.  The merchant frowned. "That’s… oddly specific."

Arjuna slammed a bag of gold on the counter. "DO YOU HAVE IT OR NOT?"

"…No?" Arjuna turned to Krishna. "Madhav, what now?"

Krishna picked up a random coconut, inspected it, and shook his head. "The energy is all wrong."

Arjuna threw his hands up. "The energy? IT’S A COCONUT! Govind, your brother is gonna have our head."

The merchant stared at them, utterly confused.

Again the chase restarted, they ran down the street, only to find Satyaki standing with a group of traders.

“Satyaki!” Arjuna gasped for breath. “Please tell me you have a coconut from the South.”

Satyaki raised a brow. “Why?”

Arjuna looked at Krishna. Krishna looked at the sky.

Krishna, smiling: “Let’s just say, the puja is in danger.”

Satyaki narrowed his eyes. “What did you two do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Arjuna snapped. “Subhadra ate the coconut.” Satyaki gasped. Then laughed so hard he had to lean on a cart for support.

Arjuna grabbed him. “DO YOU HAVE ONE OR NOT?”

“Why would I—AH!” Satyaki ducked as Arjuna nearly tackled him. “Alright, alright! Maybe I know a trader who has imported coconuts—”

“WHERE!?”

Satyaki pointed down the street. Arjuna was already running while dragging his Madhav along him.

By the time they reached the trader, they were out of breath.

“Co-Coconut…” Arjuna panted. “From the South.”

The trader frowned. “I don’t sell them these days, but I think my grandmother has one-”

"WHERE IS SHE?"

A bit shocked at the usually composed Gandhivdhari, the trader replied, taken aback, "She’s taking a nap at our house. It’s the one behind the Banyan tree."

With a quick Thank you, Arjun was back at it- dragging Krishna towards the house.

Arjuna grabbed Krishna. Both princes looked hassled and disheveled. "Madhav, you’re good with elders- people in general- FIX THIS."

Krishna knocked politely and, in the softest, sweetest voice, convinced the grandmother to part with her precious coconut.

Arjuna could have cried. He grabbed the coconut, his Sakha, bowed, and RAN. With only minutes left, they stormed back into the temple.

The temple courtyard was a whirlwind of activity, priests bustling around with offerings and flowers, the scent of sandalwood and incense heavy in the air. Devotees whispered their prayers, oblivious to the chaos that had just unfolded outside.

And then- Arjuna crashed in.

Barefoot, wild-haired, clothes disheveled, Krishna’s arm clenched in one hand, and absolutely breathless, but victorious.

He lifted the coconut above his head like a war prize. “WE HAVE IT!”

The head priest turned, completely unfazed. He took the coconut without a word, inspecting it with a casual nod before handing it off to an assistant. As if Arjuna had not just been on the verge of divine ruin.

Arjuna stared. “…That’s it?”

Krishna, as pristine as ever, smoothed his sash and beamed. “Ah, Parth, what a delightful adventure this was.”

Balarama, who had been watching this unfold from the side, sighed deeply. He had long given up trying to make sense of his younger siblings’ antics but today had been particularly exhausting.

He shook his head. “I don’t even want to know what happened.”

Arjuna ran a hand through his wild curly hair. “Good. Because I don’t want to relive it.”

And then, from the temple steps, a quiet crunch.

The three of them turned slowly.

There sat Subhadra. Casually popping another piece of the old coconut into her mouth.

She blinked up at them. “Well, that was fun.” She tilted her head, looking genuinely amused. Then, without a word, she reached behind her and casually tossed something at Balarama.

A perfect, untouched coconut.

The real one.

The one Vasudeva had gone through great pains to acquire.

Silence.

Balarama caught it instinctively and stared at it like it was an illusion. Krishna’s eye widened in realization, and he smiled. Arjuna froze.

Subhadra brushed her hands off, looking smug. “I never said I ate the puja coconut. This one was just from the kitchen.”

She turned to glare at Krishna, “This is what you get for ruining my Rangoli, my loving Bhratashree” Then, she bounced back to the temple to help the elders with the puja as if nothing ever happened.

More silence.

Krishna chuckled. “Well, well, Parth, it seems we went on an adventure for nothing.”

Arjuna felt his soul leave his body as, beside him, Balarama rubbed his temples. “I have no words.”

The One Who Holds My Reins

Oh Krishna, my dearest Madhav, I have seen my god in you- Your blue-hued gaze holding the vastness of the universe, The stars themselves moving at your silent command. Oh Keshava, my dearest Madhav, You weave fate with the flick of your wrist, Yet hold my reins with hands steady, patient, kind. You gather the shards of my broken mind, And in your embrace, I am whole again. I have heard your laughter, bright as rivers in spring, I have seen your stillness, deep as oceans before the storm. And now, I breathe your name- A prayer not spoken, but felt in the marrow of my soul. Hai Parameswara, Hai prabhu, You have lifted the veil from my eyes, Shown me dharma, my path, my truth. This war is no longer about me, my pride, my sorrow- It is the weight of the world, the will of time itself. Oh Janardana, father of the universe, In one breath, I bow down to you, Yet such is your simplicity, that in another breath- I can crumble into my sakha’s arms Oh Govinda, for your cause- I would shatter a thousand bows, a thousand destinies. And when the dust of war settles, When the echoes of battle fade into silence, It is not victory or defeat I will remember- But the chariot’s wheels turning beneath your steady hands, And the voice that called me back to myself.

picture from Pinterest

@mona-prithey please let me know if I'm doing this right. I'm very uneducated in terms of tumblr

@aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna @sambhavami @mona-prithey @friend-shaped-but @lime-at-z

 A friend threatened me to repost so I will!

Basically, there r tons of fake asses on tumblr who just want comments and followers, so someone started this to see who's actually a good friend. Everyone I tag better repost (and tag other people and preferably threaten them in a creative way as well) bc I'm high on caffeine and newfound lesbianism and will resort to violence.

@ey-theys-was-coronas

@fangirlhehe

I would tag more people but they're the only ones I've really interacted with-

Shakuni Mama aur Shraapit Seedhiyan- Mahabharat crack fic Series Part I

The halls of Hastinapura had seen countless battles, both in the court and on the training grounds. They had witnessed the thunderous steps of warriors, the hushed whispers of conspiracies, and the resounding laughter of carefree princes. But on this particular afternoon, the halls bore witness to something truly unforgettable-something that would go unspoken in formal gatherings but live on in the hearts (and suppressed laughter) of the Kuru princes for years to come.

It all started, as many disasters did, with Bhima.

The young Pandava, already a force of nature at his age, had just been dismissed from his lessons along with his brothers and cousins. The elders-Bhishma, Guru Drona, and Shakuni-were leading the way down the long, grand staircase that connected the higher halls to the central court. It was a staircase worthy of its royal residents: steep, wide, and polished to a near-miraculous shine by the tireless palace attendants.

And, as it turned out, far too polished.

Bhima, unwilling to walk like a normal human being, decided to sprint up the last few steps. Why? No one knew. Perhaps he was racing an imaginary opponent. Perhaps he had just remembered that lunch was being served soon. Perhaps he was simply Bhima.

Regardless of his reasons, the results were catastrophic.

The moment Bhima reached the top, his sandal betrayed him. It slipped-a treacherous, traitorous little movement that sent his foot skidding out from under him. The great warrior-to-be flailed, arms windmilling, desperately grasping for anything to steady himself.

Fate, ever the mischievous force, provided him with something.

Shakuni’s cloak.

For a brief, glorious second, Shakuni was not a man.

He was a spectacle.

One moment, he had been walking with his usual air of practiced elegance, his fine robes flowing behind him as he engaged Bhishma in conversation. The next moment-he was airborne.

His feet lifted clean off the ground, his arms flailed, and his mouth opened-but no words came out, only a stunned, undignified gasp. His turban, that ever-present symbol of his regal composure, tilted precariously to one side.

And then, gravity remembered him.

Shakuni descended.

Not gracefully. Not heroically. Not with the composed dignity of a statesman. No, he rolled.

His long cloak, the very thing that had betrayed him, tangled around his legs, turning what might have been a simple fall into a grand, tragic performance. His staff, once held with the poise of a master strategist, clattered ahead of him, announcing his descent like a herald announcing a king’s arrival-except this king was tumbling helplessly down a flight of stairs.

First, he lurched forward. Then, he twisted midair. Then-thump, thump, thump-down he went, step by step, his arms flapping wildly in a last, desperate attempt to regain control of his fate.

The grand staircase of Hastinapura had never seen such an event before.

And it would never, ever see one like it again.

At the top of the stairs, the young Kuru princes froze.

This was a moment of great crisis.

Not because Shakuni might be injured-no, that was secondary. The real crisis was not laughing.

Duryodhana and Arjuna made the fatal mistake of looking at each other. Their expressions, which had started as carefully composed masks of concern, cracked immediately.

Nakula and Sahadeva stood as still as statues, the effort of holding back their laughter written all over their faces. Sahadeva was biting his tongue. Nakula’s shoulders were trembling.

And Yudhishthira-oh, poor Yudhishthira-looked as though he was suffering the torments of the gods themselves. His hands were clenched into fists, pressed against his mouth as he struggled desperately to maintain some semblance of dignity. His eyes were wide, pleading with the heavens for strength.

And Bhima?

Bhima, the root cause of this disaster, was trying to be the responsible one. He stepped forward, schooling his expression into what he probably thought was a look of deep concern.

“Shakuni Mama,” he said, in a voice that was just a little too strained, “are you well?”

It was a valiant attempt.

Unfortunately, his voice cracked halfway through.

The effort to suppress their laughter reached its breaking point. Duryodhana’s lips twitched. Arjuna coughed violently. Nakula turned away, pretending to examine a very interesting section of the wall.

The entire hall was silent.

The ministers, the soldiers, the attendants-everyone was holding their breath.

Bhishma, ever the composed patriarch, stroked his beard and nodded thoughtfully, as though he had just witnessed a fascinating philosophical lesson unfold before him. Guru Drona, to his credit, maintained his usual impassive expression, though his fingers twitched ever so slightly.

And then-Shakuni rose.

The fallen prince of Gandhara stood, slowly and shakily.

With the precision of a man who refused to acknowledge what had just happened, he adjusted his turban, straightened his robes, and calmly dusted off his shoulders.

Then, in a voice so controlled it could have been carved from stone, he declared:

“I am perfectly fine, mere bachche”

He paused.

Then, with a pointed look at the offending staircase, he added, “The stairs, however, are treacherous.”

Silence.

And then, Bhishma, in his infinite wisdom, gave a sage nod.

“Indeed,” he said gravely. “The stairs are quite polished.”

The princes lost their battle.

Yudhishthira turned away, his entire body shaking. Duryodhana let out a strangled noise that could have been a cough-or a suppressed howl of laughter. Nakula buried his face in his sleeve. Sahadeva looked like he had physically left his body to avoid the disgrace.

And Bhima?

Bhima covered his mouth, his shoulders heaving.

Shakuni, either unwilling or unable to acknowledge the suffering of his audience, simply gathered what was left of his pride and walked away.

He did not stalk off in anger. He did not rage or scowl. He merely left, as if nothing had happened, as if his descent down the grand staircase of Hastinapura had been a deliberate choice-an elegant, calculated maneuver.

But from that day on, the young Kuru princes knew.

And every time Shakuni passed by, if Bhima happened to look at him for just a little too long-

Bhima would cough.

And immediately pretend to be deeply, deeply interested in something else.

Holi hai bhai holi hai- Mahabharat crack fic Series Part IV

The streets of Dwarka were alive with color. At the heart of it all was a chase: a glorious, chaotic chase that had the entire city stopping to watch.

Pride of the Kurus, the mighty Arjuna ran.

He darted through the palace courtyard, his once-pristine white garments a casualty of the festival’s wrath.

Arjuna, draped in his usual pristine white, had been an easy target from the start. It had taken only moments for the Yadavas- led by none other than Krishna himself- to turn him into a masterpiece of colors. His, once immaculate angavastram now bore splashes of deep crimson, streaks of gold, and bursts of bright blue and green. A particularly enthusiastic handful of pink dust had settled in his curls, softening the sharp angles of his face, giving him a boyish charm that was almost at odds with his warrior’s presence.

Yet, Arjuna still looked striking, perhaps even more so now, with his usual regal bearing exchanged for the infectious laughter that lit up his face.

Behind him, Krishna pursued, a wicked grin stretching across his already color-streaked face, his hands overflowing with more vibrant powder. The midnight glowing skin of his was almost indistinguishable beneath layers of color, yet it failed in hiding that other worldly beauty.

His eyes gleamed with unbridled mischief, and his hands were filled with yet more powder- deep blue in one, a bright golden hue in the other. He moved effortlessly, leaping over fallen water buckets, sidestepping laughing Yadavas, his grin widening as he closed in on his prey.

"Parth!" Krishna called, laughter spilling from his lips. "You cannot outrun me forever!"

"You underestimate a desperate man!" Arjuna shot back, weaving through a group of revelers. "I have survived wars! I can survive this!"

The gathered Yadavas roared with laughter, cheering for both the hunter and the hunted. Some had even started taking bets, while others, like Satyaki and Pradyumna, shouted helpful (or not-so-helpful) advice.

"Arjuna, surrender with dignity!" Satyaki called out, shaking his head in mock pity.

"Or keep running! I have money on you lasting a few more minutes!" Pradyumna added.

"Parth!" Krishna called, laughing as he almost tripped over a toppled pot of water. "Why do you flee? Come, accept your fate!"

"You are my fate!" Arjuna shot back, twisting around a pillar to dodge Krishna’s reach. "BUT today you are my doom!"

The gathered Yadavas: Satyaki, Pradyumna specifically howled with laughter.

Arjuna, nimble as ever, made a sharp turn, only to skid to a stop when he found himself cornered. The steps to the temple loomed ahead, and blocking his escape was none other than Subhadra, arms crossed, grinning as if she had been waiting for this exact moment. Her golden complexion glowed more with the Kumkum smear on her cheeks.

"Swami...." she called sweetly. "Going somewhere?"

"Yes…" Arjuna said, eyes darting between her and the approaching storm that was Krishna. "Away!"

"Not today," Subhadra said, stepping aside just enough to leave him no option but surrender.

Before Arjuna could react, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind.

"Got you!" Krishna whispered, laughter laced in his voice.

Arjuna let out a half-laugh, half-yelp as he felt himself yanked backward against Krishna’s chest, trapped. He tried to twist free, but Krishna’s hold was firm, his hands pressing against Arjuna’s waist in a way that sent a burst of color from both of their stained garments into the air.

"No, no—Krishna, wait—!"

But Krishna had no mercy.

He smeared the powder directly into Arjuna’s cheeks, his fingers pressing streaks of blue and gold into his skin. Then, with gleeful abandon, he ran his hands through Arjuna’s already ruined curls, making sure no part of his dear Parth was left untouched by color.

The Yadavas erupted into laughter and cheered as Arjuna squirmed in protest, sputtering through the onslaught.

"M-Madhav- you absolute menace!" Arjuna managed between gasps of laughter.

By the time Krishna was done, Arjuna was unrecognizable, his entire being transformed into a walking celebration of color.

The watching onlookers erupted into cheers, some pounding their fists on the ground in mirth. Even Balarama, who had initially stayed dignified, let out a hearty chuckle.

Arjuna, wiping his face and spitting out some of the powder that had managed to get into his mouth, glared at Krishna. "You planned this."

Krishna grinned, leaning lazily against a pillar. "Oh, Parth, I merely ensured you enjoyed the festival to its fullest."

"You attacked me!"

"I included you."

Arjuna groaned, running a hand through his thoroughly ruined hair, which only resulted in more color streaking down his face. But despite his grumbling, there was laughter in his eyes, and the boyish smile that broke across his lips only made him look even more endearing.

 He turned to Subhadra, who was doubled over laughing, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

"You enjoyed that far too much," Arjuna accused, looking at her with his loving smile.

Subhadra beamed at him, utterly unapologetic. "Watching my husband be defeated by my brother? Arya, How could I not!"

Krishna clapped a hand on Arjuna’s shoulder, his own fingers leaving fresh streaks of orange behind. "Come, Parth. We are one color now. Let’s celebrate properly."

And with that, he dragged Arjuna back into the revelry, as Dwarka cheered for their favorite mischief-makers.

If it were a sport, I would be an Olympian✨

if indian dumb charades was a sport, I'd have 23482 gold medals in it

✨INTRODUCTION✨

Namaste!! aap ka swagat hai, devi aur sajjano🙏

I've come to the stark realization that I've never introduced by myself properly. I still don't know how to use tumblr properly

I'm Yami. You can call me Yumjum, Yams, even Yami or whatever you want. I'm a student, and have no time, but still enough time to write occasionally.

I kinda enjoy writing about Mahabharata. It helps me cope with life. Please do note that I am no expert in Mahabharat, religious texts, or writing in general. So most, no all, of my stories are creative renditions and stories.

That being said, here are some of my works:

WATTPAD PROFILE:-

Prank gone wrong

Arjuna: Through the Lenses of Dwarka

The Archer Remade

Mahabharat crack fic Series

Shakuni Mama aur Shraapit Seedhiyan

Bhima and his mighty arms

Arjuna: 3, Yadavas: 0

Holi hai bhai holi hai

The Coconut Saga

Udderance

One shots

Merchants of Dwarka

Echo's of a life lived

Swept Away

Just a little longer

The sword

POEMS

FIRE AND RAIN

Bed of Arrows

The One Who Holds My Reins

Echos of a life lived- More thoughts

The mountain had taken the last thing he had left-his pride in himself.

Yudhishthira will not turn back for me.

The thought should have angered him. It did not.

He is still walking. Still moving forward.

Perhaps that was how it was meant to be. Yudhishthira had always been ahead of him, carrying burdens none of them could fathom. He would make it to the gates of heaven. He deserved to.

Arjuna had never been meant to reach the end, and maybe that was alright.

Because for all his regrets, for all his failures, he had also lived.

He had lived in the rush of battle, in the whisper of bowstrings, in the heat of the chase. He had lived in stolen moments, in Draupadi’s gaze, in Krishna’s laughter, in the arms of his children. He had lived in love and rage, in grief and triumph.

And now, he was falling.

But he was not afraid.

The sky blurred into the earth, the wind howled in his ears, and Arjuna- Pandava, warrior, brother, father- closed his eyes.

And let go.

casually binge reading your Mahabharat crack series, making me giggle and kick my feet :333

hehe thanks sweetheart