The grey skies descended a fog upon the Kingdom of Tejuk.
The mountain slopes beneath it were covered with dead bodies – bodies of both Bharatiya soldiers and the Hayacree. No less than an hour ago this was a battle-field that had witnessed four days of war. The Hayacree were a persistent lot, their intent being fueled by unreasonable hate and a doctrine bound to violence previously unheard of. They had a larger frame compared to the soldiers of Bharata. Their blades were broader and heavier. Their madness was unmatched.
The kings of Bharata had sniggered in sly when Arjuna declared his will to protect Tejuk.
At present the only ones standing were his men.
Severely injured, but still standing.
Arjuna looked at his trusted generals – all of them tired, beaten by the hours of war and barely having any armor left on their body. The wound to Arjuna’s left shoulder was now reeking of a foul stench. He coughed out blood and wiped it almost immediately; it smeared a little across his beard. His vision was beginning to blur.
Arjuna looked to the sky.
‘…where are you, Kanha?’ he thought. ‘Look, the war has been won…’
A single ray of sunlight cracked open the expanse of grey, like a divine fire that tore through the dark clouds of gloom.
Arjuna stood embraced in its warmth.