Bed Of Arrows

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 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

The Archer Remade: The Parting- Sneak peek

“You gambled us away,” Bhima had roared days ago, chest heaving, eyes blazing with something Arjuna had never seen in him before- betrayal. “You gambled her. You gambled me, Jyestha. Say the word and I’ll thrust this hand into the fire. Let it burn. The same hand with which you wagered everything without asking!”

Yudhishthira had not flinched.

“Do it, Bhima. If that will bring her peace.”

It was not defiance. It was surrender.

But Bhima’s fury had collapsed into grief. He had stood, trembling, knuckles white with restraint. Then he turned and walked out into the night.

I'm writing a new story! Yayyy!!! The draft is finally complete!!! A peek to the first chapter :)

"Kya hai Zindagi"

It's the question "Violence" and the answer is Yes.

I'm quite new to tumblr and REALLY I don't know how things work (I hope this is replying to you and not going into a void) but yes the answer is yes (most times)

The Sword

It had started, oddly enough, with failure.

Arjuna-yes, that Arjuna- had all but dropped his sword in the first lesson. Not misplaced. Not handed it over politely. Dropped it. Right in front of Acharya Drona.

The sword clattered like a gong struck too hard, bouncing once on the sun-baked stones and landing neatly at Drona’s feet. Arjuna winced. He was eleven. Mortified.

Drona hadn’t moved. He stared at the boy, eyes unreadable.

Arjuna, cheeks flaming, bent to retrieve it.

“Pick it up again,” Drona said, voice as smooth as dry flint. “Try again.”

No sighs. No comfort. No dismissal.

Just a command from his Acharya and Arjuna bowed his head and obeyed.

The bow had come naturally; it felt like it belonged to him before he ever touched it. But the sword? The sword was different. Intimate. Rebellious. Too close. It demanded something else from him…

Grit?? Grit he hadn’t yet named, but would come to know well. So, he decided to conquer it.

Not out of spite. Not even out of ambition.

He just didn’t like the feeling of losing.

By the end of the week, he’d snapped five wooden swords in half. The servants started hiding the practice ones. By the end of the month, Drona had stopped offering encouragement and simply begun showing up- arms crossed, silent, watching.

In the evenings, when the other princes wandered off to dinner or drowsy afternoons, Arjuna stayed back, panting in the dust, swinging again and again. Sand stuck to his elbows. Sweat soaked through his kurta. He never complained.

“Faster,” Drona would say.

So, Arjuna would try. Bleeding palms, shaking legs- he would try.

He was small, still growing into his limbs, quiet in ways that unnerved even Bhima. But when he moved- when he moved- it was like memory. Not the clumsy rhythm of boys mimicking heroes, but something older. Something remembered in the bones.

Drona saw it early, before the others did.

Before Bhima laughed at Arjuna’s scowl when he lost footing. Before Yudhishthira began smiling after each of Arjuna’s lessons. Before Karna appeared, brilliant and burning, to challenge everything they thought they knew.

Arjuna learned to parry by candlelight. Practiced forms in his dreams. Drona once caught him miming strikes against his own shadow, alone beneath the stars.

He trained with Bhima’s heavier sword, tied sandbags to his wrists, swung through rain until his arms trembled.

Once, when Drona caught him practicing by moonlight, the torchlight casting shadows like dancing ghosts, he asked dryly, “Why are you still up?”

Arjuna didn’t stop, “Because I still don’t like how it feels in my hands.” He paused, flashed a grin. “But soon I will.”

Drona didn’t smile often. But that night, he very nearly did.

-----------------------------------------------

Nakula was spying again.

He would call it “observing,” of course. For educational purposes. Strategic even. Definitely not “lurking under the shade of a pomegranate tree while your overly talented brother glowed like a demigod in motion.”

Arjuna was in the courtyard, training... Like always… Sword in hand, light on his feet, moving with that fluid, maddening grace of his. There was no other word for it. He made swordplay look charming.

It was the worst. Nakula sighed dramatically and plucked a guava from a nearby branch.

He didn’t hate how good Arjuna was- no one did. You couldn’t. It was like hating the sun for rising. But sometimes, just sometimes, Nakula wanted to throw a sandal at him. Lovingly. Supportively. A sandal full of affection.

He watched as Arjuna spun, then halted in a perfect guard position.

Perfect, of course.

“Show-off,” Nakula muttered fondly around a bite of guava. Arjuna looked up. “Nakula,” he called, without turning. “I can feel your glare from here.”

“Wasn’t glaring,” Nakula said, hopping off the low wall. “I was admiring. Huge difference.”

Arjuna wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “You’re always admiring me these days. Should I be concerned?”

“Only if it goes to your head,” Nakula quipped, strolling over. “Which it already has. In fact, your head’s so swollen, I’m amazed it doesn’t throw off your balance mid-spin.”

Arjuna grinned. “Careful, or I’ll make you spar with me.”

“Threats. How loving.” But Nakula held out his hand, and Arjuna, without hesitation, passed him the sword. Nakula staggered under the weight.

“Are you training with Bhima’s sword again?”

“I like the resistance,” Arjuna said casually. “Helps with wrist strength.”

“You need help?” Nakula asked sweetly. “After only four hours of training this morning?”

Arjuna rolled his eyes but smiled. “You wouldn’t understand. You were napping through most of it.”

“I was conserving energy. In case I needed to, I don’t know- rescue you from a particularly dramatic hair-related duel.”

“Once,” Arjuna groaned. “You bring it up once, and it haunts me for years.”

Nakula snickered, then shifted into a stance; feet shoulder-width apart, blade angled down. Not perfect. Not terrible either.

Arjuna stepped behind him and adjusted his shoulders. “You’ve been practicing.”

Nakula didn’t look at him. “A bit.”

“You could ask me to teach you.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Nakula mumbled. “You already train enough.” Arjuna blinked. “Bother me? Nakula, I taught a monkey to climb trees last week because you told me it looked sad.”

Nakula snorted. “You didn’t!”

“I did. You know I did!” Nakula turned, grinning. “Alright, fine. Teach me, O great monkey-whisperer.”

Arjuna mock-bowed. “With pleasure.”

They trained until the sun dipped low. Arjuna taught patiently, correcting with humor. Nakula asked questions. Snuck in jokes. Got whacked once with the flat of the blade for laughing too hard when Arjuna stumbled over a rock.

And through it all, Nakula felt something bubble in his chest, warmth. Not jealousy. Not even the need to compete.

Just the simple, honest desire to be good enough to stand beside his brother.

Not behind him. Beside him.

So that someday, on some battlefield or in some moment that mattered, Arjuna might look at him and nod, not because he had to, but because he meant it. Because Nakula had earned it.

At last, Arjuna clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re improving fast.”

“I’m charming,” Nakula said. “And secretly brilliant.”

Arjuna grinned. “Not so secret anymore.”

They stood together in the golden dusk, laughter fading into quiet. The sword felt lighter in Nakula’s grip now. Nakula raised the sword again, testing a stance. Arjuna adjusted his footwork without a word, smiling.

And just for a moment, Nakula imagined them side by side on a real battlefield someday; not as brothers trailing behind legends, but as legends together.

That would be enough. That would be everything.

तुम नमक नहीं चंदन हो कवि तुम तिलक हमारे माथे का

You are not salt but chandan, poet. You are the tilak of my forehead.

Damn bruh, if someone told me this, I would be in tears... what a beautiful line

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.”

✨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

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

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.