Chapter 72: The Leaf That Flew Against the Wind
The storm of Kalapradarshan had passed, but for some, its aftershocks lingered like an ache in the bones.
Rudra had left Hastinapur as silently as he had appeared. A god of fury cloaked once more in silence. With the weight of curses, truths, and shattered illusions behind him, he disappeared without another word. The earth had witnessed his wrath. The royals had felt his judgment. But the one who remained most affected… was not a warrior. Not a prince. Not a sage.
It was a girl with laughter in her voice and questions in her eyes.
Anupriya.
She had returned to her home, far from the granite halls and stone-paved courtyards of Hastinapur. But her thoughts had remained behind—with Shiva the shilpkaar, the silent observer who had once sat beside her. And more so, with Rudra, the raging protector whose voice had shaken gods.
She now knew they were the same.
But the realization did not bring her peace.
—
It had been three days. Three days since she'd returned home. Three days since she last saw him. Three days of hearing his voice in the rustle of trees. Three days of remembering the look in his eyes before he left.
She stood at her bedroom window that morning, chin resting on her palm. The breeze was cool. The trees outside bowed gently under the rising wind. And then… something peculiar happened.
A leaf—golden brown and shaped like a heart—broke from a distant tree. But it didn't follow the wind's direction. It flew against it. Twisting. Floating. Gliding.
Straight toward her.
Anupriya blinked. The wind blew her hair back. The leaf danced closer.
And then—
With a final spiral, the leaf landed on the marble sill. Right beside her hand.
She hesitated. Then picked it up. It was soft… and folded.
She slowly unfolded it. And her breath caught in her throat.
There were words—etched not in ink, but in warmth.
"Meet me at the old Shiv Temple tomorrow morning… if you still think of me as a friend. — Rudra"
Her heart skipped. Then thundered.
She read the message again. And again. And again.
Then, without warning— She pressed the leaf to her chest. And smiled.
—
The next morning, the sun had barely risen when she reached the old Shiv Mandir on the hill. The path was empty. Birdsong filled the silence.
The temple stood ancient and weathered, its stones covered in moss, its Nandi idol cracked but proud. Anupriya stepped onto the cold stone floor, her eyes scanning.
He wasn't there.
She waited.
Five minutes. Ten.
Her heart began to waver. Was it a dream? A mistake? A cruel joke?
And then— A shadow fell beside her. She turned.
He stood there. Tall. Bare-chested. Clad in black-gold dhoti. A Rudraksha garland around his neck. His silver-white hair tied loosely. His eyes… dark yet bright.
Rudra.
He said nothing at first. And neither did she.
They simply stood. Facing one another. He, the storm who silenced kings. She, the girl who had witnessed the storm and smiled anyway.
Finally, Rudra spoke.
"I don't know where to begin."
Anupriya laughed nervously.
"Then begin badly. Just begin."
Rudra smiled.
"When I sat beside you in that arena… I felt something strange. Something I had buried a long time ago. A peace I didn't know I could feel again."
He stepped closer.
"I've seen gods fall. I've heard the cries of dying soldiers. I've tasted hatred and fury. But in your laughter… I felt like I was not just Rudra, the warrior. I was Rudra, the man."
Anupriya's eyes glistened.
He continued.
"When I left the arena… I carried many wounds. Some visible. Some not. But the deepest one… was the thought of leaving you behind without saying what my heart wanted to scream."
He reached into his satchel and slowly opened his palm. A small, radiant golden pigeon fluttered out. Its feathers shimmered like the morning sun. Its eyes sparkled with life.
It landed on Anupriya's shoulder and cooed gently.
She gasped.
"What is this?"
"A creature I crafted," Rudra whispered. "It carries a part of my Prana. It will guard you. Guide you. And if ever you call for me… it will bring me to you."
Anupriya held the pigeon gently.
"It's beautiful."
"So are you," he said.
She looked up, startled.
"I don't know what love is supposed to feel like," Rudra confessed. "But if it's this… this ache, this madness, this longing to see you smile, to hear your voice—then I must be drowning in it."
Tears welled in her eyes. She stepped forward.
"I don't know what this is either. But every time I close my eyes, I see you. I hear your silence. I feel your pain. And I want to be the peace your battles forgot."
He touched her cheek. Her fingers rose to meet his.
For a moment, the world paused. The birds stilled. The wind held its breath. Even the old Nandi seemed to watch.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"No," she smiled. "But I'm not afraid."
And then—
Their foreheads met. Their hands intertwined. And in that sacred Shiv Mandir, beneath the gaze of eternity, they found the beginning of something neither war nor destiny could erase.
—
They sat together for hours. Talking. Laughing. Watching the sky change colors.
He told her of Mahishmati. She told him of her childhood. He promised her she would never be alone again. She promised him she would walk through fire, if it meant standing beside him.
And the golden pigeon chirped happily between them.
Just before parting, Rudra's voice softened again.
"Anupriya… I know it's sudden. But I want you to relocate your family to Mahishmati."
She blinked. "What?"
"I will arrange the land. Mahishmati is flourishing. The capital needs honest trade, and your father's merchant guild will thrive there. It's not just for business… I want you near me. Where I can protect you."
Her throat tightened.
"You mean…?"
"I mean, I don't want this to end at one temple meeting. I want to walk every sunrise with you."
She nodded, wiping a tear.
"Then we'll come. Not just for business. But for you."
—
As she descended the temple steps that evening, the world felt brighter. Her footsteps lighter.
Above, Rudra watched her until she disappeared into the horizon. He turned to the temple. Knelt. And whispered:
"Thank you, Paa. Thank you, Maa. For giving me something to protect again."
—
Far away, as night descended, the golden pigeon perched by Anupriya's window. Its glow never fading. Its wings ready. Its purpose… divine.
Chapter Ends.