The festival was alive with vibrant colors, music, and laughter. The streets were lined with bright lanterns, casting a golden glow over the bustling crowd. Melodic tunes from flutes and veenas filled the air, blending harmoniously with the rhythmic beats of dhol drums. The scent of spiced sweets and fragrant flowers intertwined, creating an intoxicating atmosphere of celebration.

Subhadra’s face lit up with joy as she ran ahead, her anklets jingling with every step. “bhrata kritavarma, look! The dancers!” she gasped, pointing at a group of performers twirling gracefully in the town square. Their ghungroos jingled in perfect rhythm, their colorful skirts spinning like blooming flowers.

Before Kritavarma could respond, she had already dashed forward, clapping her hands in excitement. The lead dancer, a young woman in a golden-orange saree, smiled at Subhadra’s enthusiasm and reached out her hand. “Come, little one, dance with us.”

Subhadra’s eyes widened. “Can I?” she asked, turning to Kritavarma, who sighed but nodded.

The moment she got permission, she eagerly joined the dancers, mimicking their steps with surprising grace. She twirled, clapped, and laughed, her silver anklets chiming as she moved. Kritavarma watched with a soft chuckle, arms crossed over his chest. Even though she was still small, there was no denying she had the presence of a princess—graceful yet full of life.

After a while, Subhadra ran back to him, slightly breathless. “That was fun!” she said, grabbing his hand. “Let’s go see the game stalls next!”

They wandered through the festival, stopping at different stalls. The game booths had various challenges, Subhadra was determined to win.

“I will get this one for bhrata krishna!” she declared, pointing at a small wooden carving of a cow, representing krishna love for cattle.

She confidently threw the rings, missing every single time.

Kritavarma chuckled. “You might need to try again.”

Subhadra frowned, placing her hands on her hips. “I think this game is unfair,” she grumbled but tried again anyway. After several attempts—and a few coins from Kritavarma—she finally won a prize. “Ha! I did it!”

As they continued walking, Subhadra admired the jewelry stalls. She picked out delicate bangles, sparkling waist chains, and shimmering hairpins. “This one is for Mata Rohini… this one for Mata Devaki… oh! This would suit bhabhi Revati!” she mused aloud, carefully selecting gifts.

Kritavarma patiently carried everything she picked. “You’re very thoughtful,” he said.

Subhadra smiled. “Of course! Everyone should get something from the festival.”

By the time they finished shopping, Kritavarma was struggling with the number of bags in his arms. Meanwhile, Subhadra only held a small pouch of sweets, happily munching on one.

Just then, the cheerful atmosphere was disrupted by a commotion nearby. Raised voices, hurried footsteps—a small crowd was gathering in the distance. Kritavarma’s sharp eyes immediately turned toward the source of the disturbance.

He frowned. “Wait here.”

Subhadra looked up at him, still holding a piece of candy between her fingers. “Where are you going?” she asked, sensing the sudden change in his demeanor.

“There is some trouble,” Kritavarma replied. “I will take care of it.”

He scanned the area and spotted a nearby saree stall, run by an older man and his wife. Their stall displayed beautiful fabrics in deep reds, golds, and blues, shimmering under the lantern lights.

Approaching them, Kritavarma reached into his pouch and placed a few gold coins in the shopkeeper’s palm. “Can you watch over the girl for a moment?”

The elderly man and his wife nodded immediately. “Of course, young man.”

Subhadra was gently guided to sit between them. The elderly woman smiled kindly at her. “You have a beautiful smile, little one,” she said.

Subhadra giggled. “Thank you! My Bhrata says I shine like the moon!”

Kritavarma carefully placed the shopping bags beside her. “Stay here. I will be back soon.”

Subhadra nodded, swinging her feet as she watched him walk toward the crowd. But as soon as he disappeared, she frowned, her excitement from earlier dimming.

“Why is there always trouble when things are fun?” she muttered under her breath.

*****

At that moment, her mind was occupied with something far more important—choosing the perfect sarees for her family.

She turned to the elderly shopkeeper’s wife with eager eyes. “Mata, do you have sarees with patterns?” she asked, her voice soft yet filled with anticipation.

The old woman smiled warmly, pleased by the little girl's refined taste. “Ah, you have a keen eye, dear one. We do indeed.” She reached into a wooden trunk behind her stall and carefully unfolded a beautiful pink saree, embroidered with golden lotuses that shimmered under the festival lanterns.

Subhadra gasped, her eyes lighting up. “This one is perfect for Mata Rohini!” she exclaimed, running her small fingers along the fabric. “She likes soft colors and delicate patterns.”

The woman chuckled. “Your Mata is lucky to have such a thoughtful little one.”

Subhadra beamed before turning her attention to another saree—a deep blue one with silver embroidery. “This one will look beautiful on Mata Devaki.”

She continued picking sarees, carefully considering each choice. When she was finally satisfied with her choices, she pulled out a small pouch. Carefully, she placed several coins on the counter. “Here. For all of them.”

But the old man shook his head, smiling kindly as he pushed the coins back toward her. “No need, dear child. The man who left you here—your guardian—has given us more than enough.”

Subhadra frowned. “But… it wouldn’t be right. I chose so many…”

The elderly woman let out a soft chuckle, patting Subhadra’s head gently. “It is fine, little one. Consider it a gift from us.”

Before Subhadra could insist, a group of customers arrived, eager to browse the sarees. The couple turned their attention to them, leaving her sitting quietly on the wooden bench between them.

She swung her legs back and forth idly, letting her gaze wander across the festive scene. The warm golden glow from the lanterns flickered against the bustling marketplace, casting long shadows on the ground. The sounds of laughter, drums, and distant flute melodies intertwined in the air, creating an enchanting atmosphere.

Just as she was about to unwrap another piece of sweet, her ears caught the sound of a conversation from a nearby food stall.

A group of men sat together, enjoying heavy platters of rice, lentils and spiced meats. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard, leaned forward and asked, “Hey, didn’t you say you traveled to Indraprastha before? Tell us about it.”

The man he was speaking to, a younger traveler with a confident smirk, nodded and set his clay cup down. “Ah, Indraprastha… a sight to behold! A city so grand, it looks like it was built by the gods themselves! The Pandavas are mighty warriors, but the one who shines brightest there…” He grinned. “It’s their queen—Draupadi.”

Subhadra’s ears perked up, and she leaned slightly forward, listening more intently.

“She is unlike any other woman,” the man continued, his voice laced with admiration. “Bold, fearless, and as stunning as the rising sun. There is a reason she is called Krishnaa, the one with a dark, radiant complexion.”

The other men hummed in agreement.

The storyteller’s expression turned serious, as if sharing something sacred. “Once, I witnessed a moment that felt divine. Queen Draupadi stood side by side with Rajkumar Arjun and Vasudev Krishna. The three of them together, like celestial beings descended upon the earth.”

Another man leaned in, intrigued. “They look like family, don’t they?”

“They do,” the storyteller agreed. “All three have that same deep complexion, that aura of power. When they stood together, it was as if they were meant to be side by side.”

The man beside him nodded. “Well, the Pandavas are Vasudev Krishna’s cousins, after all. Maybe he treats Queen Draupadi like a sister more than just a friend.”

Suddenly a strange, uncomfortable sensation settled in Subhadra’s heart.

Why did that bother her so much?

Before she could understand her own feelings, another man spoke. “Speaking of that, Vasudev Krishna has siblings, doesn’t he? Shriman Balram, of course. He is famous for his strength and his pale, ivory-white complexion.”

“And what about his sister?” someone else asked.

The man shrugged. “I don’t know much about her. But since she’s here with Shriman Balram, I heard some people caught a glimpse of her. They say she has bright skin, completely unlike Vasudev Krishna.”

Another man chuckled. “That’s ironic, isn’t it? The real siblings of Vasudev Krishna look nothing like him.”

Laughter erupted from the group.

Subhadra sat frozen, her small hands trembling slightly.

She had never thought about it before.

Her Bhrata Krishna was praised for his deep, enchanting complexion. His skin was described in poetry, compared to monsoon clouds, to the blue lotus, to the very essence of divine beauty. It was part of what made him special, what made him Vasudev Krishna.

And she…

She was nothing like that.

People had always called her pretty, but now, a realization was sinking into her heart like a heavy stone. If she didn’t look like Krishna… did that mean she didn’t belong beside him?

Did that mean he didn’t see her as truly his sister?

Would people always think of Draupadi as his real sister because they looked alike?

A lump formed in her throat, and suddenly, the sweets in her hand didn’t taste as good anymore.

The bright lights of the festival seemed to blur as her vision grew misty. Her tiny fingers gripped the fabric of her simple cowherd attire, twisting it tightly as if trying to ground herself.

Somewhere in the crowd, Kritavarma was still dealing with whatever had caught his attention.

But in this moment, sitting alone, surrounded by the echoes of laughter, Subhadra felt small.