तुम नमक नहीं चंदन हो कवि तुम तिलक हमारे

As Arjuna plummeted toward his fate, his mind was a storm of regrets and unanswered questions- yet woven through the sorrow was the undeniable truth of all he had lived for.

Arjuna had died long before his body ever fell.

He had died the day he placed his grandsire on a bed of arrows. He had died the moment he first saw his son's lifeless body.

And truly, he had stopped living the day his Madhav left him.

What was left for him in a world where Krishna did not walk?

Somewhere along the years, through war and bloodshed, he had always known-he would not die on the battlefield. Despite his name being synonymous with it, despite his life being defined by it, war had never been his final fate. His end was meant to be something quieter, something lonelier.

As he fell, the jagged rocks tearing through flesh and bone, his life did not flash before his eyes in a blur of bloodstained memories. No, instead, he saw the moments that had made life worth living.

The first time he held a bow, the wood smooth beneath his hands, his heart hammering with certainty-this was his calling. Pitamah's hand rested on his shoulder, firm yet gentle. "Steady, Arjuna. A warrior's hands must never tremble." And in that moment, with Bhishma's unwavering faith in him, he had never felt stronger.

"You remind me why I became a teacher, Arjuna," Guru Drona had said, resting a hand on his head, after the first time he struck the eye of a moving target. Just those words, simple and rare, had meant more to him than any title or prize.

The way Subhadra had laughed when she took the reins, wind whipping through her hair as they rode into the night.

The way Draupadi had looked at him that day in Kampilya-steady, knowing, fierce-as if she had chosen him long before she ever placed the garland around his neck.

He had been so tired for so long.

Wattpad

Arjuna: Through the Lenses of Dwarka - Echo's of a Life Lived

Read Echo's of a Life Lived from the story Arjuna: Through the Lenses of Dwarka by yumjum414 (kya hai jindagi) with 88...

For the boy who was loved- Balarama POV

Balarama chuckled from his post beneath the tree. It was rare to see his brother-in-law like this: unguarded. Soft. He was always sharp-edged, always honed like a blade in Khandava's fire. Yet, it was not a rare sight in Dwarka or Indraprastha. Arjuna was always gentler around his brothers. His wives. His Krishna.

But with Abhimanyu, he was a different kind of gentle. With Abhimanyu, Arjuna melted- not like steel in flame, but like snow in morning light. There was no guard, no pride to uphold, no dharma too heavy to carry. Just a father, stretched out on sun-warmed stone, listening to his son ramble about horses and formations and the fastest way to take down an elephant from behind.

He watched as Arjuna scooped the boy into his arms and dropped to the ground with him in a heap of laughter and mud. "You'll make a fine warrior one day," Arjuna murmured, ruffling the boy's wet hair, "but you'll be even greater if you learn to smile through the battle."

"You'll be proud of me?" Abhimanyu asked, eyes wide.

Arjuna paused for a moment- then touched his forehead to his son's.

"My boy," he whispered, "proud would be too small a word."

He never forgot that moment.

Which is why, when the messenger arrived: dirt-caked and shaking, lips too dry to form the words...Balarama already knew.

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

"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)

How does one make their Wattpad story look so pretty?? Also any Arjun-centric stories I can read???

Help me. My stories just look dull, and I, for the love of god, can't find good photos or anything to make it more pretty.

Please give me suggestions. How do I make my work more pretty? Also should I shift to ao3? I've never used it but it intrigues me.

Also, are there any good Arjuna-centric stories or fics I can read? My mind is in a block these days and I wish I could read some stories to restart my mind?

A silence passed. Then Sahadeva smiled at him: warm, resolute. And just like that, Arjuna was struck. It was the same smile: unchanged, yet completely transformed. He remembered it from a lifetime ago, from when Sahadeva had barely reached his waist, toddling after him in the gardens of Shatasringa with sticky fingers and wide, eager eyes. That same quiet confidence, tucked behind innocence back then. Now it was sharpened with wisdom, with hurt, with years they should not have had to live through.

His baby brother. All grown now. Steady. Reliable. Speaking words that could anchor the drifting.

A breath hitched in Arjuna’s chest. A memory flickered- small hands tugging at his bowstring, soft laughter echoing through marble corridors, a tiny voice asking, “Will I be like you one day, Dada?”

He blinked, and that child was gone. In his place stood a man: weathered, watchful, fierce in his quiet love.

A tremble touched his voice. “When did you grow so much?”

Sahadeva simply said, “While you were carrying all of us.”

Arjuna had no reply to that. Only the weight of gratitude, guilt, and the ache of time’s quiet theft.

So he stepped forward, pulled Sahadeva into his arms, and pressed his forehead gently to his youngest brother’s temple: just like he used to, when thunder kept the child awake. His Chandan tilak brushed against Sahadeva’s skin, faint and fragrant- as though Arjuna were leaving a piece of his soul behind, tucked in the hollow of his brother’s being. And for a moment, the world softened around them again.

“We’ll keep this family breathing until you return. Trust me.”  Sahadeva whispered. “Trust me.”

Wattpad

The Archer Remade - The Fire That Walks

Read The Fire That Walks from the story The Archer Remade by yumjum414 (kya hai jindagi) with 38 reads. bheem, bheema...

Bhima and his mighty arms- Mahabharat crack fic Series Part II

The first thud was loud enough to make Arjuna pause mid-sentence. The second thud had Nakula looking up from his polished sword. The third thud made Sahadeva slowly, carefully, close the scroll he was reading. The fourth thud- accompanied by the ominous clinking of golden rings being stripped off thick fingers- had all three of them turning toward the source. Bhima. He was smiling. That was a problem. "You know," Bhima said pleasantly, as he slipped off his armlets and tossed them onto the growing pile of discarded ornaments. "I usually let things go." No, he did not. "I mean, I am a reasonable person." He unfastened his necklace, an impressive piece of gold that clattered onto the table. "Patient, even." Yudhishthira, who had been pretending not to be involved in this mess, shut his eyes. He knew where this was going. He had long accepted that he was doomed to suffer through his younger brothers' antics for as long as he lived. "Bhima," he tried, rubbing his temples, "please." Bhima ignored him. He held up a single finger, dangerously cheerful, as he removed his last ring and set it down with a delicate tap. Then, very deliberately, he cracked his knuckles. "Which one of you," he said, still smiling, "said I wouldn’t be able to carry all three of you at once anymore?" There was silence. Then... "It was Nakula," Arjuna said immediately, shifting slightly behind Sahadeva. "Excuse me?" Nakula turned, scandalized. "It was not! It was you, Bhrata Arjun!" Sahadeva, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat. "It was actually both of you. And technically, I believe I agreed." "Traitor," Nakula hissed. Bhima exhaled through his nose, looking far too delighted for anyone’s comfort. "So that’s how it is, huh?" A beat. Then three things happened at once: Arjuna bolted. Nakula lunged for the door. Sahadeva tried to take the high road and stay put, but immediately regretted it when Bhima lunged. Somewhere in the chaos, Arjuna yelled, "HE CAN STILL DO IT! HE CAN STILL DO IT!" as Bhima caught all three of them in an unbreakable grip. Nakula screeched in outrage, Sahadeva resigned himself to his fate, and Yudhishthira pressed his forehead to the table, done with all of them. And across the room-lounging on a divan, eating grapes: Krishna was laughing so hard he almost fell over. "Oh, this is delightful," Krishna wheezed, wiping at his eyes. "Do it again, Bhima, I wasn't watching properly the first time." Bhima did do it again. Just for Krishna. By the end of it, all three younger brothers were thrown onto a pile of cushions, Bhima stood victorious, and Yudhishthira wondered, not for the first time, why he had been born the eldest. Krishna, still grinning, leaned toward Yudhishthira and whispered, "At least they are affectionate." Yudhishthira stared blankly at him. Then, with the last shred of dignity he had, he got up and left the room. He needed a break. Perhaps a lifetime-long one.

Later that evening, after the chaos had settled and Yudhishthira had successfully escaped the madness (for now), Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva sat nursing their bruised egos and sore limbs.

Bhima, still smug, was polishing off the last of his sweets while Krishna watched with open amusement.

Nakula, who had finally tamed his hair again, crossed his arms. "I still want to know who told Bhima about this in the first place."

Arjuna frowned, rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah, I mean… we said that days ago. When did he find out?"

There was silence as the three of them thought back. Then, slowly, all eyes turned to Krishna.

Krishna smiled.

"You didn’t," Arjuna groaned.

Krishna popped a grape into his mouth. "I may have."

Sahadeva blinked. "Why?"

"Because it was funny," Krishna admitted, with absolutely no shame. "You three, gossiping like little parrots, questioning Bhima’s strength? How could I not tell him?"

Bhima laughed, slapping his knee. "See? Even Krishna agrees! I had to remind you all who the strongest is!"

Nakula gaped at him. "You threw us across the room!"

"And yet," Bhima grinned, "I could have thrown you further."

Arjuna slumped back dramatically. "We are doomed. We have been betrayed."

Sahadeva, ever practical, exhaled. "To be fair, we did doubt him."

Krishna pointed at him. "See? At least one of you has some wisdom."

Bhima patted Sahadeva on the head. "Good little brother. You, I like."

Sahadeva swatted his hand away. "You like throwing me into furniture!"

"That too."

Arjuna leaned toward Krishna. "You are the problem," he accused.

Krishna rested his chin on his hand, eyes twinkling. "Oh, Parth, my dear, my dearest, I am always the problem. You should know this by now."

Arjuna groaned again and let himself fall back onto the cushions.

FIRE AND RAIN

The first time I saw her, I was clad in disguise, Betrayed by the ones we called family, Bound by my mother’s words- You brothers will suffice. Yet I stared, amidst the kings and princes of Bharatvarsha, Where steel and pride were woven thick, Where men sought glory, aiming at the near impossible. Yet there she stood- unshaken, unmoved, Born of fire, a flame no storm could quell. Her hair, a river of endless midnight silk, Her lotus eyes, a single glance, and hearts would tremble. Yet in their depths, my gods… Not a maiden’s dream, but a warrior’s strength. Gold and diamonds adorned her form, Yet they dimmed before her radiant glow. For she was not the moon’s borrowed light, She was the brimming fire of a sacred Agni Kunda. Then she walked, and the air grew still, A hush of petals upon a royal garden, The world inhaled the scent of a lotus dream. Oh, but she was not soft alone, Thunder echoed in the step of her stride, A tempest roared within her veins. She, a no mere flower, But a storm waiting to rise. I, the son of Indra: you, the blessing of fire. Would I be the bow or the arrow you set to flight? Would I ever know the strength that shapes the storm, The brilliance of her fearless light? I am but a Brahmin in disguise, Standing before a flame that will not bend. And in her gaze, I glimpse a path, A journey that will never end.

I'm supposed to finish assignments but my mind is elsewhere...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Swept Away ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Arjun and Chitrangada story)

Disclaimer: This is a work of PURE FICTION. None of it has happened in the real epic. Also, THIS IS A WARNING- MATURE CONTENT EXPLICT SCENES AHEAD. Although it's my first time writing such a spicy story, I've tried my best to keep it subtle and... Idk, please let me know if it doesn't make sense. I think I'll stick to the comical stuff after this.

I really wanted soft boi Arjun with the ever commanding Chitrangada. I also need more Chitrangada stories, please recommend me some if there are any good ones. The portrayal of Chitrangada was inspired by a chapter from @desigurlie's lost moment- Upturned fates. Her work has always fueled my obsession✨

Again, WARNING- ⚠️⚠️⚠️MATURE CONTENT AHEAD⚠️⚠️⚠️-

He had commanded legions.

His name echoed across Aryavarta like a hymn of war and wonder.

He had crossed untamed lands, brought kings to their knees, and claimed victories that echoed through the ages.

Yet now, the very same man lay on silk, wrists loosely bound above his head: not by force, but by choice, his own choice.

His skin glistened, flushed, marked by her full mouth and her hands. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sandalwood, and the only sound was his breath: ragged, hungry, waiting.

 It almost seemed like he was the inexperienced one.

Chitrangada stood at the edge of the bed, watching him like a predator watches its prize- not with cruelty, but with absolute control. Every part of her radiated authority. From the tilt of her chin to the slow, deliberate way she approached him; like she owned every inch of the room.

Every inch of him.

“Tell me what you want,” she said, voice low.

Arjun, turned to look at his lioness. Her skin, sun-kissed and battle-tested, glistened with sweat and shone rich bronze. Her strong arms, Oh how strong yet small against his own hands.

Her eyes, gods her eyes: dark as storm clouds, shaped like almonds. They held the clarity of someone who had seen both battlefield and betrayal, saw straight through armor and ego alike.

Her hair, long and raven-dark, was usually tied back, but when loosened, it fell like a warrior’s banner. Her very being the embodiment of power- grace woven into every stride, commanding in stillness, and utterly unafraid.

He smiled- not cocky, but soft, reverent. “You. However you want me, my queen.”

“Mine,” she said against his skin.

“Yes,” he breathed, arching into her. “Always.”

When her nails scraped down his arms and left blooming marks of possession, he gasped her name like prayer. Then, blinking up at her with those maddeningly amber eyes, he gave a crooked grin. "Should I be worried you’re branding me now, Rajkumari?"

Chitrangada arched an eyebrow, lips curving into something dangerously amused, "You're lucky I’m not carving my name into your chest."

Arjuna chuckled breathlessly, still pinned beneath her. "At least make the script neat. I have appearances to keep."

She didn’t move gently, she moved like a storm claiming the sea, fierce and beautiful, unstoppable. And Arjuna- her husband met her every motion with soft cries, body shaking beneath the woman who refused to let him disappear behind titles or legend

She crawled over him like a flame licking up dry wood, and he shuddered when her fingers traced the lines of his chest.

“You’re not afraid to give me control?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Arjuna met her eyes with that infuriating, intoxicating calm. “Chitra, my dearest, I’ve held the weight of kingdoms on my shoulders. But nothing feels heavier than your gaze when you choose me. I’d give you everything.”

He wasn’t afraid of surrendering to her: he thought of it as an honor.

She leaned down and bit gently at his lower lip, just enough to make him groan. “You’ll regret that.”

He chuckled, then gasped as her hands claimed him again. “Only if you stop.”

Then, she kissed him like war, like conquest, like she was here to take everything and leave him grateful.

Arjuna gasped against her lips as she pushed him down again: one hand against his chest, the other sliding his arms up above his head with purpose. Her thighs straddled his hips, bare and strong, the weight of her both grounding and dizzying.

“Chitra…” he breathed, but the rest of her name broke into a moan as her mouth moved to his throat.

Gods.

He had faced demons, kings, god- and yet nothing had ever left him so undone as this woman untying the knot at his waist with maddening ease.

She wasn’t gentle tonight. She was hungry.

Her husband- wielder of Gandiva, breaker of sieges- offered himself up without resistance. Not because he was weak, but because she was strong. And nothing aroused him more than watching her own it.

Her dark, obsidian hair, that had unfurled like a waterfall, created a curtain to cover their kisses and the slap of skin against skin.

“Keep your hands where they are,” she whispered. His muscles flexed with the effort not to move. He could easily take control. Flip her beneath him. Take the reins. But he didn’t want to, gods he didn’t.

He wanted her to have him.

She moved like a queen claiming what was hers, every roll of her hips purposeful, every sound she dragged from his throat another trophy. And he gave them willingly. He gave her everything.

Arjuna’s breath caught as her nails scraped down his chest. His eyes fluttered open just enough to see her above him- glowing in the lamplight, body curved in power, eyes consuming him.

“Look at you,” she whispered. “So beautiful like this. My prince. Mine.”

He couldn’t speak; his throat was a tangle of devotion and desperation. He only nodded, eyes glassy with pleasure, hands still bound above him.

She rode him like she knew the rhythm of his soul. When release came, it shattered him. Not violently- but reverently.

Like the sky cracking open to reveal light.

He collapsed beneath her, body trembling, mind blank, lips parted. When she finally untied his wrists, kissing them gently, he wrapped his arms around her and held her like she was the only anchor left in the world.

"Tell me, Arjuna," she said, her voice low and teasing, her eyes gleaming with amusement, "do you always let yourself be so... swept away? Or is it just when I’m the one leading you?"

Arjuna, still catching his breath, let out a soft chuckle, his head lolling slightly as he gazed up at her with a mix of exhaustion and admiration. His skin was flushed, and the faint traces of a smile played on his lips as he tried to find the energy to respond.

"Well," he said, voice raspy, yet playful, "I must admit... you’ve certainly got a way of leading me." His amber eyes twinkled as he lifted his hand lazily, brushing a lock of her hair from her face. "Though, if I’m being honest, I don’t need much convincing. I’m easily swept away, especially when I’m in such... good company."

Chitrangada raised an eyebrow, her smirk only growing as she leaned in closer. "Easily swept away, you say? I suppose that makes my job easier then."

Arjuna rolled his eyes dramatically, his tiredness catching up with him in waves, but the charm in his words never faltered. "Well, if this is what ‘swept away’ feels like, I think I could get used to it. Though I might need a bit more rest before I can do it all over again."

Chitrangada laughed softly, her gaze softening as she admired him. "Don’t worry, my hero," she teased, her hand resting against his chest. "You’ve earned your rest."

Arjuna sighed dramatically, letting his head fall back against the pillows, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. "I think I’ve earned everything," he muttered playfully, closing his eyes for a moment. "But I suppose... I could let you lead me again when I’m feeling up to it."

Chitrangada smiled at his words, leaning down to kiss his forehead, the soft affection in her gesture contrasting with the earlier fire. "Rest now, my prince. I’ll let you get back to your charming self... for now."

Yashoda's Ode

They let me stand at the edge of the crowd, behind gold-cloaked queens and guards of flame. He didn’t see me- or maybe he did- and smiled the same. They say he is a prince now, son of kings and ancient light, cradled not by calloused hands, but by the silks of royal right. They say he wears a peacock crown, he holds a bow, commands the skies- but I remember muddy feet, and milk-white teeth in mango lies. They speak of battles, of demons slain, of chariots and warlike men- but I recall my Lala, the butter thief, who’d smile and steal my heart again. He left with eyes too old for boys, too knowing for his tender years. Yet when he touched my feet to go, he left his smile, and took my tears. No labor bore him from my womb, no birthmark bound us, blood nor bone- but when he called me Maiya once, I knew no love more fierce, more known. I nursed no prince, no god, just raised a child- the sweetest boy the world has known. With scraped-up knees and endless, laughing songs, Years slipped by like your whispers, soft and wild. If Devaki birthed the god, then I raised that boy to be one. No cradle held him like my arms. No storm outshone his laughing hour. I taught him how to tie his sash, to whistle low, and climb trees. I taught a god to eat with both hands- Oh, I taught a god to eat with both hands. Devaki stood with the pride of dawn, her hands soft-folded, eyes gone wet. And I? I smiled too,  because I know she grieves the years I can’t forget. So let them say he saves the world, let them crown and call him wise- I only hope he eats enough, and still looks up at the stars. Some nights, I wake with silence in my arms- no flute, no laugh upon the breeze- but every morning, I still stir his curds and Makhan with memories. So go, my moon, my flame, my very breath- be what the world must call divine. But if your feet should wander home… your Maiya waits, her old arms still wide.

Art by @saranagati.art from Instagram