-: Pancha Vastra :- ( By Shailu )

[shailu4ever]

 
The color of her skin glows with a soft golden warmth, as if sunlight itself has settled beneath her skin.
 
There is something almost heavenly about it.
 
Her face is graceful.
 
The kind of grace that cannot be manufactured by cosmetics or effort.
 
The lines of her cheeks, the calm curve of her lips, the stillness in her eyes, everything about her expression feels composed, balanced, and deeply serene.
 
Beautiful.
 
But not in a loud or obvious way.
 
Her beauty feels ancient.
 
Almost sacred.
 
She is grinding herbs inside a small stone bowl with slow, deliberate movements.
 
Each motion is precise.
 
Practiced.
 
Confident.
 
The quiet rhythm of stone against stone fills the room.
 
Arjun finds himself watching the movement of her hands.
 
Long fingers.
 
Graceful wrists.
 
The simple motion somehow carries a quiet elegance, as if she has performed this ritual a thousand times before.
 
“I’m Mantra,” she says calmly without looking up. “The healer here.”
 
Her voice carries a quiet authority that immediately commands attention.
 
It is soft.
 
But steady.
 
The kind of voice people instinctively listen to.
 
“You’ve been unconscious for three days.”
 
Arjun blinks.
 
“Three… days?”
 
She nods, continuing to mix the herbs into a thick paste.
 
“You inhaled a great deal of smoke. Your lungs needed time to recover.”
 
She pauses briefly.
 
“Your body also seems determined to heal itself very quickly.”
 
Her eyes finally lift to meet his.
 
And for the first time Arjun sees them clearly.
 
They are deep.
 
Dark.
 
Steady.
 
There’s something curious in her gaze.
 
Not concern.
 
Not surprise.
 
More like interest.
 
As if she is studying him.
 
Evaluating him.
 
Quietly measuring something she has not yet decided to name.
 
“We were beginning to wonder when you would wake up.”
 
Arjun tries to sit up.
 
A sharp pain in his ribs convinces him otherwise.
 
Mantra gently presses a hand to his shoulder.
 
Her touch is firm.
 
Cool.
 
Unexpectedly reassuring.
 
“Slowly,” she says. “Your body has been through enough violence for one week.”
 
He sinks back into the pillows with a frustrated breath.
 
“The fire,” he croaks.
 
His voice sounds terrible, raspy and weak.
 
“The granary.”
 
Mantra sets the stone bowl aside and reaches for his bandaged hand.
 
“This will hurt,” she says matter-of-factly.