In the blue hour before dawn, when the fires of Hastinapura were still embers and the Ganges moved like a dark serpent through sleep, Arjuna sat alone on the cold floor of his chariot. The Gandiva, his great bow, lay across his knees. Its string hummed faintly, as if dreaming of arrows not yet born.
“You killed your brother,” said a voice. mahabharata ramesh menon
“Thirty-six years,” Arjuna whispered to the bow. “Thirty-six years since the river of blood.” In the blue hour before dawn, when the