Where they come to take

The woman did not rise.

She had already done enough standing.

Hidimbā stood by the doorway.

Watching.

Not guarding.

Not welcoming.

The yard held what it held.

Nothing arranged.

By the edge of shadow stood the one they would call Kṛṣṇa.

Not forward.

Not withdrawn.

No one acknowledged the dark one.

---

They arrive knowing what they want

Footsteps.

Two.

Lomaharśana stopped before entering fully.

He knew the ground was not his.

Behind him, Suka did not pause.

He raised two fingers in benediction.

It remained unanswered.

He did not notice.

---

The approach

Suka began.

“The son who chose the lesser side
To stand where weakness asked for aid,
Was marked by fate for greater use,
And thus his mortal course was stayed.

For when the balance tilts too far,
The scale demands a weight removed,
And through that act the field is cleared,
And order stands, by loss improved.”

Hidimbā’s mouth moved once.

Not quite a smile.

The woman did not move.

---

The first refusal

“You will not begin there.”

Suka paused.

Only to correct himself.

“What is given must be named,
Else meaning fails and loss is blind…”

“No.”

The word did not rise.

It stopped him.

---

What they have come for

Lomaharśana spoke.

Careful.

“We do not ask for more than what may be spoken.”

The woman answered.

“You ask for what cannot be returned.”

Silence.

Hidimbā watched him.

He did not look up.

---

The shape they bring

“They will say he chose.”

Suka inclined his head.

“That is known.”

“They will say he gave willingly.”

“Yes.”

“They will say it was needed.”

“Yes.”

The woman’s gaze did not shift.

“They will say it was right.”

Silence.

Suka did not answer.

---

What she will not allow

“You will not make it clean.”

No one moved.

“You will not say he understood more than he was allowed to.”

Hidimbā’s eyes flicked once.

“You will not say this was asked as equals.”

That settled.

---

What is seen

Hidimbā spoke.

Short.

“He stood where he was told to stand.”

The woman:

“He was seen because he stood there.”

Silence.

“And once seen…”

She stopped.

No one finished it.

---

The line

“You will not make use of him.”

No one answered.

“You will not turn him into a step.”

Hidimbā nodded once.

“You will not build from him.”

Suka tried.

Because he knew no other way.

“What is sacrificed becomes…”

The woman:

“Taken.”

That ended it.

---

The bard learns the edge

Lomaharśana spoke.

Low.

“I will not enter where I am not allowed.”

The woman:

“You will not know where that is.”

He lowered his head.

That was closer.

---

The one by the shadow

Nothing had been said.

Nothing needed to be.

Suka looked once toward that presence.

Only once.

Then away.

---

Already being taken

It had already begun.

What would be said.
What would be shaped.
What would be made to serve.

But not all of it.

---

When the dark one speaks

The one they would call Kṛṣṇa stepped forward.

Not fully.

Enough.

We follow.

“They will take this.”

No weight added.

“They always do.”

Silence.

“They will name it.
They will raise it.
They will use it.”

A pause.

“They will not keep it as yours.”

That stayed.

The woman did not look up.

“You cannot stop that.”

No comfort in it.

“But you can refuse to give it.”

Silence.

“That is also part of what remains.”

The gaze softened.

Not pity.

Recognition.

---

What leaves

Lomaharśana bowed.

Not to begin.

To withdraw.

“I will carry what I can without breaking it.”

The woman did not answer.

Hidimbā watched him.

Long enough.

Then, as he turned…

Low.

Almost not meant for him.

“Ahilawati.”

He did not stop.

But he heard.

And he kept it.

---

What holds

Nothing was resolved.

Nothing was given.

But outside…

It had already begun.