#sahadev

[yumjum414]

Shakuni Mama aur Shraapit Seedhiyan- Mahabharat crack fic Series Part I

The halls of Hastinapura had seen countless battles, both in the court and on the training grounds. They had witnessed the thunderous steps of warriors, the hushed whispers of conspiracies, and the resounding laughter of carefree princes. But on this particular afternoon, the halls bore witness to something truly unforgettable-something that would go unspoken in formal gatherings but live on in the hearts (and suppressed laughter) of the Kuru princes for years to come.

It all started, as many disasters did, with Bhima.

The young Pandava, already a force of nature at his age, had just been dismissed from his lessons along with his brothers and cousins. The elders-Bhishma, Guru Drona, and Shakuni-were leading the way down the long, grand staircase that connected the higher halls to the central court. It was a staircase worthy of its royal residents: steep, wide, and polished to a near-miraculous shine by the tireless palace attendants.

And, as it turned out, far too polished.

Bhima, unwilling to walk like a normal human being, decided to sprint up the last few steps. Why? No one knew. Perhaps he was racing an imaginary opponent. Perhaps he had just remembered that lunch was being served soon. Perhaps he was simply Bhima.

Regardless of his reasons, the results were catastrophic.

The moment Bhima reached the top, his sandal betrayed him. It slipped-a treacherous, traitorous little movement that sent his foot skidding out from under him. The great warrior-to-be flailed, arms windmilling, desperately grasping for anything to steady himself.

Fate, ever the mischievous force, provided him with something.

Shakuni’s cloak.

For a brief, glorious second, Shakuni was not a man.

He was a spectacle.

One moment, he had been walking with his usual air of practiced elegance, his fine robes flowing behind him as he engaged Bhishma in conversation. The next moment-he was airborne.

His feet lifted clean off the ground, his arms flailed, and his mouth opened-but no words came out, only a stunned, undignified gasp. His turban, that ever-present symbol of his regal composure, tilted precariously to one side.

And then, gravity remembered him.

Shakuni descended.

Not gracefully. Not heroically. Not with the composed dignity of a statesman. No, he rolled.

His long cloak, the very thing that had betrayed him, tangled around his legs, turning what might have been a simple fall into a grand, tragic performance. His staff, once held with the poise of a master strategist, clattered ahead of him, announcing his descent like a herald announcing a king’s arrival-except this king was tumbling helplessly down a flight of stairs.

First, he lurched forward. Then, he twisted midair. Then-thump, thump, thump-down he went, step by step, his arms flapping wildly in a last, desperate attempt to regain control of his fate.

The grand staircase of Hastinapura had never seen such an event before.

And it would never, ever see one like it again.

At the top of the stairs, the young Kuru princes froze.

This was a moment of great crisis.

Not because Shakuni might be injured-no, that was secondary. The real crisis was not laughing.

Duryodhana and Arjuna made the fatal mistake of looking at each other. Their expressions, which had started as carefully composed masks of concern, cracked immediately.

Nakula and Sahadeva stood as still as statues, the effort of holding back their laughter written all over their faces. Sahadeva was biting his tongue. Nakula’s shoulders were trembling.

And Yudhishthira-oh, poor Yudhishthira-looked as though he was suffering the torments of the gods themselves. His hands were clenched into fists, pressed against his mouth as he struggled desperately to maintain some semblance of dignity. His eyes were wide, pleading with the heavens for strength.

And Bhima?

Bhima, the root cause of this disaster, was trying to be the responsible one. He stepped forward, schooling his expression into what he probably thought was a look of deep concern.

“Shakuni Mama,” he said, in a voice that was just a little too strained, “are you well?”

It was a valiant attempt.

Unfortunately, his voice cracked halfway through.

The effort to suppress their laughter reached its breaking point. Duryodhana’s lips twitched. Arjuna coughed violently. Nakula turned away, pretending to examine a very interesting section of the wall.

The entire hall was silent.

The ministers, the soldiers, the attendants-everyone was holding their breath.

Bhishma, ever the composed patriarch, stroked his beard and nodded thoughtfully, as though he had just witnessed a fascinating philosophical lesson unfold before him. Guru Drona, to his credit, maintained his usual impassive expression, though his fingers twitched ever so slightly.

And then-Shakuni rose.

The fallen prince of Gandhara stood, slowly and shakily.

With the precision of a man who refused to acknowledge what had just happened, he adjusted his turban, straightened his robes, and calmly dusted off his shoulders.

Then, in a voice so controlled it could have been carved from stone, he declared:

“I am perfectly fine, mere bachche”

He paused.

Then, with a pointed look at the offending staircase, he added, “The stairs, however, are treacherous.”

Silence.

And then, Bhishma, in his infinite wisdom, gave a sage nod.

“Indeed,” he said gravely. “The stairs are quite polished.”

The princes lost their battle.

Yudhishthira turned away, his entire body shaking. Duryodhana let out a strangled noise that could have been a cough-or a suppressed howl of laughter. Nakula buried his face in his sleeve. Sahadeva looked like he had physically left his body to avoid the disgrace.

And Bhima?

Bhima covered his mouth, his shoulders heaving.

Shakuni, either unwilling or unable to acknowledge the suffering of his audience, simply gathered what was left of his pride and walked away.

He did not stalk off in anger. He did not rage or scowl. He merely left, as if nothing had happened, as if his descent down the grand staircase of Hastinapura had been a deliberate choice-an elegant, calculated maneuver.

But from that day on, the young Kuru princes knew.

And every time Shakuni passed by, if Bhima happened to look at him for just a little too long-

Bhima would cough.

And immediately pretend to be deeply, deeply interested in something else.

[incorrectmahabharatquotes]

A snippet of a normal day at the Hastinapur playground

Bheem: *yeets Mahodar on the ground*

Mahodar: *starts crying and yelling like anyone would if that happened to them*

Bheem: Why are you crying, I did it to Sahadev too and he's okay.

Sahadev, one of the five demigod freaks of nature: (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Mahodar: *traumatized for life*

(My headcanon for the "canon" childhood bully Bheem is that growing up, the Pandavas played rough. He probably dangled Arjun and the twins off high places by their legs and all they did was giggle and ask to be thrown higher. Since they're all demigods, they have different standards of pain tolerance than normal people. He continued doing that to the Kauravas who are decidedly not demigods and he ended up hurting them every time. Bheem thinks that it's a skill issue. The Kauravas hate him for it and they're valid for that.)

-Mod S

[aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna]

Yudhishthir: when i die, i want to be remembered as the best Chakravarti Samrat

Bheem: when i die, i want to be remembered as the strongest man alive

Nakul: when i die i want to be remembered as the most handsome man to exist

Sahadev:...it is ominous to speak of death so i cease to be out of this conversation

Draupadi: when i die, i know i will be remembered as the wife of one talented, manasvi, woman and four idiot, stupid, men

Krishna and Arjuni: *snorts*

The Pandava brothers:...

Arjuni: when i die—

Krishna: bold of you to assume i am going to let that happen!

[friend-shaped-but]

Chhoti si chiraiyya- part 3

'दे विदाई में तुझे क्या कीमती सामान

When he held Shrutkarma's body Arjun was no longer a person. He had to be supported by Bheem to even stay standing. The sorrow and shame almost crushed him and the Gandiv almost slipped from his hand. Pulling out one of the golden embellishments on the famed bow, Arjun put that piece of gold into the fire.

देजा निन्दियाँ रेन की

Draupadi had nightmares every night.

When she slept, the noise of war greeted her, and when she awoke, it was the deathly silence of the mourners.

When she was not able to sleep at night, she worked. Her eyes watered while reading under the dim light of the lamp, but she kept at it. Nakul shouldn't have to bear the workload alone AND look after Madra on the side.

While working, she dozed off, papers scattered around her head like a halo.

In her dream, a girl and a boy played in a meadow. They laughed as they chased each other, the laughter lapsing into giggles when she was finally able to catch him and tackle him to the ground. After a few minutes of wrestling, he got up and ran towards the flowerbeds. The gardener yelled at them, but what could he say to the prince and princess? The actual king may rule over the land but these two ruled over everyone's hearts. His yells faded into the background as the prince got her flowers and put them into her hair. Draupadi smiled, and ran her hands through the grass.

"Come on, I think they've finished building the swing! You wanted to see it, right?"

"Yeah, Ushna, let's go!"

She ran to the swing and sat down.

"But there's only one swing! What about you?" she asked.

"You know, Jitu and I used to do this, back when we were young," Shikhandi interrupted. "Dhrishtadyumna, stand behind her. That way, there's space for you both on the swing."

Dhrishtadyumna narrowed his eyes, but did as he said, and soon, they were up, up, high in the air, and they were soaring, and everything felt so, so good and happy.

Then the branch snapped and she was- she was falling, and

falling

falling

falling

Draupadi woke up with a start at the sound of the snap.

Her dream would be just that, a dream. Dhrishtadyumna and her would never get another chance at life, at being kids. They would never be able to play like that, with abandon and innocence and-

Later, when Bheem found her, tear stains dotted the expense reports. it seemed she had cried herself to sleep. He carried her to bed and tucked her in, not staying around for when she would inevitably be woken up because of yet another nightmare.

He wasn't strong enough.

सुबहों की ले मुस्कान

It took days, months, even, for Sahadev to tell Arjun the truth.

He hadn't broached the subject at first, avoided the subject when Arjun asked.

"You aren't asking for much, father. Just the truth. It keeps you up at night to not know." Uttaraa said to Arjun as he fidgeted with the edge of Parikshit's blanket. "It's not wrong to want to know,"

"He doesn't say anything when I try to ask him. Every time he dodges the question!" Arjun replied.

"It makes me upset to even think about it! You will be asking him to recount something ugly, and horrible, and- so, so gruesome! No wonder he doesn't want to talk!" she has

"Just now you were saying it wasn't wrong for me to want to know what happened!"

"Oh, it isn't! I am trying to say that this isn't black and white. Ask him, but if he doesn't tell you, accept his answer. That's all you can do,"

Arjun's smile slid off his face like water off a duck's back. When had Uttaraa grown so mature? Where had the girl who asked for the kuru warriors' clothes for her dolls gone? There seemed to be a chasm between them, and Uttaraa, who was so attached to him and would talk Brihannala's ear off, was suddenly so, so withdrawn and barely spent time near him.

He didn't know that every time she looked at him, Uttaraa saw not her father-in-law, but her father, his eye socket spurting blood, his face contorted in pain, and his slashed chest unable to be stitched up. She had love, and her mother and aunts and mothers-in-law fathers-in-law tried their best, and she was so, so grateful, but it felt like there was a gaping hole in her heart that felt like it would never be filled.

भरके अपनी चोंच में

Sahadev gripped the handle of his chair in a vice-like grip when telling Arjun what had happened.

Draupadi was silent, a hand on his knee as his face grew paler and paler as he told them.

Vindhya's head, rolling on the ground. Sutasoma's thighs. Shrutakarma's neck. Shrutasen's arms.

And-

And shatanik.

And when talking about the war, Nakul was usually nowhere to be found.

But that was all they had, now, stories. All they could do was keep talking, keep remembering. Sometimes, talking made them feel better, sometimes it left them unable to speak for

लेजा हम��े प्राण

Her twin had been suffocated with a pillow, she heard. Sometimes, she too, reached up for her neck and face and tried to fight off an invisible foe, only to realize that the pain was some sort of phantom pain, haunting her. There were days when she wished she hadn't forgiven the killer.

Manu and Uttam, pummeled to death.

Shalaka vahini, perhaps the only one who went out in a blaze of glory that night, protecting her husband until her last breath.

And her eldest brother? Tortured and left for dead, but she didn't know who had it better.

छोटी सी चिरैया छोटी सी चिरैया'

There were no two people whose thought processes were alike, that was true enough.

But on that final journey, five people did share one thought.

And their last thought on that mountain, as they fell, was this:

Finally.

[hum-suffer]

Can you write a piece on the relationship between Nakula and Sahadeva? Pretty please 🥺

These are the kind of anons I live for!!!!! Thank you for the ask, and sorry for being so late! I hope you like this

Scars, blood and flesh.

The first scar Sahadev ever has is from Nakul.

It's not a big scar, it's barely the size of half a fingertip, but it's there. Right on the bridge of his nose.

It happens when Sahadev and Nakul are sparring, Sahadev has been asking for Nakul to convince their father to take him to the forest the next time they go to collect fruits and Nakul is tired of hearing the same thing over and over again and for a heartbeat, he forgets himself and pushes too hard and the wood of his lathi breaks skin, instead of resting there in warning.

Sahadev doesn't cry. It's a surprise, considering that he's only five years old, but the boy doesn't weep or wail. The tears fall from his eyes in reaction but he doesn't show the pain.

Madri twists Nakul's ear and yells at him, telling him that he's a coward and he's stupid for hitting his younger brother even in sparring. Kunti tries to hold her back as Pandu tends to Sahadev's nose, Yuddhishthir standing in the tow. Sahadev waves away all of his brothers and climbs in Pandu's lap as Madri yells at Nakul,"He's your brother! Your blood! And he's the youngest of the lot of you and as an elder brother, you should be protecting him from harm, not harming him! Whatever harms him is your enemy!"

Nakul sighs and doesn't reply back to her, bowing his head to show that he's sorry.

Later, when everyone else has gone to sleep, Sahadev turns on his side to find Nakul sitting up, sniffling softly and holding his arms to chest in a pseudo hug, nails digging into his own biceps.

Sahadev sits up too. Nakul seems startled by the moment but quickly wipes away at his eyes and tries to smile at his little twin. "Why are you awake so, Sahadev?"

Sahadev blinks at Nakul. "You're awake."

It seems that the younger one doesn't care to elaborate and that is the answer to Nakul's question. Something softer blows up in his chest like a bubble and Nakul turns his head away.

Sahadev pokes his shoulder. "Do you sometimes wonder if we, as people, have a free will or are we just puppets to the wish of Prajapati, with our karm phal sprinkled in our fate?"

"Sahadev, what are you even talking about?"

"Well, you aren't talking about what you want. I thought that I may talk about what I want." The cheerfulness leaves his and Sahadev smiles softly at his brother. "Talk to me, twin. What are you thinking?"

The tears come back again in Nakul's eyes and he cannot look away from Sahadev's eyes, the stars in his big eyes. Nakul will forever be a slave to Sahadev's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sahadev. I did not intend to hurt you. I lost control of myself. I should not have, I am aware, and I will definitely work better but, please, forgive me." His voice starts cracking halfway through and Sahadev leans on his shoulder, closing his eyes.

"I forgive you, Nakul." He says, voice soft. "I know you would never wish to hurt me. Accidents happen. For that matter, I am also sorry that Mata yelled at you so much."

Nakul shakes his head. "I did deserve it."

Sahadev doesn't deny it.

They fall asleep, Sahadev's nose pressed onto Nakul's shoulder and Nakul's arm around his own shoulders.

Two weeks later, they both realise that the marks on their skin will not go away. Sahadev's nose has a tiny darker patch of skin and Nakul's biceps have crescent shaped scars that are almost invisible unless inspected closely.

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The day Madri and Pandu die, Yudhishthir tries to hold Nakul to his chest and console him but Nakul kneels over and sobs, hitting the ground in his frustration and never realising that he's drawing blood, not until he hears Sahadev throwing up somewhere in the corner and real life comes back to him.

The stain of red blood on his saffron clothes makes him freeze for a moment but he pushes away Kunti and rushes over to Sahadev, who starts to sway dizzily. Nakul is not strong enough, he cannot hold his twin in his hands like this when Sahadev is falling over and they both fall over backwards. Nakul tries to protect his twin— he couldn't protect his mother, his father, he has to protect his remaining family, he has to take care of his little twin— but he fails.

Sahadev lands on a patch of rock and grunts, one of the sharper rocks having broken his skin and formed a cut on his side.

Fascinatingly, Nakul stares at his hand and Sahadev's side and their blood is the same and he knows it, intellectually, hes always known it, but seeing it, at this moment, has Nakul gasping for air.

Their blood is the same. Nakul spilt Sahadev's blood too. Sahadev is coloured in Nakul's blood too. They are the only two people in the world who are the sons of Madri and Pandu, born with the blessings of the Ashwini Kumars.

"Twin," Sahadev mumbles senseless as their brothers crowd around them and bring them water. "We are the same."

Nakul can't help but agree in dizziness.

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The thing about Sahadev's anger is that it's rare, but it's absolutely destructive. Nakul is more likely to snap and snarl at the smallest of things, but Sahadev let's his anger build, shimmer and dance under his skin, scratching the surface every so often.

The first time that Sahadev shouts in front of their family is when Yudhishthir accepts the invite to the Dhyut Sabha.

"Oh, don't give me that!" Sahadev says, strangely condescending,"All of us, our personal servants, our clothes, our chariots, Krishnaa's palquin, the children, their clothes— we have to travel all of that to Hastinapur for a two day stay and come back with all of that? Do you remember how far it is? And Krishnaa has just delivered a child, so has Bhabhishri Shubhadra and Bhabhishri Karenumati, are we really going to leave the state without an emperor just for Dhyut?"

"It's family we are talking about, Sahadev," Yudhishthir tries to speak in that soft tone he's always used for Sahadev only. In some ways, Sahadev is somewhat a child of Yuddhishthir's, the youngest of the brothers. He always has a soft spot. "You must never abandon your family."

Sahadev steps back incredulously. "They abandoned us! Left us to die! Hell, they even tried to kill us! Is that not enough for you, jyeshth?"

Nakul steps forward and wraps his hand around Sahadev's bicep, yanking him back to make him look into Nakul's eyes. "I understand your distress, twin, but enough. Remember yourself."

Sahadev stares at Nakul for a moment, eyes darting all over his face before he yanks his hand back and stumbles back. "My family is not formed of blood, twin. It is formed of tears. And between us, we all shed tears because of them. They did not sympathise with us nor did they do justice by us."

"For Pitamah," Arjun tries to say, "We need to go there to meet him. He hasn't seen his great grandsons."

"Call him here!" Sahadev throws his hands up. "I'll set the room for him by my own hands, hell, I'll go there to escort him here. We live in separate states now, we share no roof with them, stop trying to share our happiness with them! Did they care before insulting our mother or our wife?"

Sahadev doesn't realise he is shaking until Nakul wraps his arms around him, tightly enough that his chest hurts while breathing. Sahadev scratches at his twin in futile effort to make him let go but Nakul holds him fast and close.

He doesn't realise what happens after that, but Nakul is slowly lowering them both to the floor, the glittering red makes it look like they're both kneeling in a lake of blood.

Nakul rocks him back and forth, a hand caressing his hair in a way that hasn't been done in years. Sahadev doesn't remember the last time Nakul raked his fingers through his hair like this. Perhaps before their marriage to Krishnaa. Or before that.

"We are the same, twin," Nakul says as he feels Sahadev sag against him. "One and the same. Tell me. Tell me."

Sahadev feels his hands, previously scratching at Nakul, fall to his sides. "They don't love us. Pitamah keeps comparing jyesth to Pita Shri and it has made jyesth want for the need of his approval, to show that he will never be what Maharaj Pandu was and he will never leave his family." He looks up at his elder brother helplessly. "But we are his family. They're demons, in the guise of family. They will only stop when we are dead. We had our escape, we have our Kingdom now. We can leave. We are allowed. This little piece of happiness. We are allowed to be safe. I don't want to be another Maharaj Pandu. I don't want to leave my children behind to wail for me."

And. That's it.

Their brothers may understand what Sahadev says, but they cannot feel it. Nakul does. Sahadev's nail scratches leave some barely there scars on his sides and back and they burn in the air but Nakul gathers his younger brother in his arms and stays.

Yudhishthir may think of Sahadev as somewhat of his child, but it is not secret that Nakul has always been exactly what Sahadev has needed. And sometimes, the difference between them is much more than minutes and Nakul feels as though he is embracing his child, as Sahadev's head lays on his chest and red eyes look up at him in hopes that he will advocate on Sahadev's behalf and get him what he wants.

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When they are walking up the mountain and Sahadev falls, Nakul is instantly on his knees.

No warrior has been able to bring the son of Madri to his knees, and yet, as his twin doesn't open his eyes, Nakul knees on the white snow and wails. He's begging— to anyone who is listening, his brothers, his wife, gods, demons— he's begging for his twin to at least stay with him a little bit longer.

Sahadev looks old in death, Nakul thinks numbly. The grey in his hair is starker, the wrinkles more prominent. The scar on his nose is still highlighted.

Nakul has lost everything. Father, mother, step mother, other blood relatives, his own son, nephews, his position, power, everything. And yet, the void in him has never been emptier as it is now, when Sahadev's chest is no longer rising and falling.

He has never lived in a world where he has to walk away from his twin.

And perhaps that is the reason, that barely five feet away, Nakul falls down, too. And perhaps that is also the reason, that instead of snow, he feels his twin's arms welcoming him to death.

[blackknight-100]

This fic is written for @ronika-writes-stuff , a very, very belated Happy Birthday to you <3

Bheema growled as they barreled through the dense undergrowth, stumbling across protruding vines. A few paces ahead, Arjuna danced in the rain, fleet and swift and beautiful.

“Angaraj!” he heard his brother call out, “do you not like the rain?”

Duryodhana exhaled noisily beside him. “Is it too much to hope he will slip and fall?”

Bheema agreed with the general sentiment; Arjuna’s antics were getting on his nerves. But damn him if he ever chose his homicidal cousin over his own brother.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He sent Duryodhana a scowl for good measure.

“Actually, I would like an umbrella right now, and a sedan chair, but Arjuna shutting up is an acceptable alternative.”

Bheema called him a cuss word he would never dare pronounce in Yudhisthira’s earshot. His cousin burst out laughing in response.

Karna, who had abandoned any attempts at running, marched up to them. “Wait,” he said, catching Duryodhana by the arm and flapping his hand dangerously close to Bheema’s face. “Prince Sahadeva believes there is a cave close by.”

Bheema stopped, and Duryodhana did the same, leaning against a false ashoka. “Is this belief the result of some tangible evidence or is he doing his mind-manifestation thing again?”

“Oye!” Bheema scowled, swinging his mace up his shoulder, “I’m going to bash your head in.”

Duryodhana rolled his eyes but pushed himself off and Bheema stomped ahead of the sycophant and his king. He was ready to go home.

They marched the remaining hundred paces in silence. Sahadeva and Yudhisthira were huddling under an arched stone structure that once might have been a sprawling temple but was now reduced to a glorified rocky outcrop. Dushashana crouched beside them, close to Nakula. They were shaking their heads hard, fanning out their hair and sending sprays of water everywhere.

“What is wrong with you?” Karna demanded.

“I shook out more water than Nakula,” Dushashana told him proudly.

No, you did not.” Nakula thrust his head out into the rain again and started tossing his hair. “Look at this.”

Bheema rolled his eyes then noticed Yudhisthira taking a deep breath, clearly preparing some new lecture, and cast about for something to say before he began.

“I am hungry.”

Duryodhana stared at him. Arjuna started to laugh, “Are you ever not hungry?”

Bheema, who had blurted out the first thing on his mind in an attempt to distract Yudhisthira, blushed.

Karna hurried them all into the shelter. “It’s wet and cold,” he told Dushashana when the latter tried to drench his hair again. “You are going to forget about this match in half an hour. If you get sick, you will have to lay in bed for a week.”

“Oh, come on,” Dushashana grumbled, but complied.

Yudhisthira held out a hand to Arjuna. “Are you going to get some firewood?”

Bheema watched, a little bemused, as his brother bounded over a fallen log, and turned to Sahadeva. “Where is he going to find dry wood?”

Sahadeva shrugged and smiled. “Have patience brother. He will think of something.”

Bheema curled under the shade, huddling between his brothers. They watched in companionable silence as the rain slowed gradually, the pattering growing softer. Karna and Duryodhana had their heads together, murmuring in low voices. Once in a while there came distant whoops – Arjuna was certainly enjoying his duties.

Of course, because Yudhisthira could never let things be – he turned to Duryodhana and began, “So, how is the construction of the new quarters going?”

Karna jumped and Bheema smirked.

“Oh, pretty good. My mother is going to confirm the patterns on the balustrade today, and all the options look ravishing.” Duryodhana boasted.

“Oh,” Yudhisthira blinked, but was saved from thinking up an answer by Arjuna’s return. Their brother was dragging a dead stag behind him, grinning like he had won Draupadi’s swayamvar all over again.

“Where’s the firewood?” Dushashana asked.

“I forgot,” Arjuna told them.

“You forgot?”

Arjuna shrugged. “Okay, I did not want to. This was more fun.”

Yudhisthira rolled his eyes. Karna got up, stretched, and picked up Sahadeva’s axe, swinging it in his hands.

“No matter, Arjuna,” he said tauntingly, “I am sure you can eat raw flesh like a pisacha. For the rest of us, I will get you firewood.”

“Oi!” Bheema jumped up, clenching his fists, and narrowly avoided a head-on collision with the protruding rock. “You are just jumping to go, aren’t you? This is right up your lane.”

Karna snorted. “It is,” he said, “and you need better arguments if you want to defend your brother.”

And with that last piece of gratis advice, he was gone.

Bheema opened his mouth to continue, but Yudhisthira gave him a glare so stern he was compelled to roll his eyes and settle into sullen silence.

“We should get moving,” Nakula said, after a pregnant pause.

“Where are we?” Duryodhana demanded.

“Shouldn’t you know?” Bheema asked impatiently. “This forest is in your kingdom.”

“Look here-” Duryodhana began, but Yudhisthira intervened once more.

“It’s growing dark,” he pointed out, gesturing to where the patches of sunlight on the ground grew sparser and more diffused. “Maybe we should wait for the morning. We have food and we will soon have firewood. It is going to be safer.”

“It’s going to be boring,” Dushashana complained.

Arjuna shook his head. “I promised Draupadi we would not get in trouble. I vote for morning.”

“There are more of you,” Duryodhana grouched, but he must have agreed to it because he did not fuss anymore.

They fell into pairs – Duryodhana with his brother, the twins together, Bheema with Arjuna, and Yudhisthira the odd one out – and dispersed cautiously to gather materials to make camp.

They were hauling armfuls of underbrush to make their beds when Arjuna nodded behind him into the gloom. “Here he is.”

Karna emerged from the shadow of the trees, bundles of firewood on his shoulder. He took one look at the lumped beds, Yudhisthira’s half-skinned stag and flung the bundles into an untidy heap.

“Are these edible?” he asked Sahadeva, holding out his palm. Bheema spotted a bunch of herbs and some seeds.

Nakula peered over his brother’s shoulder and nodded. “Yes. Good job.”

In a rare moment of civility Karna nodded a vague thanks to the Pandava twins and started arranging the piles to build a fire.

Then, Dushashana ruined the moment (as he was wont to) by asking aloud, “Who is cooking?”

Yudhisthira looked up and offered, “Bheema perhaps?”

Bheema bristled, not because he did not want to cook, but because Yudhisthira had not even bothered to ask him if he was willing to burn a stag for eight people.

“I can’t cook very well,” he announced. “I think someone else had better do it.”

The others stared at him.

“What?” he asked defensively.

Duryodhana shook his head in amazement. “Who are you, and what have you done to Bheema?”

“You dumb thing,” Bheema sneered, “have you finally lost your sight as well as your brain.”

Dushashana rose beside them, but Duryodhana did not even take offence. He was still gaping at him.

“I don’t think,” Nakula began, “anyone expected to see the day when you refused to cook, Bhaiyya.”

Bheema sputtered, half in annoyance and half in betrayal, “Excuse you!”

There was a pregnant pause. Dushashana ventured cautiously, “So… what now?”

Bheema buckled under the pressure of several pairs of eyes and burst out, “Why don’t you do it?”

Karna, who had also stopped whatever he was doing to observe this playing out, stood up, sighed, and ruffled his hair. “Never mind, I’ll do it.”

This declaration was greeted with considerable suspicion by the rest of the group. Even Duryodhana, who had openly supported his then-commoner friend in front of the whole empire and his royal father, now blinked dubiously at him.

“What?” Karna asked, flinging out his arms. “I do know how to cook, you know.”

“I most certainly did not know that,” Dushashana muttered.

“Are you going to poison us?” Arjuna demanded.

Yudhisthira made a shushing sound, and Karna rolled his eyes hard enough to see the back of his head.

“If I decide to kill you, Arjuna,” the King of Anga enunciated slowly, “I will make sure I do it with a bow in my hands and a bow in yours.”

“Oh… um…” Yudhisthira looked taken aback. “Can we postpone all plans of homicide for a few prahars?”

“Sure,” Arjuna and Karna spoke at once.

“Then everything is settled?”

“I don’t want to eat his food,” Bheema told them.

There was a pause. Then Karna got up, swung the stag over his shoulder and glowered at Bheema.

“You know what? Stay hungry.”

With that, he was gone.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You know,” Bheema heard Nakula say, “this wasn’t actually that bad.”

“You sound surprised,” Karna observed.

“Do I?”

Bheema turned around and tried to block out the conversation. Since he had remained firm on his decision and refused to eat, the others had ganged up on him and sent him up a tree to keep watch. He would feel betrayed by his brothers, but he was far too hungry to care.

He heard them eating, and the occasional polite compliment floated between breaks in stilted conversation.

After a while, Sahadeva called out to him, “Bhaiyya, we are done. Do you want me to keep watch now?”

“No,” Bheema called back, although he just wanted to shout, ‘go away.’ “I am not sleepy. I will call you.”

“Huh,” Sahadeva muttered. “Not hungry, not sleepy, refuses to come down from a wet branch – what has happened to you?”

Bheema did not deign to dignify that with an answer. Yudhisthira came by sometime later to inform him that Arjuna had made his bush-bed, but Bheema ignored him as well. All he wanted was food.

Gradually the sounds of the camp quietened down, and the forest came alive. Moonbeams cut through the leaves like shards of glass, and crickets chirped in the night. Bheema heard the distant howl of jackals and shivered a little. His stomach growled.

Bheema looked over to their camp. His brothers lay sprawled over in various degrees of comfort – Nakula and Sahadeva were huddled together like newborn pups, and Arjuna had his head in a rather uncomfortable position on Yudhisthira’s arm. Karna and his cousins appeared asleep as well and Bheema gathered up the courage to venture closer.

The branches creaked and shuffled their leaves as he climbed down, but no one stirred. At the edge was a heap of banana leaves, and it was there that Bheema tiptoed.

Fate was not on his side, however, and when he parted them, he was disappointed to find a morsel of meat so lonely and small that he could not bring himself to eat it.

Someone coughed. Bheema jumped a foot in the air and spun around, heart pounding.

Karna had rolled on his side, watching him with glittering eyes. “Hungry?” he asked.

“No!” Bheema felt his face flame, and lowered his voice, “No, not at all.”

Bheema’s stomach chose that very moment to growl. The other man gave him an infuriating smirk, rolled over and stood up.

“Wait here,” Karna instructed, picking his quiver and bow, maneuvering around sleeping bodies, and disappearing into the forest.

Bheema sat there compliantly, feeling rather upset and a little foolish. He wondered if he should make off with the last piece, but the thought of Karna finding it missing was worse.

There was some rustling, and Karna reappeared, holding up an arrow with a dead rabbit skewered on it. Bheema was not faint-hearted by any means, but he had to turn away from the grisly sight. “What are you doing?” he asked, as Karna added wood to the fire and settled down to skin his kill.

“This is for you.” He held up a hand to forestall his protests. “Starvation is not rebellion; you just end up being miserable.”

“I was not rebelling,” Bheema sulked.

“Sure.”

For a while they sat together in silence – not particularly comfortable, but not hostile either, which was more than what could be said of their previous interactions. Karna cleaned the flesh and seasoned it with more leaves and mounted it over the fire.

Behind them, Duryodhana stirred. “I smell food.”

“It’s not for you.” Karna told him.

“Everything you make is for me,” Duryodhana drawled. “Wake up, Sahadeva, there is more food.”

Bheema expected Karna to take offence, but the other man only smiled, sighed, and handed Bheema the rabbit.

“Might as well get some more,” he clarified in answer to his questioning glance. “Something tells me everyone will be up now.”

And so they were. That night the eight of them feasted once more – with great teasing at Bheema’s expense, until he pointed out how everyone was gorging themselves on their second meal of the night. Afterwards, they lay on their backs in twos and threes, talking quietly.

When morning came, they began their long trek back home. Bheema threw Karna a smile when no one was looking and got a reserved nod in response. Then, Duryodhana turned to Yudhisthira, who was telling them about Indraprastha, and said, “When we get back, would you care for a game of dice?”

[netraa-dotcom]

The Birth of the Pandava Brothers

Siddharth Kumar Tewary's MAHABHARAT

[sofiamerliah]

Why ??

Ch - 2 Have Faith

Amidst the regal splendour of Indraprastha, the grandeur of the palace belied the turmoil within. In the hushed ambiance of the courtroom, where the weight of fate seemed to hang heavy in the air, the Pandavas - Yudhishthir, Bheem, Arjun, Nakul, and Sahadev - gathered with Krishna. Their faces bore the marks of trials endured and sacrifices made amidst the shadows of uncertainty....

Yudhishthir, the epitome of virtue and righteousness, spoke with a voice tempered by the weight of leadership, "O Madhusudan, we have followed the path of Dharma to the best of our abilities, yet we have lost. Have we not been faithful to our duty as warriors and princes?"

Krishna sought out his beloved elder cousin, Yudhishthir. He approached with a gentle smile, yet his eyes held a depth of understanding for the pain that weighed heavy upon Yudhishthir's heart. "Bade Bhaiya," Krishna's voice carried a soothing reassurance, "I see the burden that weighs upon you. But know this, it is not your fault."

Yudhishthir's gaze met Krishna's, a mixture of anguish and resignation clouding his usually serene countenance. "How can I not blame myself? It was my decision and foolishness that led us to this path of exile, of suffering."

With a reassuring hand on Yudhishthir's shoulder, Krishna spoke with conviction, "Fate is a masterful player, weaving its intricate designs upon the tapestry of our lives." Eventually, Arjun, the valiant warrior whose bow knew no equal, interjected with a sense of urgency, "But, Madhav, the flames of injustice threaten to consume us whole. How are we to navigate the treacherous waters of fate when the currents pull us in every direction? And Why does fate constantly conspire against us?"

Krishna met Arjun's gaze with a steady, reassuring smile. "O Parth, indeed this is a grave incident that has cast its shadow upon all of us," he acknowledged, his tone soft yet resolute. "But remember, fortune favours the brave. You, dear brother, are destined for greatness, and no adversity can dim the light that burns within you."

"And Bade Bhaiya," Krishna addressing Yudhishthir, "You are not the architect of this tragedy, but merely a player bound by its rules. The game of dice was but a pawn in the hands of destiny, and you, its unwitting participant." Yudhishthir's eyes, heavy with the weight of guilt, sought solace in Krishna's words.

Meanwhile Bheem, in his towering frame pulsating with barely contained rage, stepped forward, his voice a thunderous roar that reverberated through the chamber. "Krishna," he declared, his eyes blazing with an intensity born of righteous fury, "I have sworn by my very being that I will break Duryodhan's thigh, crush all the Kauravas who dared to defile our honour, and tear apart Dushasan's chest, the hands that dared to lay upon Panchali in such indignity."

Krishna, ever calm amidst the storm, approached Bheem with a gentle yet firm hand upon his shoulder. "Majle Bhaiya, I understand the fire that burns within you," he spoke, his voice a soothing balm to the warrior's tumultuous soul. "But remember, vengeance alone cannot right the wrongs that have been done. It is through the strength of our unity and the righteousness of our cause that true justice shall be served."

Bheem's gaze softened. His eyes flickered with a mixture of doubt and determination as he absorbed Krishna's words, "But how, Krishna? How can we be certain of success when the path ahead seems shrouded in darkness? How can we hope to succeed against such formidable foes, whose malice knows no bounds?", he questioned, his voice betraying a hint of apprehension.

"Faith, Majle Bhaiya, Faith," Krishna replied, "Faith in oneself, faith in each other, and faith in the righteousness of our cause. Though the journey ahead may be difficult, it is the steadfastness of our resolve that shall guide us through the darkest of nights."

Nakul and Sahadev, the twin brothers known for their wisdom and humility, approached their elder siblings having a quiet resolve in their demeanor.

Nakul approached Yudhishthir with a respectful bow, his voice resonating with conviction. "Bade Bhaiya," he began, "in these trying times, let us lean not only on our own strength but also on the wisdom of our beloved Krishna Bhaiya. Like the steady oak that shelters its branches, his guidance shall provide us with the stability we need to weather this storm together."

Yudhishthir, touched by Nakul's words, placed a hand on his younger brother's shoulder, a silent gesture of gratitude and solidarity. "Nakul, my dear brother," he replied, his voice soft yet resolute, "I trust in Vaasudev and your faith in his wisdom gives me strength."

Sahadev stood before Bheem and Arjun, his expression serene yet infused with a deep sense of kinship. "Majle Bhaiya, Chote Bhaiya, let us not forget the bond that unites us. Just as Nakul said, in Krishna Bhaiya, we find not only a divine guide but also a cherished brother whose presence fills us with hope and courage."

Bheem, moved by Sahadev's words, enveloped his younger brother in a fierce embrace. "Sahadev," he spoke, his voice gruff yet filled with emotion, "your words remind me of the strength we draw from each other as brothers. Now, I am sure, with our Krishna's guidance and our unity, there is nothing we cannot overcome."

Arjun, the embodiment of valour and loyalty, "Indeed," he agreed, his voice resonating with conviction, "let us trust in Keshav's wisdom and in the bond that binds us as brothers. With our faith as our shield and our unity as our strength, we shall prevail against whatever challenges fate may throw our way."

Krishna's smile, a beacon of reassurance amidst the darkness, illuminated the chamber with its radiant warmth. "My dear brothers, do not underestimate the power of Dharma and the will of those who fight for Truth," he replied, his voice infused with unwavering confidence. "The path ahead may be fraught with peril, yet it is the strength of our convictions and the purity of our hearts that shall guide us to Victory."

Yato Dharma Tato Jaya

And so, amidst the echoes of their shared resolve, the Pandava brothers song with Krishna reaffirmed their familial bond, ready to face the trials ahead with unwavering resolve, trust in the divine, and the strength of their brotherhood.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

Just as Pandavas and Krishna were having conversation, Subhadra, Krishna's beloved younger sister, approached with a mixture of reverence and apprehension. Her graceful form moved with a quiet resolve as she made her way through the sea of courtiers, her eyes fixed upon the figure of her elder brother, Krishna, who stood at the center of the room, a pillar of strength amidst the storm.

With a gentle rustle of silken fabric, Subhadra knelt before Krishna, her head bowed in a gesture of humility and respect. Krishna enveloped his younger sister in a warm embrace, a silent reassurance of his love and protection. "Are u alright my Bhadre," he asked softly, his voice a soothing melody amidst the tumultuous echoes of the courtroom. "I am fine Bhaiya but not okay", she answered by faintly smiling. "Fear not, I am here. Everything will be alright."

Subhadra, her heart eased by Krishna's comforting embrace, nodded gratefully, a silent acknowledgment of her trust in her elder brother's wisdom and guidance.

Just then, amidst the gathering, Balram, Krishna's elder brother, made his way to Indraprastha, his presence commanding respect and authority. Everyone especially Krishna was happy to see his brother there. "Dau, how are you here ?" Balram smiled and said, "Do you think I would let you come here alone ?? You would surely need some assistance." Krishna laughed and hugged his brother. Subhadra, Arjun, Bheem, Nakul and Sahadev knelt before Balram who in turn blessed them. Then, Yudhishthir shared a brotherly embrace with Balram.

After such heartwhelming moments, with a solemn nod to Yudhishthir, Balram spoke in a voice that brooked no argument, "It is time. We must take Subhadra, Abhimanyu, and the young Uppandavas with us to Dwarka. It is for their safety that they should come with us."

Understanding the urgency of the situation, Yudhishthir nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Dau," Krishna replied, his tone carrying a sense of purpose, "let us gather them and depart from this place."

As they made preparations to depart from Indraprastha, Krishna's keen eyes scanned the assembled group, his gaze searching for a familiar figure amidst the bustling activity. His brow furrowed in concern as he realized that Draupadi, his Sakhi and the steadfast matriarch of the Pandava household, was nowhere to be seen among the gathered throng.

Turning to Yudhishthir, Krishna spoke, his voice tinged with apprehension. "Bade Bhaiya," he began, his words carrying the weight of unspoken worry, "Where is my Sakhi? It is unlike her to be absent during such an important moment."

There was a sense of unease settling in his heart for Krishna knew why she was not present there with everyone.

Where is My Krishnaa ?

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

I just love the Bond between the Pandavas and Krishna. Next Chapter is Very Beautiful 😍❤️

Stay Tuned 😁

[phoenix666stuff]

Yo just me wondering what if from The Mahabharata, the Pandavas (along with Draupadi. You can add Karna as well according to your wish) decide to venture the world in Kalyug to see, how it is actually like in that world and all. So the gods allow them on some conditions like in order to mingle with them, they have to look like them (because in Mahabharata if we look we come to know that Bheem sen was actually REALLY tall, like compared to now he would be considered a giant) so some modifications are made in their DNA and all so they could live their without any hurdles also they won't be able to die there as well. (dna I'm saying because we know if we put up a person from 14 century etc he would not be able to survive considering the pollution and change in the environment)

Well while going on their journey to kalyug they fumble across and accidentally go to the MCU universe instead (space time stuff)

Gods will be there to help them since Hanuman ji is immortal right.

I wanna see them mingle with fellow Avengers and all, also they will live in the compound with them and the Avengers will talk to them via translators and the Pandavas can't tell anyone about their true identity

It would be hard for Yudhishthir for sure 🙂

Looking for hearing from you

Hiya 💕

I've always thought about what would happen if they stumbled into the MCU ..I think it'd be so fun to see all the MCU characters and the Mahabharat characters trying to understand what's happening and everything .

I think there is a story like that on Wattpad.

I haven't read it yet but I suppose it does kinda go into the storytelling of what you said .. I'm not sure , I could be wrong ..

I think Yuddhishtir would be the one having a hard time adjusting followed by Karn .

But I'm sure everyone will be baffled by the MCU politics, tech , food etc.

But this is an interesting story to write .. I'll perhaps write this once I've acquired the complete knowledge of Mahabharat and the workings of Dwaparyug ..

I'm still researching and currently trying to read as many reliable scripts and sources of Mahabharat.

But thank you so much for sharing this with me ☺️

[bhagavanbhakthi]

भीम भोजन तैयार करते हुए | Bhima Preparing Food | ಭೀಮ ಆಹಾರ ಸಿದ್ಧಪಡಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದಾನೆ

[yumjum414]

Echo's of a life lived

What did my father call me when I was younger?

As Arjuna plunged into the abyss, he heard his brother Bhima's voice calling out to him, the last desperate cry for him to hold on. His other brother did not even spare him a glance. The son of Yama merely uttered the cold truth- his most fatal flaw- and continued on his path to enlightenment.

The jagged edges of the mountain tore through his skin, each impact sending shocks of pain through his weary frame. Yet pain was nothing new to Arjuna; it had been a companion in every chapter of his life. Now, at the end, it felt almost like a solace door waiting to open, leading him to where his Madhav stood with open arms.

The spinning world came to a stop. His back lay against the unforgiving earth, and his eyes, tired yet unseeing, beheld the pristine blue sky above. The blues reminded him of the ocean surrounding Dwaraka, and the clouds reminded him of the waves Krishna had once commanded with laughter in his voice. The clouds hung still, like the frozen crests of those very waves.

Had I always been Arjuna?

No I think he had called me Krishnaa.

What was the name of the book that Sahadeva and I debated over a lifetime ago?

Among all his brothers, Sahadeva had been his quiet solace. Bhima and Nakula carried an energy that demanded attention, but Sahadeva was the stillness in the storm. The two of them, introspective in their ways, had navigated chaos with shared glances and unspoken words. Though, when the time came, they were the very sparks that ignited mischief.

Despite his calm demeanor, Sahadeva possessed a wit sharper than any blade. When Yudhishthira once sought his advice on moral dilemmas, he had responded, "Try not to gamble your kingdom next time." The entire hall had erupted into laughter- everyone except Yudhishthira, Of course.

His youngest brother, with unparalleled knowledge, is his gentle, kind Deva. He used to be the tiniest baby, with chubby hands always reaching toward his untamable curls. One smile from his youngest brother, soft and fleeting, like a timid ray of sunlight peeking through clouds, could melt Arjun's heart like utter softening under the sun's warmth. His brother carried the heavy burden of knowing the future

I hope we can still talk about your favorite poems and lament the foolishness of the world around us, just like we did when we were young- perhaps somewhere beyond this realm.

Nakul, have I ever told you that your laughter was enough to lighten the darkest of days?

Nakul, the charmer, the peacemaker, the one who never failed to make Arjuna smile even when grief held him captive. His younger brother was more than his renowned beauty; he possessed a rare kindness, an understanding of emotions as deep as Sahadeva's understanding of logic.

Perhaps it was why animals were drawn to him. The wildest of creatures-horses, birds, even stray dogs-flocked to his side as if they could sense his untamed heart, one free of malice. Bhima had once joked that Nakula could win wars simply by leading an army of beasts.

After Abhimanyu's death, Nakula approached Arjuna in the gentlest, most thoughtful way. He tended to small things, like polishing Abhimanyu's weapons or leaving food by Arjuna's side when he wouldn't eat. "I can't imagine your pain, Bhrata, but I do know this-Abhimanyu adored you. Every time he spoke of you, his eyes shone brighter than the sun. He would want you to keep fighting, to honor his memory. He'd never forgive me if I let you give up." Nakula's quiet, persistent care reminded Arjuna that he wasn't alone in his grief, even when words failed.

Thank you for always cheering me up. I hope you'll still be there to annoy me when it's my turn to join you.

Bhima's bear-like embrace- when was the last time I held him?

Bhima, his elder brother, his shield, his greatest rival and ally. They had turned everything into a competition: who could shoot faster, who could run farther, who could lift the heaviest weight. Bhima, who laughed the loudest, fought the fiercest, and loved the hardest.

Bhima, who always teased Arjuna when he won, saying, "Even the greatest archer can't outmatch my strength," and Arjuna would retort, "Strength is nothing without precision, brother."

On the battlefield, they had been an unstoppable force. Bhima would clear the path like a storm, and Arjuna would follow, striking with precision. Together, they had been a force of nature, their synergy unmatched. Yet Bhima, the mighty warrior, was also the one who cradled children in his arms, who told the wildest tales of war, exaggerating every detail just to hear the laughter of his loved ones. "The asura was as tall as three mountains!" I roll my eyes every time.

How could I have ever doubted the love in his heart? I would give anything for just one more embrace.

Jesth Bharata... I never meant those words I said that day.

When their father died, Yudhishthira wiped Bhima's tears, held Arjuna for hours as he wept, and consoled the twins as they witnessed their mother step into the fire. After that, he tended to the rishis, ensuring they were fed, and took on the immense burden of handling the funeral rites with a composure no child his age should have had to bear.

For years after, Yudhishthira was their father. The one who guided them, the one who worried over them, the one who bore the weight of duty so that his brothers would not have to. He smoothed their fears with his steady voice, his hands firm but kind upon their shoulders.

Arjuna wondered- had Yudhishthira ever been a child himself? Had he ever been allowed to stumble, to make mistakes, to cry without the weight of responsibility forcing him to wipe his own tears before anyone could see?

Perhaps that was why fate had been so unkind to him, why Dharma itself tested him in ways none of them could comprehend. Because Yudhishthira had never been allowed to fail and learn from it- he was expected to be right, always. A flawless king, a righteous man, an unwavering guide.

But Arjuna knew the truth. Knew that behind the wisdom, the patience, the seeming detachment, there was a man who had once been a boy- one who had carried too much for too long, whose heart had been burdened by expectations too heavy to bear.

And Arjuna, in all his righteousness, had failed to see it until it was too late.

Jesth Bharata, forgive me.

Abhimanyu, what did your smile look like, my son?

His dimpled face, radiant like the moon, the sparkle in his eyes that held boundless curiosity and mischief. He had smiled just like his mother- soft yet unwavering, with an innocence that belied the warrior's blood in his veins. His laughter had been the sweetest melody Arjuna had ever known, echoing through the halls of Indraprastha, in the courtyards where he trained, in the soft glow of evening when father and son sat side by side, speaking of battle, honor, and dreams of the future.

Arjuna remembered the first time Abhimanyu had held a bow. The boy had been so small, barely able to pull the string, but determined, nonetheless. "One day, I will be like you, Pitashree," he had said, his voice bright with conviction. Arjuna laughed, adjusting his son's grip, ruffling his curls. "You will be greater, my son," he had promised.

But fate had stolen him away too soon. His pride, his greatest joy, had been left broken, surrounded by enemies, trapped in a web of deceit and cruelty. And Arjuna- mighty, victorious Arjuna- had not been there to save him.

Would he be waiting for him, just beyond this life? Would he rush toward him, grinning as he always did, bow in hand, eager to show his father how much stronger he had become?

Or would he look at him with quiet reproach, asking the question Arjuna had asked himself every day since that cursed battle- Why weren't you there?

Subhadra, did I ever tell you that your smile reminds me of our son?

His wife, his fire, his fiercest the princess who had taken the reins of her fate as easily as she had taken the reins of his chariot that fateful day. She had not waited to be rescued, nor had she hesitated when he held out his hand. She had laughed, eyes alight with mischief, wind whipping through her hair as they rode away, her knowing smile promising that this was only the beginning of their story.

He could still see her as she had been that day, unafraid, radiant, free. And when Abhimanyu was born, Arjuna saw her again in their son- in the crinkle of his eyes when he laughed, in the tilt of his head when he listened, in the sheer, unstoppable will that burned within him. He had her fire, her stubbornness, her boundless warmth.

But had he told her enough? Had he ever whispered to her in the quiet of the night how much she meant to him? That beyond war and duty, beyond victories and losses, it was she who had given him his greatest happiness?

Did I tell you enough, Priye? That I loved you since the moment I first saw you? That I loved you even more in every moment after?

Panchali, my fire, my queen- how could I ever have deserved your love?

From the moment she placed the garland around his neck, he had been hers. Not just by fate, not just by duty, but by the quiet pull of something deeper, something undeniable. She had chosen him, and yet, had he ever truly been worthy of her?

His most beautiful, fiercest, wisest wife. The one who had stood unbroken through every storm, who had faced humiliation and war with her chin held high, who had been the strength none of them had deserved, the strongest amongst them all. She had loved him despite his absences, despite the distances between them, despite the battles that had taken him far from her. She had been his fire, his fiercest advocate, his harshest truth. And yet, how many times had he let her down?

He had won her hand, but had he ever truly won her heart? Had he ever given her all that she had given him? Did she know, in the quiet moments, when duty did not weigh upon them, that he saw her? Not just as a queen, not just as the mother of his children, but as his Draupadi- the woman who had laughed at his arrogance, who had met his gaze without fear, who had walked beside him, always beside him, even when the world had turned against her.

Draupadi, tell me my love- how can I ever be worthy of you?

Uttara, my child, my daughter in all but blood.

Did I ever tell you that you were the daughter I always wanted to have and so much more?

He had watched her grow from a bright-eyed girl who once looked up to him with admiration, calling him Guru, to a woman who bore the weight of tragedy with a quiet, unyielding strength. The day Abhimanyu fell, she had not wept before others. She had carried his child within her, and for his sake, for the son who would never meet his father, she had stood unbroken, even when the world around her crumbled.

You were barely more than a child when the war stole everything from you. I watched you stand in the ashes of a shattered world, carrying life within you while drowning in grief. And yet, you endured.

I should have protected you, should have spared you from this pain. But you, my brave girl, bore it with a quiet strength that humbled even warriors.

You were always meant for joy, not sorrow. If only the gods had been kinder.

Did I ever tell you how proud I was of you?

My sons- brave, noble, gone too soon.

The best of us lived in you. Prativindhya carried your mother's fire, Sutasoma had Bhima's fierce heart, Shrutakarma bore my own stubborn will, Satanika was Nakula's sharp mind, and Shrutasena was Sahadeva's quiet wisdom.

You were not just our children- you were the promise of a future we would never see. You fought like lions, defended your home like true Kshatriyas. And yet, you were slain in your sleep, denied even the honor of a warrior's death.

How cruel fate is, to take our brightest stars before dawn.

Pitamah... Did you ever forgive me?

The man who had once held him as a child, who had taught him to wield a bow before he could even walk properly, now lay upon a bed of arrows- his own arrows.

Arjuna still remembered the firm grip of his Pitamah's hands as they corrected his stance, the deep voice that guided him through his first lessons, and the rare smile that softened his otherwise unyielding features when his young grandson struck his mark. Bhishma had been a fortress, an unshakable pillar of Hastinapura-until the day he fell by Arjuna's hand.

Arjuna had always known this battle would come. But he had never imagined what it would feel like.

He had fired those arrows with trembling fingers, his heart screaming even as his duty commanded him forward. Each shot had been precise, each strike had been devastating. But no matter how sharp his aim was, nothing could dull the pain in his chest.

"Pitamah," he had whispered, kneeling by the bed of arrows. "I-"

Bhishma had only smiled, weary yet serene. "You did well, my son," he had said, as if none of it- none of the war, the pain, the broken family- mattered anymore. But Arjuna could not take solace in those words. He wanted to believe them, wanted to believe that Bhishma had truly meant them. But how could he, when the sight of his grandfather, his teacher, his elder: pierced and broken by his own hands, haunted him even now?

Did you ever forgive me, Pitamah? Even if you did, I do not know if I can ever forgive myself.

Acharya, Did I ever make you proud?

From the moment I first held a bow, it was your voice that guided my hands. Your lessons shaped me, your praise lifted me, and your approval became my greatest pursuit. More than a teacher, more than a master of warfare, you were like a father to me.

I gave you my everything. I trained until my fingers bled, until my arms ached from drawing the bowstring a thousand times over. I surpassed every challenge, met every expectation, and honed my craft with a devotion unmatched by any of your disciples. And in return, you called me your greatest student. You assured me that I was the best, that no one- not even your own son- could rival me.

But tell me, Acharya, did you ever truly mean it?

Was I your pride, or merely your sharpest blade? A weapon you forged with care, but never love?

I told myself it didn't matter. That your approval, your teachings, your guidance were enough. That your distance, your unwavering gaze fixed on your son, did not bother me. But on the battlefield, when I stood before you as an enemy, I saw the truth.

You looked at me not as a son, not even as a beloved student, but as a mere warrior standing in your way. And yet, when you fell, when you closed your eyes for the last time, I could not help but wonder-did some part of you, even for a fleeting moment, think of me as yours?

Acharya, you were a father to me. But was I ever a son to you?

Mata... did I ever tell you how much I missed you?

Kunti, the mother who shaped them all, the woman whose love was as fierce as the storms she endured. She was the first person to ever hold him, to ever whisper his name with pride, to ever soothe his childhood fears. He remembered the way her hands, calloused yet gentle, ran through his curls as she sang lullabies that carried the weight of ages.

He used to watch her in awe as a child- how she carried herself, how she stood tall even when fate stripped everything away from her. She never wept where they could see, never faltered where they could hear. Her strength was like the unyielding earth beneath his feet-always there, always holding them up, even when it cracked under its burdens.

And yet, he wondered... did she ever long for a moment of softness? A moment where she wasn't a queen, wasn't a mother, wasn't duty-bound- just Kunti?

She had raised them with fierce love but also with lessons that often tasted bitter. Her decisions had shaped their fates, made them stronger, but also left wounds too deep to ever truly heal. There had been times he resented her, times he wished she had chosen differently, times he wished she had been gentler with them. But as he grew older, as he carried his own burdens, he understood. She had done what she thought was right-what she had to do.

And then there was Karna.

Arjuna's breath caught in his chest at the mere thought of him. The shadow of a brother he never got to know, the warrior who should have been by his side but instead stood against him. The man he had hated, fought, and finally killed-only to learn the truth when it was far too late.

For years, anger had burned in his heart like an unrelenting fire. But now, as he lay upon the cold rocks, it was not anger that remained- only sorrow. Had Karna ever wondered, even for a second, what it would have been like to stand with them, to be one of them?

Would things have been different if Kunti had spoken the truth earlier? Would it have changed anything at all, or was fate too cruel, too unyielding to ever let them be brothers in this life?

The last time he saw Kunti, she had been walking away. Choosing exile, choosing to leave them behind along with Dhritarashtra and Gandhari. He hadn't understood it then, had barely spoken a word when she made her choice. But now, as he lay battered and broken upon the mountains, he understood. She had given everything for them- her youth, her happiness, her very being. And in the end, she had simply wanted rest.

Mata, did you ever find peace? Did you ever forgive yourself?

Because I forgave you a long time ago.

Madhav-was I ever truly Arjuna before meeting you?

You were my charioteer, my guide, my anchor when the world threatened to sweep me away. You were my laughter in moments of quiet, my wisdom in moments of doubt, my Sakha in every joy and sorrow. Without you, was I ever truly Arjuna, or was I just a shadow of the man you once steadied?

Do you remember, Madhav? The nights in Dwarka when we raced our chariots under the moonlight, laughing like reckless children? When we sat by the ocean, watching the waves kiss the shore, speaking of things too great for even kings and warriors to understand? When you stole my crown mid-battle, just to scold me for my pride, and I could only shake my head because, as always, you were right?

Do you remember, Madhav, that morning in Vrindavan, before the weight of kingdoms and war lay upon our shoulders? When I woke to the sound of your flute, its melody weaving through the golden light of dawn, and found you perched beneath a tree, eyes closed, utterly at peace? I had never envied anyone more than I did in that moment. You belonged to the world, yet you were entirely your own.

I had asked you, "Do you ever tire of always knowing more than the rest of us?"

And you had only smiled. "Do you ever tire of always striving to be more than yourself?"

I had scoffed, pretending to take offense, but we both knew the truth. You understood me better than I ever did myself.

Do you remember the battlefield, Madhav? When my hands trembled, my heart wavered, and you caught my wrist, steady as the earth itself? "I am here, Parth," you had said. And that was all I needed to fight.

And when you left- oh, Madhav, how did you expect me to stay? How was I to go on in a world where your laughter no longer rang in my ears, where your words did not pull me back from the abyss?

I have walked through fire, wielded my Gandiva against gods and men, lost my son, my kin, my very soul- but nothing, nothing, has ever undone me as much as your absence.

Will you be waiting for me at the end?

Arjun's breathing slowed, and he felt his strength all but vanish out of his once invincible body. 

But 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.

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

Because 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.

In the mountains, where he breathe his first, and now will breathe his last.

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.

The gleam of mischief in Nakul's eyes before a prank, the quiet steadiness in Sahadev's when he spoke truths no one else dared to say.

The warmth of Bhima's crushing embrace, the rare gentleness in Yudhishthira's touch when he wiped away his brothers' tears before shedding his own.

Abhimanyu, grinning, dimpled, bright as the sun itself, his little hands trying to pull the string of a bow far too large for him.

And then, there was Madhav.

Laughing beside him in Dwarka as they raced their chariots under the moonlight. Sitting by the ocean, speaking of things too vast even for warriors to comprehend. Catching his wrist in the midst of war, steadying him with nothing but the weight of his presence. His god. His very soul. 

He had been so tired for so long. 

His eyes fluttered open one last time. As the world around him blurred into light, a familiar voice, warm and teasing, cut through the silence.

"You just couldn't wait to see me again, Parth."

[incorrectmahabharatquotes]

Sahadev: I know what this is about. You're jealous of all the attention Karna is getting. Especially from Krishna.

Arjun: Please. You think I care if Krishna gives some other guy some attention? How insecure do you think I am?

Arjun: Seriously, how insecure do you think I am? I need you to tell me. Will you please tell me?

[blackknight-100]

Hello there anon, and thank you for the prompt! I got so excited with this I accidentally posted your ask without answering it (I'm so sorry😭😭) so I'm afraid I have to use a screenshot. I hope you like reading this!

Character Swap - Arjuna and Karna

1.

Phalguna comes to Kuntidesha as it always does, but this year the air is colder, and the soil is wet with rain. The ponds are full and even rivers flow swifter, for Indra turns his eye upon them.

Princess Pritha bears the last few weeks of her womanly toil with ill grace; she is yet sixteen, face perpetually wrinkled in agony. The King of Gods has promised her maidenhood, Pritha thinks she would have given that up to be rid of this soreness.

When her time comes one cloudy eve, her trusted maid kneels by her screaming self, and snips the cord off a divine child.

The babe is soft and beautiful, with her looks and her smile and her curled hair; he yawns in restless sleep like a little dark moon. Pritha’s head is bent in prayer, her still-young heart is numb. She is a princess of two noble Kings, a star in the darkness of Āryavarta. Few women have her fortune, even lesser have her power, and yet she is just another girl, at the mercy of sages and gods, and the thought makes Pritha's head bow lower.

She stands by the raging Aswa as her maid gently sets the basket afloat, for foolish she may be, but cruelty comes only through her orders, and never by her hand, and the sky shatters with thunder and rain. Of all the recipients of Indra’s wrath, there has never been one more tragic.

His father from his heavenly throne names the child Arjuna, swears to guide and lead and bestow divine counsel, but as songs later let us know: he is ever known by his mothers’ names, for he is Rādha and Pritha's son.

2.

Karna is born the last of Kunti’s sons, and the third of Pāndu’s scions. He comes into the world like a shining light, with her face and her smile and her curls in his hair. For the first few weeks, Kunti cannot bear to look at the babe, and nurses him with her eyes to the sky. The sun shines upon them, bright and reprimanding, and Kunti wills Surya to chastise his own brother.

To Mādri she says, and to a concerned Pāndu, that the birth tired her, to the child she murmurs tales of a long-lost brother.

“He looked just like you,” Kunti tells him, as Karna swings in his cradle. It is a rickety thing, old as Yudhisthira, and worn with Bheema’s fervour, but it is a cradle still, and Kunti wonders if her other son ever knew one.

“I think you would have loved him,” Kunti says, wistfully, weaving dreams out of her yearning. “He would have been your big brother.”

The boy in the cradle coos at her, toothless smile lighting up the world, and for a moment his face is dark, and outside it rains, and the babe in her arms is Indra’s child.

3.

“You are terrible,” Arjuna scowls at Duryodhana, even though his father has taken great pains to counsel him otherwise. “He is just having fun.”

Duryodhana turns an interesting shade of purple. “His fun involves beating up my brothers and acting innocent when Pitāmaha asks him about it.”

Arjuna has no reason to defend this new prince, one whom he has never seen nor met, but his mouth betrays him once more. “That is not a good enough reason to kill him. You are merely jealous.”

“Kill whom?” says a voice, and Arjuna nigh jumps out of his skin as a boy swings down from the mango tree.

“Karna,” Duryodhana sighs. “Are you troubling the squirrels again?”

“No,” the boy says, shoving his fist behind his back. He is barely five and... light; his eyes are light and honey-brown, his hair is the light of sunshine on tree-barks, and his face glows like day. “You’re going to kill my brother,” he repeats stubbornly.

Arjuna blinks; his father would not forgive him for this.

Duryodhana sighs once more. “Your brother is beating mine up.”

“I will tell him not to,” Karna promises, and Arjuna is a little sorry for the boy – all wobbling lips and earnest eyes. “I will tell Mother if he does. Please don’t kill him.”

Arjuna expects Duryodhana to say something like ‘Run along, child’ or ‘Do not eavesdrop on your elders’, but the prince has an indulgent, almost fond look on his face.

“Give me that,” he says, pointing at the hand Karna has behind his back. Arjuna thinks it a cruel thing to ask, then the boy reluctantly brings out a bursting handful of areca nuts, and Arjuna has to laugh.

Duryodhana smiles as well, plucks one of the six in his hand. Karna drops two others, and as he bends to retrieve his fallen treasures, Duryodhana ruffles his hair.

“Run along now, little scamp,” the Kaurava prince says.

“Are you going to kill him?” Karna asks, eyes wide and worried.

“No,” Duryodhana assures him, “but remember what we agreed, yes?”

Karna beams at them, one after the other. “I will! See you.”

With that, he is gone.

Duryodhana cracks the nut and hands half of it to Arjuna – sinfully possessive one moment, impossibly generous the next.

Arjuna gapes at him. “Are you really not going to kill Bheem?”

Duryodhana glowers at him. “Go lay an egg,” he says, rudely, and stalks off. Arjuna stares at his retreating back, confused.

But no news comes that day, or the next, or any of the weeks after, and slowly, Arjuna learns to breathe easier.

4.

“Who is that?” Krishna asks.

Karna starts, he has not been paying attention. Krishna is the scion of faraway Dwārika, and not much of an acquaintance in any manner of the term, although the dark haired prince claims he has hardly ever been outside Vrindāvan, and never to the city by the sea.

“Pardon me,” Karna says, contrite, “whom do you speak of?”

“That boy,” says Krishna, and points towards a lone figure lurking by the stables.

“That is Arjuna. His father is Pitāmaha's charioteer.”

“May I speak to him?”

“Excuse me,” Karna hails the older boy, “can you spare a moment?”

Arjuna appears at his side, all muddy fringes and stiff bows. “Greetings, princes.”

“Greetings,” Karna nods. “This is Krishna, my cousin. Krishna, Arjuna.”

Krishna is tall and dark, his young face beams with pleasure. “How do you do, Pārtha?”

Arjuna blinks. “Uh... I am not called that. My mother’s name is Rādha.”

Krishna gives him a secret smile, and waves at someone above his head. Karna, distracted by a squirrel, nearly misses it.

“Duryodhana?” he says, delighted, when he notices the other boy on the balcony. “Come down, come down.”

Krishna shakes his arm. “Perhaps, the four of us can go to the garden?”

Sometime later, the four of them are seated around a bush, shears in hand. The rose shrub is not big enough to make a topiary out of, but Queen Gandhari has arranged tables around it with the hopes of giving the boys a more fruitful pastime to channel their excitement into.

“And what should I do?”

Arjuna is seated beside Krishna, facing the others. Duryodhana picks up his shears and snips a stray leaf. “We have to make this appear smooth and shapely.”

“Why?”

Karna stares at him. “Because Aunt Gandhari says so, of course.”

Krishna pulls his legs up on the bench, lifts a fist to the air. “Let’s dooo it!”

For the next couple of hours they work diligently, or at least pretend to, for Duryodhana starts kicking Karna under the bench, and Karna kicks him back, and it is an entertaining game; Krishna, meanwhile, shows Arjuna how and where to snip – he has clever eyes, and his hands are dexterous.

When they finally leave, one side of the bush poorer than the other, Krishna swings his hands around his new friend’s shoulders and lags behind the two princes. “You were saying Guru Drona does not want to teach you?”

Arjuna flushes. “That is true. It is er... his choice, of course, no disrespect intended.”

Krishna’s eyes twinkle. “Dau and I are going to study with Guru Sāndīpani. Do you wish to come with?”

Arjuna chances a glance at Karna, barely jealous, but there still. “I think I would like that.”

5.

“Can we not do this here?” Arjuna hisses. His father looks over from the garden where he and Rādha Mā are talking to Lord Bhishma, and Arjuna is afraid.

“Come now,” Duryodhana groans. “We are settling it man to man, just as Pitāmaha wanted. What is wrong now?”

Arjuna glances at the Pāndava brothers, aching with the weight of Anga’s crown and the knowledge of the Jatugrīha. “Why am I a part of this conversation?”

Yudhisthira coughs politely, as he is wont to. It gets on Arjuna's nerves like nothing else. “If you will excuse me,” he says, “we must greet our mother.���

The Pāndavas glance up as one, and Arjuna notices Dowager Empress Kunti hurrying down the steps.

“Mother,” Karna and Sahadeva exclaim excitably and there is a flurry of motion as they settle down to accept their blessings. To his surprise, Duryodhana follows, and he is compelled to join in the flock.

“There you are, darling,” Kunti says, pulling him up, then freezes.

Something old and forgotten stirs within Arjuna – a shadow of a memory, a wisp of a dream, a woman still as a flame with a child in her arms. Mother, he nearly says, ancient words soaring to his mouth, the shapes of them lingering on his tongue. Mother, look what we have brought home.

Then the Grandfather joins them and the moment is gone.

His father throws him a disapproving glance, and Arjuna shrinks from the princes. His mother, though, is staring at Karna.

“Vāsu...?” she whispers, as if to a ghost, and Karna turns.

“Yes, Mā?”

“His name is Karna,” Bheema declares loudly, and glares at them. The prince has not yet forgiven Arjuna’s stunt at the Graduation, even if Karna claims he would have done the same.

Radha Mā looks flustered, and Karna shifts in discomfort, as if put on a stage for a part he does not know how to play. Adhiratha grabs Arjuna and wraps an arm around his wife.

“Please forgive her, Prince,” he says, and starts pulling them away. “By your leave...”

Arjuna supposes they have embarrassed his father enough. His mother walks as if in a trance. “Vāsu?” she murmurs under her breath. “Vāsusena... child, where are you gone?”

Arjuna, alarmed, turns one last time. Karna is miserable and bewildered, staring after Rādha like a lost child, and Kunti's eyes, seeking him, are wet with tears.

+1

Arjuna sits silent and still, horror trembling beneath his skin like a fluttering bird.

“Duryodhana, please...” Arjuna whispers, unsure of what he begs, and fearful of the prince's wrath.

“I bet my brother, Karna,” Yudhisthira says, drunk on dharma and shivering with repentance. “If I win, I shall have him and all that is on the board; if you do, then he is yours.”

Karna looks up, stunned. There is betrayal on his face, and Arjuna’s heart stings. Even Duryodhana frowns, for Karna alone of all his cousins he names a friend.

“As you say,” Shakuni shrugs, and rolls his dice. “Lo! I win!”

Karna rises from his seat without being asked, walks over to kneel beside his brothers. His mien is smooth and calm now, all torment shielded behind a mask, but Bheema leaps up, enraged.

“Brother!” he tells Yudhisthira, “Hear me! Cease this madness before you lose all else.”

“I cannot leave them to this fate, Bheema,” Yudhisthira says, and picks the dice again. “I stake Bheema.”

“No, wait,” Duryodhana says, brows furrowed. “Māmāshree, do not bet now.”

The two players look up.

“No more?” Yudhisthira repeats slowly, as if he thought this game would go on forever, till the last brother was staked, and perhaps his wife and mother as well.

“Are you sure, my dear?” Shakuni asks.

Duryodhana ignores both of them, strides over to Karna. “Come with me.”

“I shall split your head open,” Bheema roars from beside Yudhisthira. “Leave him alone.”

“I won him,” Duryodhana reminds him coldly, “and I would that he comes with me.”

Karna rises with a grace that startles Arjuna, no longer the clumsy middle prince who dropped things, just like he is no longer a charioteer's dutiful son.

“I will go,” he says, and Yudhisthira turns to the court at large. “Please forgive my brother’s outburst.”

Arjuna wants to slap him.

Duryodhana wraps an arm around Karna's shoulders, and steers him to the doors. For a moment it appears that Bheema would follow, but then the Kaurava prince dismisses the guards, and they step just outside, far enough so no one can overhear whispers, but near enough that they are seen, and a fuming Bheema sits back down.

Arjuna sits and waits for a long time, like all others at court, even the blind Emperor, who can never walk without his son, and thinks miserably of how much Krishna would disapprove.

He is about to join them, either to pacify or to add fuel to the fire, when Karna speaks, loud and sarcastic enough to be heard all over the court. “I loved it. I loved it so much I am going to write a play about it, and have actors sent to perform it all over Āryavarta. Why, I should- ”

Duryodhana catches his flailing hands, shushes him. They whisper once more. The blind Emperor swivels his head in apparent confusion. Arjuna gets up to intervene.

Then Duryodhana walks in, a furious Karna in tow.

Arjuna seizes him by the arm. “Let them go, Duryodhana,” he pleads. “Do not do this.”

His patron and friend...? looks at him quietly for a long time, so long that Arjuna very nearly reaches for his bow.

Dhritarashtra, for once in his life, takes the cue. “Court is dismissed,” he calls, and the ordeal is over.

“You have counselled me wisely,” Duryodhana says at last. “Now, and before. It is a shame that I heeded you not.” Then he raises his head and says aloud, without preamble or explanation, “Let all be returned and restored to the Pāndava princes. Thank you, noble ones, for joining us in this game. We shall retire soon for lunch.”

Two years later, when the knowledge of the game is a rumour, and the incident at Indraprastha's lake is forgotten, Karna comes alone to Hastinapura. Krishna, who is visiting, gives Arjuna one of his secret smiles.

At the gates, Duryodhana meets him stiffly, for things have never been the same between the two sets of cousins. They bow ceremoniously, Dhritarashtra speaks a few half-hearted greetings, and Gandhari fusses over him.

Karna and Duryodhana stare at each other, and then Karna wraps him in a fierce hug.

“You’re not forgiven,” the Pandava prince says, voice muffled, but Arjuna notes Karna's trembling hands and thinks he knows otherwise.

Then, to his surprise, Karna turns to him. Krishna smiles at him again and whispers, “Prepare yourself, Angarāja.”

Before Arjuna can ask him what he means, Karna bows to him and says, “Greetings, brother.”

[stxrrynxghts]

[nushkiespeaks]

"SHE SAVES HERSELF, IT'S HER DHARMA THAT SAVES HER"

I always wanted to say so about Draupadi and the episode of Vastraharan. Before reading BORI CE, I had seen many versions of Vastraharan on TV serials. But after reading the original version, I realized how the serials had either overdone it or underdone it, snatching the actual essence of what the Vastraharan was for.

First of all, there was no instance in Mahabharat which claims Draupadi had insulted Duryodhan/Karn to make them go mad over the fact that they were made fun of by her.

No, there was no such instance.

Duryodhan was very jealous of the wealth and property that the Pandavas had obtained, it's clearly written in the texts how he was literally shivering in jealousy witnessing the glory of Pandavas. He wanted to snatch it all, and hence the plan.

Now comes the actual Vastraharan episode.

I know, many of you guys are extremely angry on Yudhishthir for what he does and the anger is justified enough. I am NOT justifying Yudhishthir or his actions, but actually asking you guys to think, think what would've you done in his place? This man was repeatedly scammed at first thinking that it would be a FRIENDLY MATCH between Duryodhan and himself. And Yudhishthir was a poor player of dice, Krishna himself confirms in the text. Also, Yudhishthir had always said how competing on dice would leave to grave consequences. But it's Duryodhan who persuades him to play. Now, it would really be cowardly for the Samrat to reject a game of dice like that.

Honestly speaking anyone could've said he could've denied it, but he cannot! He cannot because Kings when invited for Dyut had to play, or otherwise they would be tagged as cowards or insults! So at the most what Yudhishthir could do was to try and persuade the Kauravas to drop the idea, which he actually did in the texts, but they didn't give a damn about it.

The game begins, and what Yudhishthir had feared initially happens. He starts losing bouts of wealth, his army, and then the Kingdom he made out of sweat and blood. At this point, the elders, specially Vidur intervenes.

He asks Yudhishthir to stop, but he's at such a position that he cannot. Imagine your entire kingdom is lost, and now you have a bit of hope that you can win it back at the next game, will you actually play or let it go?

Like, don't sugarcoat yourself guys, think about the possibility! It's like you're drowning and playing next is like the branch that would save you, won't your mind flicker? Won't you take a chance to save yourself?

This is what exactly Yudhishthir does, and again he loses his youngest brother Sahadev. Still he hopes he would get everything back, because he had no option. Ofcourse he could've refused playing by now, technically yes. But deep down Yudhishthir knew what calamities can happen if he would try to win everything back by force, so he takes the chance again- and loses Nakul, Bheem and Arjun.

And at last, he loses himself as well.

Now Duryodhan plays the last and crucial move with Shakuni. He asks Draupadi to be staked, and this stuns the Pandavas.

Their KINGDOM is gone, their WEAPONS are gone, and now they're practically the slaves of the Kauravas, and at this time Duryodhan asks Draupadi to be staked. Duryodhan always knew what could break the Pandavas to the core- and that was seeing Draupadi in tatters. So this guy practically renders the Pandavas helpless, and then takes his dig on Draupadi.

And boom! Yudhishthir loses Draupadi too! This is the point where the elders lose their temper, mostly Vidur, and asks Yudhishthir to do something and stop this nonsense, but everything was already done.

Duryodhan sends his own messenger to Draupadi's chamber and tells him to get her.

Now comes the very interesting part.

The ground slips from under Draupadi when she hears the news, but instead of accompanying the messenger, she asks him to question the Sabha that how can Yudhishthir stake her when he already loses himself in the game?

Very valid question by her.

The messenger comes back, and it's clearly written in the texts that he was scared of Draupadi. (Take a note, those who call her "scaredy cat" ). Duryodhan gets angry now, and sends Dushassan behind Draupadi.

Draupadi pleads Dushassan at first, for she was bleeding that time, but when he refuses to listen, she warns him about the consequences. Even that doesn't work, and Dushassan starts dragging a single-garment clad Draupadi to the court. Draupadi is angered, but never scared. Yes, as per the texts she wasn't scared, she was trying her best to SAVE herself from his grip, but Dushassan was obviously proving stronger than her.

Draupadi gets dragged to the court, in a really bad state and is hurled. In the texts, she was said to be hurled like a tree is done by the strong winds, so mucg that she faints for sometime.( My heart starts wrenching while writing.) But Draupadi being Draupadi ( I don't know how this woman had so much self restrain even at this situation), you won't believe this woman actually pleads the court to forgive her them to see her in that state, means she had not washed her hairs since she was in her menses and it wasn't appropriate for someone to appear in a court in such a dishevelled state. Can you imagine the precision of this woman? The mental power, the collectiveness she had?

The story isn't done. Draupadi is taken aback seeing her husbands in that condition. She constantly shoots painful glances at them, and the Pandavas are broken. Bheem yells in anger, warns Dusshasan and Duryodhan but nothing works. Now Draupadi, again stabilizing herself, holding herself questions the Sabha what right Yudhishthir had on her since he himself was lost in the game? How could the Sabha stoop this low to let it happen?

This is when the wretched Karn steps out and says how Draupadi has now been won, she's their slave. He calls her whore and laughs loudly, and orders Dushassan to disrobe her. That man stoops so low, that he asks Draupadi to "serve" the Kauravad sexually, and choose a husband from the Kauravas because her husbands are of no use ( Atp, I wanted to kill him, strangle him).

Vidur intervenes, but even Vikarn too. But Vikarn is again shut up by Karn who calls him a coward and asks him to mind his own business.

Bheeshm is shaken, but he couldn't do anything. He says it was the decision of the Pandavas, and that Draupadi has no choice here. Either she becomes a slave with Yudhishthir, accepting the status of a wife with a husband, or separates herself from the Pandavas. If she choses to separate from the Pandavas, she has no option but to go to the Kaurava's side technically since they won her. So all and all, Draupadi was put in a helpless spot by Dharma ( Bheeshm calls it the subtle nuance of Dharma in text).

That's when Draupadi feels that none of them could resolve the situation and she also knows what was going to follow. This woman finally resorts or rather surrenders to the power of Dharma, which is Krishna ( BORI doesn't mention Krishna explicitly, but calls it the force of Dharma. But for me, Dharma is Krishna.) This woman surrenders her entire self whole heartedly to the supreme Lord. She knows only Dharma is the one that would save her, she knows she HAS DONE NO WRONG, AND THAT DHARMA WAS IN HER SIDE.

At this moment, for anyone the situation is so traumatic that you can end up passing out, but this woman, my God, this woman just KNOWS what is meant for her. Her righteousness shall save her, her purity shall save her. Draupadi knows who she is, Draupadi knows she has done no wrong, Draupadi knows she's innocent, Draupadi knows that it's Dharma who wins at last.

Such was her faith, her stance. If this isn't boldness, then what is? If this isn't her strength then what is? Imagine her situation that moment, she was moments close of getting disrobed and in an inappropriate situation, that moment too she is in her entire consciousness. She knows what would help her.

And that's what happens.

Dushassan tries to disrobe Draupadi, much to the cries of the Pandavas, and that wretched guy feels like he has touched something he shouldn't touch. Yards of cloth extends and covers Draupadi, and yes, Draupadi's righteousness saves herself.

I want to draw your attention how Draupadi was strong till the last end, neither did she BEGGED anyone to save herself, nor did she herself PITY her own condition. Nor she was whimpering or crying, like how people like to show her or something. She BEGGED none, she RELIED on none but her own self. She relied on her strong belief in Krishna, her righteousness and Dharma. At that moment, it was the fight of Draupadi and Dharma against Kauravas.

Righteousness was such that if it didn't save Draupadi, it would've put itself to shame that day.

The story isn't over yet...

Dhritarashtra gets extremely scared now, for he senses the power which Draupadi had. The old King who was enjoying everything, suddenly shudders. He pleads Draupadi to forgive his sons, and asks Draupadi to ask for 3 boons.

Draupadi accedes. She saw her husbands. The helplessness of fate that had rendered them so. And even after so much, she had utter and immense faith in the five of them. She had the belief that the five would rise this time, and shall avenge her. The five of them were enough for it. (And that's why I say why Pandavas and Draupadi were one of the most ideal couples in Mahabharat. There is no concept of Draupadi throwing her chudamani away, or showing pure anger that time. Yes, she was upset and angry, but not so much that she wouldn't understand 5their situation too! She knows what they were going through at that time, it was as traumatic for them as it was for her!)

Draupadi asks Dhritarashtra to free her husbands, that was her first boon. Dhritarashtra agrees immediately. In the next boon, she asks the weapons of Pandavas to be returned. Dhritarashtra agrees to even that, and asks Draupadi to ask for the third boon.

But Draupadi being Draupadi STOPS right there. Yes, she explicitly claims how it is inappropriate for a Kshatrani to be greedy and ask for a third boon, and she has complete faith that her husbands, now free, shall win over and avenge her insult. (ATP, I was literally 🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐 her.)

This woman...this woman, I now realize why Pandavas literally kissed the path she walked upon, for real. This woman knows what she wants, this woman is fearless, this woman is bold, this woman knows exactly what is right and wrong, and this woman SHINES brilliantly, surpassing even the glow of diamonds! This woman is the true example of what true feminism looks like! Believing in herself and her partner without tarnishing the equality of it! She bows to righteousness and chooses the ones who do the same!

She surrenders to Krishna, righteousness and Dharma, in short SHE SAVES HERSELF.

People always pity Draupadi for her Vastraharan, but they don't see how she fights it. They don't understand the power of righteousness at all, but see her as a woman who had no power to fight. Often her surrender to Krishna is looked down upon, like seriously? Surrendering to the Supreme is also a sign of weakness?

Draupadi literally, LITERALLY pulls out the boat which had her and her husbands from drowning from amidst the tempest! She had no weapons, no fighting skills, yet she was able to rescue everyone from the clutches of Duryodhan!

Roughly putting, isn't such a skill more powerful than one having the weapons?

Yet you guys label her as "scaredy cat" and not a Mary Sue, and all?

For me, "shastra ke prayog ke bina hi tumne khudko bacha liya, ye asadharan nahi hai to aur kya?"

In Krishna's words, "Swayam vichar kijiye."

Let others say anything, Draupadi is THE HEROINE of Mahabharat, and in the episode of Vastraharan!

[hum-suffer]

Brothers

It's a thing everyone knows. Nakul is the most beautiful man in all of Aryavart. His eyes are bright and he is almost always smiling and it feels as if one is looking at the Sun, if Nakul turns his attention towards them.

He is benevolent. He loves his evening walks, he greets all of the members of their household and even the temporary service providers. He knows almost all the servants personally and knows about their families. He knows all about the horses in the Royal stable and personally takes care of Bheem's horse, who had been a weakling when it was young but Bheem and Nakul had rescued the poor thing and Bheem looked if he would cry without the horse and Nakul had nursed him back to health and still takes special care of the majestic horse.

Nakul knows the habitat of their state like the back of his hand. From the capital to the deepest forests and the snarling rivers, he knows nature and he wields it like a limb. He conquered the West with guerrilla tactics that he claims were just "common sense". He writes a book, and gives it to Arjun when he leaves for his vanvaas— he knows his elder brother and he knows nature and he wants nature to work in his brother's favour.

He brings flowers for his wives everyday— sometimes if Draupadi feels petty, she taunts her other husbands for Nakul's gallantry and chivalry. Karenumati puts the flowers in her hair everyday and at evening, the same flowers go into the warm bath prepared for Nakul and when he climbs into their bed, he knows he smells like the flowers he gave her earlier. It makes her hold him a little closer.

He goes on runs and plays with the children, Abhimanyu especially loves him. The infant cannot play with his elder brother and cousins but Nakul holds him in his arms and throws him in the air and Shatanik whines that he misses being that small and Nakul takes it as a challenge and then he spends hours with the boys, throwing them up in the air and catching them, listening to them laugh for hours and hours.

When Nakul goes to Yudhishthir, Yudhishthir pretends to be put out because Nakul always drags him away from the work of the Emperor and takes him for horse riding, claiming that the ride around the city would help him get a more practical idea of the administration. Both of them know that Yudhishthir knows all of his state like the back of his hand and the ride around the city is just an excuse for him to leave the rooms and be free for a while.

Sahadev is the one that sees the whole of Nakul in a different light. Everyone sees the beauty, the friendliness, the grace and the happiness. As if he were the sun, basking them all in his warmth. But Sahadev knows that the warmth of the sun burns and burns and burns until there is nothing left.

Sahadev is the only one who has seen Nakul kill, without a thought of justice. He is the only one who has seen Nakul hold him so close that there were bruises on Sahadev's arms later. A man had tried to assassinate Sahadev, once. Nakul had been the one to capture him and when he brought the assassin back to the Royal court for justice, the man was barely alive. His arms and legs were twisted in unnatural ways and his nose looked broken and his eyes were swollen and—

Yudhishthir had looked disappointed in Nakul but had ordered the assassin to be hanged till death in a week's time.

The very next day, there were reports that the assassin escaped. This time, his dead body was found deep in the bowels of the forest at the edge of the city.

Sahadev, known for his expertise in medicine, was called to identify the cause of death. "Internal bleeding," he said, and pointed out some other deep gashes. He breathed in, and with that, locked away the real reason of the death— a poisonous flower that Sahadev knew all about.

Nakul smelled of that flower.

When they were walking to their sword practice, Nakul pulled Sahadev in a half hug and kissed his temple. "My baby brother, do you think you can race me to the arena?"

"Race you and best you, too!" He said, pulling away to start to run but he stumbled and barely caught himself on the wall whilst Nakul took off, laughing. Sahadev looked down to see the beam of the construction, Nakul had deliberately let him go at the place to make him stumble and give himself a head start.

"I'm telling Jyesth that you're a cheat, Bhratashree!" Sahadev yelled and started running.

Nakul laughed some more, avoiding the stairs and jumping down the floor. "Stop being a crybaby!"

They ended up on the ground of the arena where all the brothers and wives were waiting for them, as Sahadev tackled Nakul and they rolled around in the ground, still arguing about who won.

Sahadev heard Bheem laugh,"You two should have been conjoined twins, you insufferable children."

Yudhishthir elbowed him with a grin,"Hush, now. I think they're trying to do just that."

"They're already joined at the hip," Arjun said,"The gods just wanted to provide us some respite so that they may separate. Shoo, now, get up and see what example you're setting in front of your children!"

Nakul and Sahadev looked at each other for a beat. Nakul squeezed Sahadev's hand and Sahadev smiled at him.

They looked at their brothers and stuck out their tongues.