The golden sun hung low in the sky, casting its warm afternoon light through the latticed windows of the royal palace of Hastinapur. In a private chamber, four figures sat in a semi-circle, their expressions serious and pensive. The room was furnished with carved wooden chairs draped in silks, a low table holding goblets of spiced wine, and heavy curtains that muffled the distant hum of palace activity.

Duryodhan leaned back in his chair, his imposing figure exuding authority and defiance. Beside him, Dussasan, his younger brother, sat upright, his expression a blend of curiosity and concern. Shakuni adjusted the hem of his robe as he tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the armrest. Completing the group was Amrit, Duryodhan’s close friend and confidant.

The atmosphere in the chamber was thick with tension as Shakuni began, his voice dripping with calculated intent.

Shakuni :- The Pandavs are playing a dangerous game, my dear nephews. Even as we speak, they are busy forging alliances, strengthening their position by marrying princesses from powerful kingdoms.

Duryodhan scoffed, a sardonic smile curling his lips.

Duryodhan :- Mamashree, you speak as if we stand alone. Do not forget that we too have powerful allies—mighty kings who stand ready to fight for us.

Shakuni shook his head, his expression one of faint exasperation.

Shakuni :- Ah, Duryodhan, your confidence is admirable, but misplaced. It is true that some kings stand with us—perhaps out of fear, obligation, or personal loyalty. But make no mistake: the tide is turning. One by one, the hearts of the rulers are leaning toward the Pandavs. Their web of alliances grows stronger by the day.

A frown darkened Duryodhan’s face, but before he could retort, Amrit interjected, his tone firm and assured.

Amrit :- Let them gather their alliances. What do we need of foreign kings when we possess the mightiest warriors of Aryavarth? Think of it—Bhism Pitamah, invincible even in his old age. Guru Dronacharya, the master of arms. Kripacharya, the sage and strategist. Ashwatthama, a force unto himself. And then there is Duryodhan, the rightful heir to Hastinapur, and myself. Tell me, Shakuni Mama, who in Aryavarth can stand against such a lineup?

Shakuni closed his eyes momentarily, as if summoning patience, before opening them to fix Amrit with a knowing gaze.

Shakuni :- Strength in warriors is indispensable, no doubt. But wars are not fought with swords alone, my dear Amrit. They are fought with strategy, with alliances that bring resources, troops, and, most importantly, legitimacy. Consider this: even with all our warriors, how will we hold the throne if the world perceives the Pandavs as rightful and righteous? Strategic marriages have won empires far larger than Hastinapur. Would you ignore this crucial tool?

Amrit fell silent, his jaw tightening as he exchanged a glance with Duryodhan. The latter leaned forward, his eyes narrowing at Shakuni.

Duryodhan :- Then tell us, Mamashree, what do you propose? What is your strategy for countering the Pandavs’ schemes?

Shakuni’s lips curved into a sly smile, his sharp features illuminated by the slanting sunlight.

Shakuni :- It is time to build alliances of our own, starting with a marriage—Dussasan’s marriage, to be precise.

The suggestion was met with a startled silence. Dussasan’s eyes widened in shock, and he spluttered,

Dussasan :- My marriage? What has that got to do with anything? And why me?

Shakuni raised a hand, silencing him with a wave.

Shakuni :- Patience, my dear Dussasan. It is not just a marriage but an alliance—one that will tip the scales in our favor. You are young, strong, and of noble blood. A union with a princess from a powerful kingdom will send a clear message that the Kauravas are not only strong in battle but also in diplomacy. This will encourage others to align with us.

Dussasan opened his mouth to protest, but Duryodhan cut him off with a firm tone.

Duryodhan :- Mamashree is right. It is time. We cannot sit idly while the Pandavs continue to outmaneuver us. Dussasan, you must understand—it is not just a matter of personal choice but of duty to our family and our future. If a marriage will strengthen our position, then so be it.

Dussasan hesitated, his gaze darting between his brother and his uncle.

Dussasan :- But, Jeysth… this is so sudden. Who is this princess Mamashree speaks of? And why should I be the first?

Shakuni’s smile widened as he leaned forward, his voice low and conspiratorial.

Shakuni :- The princess I have in mind is from a kingdom that holds significant strategic value. Her father commands respect among the rulers of Aryavarth, and her marriage to you will not only secure his allegiance but also sway others in our favor. As for why you, Dussasan—because you are second only to Duryodhan in rank among the Kauravas. Your marriage will set the precedent for your brothers to follow, creating a domino effect of alliances.

Dussasan frowned, still reluctant but visibly less defiant. He turned to Duryodhan, who nodded approvingly.

Duryodhan :- Mama’s plan is sound, Dussasan. We need this. It is time for the Kauravas to act with the same cunning and foresight as our enemies.

Amrit, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up.

Amrit :- If this marriage is to benefit our cause, then I support it. But tell us, Shakuni Mama, who is this princess? And what assurances do we have that her kingdom will align with us after this?

Shakuni leaned back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Shakuni :- The princess’s name and the kingdom will be revealed in due course. Rest assured, I have been in discussions with her father, and he is most amenable to the idea. The details will be shared when the time is right. For now, let us prepare Dussasan to take on this responsibility.

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of the discussion settling heavily on the four men. Outside, the afternoon sunlight dimmed slightly as clouds passed over the palace, casting fleeting shadows across the chamber. Duryodhan rose from his seat, his expression resolute.

Duryodhan :- Very well, Mamashree. We will proceed with your plan. Dussasan, prepare yourself—this is only the beginning. The Kauravas will not sit idle while the Pandavs scheme and plot. Let them gather their alliances. We will show them the strength of our unity, our strategy, and our resolve.

Shakuni’s smile deepened, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.

Shakuni :- That is the spirit, my dear nephew. The game has begun, and the dice are in our hands. Let us ensure that fortune favors the bold.

The four figures sat in quiet contemplation, their minds already racing with thoughts of the path ahead. The chamber seemed to echo with unspoken resolve, a testament to the storm brewing in Hastinapur.



The royal chamber of Maharaj Dhritrashtra and Maharani Gandhari was an embodiment of regal serenity. The walls were adorned with intricate murals depicting the great lineage of the Kuru dynasty, and the room was filled with the scent of sandalwood incense. The blind king, Dhritrashtra, sat on a high-backed chair, his unseeing eyes turned toward the direction of his guests. Beside him, Gandhari, her eyes covered by her ever-present silk blindfold, sat with a composed yet inquisitive demeanor.

In front of them stood Shakuni, his ever-cunning smile in place, the light from a nearby lamp glinting off his sharp features. He had come to discuss a matter of great importance, his tone carefully measured as he spoke.

Shakuni :- Maharaj, Maharani, I have come with a proposal that will strengthen our family and the kingdom of Hastinapur.”

He began with a deferential bow, Dhritrashtra tilted his head, curiosity lacing his voice.

Dhritrashtra :- Speak, Shakuni. What is this proposal?

Shakuni’s smile widened slightly.

Shakuni :- I propose the marriage of Dussasan to a princess of great merit and influence. It is time we fortify our alliances, and this union will send a clear message of Hastinapur’s strength.

Gandhari’s brow furrowed slightly, though her voice remained calm.

Gandhari :- Dussasan? But how can Dussasan marry before Duryodhan? Is it not the tradition for the eldest son to marry first?

Shakuni clasped his hands in front of him, his expression one of practiced concern.

Shakuni :- Dearest sister, you are right in considering tradition. However, Duryodhan is not yet ready for such a commitment. The wounds of his previous separation from Princess Bhanumati still weigh heavily on him. Forcing him into another match at this time would be unwise. Moving forward with Dussasan’s marriage, however, would benefit both the family and the kingdom.

Dhritrashtra, his brows knitted, spoke with measured tones.

Dhritrashtra :- A valid point, Shakuni. But have you someone in mind for Dussasan?

Shakuni’s expression lit with feigned surprise.

Shakuni :- Maharaj, I would not suggest such a thing without careful consideration. I have indeed found the perfect match—Princess Pristi of Anga.

Gandhari leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued.

Gandhari :- Pristi of Anga? How do you know of this princess?

Shakuni’s tone turned solemn, his words laden with praise.

Shakuni :- Ah, dear sister, you underestimate my network of knowledge. Princess Pristi is a woman of exceptional strength and intelligence. Her brother, Vikram, had been unable to rule their kingdom effectively due to his unfortunate indulgence in drink. In his absence, Pristi has ruled Anga with wisdom and a firm hand. Her leadership has kept the kingdom stable and prosperous. Such a woman would not only bring honor to our family but also serve as an asset to Hastinapur.

Dhritrashtra stroked his beard thoughtfully, his unseeing gaze fixed straight ahead.

Dhritrashtra :- A princess who has ruled her kingdom? That is indeed impressive. Such a match would bring great value to Hastinapur.

Gandhari nodded slowly, though a note of hesitation lingered in her voice.

Gandhari :- She does sound admirable. But will her family accept the proposal? Have you taken steps to ensure this?

Shakuni spread his hands in a gesture of confidence.

Shakuni :- Worry not, sister. I have already considered this. Vikram, as you know, is in no position to oppose the match, and Pristi herself is known for her sense of duty and pragmatism. Moreover, I propose we send a messenger bearing gifts worthy of Hastinapur’s grandeur—a gesture that will make our intentions clear and impossible to refuse.

Dhritrashtra nodded decisively, his voice ringing with approval.

Dhritrashtra :- Then it is settled. Shakuni, make the necessary arrangements. Send a trusted envoy with gifts befitting our royal house and extend the proposal to the Princess of Anga.

Gandhari added in her gentle yet firm tone.

Gandhari :- Ensure that the proposal highlights our respect for the princess and her achievements. We must approach this with dignity and honor.

Shakuni bowed deeply, his face a picture of satisfaction.

Shakuni :- It shall be done, Maharaj, Maharani. You can trust me to handle this matter with the utmost care and precision.

As he left the chamber, Shakuni’s mind buzzed with triumph. The first piece of his plan had been set in motion, and the game was now in play.



The golden afternoon sun bathed the royal palace of Dwarika in its warm glow. Inside a cozy chamber adorned with intricately carved wooden furniture and rich tapestries, Jhanvi stood with her hands on her hips, a mock stern expression on her face. Her two-year-old son, Prasen, sat cross-legged on the floor, his chubby cheeks smeared with the remnants of the laddoos he had just devoured.

Jhanvi :- That’s enough for today, Prasen. No more sweets, young man.

She said firmly, though her voice carried a note of fond amusement. The little boy pouted, his large brown eyes filled with disappointment, but he nodded obediently. Picking up his wooden toy elephant, he wobbled to his feet and toddled toward the door. Jhanvi’s stern expression softened into a loving smile as she watched him go, already knowing exactly where he would head next.

Jhanvi :- He thinks I don’t know his tricks.

She murmured to herself, shaking her head with amusement. In a nearby chamber, Balram sat on a low, cushioned seat, reviewing reports with a minister. His imposing frame radiated authority, though his expression remained calm and thoughtful as he gave precise instructions. The minister was mid-sentence when Balram felt a small tug on his dhoti. He paused, looking down, and his stern face instantly melted into a broad grin.

There stood Prasen, his toy elephant clutched in one hand, his other hand reaching up toward his uncle. The boy’s innocent eyes and hopeful expression were impossible to resist. Balram bent down and scooped him up effortlessly, bouncing him high into the air. The boy squealed with delight, his earlier disappointment forgotten.

Balram :- Minister, we’ll continue this later. My nephew here has urgent business with me.

He said, his voice warm and booming. The minister chuckled, bowed, and took his leave as Prasen stammered, his tiny voice struggling to form the words.

Prasen :- S-sweets… M-ma… said no…

Balram laughed heartily, his shoulders shaking as he carried the boy toward the kitchen.

Balram :- Ah, your mother said no, did she? Well, worry not, my little prince. Your uncle will get you a whole box of sweets!

Prasen clapped his tiny hands, his face lighting up with pure joy. He threw his arms around Balram’s neck in a tight hug, and Balram carried him to the kitchen, his heart swelling with affection. In the kitchen, the aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air. Balram selected a plate of sweets and set Prasen down on the counter, watching with amusement as the boy eagerly grabbed a piece and began munching.

But their happiness was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Balram turned, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he saw Jhanvi standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression a mixture of mock annoyance and amusement.

Jhanvi :- Bhrata Balram, so this is where my son runs off to? And you encourage him!

She said in a tone of mock reprimand, Balram raised his eyebrows dramatically and clutched his chest as though wounded.

Balram :- Jhanvi, how could you accuse me of such a thing? Your son came here of his own will! I am but a humble uncle, fulfilling his wishes.

Before Jhanvi could respond, Balram scooped Prasen up and made a dash for the corridor.

Balram :- Run, Prasen! Your mother’s coming for us!

The boy’s laughter rang out like a melody as he clung to Balram, his chubby arms wrapped tightly around his uncle’s neck. Jhanvi rolled her eyes, but a smile crept onto her lips as she chased after them.

The corridors of the palace echoed with their playful commotion. Balram finally stopped near a sunlit balcony, setting Prasen down and kneeling before him.

Balram :- Quick, Prasen! Run to your uncle Krishna. He’ll protect you!

Prasen nodded earnestly and toddled off, giggling as his mother approached. Jhanvi stopped in her tracks, shaking her head in exasperation as she watched him wobble down the hall.

In the grand central hall, Krishna sat cross-legged on a large, cushioned bed, his serene face glowing with the wisdom and charisma that made him beloved by all. Beside him sat Subhadra her laughter sparkling like bells as she listened to Krishna recount one of his mischievous childhood tales. Prasen ran straight to Krishna and tugged at his arm.

Prasen :- Uncle Krishna!

He called, his voice high and excited. Krishna turned, his smile widening as he picked up the boy and settled him on his lap.

Krishna :- Prasen! What brings you here in such a hurry?

The boy, still munching on a piece of laddoo he’d smuggled, hid his face in Krishna’s chest, giggling. A moment later, Jhanvi appeared at the doorway, her hands on her hips and her expression half-scolding, half-amused.

Jhanvi :- Bhrata Krishna, you spoil him just as much as bhrata Balram does. How will I ever teach him discipline?

She began, her voice tinged with mock exasperation. Krishna chuckled, patting Prasen’s back reassuringly.

Krishna :- Ah, Jhanvi, let the boy be. Childhood is the time for sweets and laughter, is it not?

Subhadra grinned, leaning toward Jhanvi.

Subhadra :- Jiji, you’ll lose this argument. Bhrata Krishna always has a way of making mischief seem like wisdom.

Jhanvi sighed, but her smile betrayed her true feelings. She walked over and ruffled Prasen’s hair, who peeked out from Krishna’s embrace and gave her a sheepish grin.

Krishna leaned back, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Krishna :- Fear not, Prasen. No one will stop my nephew from enjoying sweets as long as I am here.

The family shared a warm laugh, their bond palpable in the lighthearted moment. The palace, with all its grandeur, felt more like a home, alive with love and joy. As the afternoon sunlight streamed in, casting a golden glow over the scene, the corridors of Dwarika echoed with the sounds of family and happiness—a reminder of the simple pleasures that bound them together amidst the larger duties of their lives.



The cool evening breeze whispered through the royal palace of Indraprasth, carrying with it the faint fragrance of blooming night jasmine. On the terrace, beneath the soft glow of the setting sun, Sahdev sat on a gently swaying swing. The youngest of the Pandava, he was a picture of quiet contemplation, his curly hair ruffled by the wind as he read from a scroll. His expression was sombre, the weight of the words before him reflecting in the furrow of his brows and the slight downturn of his lips.

The swing rocked back and forth, creaking softly in the tranquil evening. Sahdev’s fingers tightened around the scroll as he read the imprinted letters again, his mind wrestling with the implications of the news it bore.

“Sahdev!”

The voice calling his name broke his reverie. He looked up to see Pallavi, one of the most composed figures in the Pandav household, walking toward him. Draped in a deep green saree that shimmered in the fading sunlight, she exuded grace and quiet strength.

Pallavi :- I’ve been looking for you everywhere, I need your help with some work, but— What is the matter? You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

She said, her tone warm yet tinged with curiosity. She paused, noting the troubled look on his face. Sahdev sighed deeply, folding the scroll carefully and setting it beside him on the swing.

Sahdev :- It’s nothing, Bhabi.

He replied softly, though his tone betrayed him. Pallavi arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she stepped closer.

Pallavi :- I don’t believe that for a moment. Tell me what’s troubling you.

For a moment, Sahdev hesitated, his dark eyes flickering between the scroll and Pallavi. Finally, he relented, his voice low but steady.

Sahdev :- Pristi’s marriage has been fixed.

Pallavi’s expression shifted to one of surprise.

Pallavi :- Pristi? Fixed to whom?

Sahdev :- To Bhrata Dussasan.

He answered, the name falling from his lips with a note of quiet anguish. Pallavi’s brows knitted in disbelief.

Pallavi :- The second Kaurav?

Sahdev nodded.

Sahdev :- Yes. The news came this afternoon. I… I had thought that if anything so important happened in her life, she would at least write to me. But there has been no letter. No word at all.

His gaze fell to the scroll, which he now gripped tightly in his hands. Pallavi placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her voice softening as she spoke.

Pallavi :- Perhaps she had no choice in the matter. Royal alliances are often forged by circumstances beyond our control. Still, I understand your pain. You two have always been close.

Sahdev’s shoulders slumped further, and he shook his head.

Sahdev :- I thought I knew her well, Bhabi. We shared so much. And now, to hear this… like this…

He trailed off, his voice heavy with disappointment. Pallavi knelt slightly, bringing herself to his level, her eyes filled with empathy.

Pallavi :- Sahdev, sometimes silence speaks louder than words. If she hasn’t written to you, it might be because she feels just as helpless as you do. I’ll speak to your brothers. Perhaps bhrata Yudhishthir or bhrata Bheem can help us understand what has happened. You’re not alone in this.

Sahdev nodded slowly, though his gaze remained downcast. The swing rocked gently as the breeze picked up again, tousling his hair and rustling the edges of the scroll.

Pallavi stood, her posture regal but her face marked with concern.

Pallavi :- Take heart, Sahdev. Things haven't been much into place and complications have been at every step. But it doesn't mean we'll let you fight it alone.

She turned to leave but paused at the doorway, casting one last glance at him. The image of Sahdev, lost in thought and burdened by the news, tugged at her heart. She walked away with quiet resolve, determined to find answers.

As the light of the setting sun faded into the indigo hues of evening, Sahdev sat alone on the terrace, the scroll clutched in his hands. The swing swayed back and forth, its rhythmic creak the only sound in the stillness. Though Pallavi’s words offered some comfort, his heart remained heavy with unanswered questions and the ache of unexpected betrayal.



The scorching afternoon sun bore down upon the kingdom of Poundra, its rays glinting off the polished armor of soldiers and the golden ornaments that adorned the cruel King Pondrak. The people of the kingdom knelt in the dust of the marketplace, their hands folded in submission, their faces pale with fear. Pondrak strode among them, his imposing figure clad in regal finery. His heavy boots crushed the dry earth beneath him, a deliberate reminder of the weight he carried over their lives.

The soldiers lining the path lowered their heads as he passed, their disciplined silence masking their own dread. Pondrak’s sharp, predatory eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the bowed heads and trembling hands with a smirk. His lips curled into a cruel smile, his power feeding on the fear etched into the faces of his subjects.

At the end of the road, a large clearing came into view. In its center, a massive golden statue of Pondrak was being erected. The likeness was unmistakable—his broad shoulders, his jeweled crown, and the haughty expression of superiority that he wore even now.

Dozens of workers scrambled around the statue, hauling bricks of gold and hammering them into place. Their movements were quick but erratic, their hands trembling under the weight of both the gold and their terror. Every so often, one of them would glance toward the king, only to hastily look away as Pondrak’s piercing gaze fell upon them.

Pondrak stopped at the edge of the clearing, his cruel smirk deepening as he surveyed the progress.

Pondrak :- Faster!

He barked, his voice slicing through the oppressive silence. The workers flinched and doubled their efforts, sweat dripping from their brows despite the dry wind. Turning back to the crowd, Pondrak threw his arms wide, his voice booming with a commanding authority.

Pondrak :- Behold! Your king, your protector, your preserver. I am your ultimate God!

The kneeling subjects dared not raise their heads, but their shuddering forms spoke volumes. Pondrak’s laugh echoed through the clearing, harsh and grating, a sound that seemed to mock the heavens themselves.

Pondrak :- Do you see this? This is the symbol of your devotion, of your gratitude for my protection. Worship me, for I am the one true Krishna! Not the imposter who sits smugly in Dwarika.

He continued, gesturing toward the towering golden effigy of himself. His declaration sent a ripple of unease through the crowd. Mothers clutched their children tighter, laborers paused for the briefest of moments before resuming their frantic work, and the soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.

Pondrak stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the crowd, reveling in the fear that radiated from their very beings.

Pondrak :- You will bow to me. You will worship me. For I am your lord, your savior, and your destiny!

The oppressive atmosphere thickened as his cruel laughter rang out once more, reverberating through the clearing like a peal of thunder. It lingered in the air long after he had stopped, a chilling reminder of his merciless grip over the kingdom of Poundra.



The cool night air filled the opulent chamber of King Vikram of Anga, though the ruler seemed unaffected by the soothing breeze. His sharp eyes glinted with a dangerous enthusiasm as he reread the letter in his hands for the umpteenth time. Around him, a lavish display of gifts from Hastinapur lay spread across the floor—gold coins that shimmered in the lamplight, glittering jewels in velvet-lined boxes, weapons of exquisite craftsmanship, and fine ornaments fit for royalty.

Vikram leaned back in his chair, his fingers gripping the parchment tightly. His disheveled appearance betrayed his restless mind, yet his lips curled into a triumphant smirk. The letter bore the seal of Hastinapur and the signature of Shakuni, the uncle of the Kauravs. It was an offer—no, a promise—of an alliance that would grant Vikram the means to enact his long-held desire for vengeance against Draupadi, the fiery queen of Indraprasth.

The thought of Draupadi, with her haughty demeanor and piercing words, filled him with rage. She had humiliated him two years ago, during his visit, where his arrogance had been met with her biting rejection. That humiliation had burned in his heart ever since. And now, the opportunity to strike back at her and her family had come, wrapped in the guise of a marriage alliance.

He glanced again at the gifts—tokens of Hastinapur’s goodwill. The sheer wealth they represented was staggering, but it wasn’t the gold or the weapons that stirred his excitement. It was the letter itself, brimming with promises of support and shared animosity.

He unrolled the scroll once more, reading aloud the words that had sparked the flame of intrigue in his mind:

---

From Shakuni, King of Gandhar, and Uncle to the Noble Princes of Hastinapur

To the Esteemed King Vikram of Anga,

Greetings to a ruler of great might and foresight. It is with utmost respect and admiration that I write to you, extending a hand of friendship from the royal house of Hastinapur.

You, like us, understand the weight of pride and honor, and the sting of those who seek to undermine it. The sons of Pandu and their queen, Draupadi, have long stood as obstacles to the rightful sovereignty of those they deem lesser. Their arrogance knows no bounds, and their so-called virtue is but a veil for their greed.

We, the Kauravs, have long suffered under their shadow, much like you, O King, have borne the insult inflicted by the fiery queen of Indraprasth. It is time to rise above their hubris, to stand united against those who would trample upon our dignity.

As a token of our goodwill, I offer you my nephew Dussasan’s hand in marriage to your esteemed sister, Princess Pristi. This union shall cement our alliance, forging a bond of unshakable loyalty and shared purpose. Together, we shall ensure that justice prevails, and those who dare to insult our honor face the consequences.

With this letter, I send gifts of gold, jewels, and weapons—not as mere offerings but as symbols of the strength and prosperity that awaits us both in this friendship. Let us join forces to rewrite the fate of Aryavarth.

The Pandavs may have gathered allies, but with your support, King Vikram, we shall remind them that true power lies not in numbers but in strategy and unity.

I await your reply with great anticipation and look forward to a prosperous partnership.

Yours in friendship and purpose, Shakuni, King of Gandhar

---

Vikram’s grin widened as he set the letter aside, his mind already envisioning the possibilities. By aligning with the Kauravs, he would gain the strength and resources needed to undermine the Pandavs and their queen. And with his sister married into Hastinapur’s royal family, his position would be unassailable.

He reached for a goblet of wine, raising it in a silent toast to himself.

Vikram :- Draupadi, your arrogance will cost you everything. And I shall have the last laugh.

He murmured, his voice dripping with venom. The golden statue of his sister’s future gleamed before him, a testament to the alliance he was about to forge—a bond built on mutual hatred and cunning ambition.



Did you like the chapter ?

So, the plotting for enmity has already begun, and the first step will be Pristi's marriage.

Let's end this year with this note and hope that we can stand up and face the challenges that await us in the next one. Not only this, we all may rise and come victorious over the obstacles of life.

With this, the Next year will begin with Pristi's marriage.

Do comment if you have any suggestions.

Will see you in the next chapter, untill then, take care and bye.