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Original Mahabharat- 14

Jain Mahabharat-10



So as you guys have voted.... on this site Original Mahabharat will be followed. If you wish to read Jain Mahabharat... wait for a week or so and it will be available in AO3.







With a sharp snap of his fingers, Vasusena made the entire room melt away, the world around them shifting into a memory. The air thickened with tension as the scene unfolded.



"Yesterday, I asked you a question, Mahaamahim. Today's discussion revolves around that same question." Vasusena's voice was like a blade, cold and sharp. "Are you an incompetent old man... or a manipulative one?"



The memory unraveled before them, vivid and dark. A younger Suyodhana appeared before their eyes, his face twisted in frustration and arrogance. His footsteps thundered across the training grounds, his voice booming with challenge.



"VASUSENA!" The cry echoed through the scene, filled with the fire of childish pride.



They saw Vasusena's eyes flicker with fondness for a brief moment before his face smoothed over, masking any emotion. Kripa, along with the others, watched as the arrogant prince boldly challenged Vasusena, his impatience on full display. Vasusena, irritated yet composed, led Suyodhana out of the palace walls, taking him to hunt a tiger.



The memory jumped forward to the dense forest. There, amidst the trees, the great beast lay slain, its blood pooling neck bent into an unnatural shape beneath Vasusena's hands. Suyodhana, who had once radiated boldness, now stood quietly, terror creeping into his eyes as he watched Vasusena kill the tiger with his bare hands, the sheer force of his strength evident in every move.



It was then that the conversation between them began.



"You know you cannot defeat me," memory-Vasusena said with exasperation only seen in the faces of elder brothers done with the antics of their younger siblings. "I am the one who taught you everything you know of Mala Yuddha. In your current state, you have no hope of beating me. So, why the challenge?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, demanding truth.



To everyone's surprise, the proud Suyodhana apologized, his arrogance dissolving into pain.



But Vasusena wasn't swayed by the apology. He remained firm, unyielding. He pressed the prince further, using his authority as a teacher to probe deeper. "If I do not know what ails you," Vasusena said, his tone soft and kind, "I cannot help you."



Suyodhana broke down then, his shoulders shaking as tears filled his eyes. "It is not something you can solve, Vasusena. No one in Hastinapura or Aryavarta can help me," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his pain. Soft sobs escaped him.



And the realization struck like a blow—Suyodhana, beneath his mask of arrogance, was suffering. And all of them had failed to see it.

—---------------------------------



Kripa, Bhishma, and Vidura exchanged glances, the weight of their collective failure hanging in the air. How had they missed this? How had they not seen the child's pain beneath the veneer of pride?



—----------------------------------------------



The mood shifted again as the memory continued. They snorted in amusement as memory-Radheya calmly removed his armor, talisman, prayer beads, and every accessory that marked him as Vasusena, a warrior of Aryavarta. Standing bare –save for his garments–before the prince, he took on the mantle of an outsiderlooked on calmly. Suyodhana, bewildered, had asked what he was doing.



"As you yourself have said," memory-Vasusena explained, "no one in Aryavarta can help you. So,I have taken every accessory that represents Aryavarta off my person. cConsider me a man from beyond Aryavarta, an outsider, for the moment. Now, tell me your problem."



The mood shifted, and as Suyodhana, voice cracking with vulnerability, revealed his burden, Vasusena did something wholly unexpected. Something that seemed completely out of place for a person residing in Aryavarta. He reached out and, with a gentle tug, pulled Suyodhana's cheeks—affectionately.



"You're way too adorable," memory-Vasusena said with a chuckle, "to be the destroyer of the greatest kingdom in Aryavarta."



—-----------------



The scene froze for a moment, leaving everyone stunned—Kripa, Bhishma, Arjuna—all watching the memory with disbelief etched on their faces.



Vasusena stood, arms crossed and a faint smirk on his lips as he watched the reactions. He shrugged, casually. "What? I always wanted to pull his cheeks, and can you blame me?" he said, with an air of mock innocence. "Look at him and tell me you don't think he's cute."



He caught Vidura shaking his head in disbelief, while Bhishma's expression was stern, barely concealing the irritation boiling beneath his stoic mask. But Arjuna... Arjuna looked as though his entire worldview was collapsing—his eyes flickering between the memory and Vasusena, as if questioning every decision that led him to this moment.



And deep down, Kripa had to admit... Vasusena wasn't entirely wrong. Of all the children in Kuru Vansh, Bhimasena and Suyodhana were undeniably... adorable, with their chubby cheeks and hot tempers, like plump kittens whose tails were stepped on.



Vasusena glanced at Kripa with amusement, as if he could read his thoughts. He can't read minds, can he? Kripa thought, imagining the consequences of that with a shudder. Seeing the future is bad enough. If he can read minds too—no, let's not think about it.

—---------------------------



Predictably, memory-Suyodhana grew irritated by Vasusena's nonchalance. "Any other person would hate me once they learned the truth," he muttered darkly.



Memory-Vasusena nodded, unphased by the hostility. "Your problem, Suyodhana, is not that you think people might hate you. It's that you already believe they do."



"Yes...I am not wrong to believe it! I know that I cannot make anyone love me. I tried and tried all overand tried again to gain their love, Vasusena. But all is forit was all for naught." Suyodhana wailed. "Because I cannot change the fact that I was a dirt-born child and an ill omen. I thought if I could beat you today, I could be acknowledged by Pitamah Bhishma and Vidhur Kaka. But deep in my heart I know even if I managed to beat you, they will never acknowledge me. My problem does not have a solution, Vasusena."



Vasusena, in the memory, narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "How were you born, Suyodhana?"



The young prince blinked in confusion. "What?"



"I'm not asking about what happened at your birth. I mean the logistics. The gap between your siblings... it's barely a few months at most. How did Queen Gandhari give birth to a hundred children in that short time?" Memory-Suyodhana's face grew thunderous, but Vasusena continued, undeterred. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm asking you this because you called yourself dirt-born. If I'm right... the answer to why you chose that term lies in your own story."



Suyodhana bowed his head, shame flickering across his face. Slowly, he began recounting the tale of his birth. After his narration ended he bowed his head in shame.



"Doid you know that many great sages, as well as Pitamah Bhishma and Vidur Kaka, advised my parents to abandon the calamity which iwas about to strike Hastinapur?." All the members present were brought to tears when Suyodhana asked the question. "Is it my fault that I was born during a durmuhurtham? All my life... All my life me and my brothers and I have strived to prove that we are not a blight to Hastinapur. Sometimes I wonder if the death of myself is what it takes for them to love me. Tell me Radheya... tell me what it takes. Tell me what should I do for them to look past the circumstances of my birth?"



Radheya smiled wryly. "There is no solution to your question because even if you awere born during an auspicious time, the elders of Hastinapur willould have hated you."



"W-what!!!" Memory-Suyodhana shouted in a flabbergasted manner.



Memory-Radheya simply nodded. "Prince Suyodhana... you are not hated because you are born during a durmuhurtham. Parameshwara... no. They timed your birth during durmuhurtham so that you'll be the villain in the story of the Pandava Princes. You might think that the elders of Hastinapur hated you because you were an ill-omen and arrogant child. Let me clarify this, they hated you even before you were born."



—--------------------------------------------



"How dare you insinuate that!" Bhishma's voice thundered, filled with fury as he lunged towards Vasusena, his ironclad composure shattered. Kripa and Vidura rushed to restrain both Bhishma and the equally enraged Arjuna, their grip tight as the tension in the room thickened like a storm on the verge of breaking.



Kripa forced himself to think clearly, suppressing the rising tide of anger. The words that Vasusena had spoken to Suyodhana were unmistakably treasonous. By creating division within the royal family, Vasusena could be charged with sedition, and could be thrown out of the kingdom for such claims and Kripa stated this to Radheya.



But the boy reacted completely differently from what Kripa had expected him to. He thought there would be fear or defensiveness, Kripa saw only amusement even after all of this. Vasusena's lips curled in an eerie smile, one that reminded them all of a rakshasa's glee.



"Treason?" he chuckled, his voice light and hearty as if he didn't commit sedition before their eyes. "The charges won't stick. If anything, those accusations will wrap around the necks of Mahaamahim Bhishma, Prime Minister Vidura... and perhaps even you, Kripacharya."



"You're bluffing!" Arjuna's voice was a low growl, his hands clenched into fists, but the ease with which Vasusena dismissed the threat made a ripple of unease spread through the group.



Vasusena, unphased, let out another chuckle, this one darker than before. "If you attempt to brand me a traitor... you, your precious brother and nephew will be the ones paying the price, Acharya." His eyes, once glowing molten gold, darkened, shifting into a deep, brownish red—the unmistakable sign of his boon from Parameshwara.



The air seemed to grow heavier with his words, as if they carried the weight of prophecy. And through his eyes... all of them felt that Parameshwara himself was watching them in rage.



"Try to condemn me in court without the full story, and watch how your world crumbles." He bared his teeth in a challenging manner. "Forget the Queen, forget the King—anyone with even a drop of sense will spit in your face."



The ominous declaration hung in the air like a curse, and for a brief, terrifying moment, everyone knew he wasn't bluffing.



"When I said the Dhārtarāṣṭras will always hate you," Vasusena smiled like a cat toying with it's prey, "did you think I spoke those words lightly?" He scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. "I personally ensured that they'll always hate you—without question, without end. And in this life, I don't do a half-assed job."



With a sharp snap of his fingers, the memory resumed.



—----------------------------------------



"Have you lost your mind, Vasusena!" Memory-Suyodhana's voice trembled with fury. "How dare you suggest such a thing? Out of respect for our bond, I'll give you a chance—take those words back, or I'll have your tongue torn out for treason."



Memory-Vasusena, however, was unshaken, his smile languid, almost serene. "I accept those charges gladly, my Prince," he responded, with the calm of a man ready to meet his fate. "But will you not give this accused man a chance to defend himself?"



"Radheya, please," Suyodhana's tone softened into a plea, eyes desperate as he looked into the calm, resolute face of his friend. "I don't need any solution to my problems if it means it harms you."



Memory-Vasusena's reply rang like a vow. "For you, my Prince..., I will gladly accept death. If it means your happiness, I will embrace Hell with open arms."



—-------------------------------

For those watching the scene unfold, it felt more like an oath than a conversation. The depth of Vasusena's loyalty was staggering.......and yet it stood in direct opposition to his actions with Suyodhana. He was making him rebellious to his elders—which was adharma. Something wasn't quite adding up.



Kripa's mind churned. Vasusena's behavior was strange, too strange. He could feel it in his gut—there was a dangerous game being played. The feeling that Vidur, his Jyestha and he somehow were dangerous for Suyodhana's life was coming with full vengeance. If it might be just one of them it would be feasible but all three of them not a chance.



(But what if there was such a chance? What if they were responsible?)



—-------------------------



"Is Hastinapur not the richest kingdom in all of Aryavarta, Prince Suyodhana?" memory-Vasusena asked.



"Of course it is," Suyodhana responded irritably, the question seeming trivial.



Vasusena's smile remained undisturbed. "This kingdom is blessed, my Prince. You have scholars and priests with knowledge that rivals the gods themselves. A king, though blind, who was an able administrator. Mahaamahim Bhishma and Prime Minister Vidura, who have unparalleled wisdom. Both queens, virtuous and kind, even blessed by sages themselves." He paused, letting his words sink in.



"And yet... the children of one queen are cursed, while the children of the other are blessed. One queen's sons are born during auspicious times, while the other's during inauspicious moments. One set of children is hated, even though they stand in plain sight, while the other is loved without being seen. Tell me, Prince—are any of these statements false?"



"Radheya," Suyodhana's voice grew sharp with impatience, "enough with the riddles! You accused Hastinapur's elders of hating me and my brothers before we were born. How does any of this connect?"



—------------------------------



Kripa, watching intently, felt a cold sweat begin to form at the back of his neck. Vasusena wasn't a man to ask useless questions. No—each word, each query was a thread in a dark tapestry, and Kripa was beginning to see the image forming. And, when the tapestry was fully woven in his head,...his blood turned to ice and his hands trembled in fear.



And, from the corner of the eye, he saw the exact moment that Vidura and his Jyestha arrived at the same conclusion.

—----------------------------------



Vasusena's laugh was low, almost melancholic. "Every word I've spoken is relevant, my Prince." His eyes darkened further, no longer the playful gold but now smouldering with wrath. "I mentioned both queens were granted an unexpected boon, yes?



The unexpected boon for both the queens of Hastinapur is every parent's dream. The choice to choose the time when their children will be born into this world."



—-------------------------------------



And then, the full weight of the truth hit like the Brahmastra.



Bhishma and Vidura collapsed to the ground, the shock too much for their bodies to bear. Arjuna stood frozen, eyes wide and unfocused, as the implications of Vasusena's words began to dawn on him.



The room seemed to shrink under the crushing weight of revelation.



The boy hid his wrath under the facade of a reckless and mocking youth so that none of them could fathom the war he is waging underneath their noses. But now the carefree facade finally was gone, replaced by the patient shrewdness of a person who had been playing a game they had never even known existed.



And only now they realized just how dangerous he truly was.



"Do you need a moment to process—" Vasusena began, but seeing the glazed, disbelieving expressions on their faces, he sighed and backtracked. "Never mind."



Vidura opened his mouth to speak, but Vasusena raised a hand, silencing him before the words could leave his lips.



"Questions can wait until the conversation is done. There's not much left that's relevant to this situation, so let's finish it," he stated, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. "And Mahaamahim Bhishma..." Vasusena's eyes flickered toward the elder, who was still visibly shaken, "...has yet to answer my question."



Bhishma—trembling, his composure completely shattered—could only meet Vasusena's gaze with a hollow stare. The weight of the accusation, the unspoken truth behind the Suta's words, pressed upon him like a vice. His silence spoke volumes—of guilt, of fear, and perhaps of a deep-seated regret that had been buried under years and years of duty and blind loyalty to the throne.

—---------------------------------------



Gandhari Nandhan's eyes widened in shock. "The opening of your pot signifies your birth time, Prince Suyodhana. All your other brothers survived for three more months in those pots. So logically speaking you could have stayed in that pot for at least three more months." The little prince's hands started to shiver in fright.



"My first question was if Hastinapur is financially rich or not?" Radheya continued mercilessly, not sugar-coating any of his words and bludgeoning the truth into Suyodhana's brain. "Is Hastinapur so poor that it cannot pay a priest to predict an auspicious time?"



When Suyodhana did not reply, he continued.



"I also stated that Hastinapur has wise priests. Mahaamahim Bhishma and Prime Minister Vidhur also have knowledge about muhurthams. So they very well knew that the time when your pot was being opened was a durmuhurtham. Don't try to defend them. Because the time of birth of every royal scion is recorded, as per the regulations set up by King Sarvadamana himself. And yet your pot was opened on their orders in one of the worst durmuhurthams since the birth of Ravanasura."



Suyodhana fell bonelessly to the ground, tears falling down his face. "It's not like you are Shani Deva to convert an auspicious time to a durmuhurtham just by existing, Prince Suyodhana," Radheya shook his head. "The elders of Hastinapur made you and your brothers a curse, so that you will be the villains in the story of the Pandava Princes. Now pass your judgment, my Prince. Am I wrong?"



"No." Suyodhana choked out. "You are acquitted of all charges."



The little Prince continued to cry. "Even in exile, Kunti Maa and Madri Maa checked for an auspicious time to give birth to the Pandavas. Why?" He wailed. "My mother received a boon to have us. And these..." he clenched his fists"... so called dharmiks twisted that blessing into a curse. What sin have I committed for them to hate me? What did I ever do in my life to deserve this?"



"Mahaamaahim Bhishma was obsessed with the Hastinapur throne, Prince Suyodhana." Radheya answered softly. "Because of his pledge, he devoted his life to the kingdom. So before his death, he wanted a worthy King on the throne. And in his eyes, what's a normal mortal prince compared to a demigod? I apologize for saying this, Prince Suyodhana, but even before you were born, you had already lost. Owing to his obsession to find a perfect king, you and all of your brothers were the sacrifices he felt were acceptable to make."



—----------------------------



The tension in the air was thick, almost unbearable. Both his Jyestha and Vidura understood that Vasusena's actions had led them to a place of no return. There was no undoing what had been done, no mending the shattered once-fragile, now-shattered bonds that once held their family together.



Vasusena hadn't merely burned their family tree—he had salted the ashes, ensuring nothing could ever grow there again. Their only concession is that Gandhari and Dhritarashtra were not shown the full conversation. Till now Dhritarashtra was just angry at them for Bhishma's deeds. But if this is shown... Kripa shivered at the mere thought of Dhritarashtra's wrath and Gandhari's heartbreak.



"So... what's your answer, Mahaamahim Bhishma?" Vasusena's voice was steady, but his gaze was sharp enough to cut through the air, piercing the greatest of the Kuruvansha.



"Are you a malicious old man, or just an incompetent one? I'm waiting for your answer, Mahaamahim."



The question, which had ignited fury in their hearts when they heard it for the first time, now instilled nothing but emptiness. The air around them seemed heavier, suffocating. No one dared move. Bhishma's silence only deepened the tension.



Vidura, sensing Bhishma's silence, stepped forward, his voice barely a whisper, pleading. "Vasusena, we never intended harm. Suyodhana is our blood, our child. We never meant to—"



Vasusena laughed, but it was a sound hollowed of any warmth, bitter and cutting. "Oh, I'm well aware you didn't mean to do it intentionally. I'm no fool." His eyes darkened as he looked at each of them in turn. "But the truth is, I can make sure everyone thinks you did. It wouldn't be hard. Either way, you'll lose everything you hold dear."



He paused, savoring their growing unease. "If I claim you simply made a grievous mistake, then you'll be seen as incompetent—an old fool who neglected his duty out of complacency that he got his Devaputras for the throne of Hastinapur, unwittingly sealing the fates of Hastinapura's heirs. Your position would be lost, your influence over the court tarnished and your judgment would forever be subjected to question."



Vasusena leaned closer, his voice now a whisper as cold as steel. "Or, if I paint you as a manipulative schemer... well, then treason charges await. Because no one in their right mind will ever call you incompetent. Instead, you'd be cast as a manipulative bastard who, because of the love and the excitement at the arrival of Devaputras, decided to remove all the obstacles on the path of their throne and ensured my friend's birth during a durmuhurtham.



In that scenario, you'll be banished. And for standing by you all this time all the while being in the know, Mahamantri Vidura and Kulguru Kripacharya too would be sentenced to life in prison, if not death."



In that scenario, you'll be banished. And for standing by you all this time, Mahamantri Vidura and Kulguru Kripacharya? They too would be sentenced to life in prison, if not death."



He let his words linger, leaving a silence as stifling as his threat. His cruel smile said it all, as if daring them to picture the devastation he'd wrought in their minds. "Till now the only person who hated you with all his heart is Suyodhana. But his hatred will be the least of your concerns. Because after this..." Vasusena's smile widened, though he left the sentence unfinished, allowing their minds to fill in the terror.



Kripa felt his pulse quicken, a cold sweat breaking over him. They had underestimated him, underestimated the depths of his vengeance. By the gods... they should have listened to Krishna's warning, should have left him in peace.



His eyes swept over them, taking in their haunted expressions. "Anyway, here it is... the so-called poison I've poured into Suyodhana's heart." His tone dripped with disdain as he continued, "The means by which I 'broke' your family. All this time, it was just between Suyodhana and me, buried deep in our hearts. You really shouldn't have tried to dig it up."



His gaze hardened. "Some things are better left buried."



With his piece said, Vasusena turned on his heel to leave the room.



"Why do you hate us so much, Vasusena?" Bhishma's voice cracked, the tone raw, filled with pain. It made the warrior stop in his tracks and glance back.



"If I actually hated you... I would've shown this conversation to the Queen or the King," came the cold reply. "Hatred is not an emotion to wield lightly, Mahaamahim." His eyes darkened, shadowed by memories. "I've seen too many lives—mine included—destroyed by it.



I don't want to inject hatred in either of their hearts and destroy their lives. And before you ask, Suyodhana does not hate you. He just doesn't care for you and your opinions anymore. I made sure of it.



I'm angry, yes. But hateful? No."



"Then why did you break our family, Vasusena?" Arjuna asked, desperation evident in his voice.



"This is a family that should never stay together, Gandivadhari," Vasusena responded evenly, the words like iron. "Don't push me further on this."



"You're lying, you hateful suta!" Arjuna shouted in grief. "In your hatred for us, you turned Suyodhana against his elders, poisoned his love for them. You knew it was his stubborn refusal to heed their advice that led him to adharma in our last life. And yet, you've done it again! What's the difference between you and Mamashree Shakuni then? Tell me, Karna!"



Vasusena's expression softened as he looked at Arjuna. "You really are a strong person, Phalguna," he said quietly. "Despite everything Suyodhana has put you and your family through... here you are, wishing he'll walk the path of Dharma in this life. It's rare, you know, to wish well for your enemy. That kind of strength only belongs to the truly strong."



Vasusena's face twisted into a mocking, almost mirthful expression, his smile razor-sharp as he addressed them. "And are you trying to insult me by comparing me to Gandharraj Shakuni? If so... you'll be sorely disappointed. I'd consider that a compliment more than anything."



"Shakuni and I share one undeniable truth—our love for Suyodhana. He loved Suyodhana so much that he would not hesitate to do any adharma for his happiness. I'm no different.



But in my old life, I can say this without shame: Shakuni was wiser than me."



The room fell silent, the weight of Radheya's admission shocking those present. He continued, his tone deceptively light yet laced with meaning. "After the Ghoshayathra... It was Shakuni who advised Suyodhana to return Indraprastha and be content with what we had.



After the Sandhi Prastav, it was he who begged my friend to accept your demands, to halt the war before it turned our world to ash. He spoke of War's devastation—not just to the defeated, but to the victors as well. And yet, we ignored him.



He told us not to be jealous and be happy with what we have. We turned a deaf ear to his pleas."



Vasusena's expression darkened, his gaze sweeping across the room. "In this life, I have come to understand the wisdom of his words. I have learned from them. And I am doing what he once begged Suyodhana to do—choosing peace, choosing restraint. Trust me, comparing me to Shakuni is the one of the best compliments I have ever received."



The shock rippled visibly through the assembly, their eyes darting to one another in disbelief. Vasusena let the moment stretch, his mocking grin fading into something colder, sharper. "But," he said, his voice dropping into a quieter, more dangerous tone, "Shakuni and I are not the same."



You ask me the difference between myself and Gandharraj Shakuni? There are two major differences between us."



"Shakuni poisoned Suyodhana's heart because he feared Suyodhana would be denied the throne of Hastinapur. He spoiled him, blinded him with unconditional love, never reprimanding him for his wrongs.



In his eyes, love meant indulgence without boundaries. And so, Suyodhana learnt to love in that same reckless way. Shakuni committed terrible deeds in his name, oblivious to the damage it did to Suyodhana's character and his standing in the eyes of the world."



Vasusena's voice grew heavier, but a small smile graced his face as he spoke. "As for me... I became everything Suyodhana needed in his life. I filled the position of his father, his mother, his brother, his friend and many more.



I gave him wisdom when Queen Gandhari could not even bother to do so.



In place of his father I placed weapons in his hands, taught him to fight.



I became his brother, his strength and refuge when he broke down under the judgements and disrespect of the society."



The weight of his words brought tears to the eyes of everyone listening, the anguish and love behind them undeniable.



"I took the place of Mahaamahim Bhishma and taught him discipline and made him learn patience



I taught him nyaya shastra, rajneeti, danda neethi in place of Prime Minister Vidura.



I taught him the art of Shatru Labha—the advantages of having an enemy (yes there are advantages of having a healthy rivalry) and how to find advantage over an enemy. I taught him Mitra Bheda—what divides friends and many more things. But above all, I taught him where to channel his anger. And I became his very conscience."



Arjuna's eyes widened in shock.



"In our last life," Vasusena continued, his tone growing somber, "our sin was not failing to listen to our elders, as you believe. No... our sin was letting innocent people become the targets of our rage."



"Suyodhana and the Dhārtarāṣṭras let their jealousy turn to hatred against you. And I... I turned my anger toward you, Arjuna. My anger at the world, at Guru Drona, at Mahaamahim Bhishma—I focused it all on you. It was wrong to do so.



Your family did not deserve what we put you through Dhanunjaya. Our anger should be targeted at the ones who deserved it." He said looking at the elders standing mutely at their side.



"We committed countless sins against you, forgetting where our wrath truly stemmed from. By the end of our lives, we didn't even remember why we hated you originally.



Arjuna's fingers tightened as he spoke again, quieter now, yet firm. "What is the second difference?"



Vaikartana's gaze held steady, a flicker of something implacable beneath the surface. "The difference, Arjuna, lies in why Shakuni sought to make Suyodhana despise his elders in that life, while I stripped him of his love for Mahaamahim Bhishma and Mahamantri Vidura in this one."



Vasusena's words cut through the silence, each one sharp, measured. "Gandharraj Shakuni was fueled by resentment. He despised Bhishma for forcing Gandhari to marry a blind prince, a puppet in a dynasty's scheme, when King Pandu still reigned. And she, out of love and loyalty, chose to share his blindness, refusing to witness a world he could not see."



Bhishma stiffened, his face flushed with indignation. "I didn't force Gandhari's hand. I went to Gandhar to propose a marriage, nothing more—"



"You went on Maharani Satyavati's orders, to bring her as a bride for her blind grandson," Radheya retorted, unyielding. "Tell me, what would you have done if they refused? You are not the kind and never the kind who takes no for an answer. So tell me what you would have done? Hmm."



Vaikartana hummed softly. "No need to answer that Mahaamahim; The entirety of Aryavarta knew what you would have done. None in this country forgot the sin you have committed against the eldest daughter of Kalinga, Devi Amba."



Bhishma's defiance faltered, his voice silenced under Vaikartana's unrelenting gaze.



"He only wanted all of you to respect his sister," Karna continued, his voice growing colder, "to be loved as a wife, not bartered as a broodmare.



And yet what did she receive?



To Maharani Satyavati, Rani Ambika and you, Mahaamahim, she was nothing but a vessel to bear heirs. And when her labors went awry, she suffered scorn instead of support. Her husband betrayed her, seeking comfort with a servant while she despaired. Is it truly a wonder that Gandharraj harbored nothing but contempt for you all?"



His gaze raked over each of them, cutting deeper than his words. "And after she gave you everything, how did you treat her children? The very sons for whom, she was made to marry your nephew were met with your derision, their lineage held in contempt. You trampled on her sacrifices, even though she is the only one who ever truly cared for each of you even beyond her own children. Gandharraj's hatred for the Kuru dynasty—tell me, is it really so difficult to fathom?"



His gaze raked over each of them, cutting deeper than his words. "And after she gave you everything, how did you treat her children? The very sons she was made to marry your nephew were met with your derision, their lineage held in contempt. You trampled on her sacrifices, and she, the only one who ever truly cared for each of you even beyond her own children. Gandharraj's hatred for the Kuru dynasty—tell me, is it really so difficult to fathom?"



He took a long breath, softening only to steel himself further. "Shakuni and I—yes, we share certain traits, but our natures differ in one crucial way. He is clever, but heedless, indulging Suyodhana's every whim, pouring love into his heart without pause.



But people forget even nectar is a poison when taken in excess. He adored him to the point of ruin, forgetting the lesson every parent knows: 'Spare the rod, spoil the child.'"



"But I?" Vasusena's voice grew colder still, like tempered steel. "I disciplined him, not out of hatred, Phalguna, but because I cared. Because I did not—do not—seek his ruin... I taught him to be strong, to be fierce.



And Gandivadhari... don't mistake Mahaamahim Bhishma's discipline with mine. He disciplined the Dhārtarāṣṭras not from love, but from disdain." It was a lie everyone knew Bhishma loved all the children of Kuru Dynasty. But the evidence put forward by Vaikartana was something none of them could argue against.



"I did not make Suyodhana hate you," Karna continued, shaking his head in derision. "Hatred is not the true opposite of love, Mahaamahim. The true opposite of love is apathy. In the eyes of my friend you have much less worth than a stone on the pathway.



I stripped away the love he bore for each of you because if he continued to love, he would forever strive for your approval, always desperate to prove himself."



He paused, his voice resonating with quiet intensity. "And that path leads only to ruin. In seeking your validation, Suyodhana would push himself to surpass his cousins, his brothers, and he would do so in bloodshed. It would end in a massacre—one that would claim him and all of his brothers."



A trace of something else entered his gaze then, something like regret tempered by resolve. "I rid him of that need for your approval. I changed him so thoroughly that he no longer desires the throne of Gajasharya."



Vasusena's expression hardened, a flicker of defiance softening into resignation. "And now, you and your brothers, Gandivadhari... have what you all once claimed to want in your previous life. Suyodhana and his brothers have renounced any claim to the throne. There is no lasting enmity, only the minor disputes of children. What more could you ask for?"



"I want my family to be united," Arjuna declared bluntly, his voice steady despite the emotions raging inside him, having composed himself after hearing Vasusena's passionate words.



"That will not happen. Never going to happen as long as I draw breath," came Vasusena's equally blunt response, his gaze unwavering and cold as iron.



Arjuna sneered, fury building behind his calm exterior. "You're making all my cousins adharmis by turning them against our elders. And for all your flowery words... You yourself are a hateful adharmi."



Vasusena's eyes darkened, and for the first time in their exchange, irritation sparked against the third Pandava. Until now, he had dismissed Arjuna's provocations, treating him like a naive child. But now, the patience that had kept his fury in check was wearing thin.



"Dhananjaya... are you purposefully being daft?" His voice, low and sharp, carried a cutting edge. The tension in the air grew, and everyone felt the weight of it. "This is a family that should never stay together.



Just as killing Gandharraj Shakuni is a sin I'll bear for the happiness of the Dhārtarāṣṭras... breaking this family apart is also a sin I'll take upon myself for their continued happiness."



Vasusena stepped closer, his presence imposing. "This is my last warning, Gudakesha. If you continue to push me, the consequences will be dire for you."



"Mahaamahim Bhishma, Kakashree Vidura, and Kripacharya loved all of us. For one mistake they made, would you really break our family into pieces?" Arjuna's question, calm yet reasonable, hung in the air.



But it was too late. The storm that had been brewing in Vaikartana now broke, unleashing a fury that none could have prepared for.



"A single mistake they made, Dhanunjaya? A single mistake, you say?" Karna's voice was a low growl, seething with unrestrained rage. They were no longer dealing with Vasusena—the warrior who sought to walk a righteous path in this life.



No, Arjuna had awakened Karna, the rakshasa who had cast aside all values for the sake of Suyodhana. They had prodded a beast they should have left untouched.



"I killed Gandharraj Shakuni," Karna continued, his voice colder than death itself. "Just because he loved Suyodhana too much and committed countless adharmas to please him. I killed him without a shred of hesitation." The admission of Shakuni's murder sent a chill through the room. Frozen, they stared at Karna, whose tone was more menacing than they had ever heard.



"So tell me, Dhanunjaya... if I killed Shakuni who loved Suyodhana despite his faults..." Karna's gaze sharpened, locking on Arjuna. "What more do you think I am willing to do to these dharmatmas?"



The promise of violence in Karna's voice was palpable, shaking even those who had once been defiant. What they had seen from him until now was merely a drop in the ocean compared to the fury coursing through him now.



"First, through their negligence, they caused my friend to be born during durmuhurtham, under the worst of omens." Vasusena's gaze lingered on Bhishma, his voice carrying the weight of accusation.



"Then, they ordered the king to abandon him—cast away as food to the beasts of the forest when he was barely a day old," he continued, his tone colder now, shifting to Vidura and himself. A sneer twisted his face, but the words that followed were anything but amused.



"And then—then—they branded him an adharmi, a destroyer of the Kuru dynasty, when he was still a child, a boy who didn't even understand the difference between right and wrong."



His words struck the room like arrows. Vasusena's lips curled, bitterness dripping from each syllable.



"Suyodhana was hated—by ministers, servants, and finally, even by his own mother. All because of the actions of these so-called dharmatmas."



His sneer turned into something darker, colder, as if dredging up memories that had long been buried. "They left him alone. A child, who didn't even know the difference between good and bad, and what did they do? They neglected him, let him wander in his ignorance. And the only words he ever heard from their mouths? Beratings, scoldings, chastisements—for his ignorance which they are the ones who should clear up."



A pause, but only to let the tension coil even tighter before he struck again.



"And when he stopped listening to them, stopped obeying their words—now they wonder why? They wonder why he became the way he did? In their negligence, they destroyed his life so utterly that even a servant could sneer at him and his brothers, without consequence—until I came."



Karna's anger was now a storm, a fury that had no outlet, unrelenting and destructive. "I killed Gandharraj Shakuni for nothing more than failing to set boundaries on his love for Suyodhana. I killed him for spoiling Suyodhana's nature, for ruining his future."



His eyes—dark, menacing—shifted to Arjuna. The intensity in them was suffocating. "So, tell me, Gandivadhari—tell me—what should I do to these dharmatmas?"



The question hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in venom.



"You said I deliberately made Suyodhana turn against these..." Karna's lips tightened, his expression strained with irritation. Whatever harsh words had formed in his mind were swallowed in a silent rage. "Do you remember the boon I asked from my first tapasya? Krishna showed you all that happened, didn't he?"



The others exchanged confused glances. It was Vidura who responded softly, "You asked Brahmastra from Anjaneya to kill Gandharraj Shakuni."



Karna's eyes gleamed with sharp correction. "I didn't ask for Brahmastra without any conditions. I only asked for the knowledge of Brahmastra for one hour. Just one hour, for which I traded my armor, the very thing that could've saved me from death. What does that tell you?"



Kripa's mind spun as he tried to grasp the meaning. What was this child implying? Why trade away such precious protection for a fleeting moment of power? He knew Vaikartana too well—there was always a deeper reasoning behind his words. But what?



Vidura, his face paling with realization, whispered, "You decided to walk away from Suyodhana, Vasusena." His voice was filled with horror. Karna's faint smile, melancholic and resigned, confirmed Vidura's suspicion. "After you foresaw the future... you no longer wished to stand by Suyodhana's side."



And then Arjuna's words echoed in Vidura's mind.



"The tree of adharma that is Duryodhana stands tall and formidable. Its essence is hatred, with a trunk none other than Vasusena—unyielding, unwavering in his loyalty. The branches, wide and poisonous, are the schemes of Gandharraj Shakuni."



Vaikartana killed Gandharraj Shakuni, and he only wished for Brahmastra for one hour. And the realization struck like a bolt of lightning. Vaikartana didn't want to be a weapon for adharma anymore. In truth, Vasusena had removed all he deemed harmful influences from Suyodhana's life—including himself.



Kripa's breath caught as the enormity of it settled. "No... it means Radheya here, decided he and Gandharraj Shakuni were not good influences on Suyodhana. He killed Shakuni and planned to leave Suyodhana's side, entrusting his well-being to us."



The room fell into stunned silence, each face reflecting disbelief. Karna began to clap slowly, each clap echoing ominously through the room confirming that was his intention.



"In my previous life, Gandharraj Shakuni and I were blamed for Suyodhana's descent into adharma," Karna's voice dripped with bitterness, his gaze fixed on the floor. "By Krishna's words, by the accusations of many—including Devi Gandhari—I believed them."



His lips twisted in a mocking smile, the edge of self-scorn clear as he continued, "So in this life, I thought if we were gone—if Shakuni and I were out of the way—you elders would guide Suyodhana onto the path of dharma." He scoffed, the sound harsh and cutting. "What a fool I've been."



"You walked away from the path of a warrior, the very thing that defined your existence in your previous life—for Suyodhana?" Arjuna's voice trembled, shock clear in every word.



"I loved Suyodhana more than my life, Dhanunjaya. So yes, I did." Karna's response was simple, yet the weight of it hung in the air.



"I left Suyodhana for six years in your hands. One year during my training in Hastinapur, four years in tapasya, and training under Mahadev." His voice carried a sorrowful resonance. "Even after I returned, I didn't even search for him.



For almost a year, I lived my life as my own, and then, by fate or irony, I was assigned to him as his guard. Despite my fear that my presence was poison for him, there was a piece of my soul that longed to see him just once... I accepted it."



His voice grew harsher, eyes blazing with fury as he seethed, "And what did my deeds achieve?"



His rage boiled over. "In six years—six bloody years—you...," Karna roared, his voice shaking the room, "... you turned a cheerful, fun-loving toddler into a child who had to wear a mask of arrogance, so his brothers could draw strength from him, while he broke down inside."



Karna's breathing was ragged, his face flushed with the rawness of his fury. It was rare to see such emotion from Vaikartana; even Kripa, who had known him long, had never believed Vasusena capable of such terrible wrath. Kripa saw Suryanarayana's wrath echoed in Vaikartana at that moment.



"Tell me, Mahaamahim Bhishma, Mahamantri Vidura, Kulguru Kripacharya," Karna's voice cut through the silence, heavy with accusation, "how did this come to be?"



None of them could meet his gaze. Heads bowed, shamed into silence, not a word of defense was uttered.



"Tell me, Dhanunjaya... When a child makes a mistake, whose fault is it?



Arjuna's voice, soft yet steady, responded, "It is the mistake of the elders who failed to guide him on the path of dharma."



"I gave them six years. Six years, Dhananjaya. Six years for them to mold Suyodhana into whatever they envisioned him to be.



"Because of Mahaamahim Bhishma, this incompetent old bast—" Vasusena's words hung in the air, his restraint barely visible as he swallowed the rest, though the venom was unmistakable. Shaking his head, he pressed on, his voice laced with bitterness. "It is his incompetence, his mistake, that cursed my Suyodhana to be born under a durmuhurtham."



He turned, fixing his sharp gaze on Bhishma. "Hastinapur already had a king for the next generation, so why bother with the children born of dirt when we have Devaputras, is that what you thought, Mahaamahim Bhishma?"



Bhishma's head bowed, shame pooling on his weathered face. But Vasusena was relentless, his anger hot and consuming.



"As if that wasn't enough, your actions ensured that every last Dhārtarāṣṭra was cemented in the minds of Hastinapur as nothing but the pillars of adharma. You did that, Mahaamahim." The words were an accusation, cutting through Bhishma's silent guilt, leaving the weight of his failure to hang in the stillness.



"I'm unwilling to give them a second chance, Gandivadhari."



"Who are you to give us chances?" Arjuna's voice cracked. "You're an outsider to this family, Vasusena. You have no right to judge our elders."



Vasusena's lips curled into a sneer, his gaze turning ice cold. "Who am I to judge you?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. "When they blinded themselves, filling their hearts with hate even though the mistakes that were done were by their hands, I was the one who saw Suyodhana as he truly was, past all the lies they built for the world. And despite it all, I loved him."



The words were laced with finality, a truth that left no room for doubt.



"Even when his own mother turned her back on him, I loved Suyodhana—and his brothers—more than anyone ever did or could. Don't you dare compare my devotion to the hollow love of these..." He sneered as he swept his gaze across the room, disgust clear in his eyes.



"I might be an outsider but I loved him unconditionally. He called me his brother in his previous life and I'm his teacher in this life. The things I did and the lengths I'm willing to go to make him walk the right path... they are the ties that bind me to him."



"Suyodhana loved you... he loved you so much that he is willing to do anything for your approval." Karna spoke in a sorrowful tone. "Why did you again and again push him away Mahaamahim Bhishma? Why? What sin did he do?



There is no Gandharraj Shakuni to poison his mind in this world. There is no Karna to drive him deeper into adharma." Tears glistened in the eyes of Aditya Nandhana as his voice trembled. "Aside from his churlishness, his temper—Suyodhana is a good child. So why, Mahaamahim, why is my friend still branded an adharmi? Why?"



There is no answer from the people gathered.



"Don't they deserve to right the mistakes they have done in ignorance, Karna?" Arjuna pleaded.



Vasusena dismissed that heartfelt plea and turned towards him. Kripa shook for a moment when Vaikartana's gaze focused on him.



"Kripacharya...I'll have a question for you." He gulped when Vaikartana focused on him.



"When a minister prays that another king should sit on the throne instead of his own, Kripacharya, what does that mean?"



Kripa's stomach churned. This was no innocent question—it was a snare, tightening around his throat. Bhishma had done exactly that. Yes, out of love for Hastinapura's future, but it was still treason in its own way.



Kripa glanced toward Bhishma, desperate for guidance, but the old warrior's face was as unreadable as ever, his silence a stone wall.



Vasusena's voice, now sharper, cut through the air like the edge of a blade. "What does it mean, Kripacharya?" The fury of Karna felt like hot coals on his back, forcing Kripa to the brink.



Swallowing hard, Kripa's voice quivered as he answered, "It means... that the person wishes for the king's death, Vasusena."



The silence was deafening. Vasusena turned to Bhishma, his words soft, yet wrapped in ice. "Mahaamahim Bhishma, when you took your oath before your father, you swore to serve whoever sat on Hastinapura's throne as if he were your own father. So tell me, do you pray every day for your father's death?"



The question struck with deadly precision. Kripa saw Bhishma falter, his formidable façade cracking. "I wish only for Hastinapura's prosperity," Bhishma choked out, his voice fragile. "Before my death, I want to see a just and capable king on the throne. Is that too much to ask?"



Vasusena's eyes remained hard, showing no mercy. "You seek an ideal, Mahaamahim," he replied bluntly, his words cutting through the tension like a sword. "Not a king. You're searching for your own reflection on the throne."



A stunned silence hung over the room, the weight of Karna's words suffocating. "The one you wish for does not exist," Radheya continued, shaking his head in disdain. "Because it is human nature to err. And you wanted a Devaputra—only a Devaputra like you—to sit on the throne."



Bhishma opened his mouth to defend himself, "Pandu was a good—"



"King Pandu," Karna interrupted coldly, "was a man with no self-control."



Arjuna stepped forward, his anger evident, but Vasusena silenced him with a single piercing look. The force of it stopped him in his tracks.



"King Pandu is dead because he couldn't control his lust, Dhananjaya. Have you forgotten that?" Vasusena's voice was calm but biting, each word laced with unyielding judgment. "Despite Queen Madri's desperate pleadings, he touched her, and in her guilt for what she believed was her role in his death, she committed sati."



Arjuna's eyes grew unfocused, remembering how his father died and how Madri Maa jumped in fire after him.



"He was cursed because he killed Rishi Kindama and felt no remorse. When confronted by the dying sage, he argued that he was not at fault. Only after the curse was placed upon him did your adopted father finally feel sorrow."



(For those looking to explore some parallels, consider the time when Karna accidentally killed a Brahmin's cow. Instead of leaving, he knelt before the Brahmin and humbly begged forgiveness, promising to grant any wish to make amends. He could have walked away, as it was an accident, yet he chose to stay and own up to his mistake. This moment of humility is part of what makes the second curse feel all the more gut-wrenching to me—Karna, for all his recklessness, strove to take responsibility for his actions.



On the other hand, consider King Pandu, who killed Rishi Kindama and his wife. Now, don't misunderstand me—he was within his rights as a hunter at that moment. But when it became clear that his arrows had taken the life of Sage Kindama's wife, rather than offering an apology, he misquoted the rules of the hunt. Even as the sage lay dying in heartbreak beside his fallen wife, King Pandu clung stubbornly to his "rightness" instead of acknowledging or apologizing for his mistake. This contrast in how each character faced their errors speaks volumes about their natures



And before you come at me with arguments that King Pandu is a good person etc etc. According to Mahabharat when his mother entered Niyoga... She had a sense of duty towards the Kingdom but she was unable to control her emotions on seeing the sage. She turned pale. King Pandu was similar. He had a strong sense of duty but does not have control over his emotions. )



The shock was palpable, the bluntness of the statement hitting them like a slap. "And what was King Dhritarashtra's crime, according to you? That he was blind?"



Vasusena's voice grew colder, sharper. "No man is perfect, and your endless search for perfection left Hastinapura with kings who are no more than shadows, ruling only by your grace in the eyes of the people.



Weak, ineffective kings like Vichitraveerya and Dhritarashtra, whose reigns are remembered only because Gangaputra Bhishma upheld the dynasty's glory. These are their words."



His scornful words echoed in the room, twisting the very legacy Bhishma had sought to protect.



"King Vichitraveerya was indeed weak—but King Dhritarashtra?" Karna's eyes blazed with intensity. "What was his crime? Loving his sons and wishing for their future on the throne? Is that a sin?"



Arjuna's frustration boiled over, his voice strained. "My brother Yudhistira is the eldest of this generation. He should be the one to sit on the throne of Hastinapura."



Vasusena's response was a low, menacing growl. "Your father adopted you, Dhananjaya. If you were to adopt a child, would you give him a higher status than your own blood? No, you wouldn't. The rightful heirs, by blood, come first. Only after them comes the adopted children's chance."



He let the truth of his words sink in, each one cutting deeper. "If that was the case, Guru Kripacharya here too would have sat on the throne of Gajasharya. Acharya is the adopted son of King Shantanu. He's older than King Vichitraveerya or King Chitrangada, but he was never made king—because he's adopted. Just like you."



Arjuna's words faltered, suffocated by the weight of Vasusena's harsh truth. His reddish-brown eyes shifted as they settled on Bhishma.



"And before you start with how King Pandu was crowned and Dhritarashtra was just a placeholder... let me remind you, King Pandu gave up the throne. He forfeited all rights to rule and left this palace behind."



"And yet the Dhārtarāṣṭra sat on the throne of Hastinapur due to my Kakashree's putra moh," Arjuna accused, his voice edged with bitterness.



Vasusena arched a brow, amusement flickering in his gaze. "And what, Gandivadhari, is so wrong with a father wishing his son to follow in his footsteps?"



Silence filled the hall, stretching into an uncomfortable pause. There was nothing to counter in that simple question, and it settled over them heavily.



"Fine," Vasusena spoke, breaking the stillness with a sigh. "Forget that for a moment. Tell me this, then—who was the first Crown Prince King Dhritarashtra declared in our previous life?"



"My brother Yudhistira," Arjuna answered, teeth clenched.



"You say King Dhritarashtra was blinded by putra moh," Vasusena replied, a mocking smile pulling at his lips. "And yet... he named Yudhistira, not his own son, as Crown Prince. It doesn't add up, does it, Gandivadhari?"



"And your friend tried to—"



"This isn't about our actions, Gandivadhari," Vasusena cut him off, his tone cold and unyielding. "We know, better than anyone in this world, the weight of our sins."



His gaze swept across the gathered elders, his contempt barely restrained. "This is about these people"—Kripa caught a slight growl, as if Vasusena wished to say demons instead—"those who howl that my friend and his parents are rebels, fools, tainted, while they themselves are as white as wool."



Arjuna snapped his mouth shut.



"You slandered King Vichitraveerya, fine, then King Dhritarashtra, alright—and it continued even when my friend sat on the throne." Karna's voice was a snarl, his restraint fraying. "Insults piled upon insults, laid at our feet by Devaratha here." The formality dropped, a sign that Vasusena's control was slipping. "And the only flaw in my friend's governance? He wasn't Yudhistira. Does that sound fair to you, Gandivadhari?"



"Duryodhana is a tree of adharma, and even Vishwadhipathi declared him so," Arjuna shot back. "A man driven by wrath and envy, a king no righteous man would serve."



Vasusena's gaze turned frigid, his eyes like shards of ice. "If he refused to serve an adharmic king, he should have left and gone to you five brothers. That kingdom you ruled, too, was once part of Hastinapur."



In Vasusena and Arjuna's future, had Hastinapur been divided?



Arjuna clenched his fists, opening his mouth to argue, but Vasusena's voice cut through the air, cold and unyielding.



"And don't even bring up the so-called Dharmaputra, Phalguna. Your friend made your side 'dharmic' out of love for you and Paanchal Kumari."



"You're lying," Arjuna snapped, his face twisting in disbelief.



Vasusena sneered, his gaze mocking. "Why would I ever bother to lie when truth serves me better in this life?"



"The sin you, Suyodhana, and others committed that day—"



"Do you really want these people to know what happened that day, Phalguna?" Vasusena's eyebrows raised mockingly but there was a subtle threat in his tone. Arjuna fell silent, his defiance crumbling under the weight of unspoken truths.



"Now, where was I?" Vasusena continued, his eyes flashing as he turned to Bhishma.



"You spoke of how we should've left the Dhārtarāṣṭras for the Pandavas' kingdom." Bhishma's voice cracked, heavy with guilt.



Vasusena scoffed. "If the only thing you intended was to hurl insults for our choices, then you should've left us altogether."



Vasusena paused, turning his gaze to Arjuna. "During your Ajnathavasam, we asked him where we could find you."



Arjuna's eyes narrowed as Vasusena continued, his voice laced with bitterness. "Do you know his answer? 'Find the place where riches flow and people are happy'—as if Hastinapur suffered under our rule." His jaw tightened, and a fire ignited in his eyes.



"Do you know what Suyodhana accomplished in that time?" Vasusena demanded, his tone sharp. "From Kshatriya to suta, not a soul went hungry in our kingdom. Even against the wrath of the gods, Hastinapur flourished under his administration. He, along with his hundred brothers, worked tirelessly so no one would suffer during his reign."



He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Those common men who once adored you, who despised him, no longer remember you, Gandivadhari. Their respect belongs to him now. Even the kingdom you five founded has all but forgotten you, save for the Brahmins. It was Suyodhana who made Hastinapur prosper."



Vasusena's voice dropped, cold as steel. "Yet, in the royal court, two partial old men called his rule a curse, solely because Suyodhana isn't a devaputra. Care to guess who they are, Gandivadhari?"



A heavy silence fell upon the assembly. Arjuna finally murmured, "Pitamah Bhishma and Kakashree Vidura?" None of the people present overlooked the fact that Vasusena did not include Kripa in that accusation.



Kripa felt his heart clench, the gravity of Vasusena's words weighing on him. He understood now why Vasusena saw their influence in Suyodhana's life as poison. To be so capable, only to be insulted at every turn, would erode the strongest of wills.



'Parameshwara,' he prayed in silence, 'if you grant me another chance to guide my grandson... I swear to do so with a heart stripped of bias.'



Kripa felt the weight of Vasusena's contempt pressing on him like an unforgiving storm, knowing that only Vasusena possessed the power to reverse the course of this rift. But the boy despised them, and perhaps rightfully so.



In a voice drenched with despair, Kripa implored, "Will you condemn us for sins we have yet to commit, Vaikartana?"



The response was swift, cold, and unwavering. "Yes."



Tears welled up in Kripa's eyes, joined by those of Bhishma and Vidura, yet Vasusena's face remained pitiless, eyes hard as stone.



Arjuna's voice wavered as he tried once more, "Would you really shatter our family for mistakes that have not even come to pass?"



Vasusena's gaze remained unwavering, cold as winter's iron. "For a crime, Suyodhana had not yet committed, Mahaamahim Bhishma, Mahamantri Vidura, and Kulguru Kripacharya condemned him, marking him as a curse upon Gajasharya.



Even before he could grasp the meaning of the words, my friend was known as the Kul Nashak of Hastinapur across Aryavarta." His voice was a slow, unforgiving chill that seeped into their bones.



"By the same scale that they used to measure my friend and found him wanting, I now weigh them," Radheya stated softly, his voice chilling in its finality. "They despised him for something he might do someday, condemning his very potential, did they not?



I believe, in this particular matter, my side holds the greater weight, considering that I know exactly what these so-called dharmatmas will do. Their judgments are mere speculations but mine are what I've witnessed."



Karna's gaze settled on Arjuna, and for a fleeting moment, a shadow of something almost tender crossed his eyes. "Dhananjaya, walk away," he said, his voice unusually gentle, yet firm with resolve. "This is a matter for the elders—it is no place for you. I am giving you one last chance—please, walk away. You know where I stand on this, and you have witnessed the devastation of war firsthand. Spare yourself from this. Please... just walk away."



Radheya's tone hardened, a glint of warning breaking through. "Out of both respect for Krishna and my guilt I'm unwilling to hurt you. Walk away.



Otherwise, I'll see you as I did in my old life. It's not something I wish to do. But as you know Gandivadhari... I'm not a kind person. I'll do what I must."



"Why are you giving me so many chances?" Arjuna's voice was softer now, almost vulnerable. "If I'm not mistaken... I was the one you hated most in your previous life. So why give me so many chances?"



Radheya's response was a curt, unyielding command, as if Arjuna's words had gone unheard. "Leave, Phalguna."



Arjuna's face twisted with frustration, his voice rising in defiance. "And why did you make Krishna a villain in the eyes of our elders? Why spread lies about him? He came to broker peace between cousins, despite all the adharma you and the Dhārtarāṣṭras committed!"



Vasusena's gaze hardened further, dismissing the question. "Why are you still here, Gudakesha?"



Kripa felt a wave of dread wash over him. Till now he had seen only wrath in Vasusena's eyes. The wrath of Adhirathi was already horrifying to witness.



But it was nothing compared to the bottomless, venomous hatred that began to surface now. "Arjuna, stop! Leave him alone," he pleaded, fear thick in his voice. But Partha, driven by the heat of his anger, seemed oblivious to the looming danger.



"And you say you measure the elders by the same scale you measure Suyodhana?" Arjuna challenged, his tone defiant. "You and Shakuni incited Suyodhana's hatred for Pitamah and Vidura in our previous life and this one. But even then, despite their resentment, they loved my cousins—every one of them. Maybe if they had returned that love, he and his brothers would have walked a different path. Maybe they'd still be alive!"



It's the final blow to Vaikartana's restraint.



Radheya's tawny eyes darkened, turning into pools of searing darkness that locked onto Arjuna with an intensity that froze everyone in place.



"You preach about your elders' deep love for you all, don't you?" he said, his voice low but with an intensity which suffocated them. "And you say the Dhārtarāṣṭras should have shown Mahamaahim and Mahamantri the same love?"



The silence was suffocating as he leaned forward, his stare unwavering, the sharpness of his words cutting through them like a blade.



"Tell me, then, Dhananjaya...where was your love when you stood beside Prince Shikhandi of Paanchal and pierced Mahaamahim Bhishma with so many arrows that not a finger's width was present between each arrow? They loved you, didn't they? So why did you kill your grandfather?"



His words rang out, the accusation echoing through the hall like thunder, searing into the hearts of all present, leaving them paralyzed in its wake.



"What?!" a voice roared from somewhere in the background, but Kripa barely registered it. Blood rushed in his ears as he staggered under the weight of the accusation. His mind struggled to grasp the enormity of it.



"You lying adharmi!" It was Vidura who had shouted, his voice laced with disbelief and rage. "How dare you accuse my nephew of such a heinous crime?"



But Kripa's gaze was locked on Arjuna. He saw something that froze his blood—guilt, clear as daylight, reflected in the third Pandava's eyes. This wasn't a lie woven by Vaikartana. This was the truth. In the future, Arjuna would indeed be the cause of his bhratha's death.



Vasusena didn't even deign to answer Vidura's question. "Where was your respect for your elders when Yudhishthira misled Guru Drona into believing that his son, Ashwatthama, was dead? Where was it when Dronacharya was drowned in despair, you brothers allowed the Panchal Prince, Dhrishtadyumna, to slaughter him like a helpless animal?"



Even this... was not a lie. Kripa's heart pounded as the dark realization took hold. His sister too would be widowed by the Pandavas? How many atrocities had these so-called Devaputras committed? A boiling rage began to stir deep within him, and his hand instinctively moved toward the sword hanging at his side.



Vidura, shaking with fury, growled, "I ought to tear off your tongue for your lies, Radheya." But Kripa's focus was elsewhere—on Arjuna. The color drained from the third Pandava's face, leaving him ghostly pale. Guilt, as thick and visible as a storm cloud, clung to him.



"How are the Panchalas and the Pandu Putras connected, Vasusena?" Kripa's voice, low and wrathful, surprised even himself. It was not the calm, detached tone he was known for, but a demand driven by confusion and fear. Vidura and Bhishma turned to him in astonishment, but Kripa pressed forward, refusing to be silenced. "Panchala is our enemy kingdom. So how are they connected?"



"Kripa, are you questioning Arjuna's character?" Bhishma's voice rang out, filled with disbelief. "Just by the words of this suta, would you doubt your own kin?"



But Kripa ignored him. His focus remained sharp, his conviction unwavering.



Vasusena laughed bitterly at Bhishma's protests. "Tell them, Gandivadhari," Karna taunted, his voice cold and cutting. "I dare you to lie. Tell them I'm weaving falsehoods."



Bhishma and Vidura turned to Arjuna, their expressions growing more troubled with each passing second. It was only then when they truly looked at him—their pale, trembling grandson—that they saw it. The guilt. The undeniable truth shone in Arjuna's eyes, betraying him.



And it crushed them.



Vasusena clapped his hands, and once more, the scene shifted, unraveling before their eyes. The room around them dissolved, only to be reconstructed as the grand palace of Panchala Naresh.



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



In the heart of the court, a beautiful woman sobbed, her tears endless, as she clung to Krishna for solace. Her anguish was palpable, and standing beside her was the entire royal family of Panchala. But what gripped the hearts of those watching were the Pandavas, standing in their enemy's court.



Yudhishthira's face was marked with deep shame, his lips pressed tightly together. Bhimasena, usually bold and resolute, appeared anxious, casting worried glances toward the weeping woman.



Arjuna—his head hung low—was filled with a wrath so potent, it seemed to emanate from him like heat. Nakula's comforting gestures toward Yudhishthira spoke of the emotional weight he bore, while Sahadeva, his youngest brother, looked utterly traumatized, as though the world had collapsed in on him.



"Krishnaa..." the voice of Vishwadhipathi, gentle and soothing, carried through the room as he cradled the sobbing woman in his arms. "Please, forgive Yudhisthira and the Pandavas for their sin against you." His words were soft, almost pleading.



"They did not act out of malice, Krishnaa," he murmured, his tone full of quiet entreaty. "Forgive them."



"I will forgive the Pandavas, Madhava," the woman wept, her voice shaking with grief and fury. "But I demand justice for the humiliation done to me."



"Very well, Krishnaa," One of the Princes declared, his voice suddenly firm. "For your humiliation, Arjuna will kill Karna, Bhimasena will slaughter all hundred Dhārtarāṣṭras and wash your hair with their blood.



Shikhandi will kill Bhishma and I will strike down Drona, and Sahadeva will end Shakuni."





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



Kripa's breath caught in his throat, and the horror rippled through the room like a poison. The Kaunteyas, who had been sitting in sorrow till now, began to straighten— as if encouraged and emboldened by the prince's words. It was as though the promise of bloodshed of their kin brought them to life, the weight of their grief lifting as they joined hands with their enemies.



Bhishma's face twisted in agony, his heart visibly breaking as he watched his beloved grandsons—his Arjuna, his Bhimasena, his Sahadeva and Nakula—plotting with those who had sworn to destroy the Kuru Vansa. How could this be? How could they align themselves with their own enemies?



"For the humiliation done to you..." Krishna's voice echoed the prince, cold and relentless, as the memory continued, "the Kuru Vansa will pay in rivers of blood."



"You're twisting the truth," Arjuna protested, his voice barely above a whisper.



"I'm not showing the complete truth, I agree. None of the members here knew the complete details about what happened." Vasusena's hum followed, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the tension in the air.



For a moment, there was a glimmer of hope—hope that maybe this was all a misunderstanding, that perhaps they hadn't failed so deeply. But Vaikartana crushed that hope like a bug underneath his shoes. "Shall I show them everything? Shall I lay bare the entire scene and prove just how big of a disappointment Yudhistira truly is?"



Before Arjuna could muster a response, Karna continued, his tone unwavering, indifferent to their dismay. "I'll ask you a few questions, Gudakesha. And I suggest you don't lie. Believe me, it won't end well for you if you do. If, after answering, you still insist that I should reveal the full truth, only then will I show all present here the entire scene."



He allowed his words to settle, eyes piercing as he asked, "First question... You Pandavas have always wailed that this war was fought to avenge Draupadi's humiliation, haven't you? So, if we are to trace the root cause of that humiliation, who should be the first to die?"



"Suyo—"



"Don't you dare say Suyodhana," Karna interrupted, his voice like a whip. He took a slow, measured breath, barely containing the fury simmering beneath the surface. "This... is the conversation your beloved friend had with his companion after the war."



He clapped his hands sharply, the sound resonating like an ominous drumbeat, heralding a truth far more damning than they had ever anticipated.



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



As Uddhava began, his voice was strained with emotion. "Krishna, tell me—who is a true friend?"



Krishna's calm and soothing voice answered, "A true friend rushes to help even without being called."



Uddhava's gaze was intense as he continued, "Krishna, you were the Pandavas' dearest friend. They trusted you fully, relied on you as their protector from every peril—Apadbandhavudu. You not only knew what was happening, but you foresaw what was to come. You are the embodiment of wisdom, the knower of all. And yet, by your own definition of friendship, why did you not act? Why did you not stop Yudhisthira from playing that cursed game of dice?



"Alright, perhaps you chose not to intervene at first. But why didn't you turn the luck in his favor? You could have ensured Dharma's victory, but you didn't. Even when he began losing everything—his wealth, his kingdom, even himself—why did you not stop the game? You stood by and let it happen.



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



Karna stopped the projection. "This part till I click my fingers again... no one except for Arjuna will hear these words. Because it's not something you need to know for now."



"And then, Krishna, when he started staking his own brothers, why didn't you step in? And worst of all, when Yudhisthira betted Draupadi—who had always been the Pandavas' good fortune—you still didn't intervene.



You could have used your divine power to make the dice fall in Yudhisthira's favor, but you remained silent, only stepping in when Draupadi was dragged into that hall, her modesty ripped apart in front of everyone. And now, you claim you saved her? How can you say that, Krishna? After she was dragged by a man into that court and humiliated before so many eyes, what modesty did you save?



It was only after this the rest could hear the words. All of them tried to read the lips of the men but they couldn't do so.



"A true friend is one who helps in times of crisis, one who acts when needed. What use is that help if it comes too late? Can that be called Dharma?"



Tears welled in Uddhava's eyes, his voice trembling. "These questions aren't just mine, Krishna. Everyone who knows you has wondered the same. On behalf of all of us, I ask you now."



A soft, knowing laugh escaped Krishna's lips. "Dear Uddhava, the law of this world is simple: 'only he who has Viveka—the wisdom to discern—will win.' Duryodhana had Viveka, but Yudhisthira lacked it. That is why he lost."



Uddhava's face filled with confusion as he tried to grasp Krishna's words.



Krishna's eyes softened as he explained, "Though Duryodhana had wealth and power, he knew he lacked skill in the game of dice. That's why he had Shakuni, his uncle, play for him. That is Viveka Uddhava.



Yudhistira could have done the same—he could have asked me, his own cousin, to play on his behalf. If Shakuni and I had faced each other, who do you think would have won? Could Shakuni have rolled numbers of his choosing when I was calling for mine?"



Krishna paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing, "But it wasn't just that. Yudhisthira made a far greater mistake. He prayed that I should not enter the hall, that I should remain away from his shame. He didn't want me to witness the calamity unfolding, afraid of my judgment for his actions.



"So, I waited. I stood just outside the hall, tied by his own prayers, unable to step in until someone called upon me. He, through his Viveka, denied me the chance to save him."



Krishna's words hung heavy in the air, leaving Uddhava and those listening to confront the tragic irony of it all.



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



"Will you reject the very words spoken by your Keshava himself, Dhananjaya?" Karna's voice was soft, but its weight was unmistakable.



Arjuna's gaze wavered, his breath faltering as Karna's words pierced through the air.



"So I ask again Gudakesa," Karna continued, his voice sharp as a blade, "who is the first culprit, Gudakesha? Who is the first cause of Draupadi's misfortune? Who must be the first who should be killed for her humiliation?"



"My brother, Dharmaraj Yudhishthira," Arjuna answered, his voice barely above a whisper.



The room seemed to pulse with the weight of that admission. Kripa's heart pounded as he finally realized that Vasusena had become the first person outside the family to understand the truth about the Pandavas. Bhishma and Vidura, once pillars of certainty, looked as though they were crumbling under the weight of this reality.



"From now on, think carefully before you answer my questions, Gandivadhari," Karna warned, his eyes glowing with an anger that simmered just beneath the surface.



"Next question. Who is the only person who protested the adharma that happened?"



"Vikarna." Arjuna gritted out.



"Who killed Rajkumar Vikarna?"



"My brother Bheem."



"Next question. How many Dhārtarāṣṭras were present when that sin was committed?"



"Fifteen... perhaps less."



"So why did the beast you call your brother vowed to kill all one hundred Dhārtarāṣṭras, when only fifteen were guilty?"



The silence in the room deepened, and Bhishma's heart visibly broke. "Is that true, Arjuna?" His Jyestha's voice was small, brittle, as if hoping it weren't so.



"I thought I told you that already, didn't I?" Karna's tone was colder now, unforgiving.



Neither Bhishma or Arjuna spoke, their silence louder than words.



"We thought you were lying, Vasusena," Kripa croaked, his voice thick with regret.



Karna's laughter was bitter, a jagged sound that cut their hearts. "Why would I ever need to lie, when the truth is a thousand times more horrifying than anything I could ever hope to imagine?"



"Suyodhana was not the only kul nashak of the Kuru dynasty, Mahaamahim Bhishma," he continued, his words cutting like steel. "Bhimasena who was born on the same day too was also the kul nashak of this clan."



Kripa felt a pang of agreement pierce through him. By the gods, both Suyodhana and Bhimasena were born on the same day, yet they'd treated one like a cherished child and the other like a blight upon their lineage. Did they make the mistake of blaming the wrong child?



"My brother has a kind heart, Vasusena," Arjuna snarled, but his voice betrayed a tremor.



Vasusena scoffed. "And tell me, Gandivadhari, how much Kuru blood have Suyodhana or any of the Dhārtarāṣṭras and their children truly shed? I am not a Kuruvamsi, so the ones killed by my hand or by other warriors do not count. So tell how many of their kin did they kill?"



Arjuna faltered, momentarily speechless. Vasusena's voice was unforgiving. "Only one: Abhimanyu, slain by the hand of Sushasana's son. Isn't that so?"



He paused, his words cold and calculating. "Now let's weigh the blood on you and your brother's hands. Bhimasena slaughtered every single one of the Dhārtarāṣṭras . Abhimanyu, your own son, tore through many of the children of Dhārtarāṣṭras. His very duty and strategy is to kill his cousins during the war.



Bhimasena killed half their progeny, and your brothers, along with yourself, took care of the rest. One life against two hundred if we just assume that each Dhārtarāṣṭra has a single son. They have more. But just for convenience's sake let's assume around two hundred.



One versus more than two hundred. And yet you still stand here, daring to call Bhimasena 'kind-hearted.' Never took you for a hypocrite, Gandivadhari."



Arjuna's face fell, the truth sinking in painfully. Kripa's grip on his sword tightened as his knuckles turned pale.



"So, after hearing all of this," Vasusena growled, his gaze piercing through each of them, "who, then, is the true kul nashak—Suyodhana or Bhimasena?"



Arjuna retorted defensively, "If Suyodhana had agreed to our terms, there would have been no reason for war."



"That bloody Sandhi Prastav." Karna sighed, his patience thinning. "Mahamantri Vidura," he addressed calmly, "if tomorrow the Panchalas come with a proposal for peace, yet their terms would make the treasury of Hastinapur completely empty for the next ten years—would you accept it?"



Vidura shook his head. "No man of sense would accept such a demand, Vasusena."



Vasusena's expression remained impassive. "Then consider the other condition presented to us: the villages of Kusasthala, Vrikasthala, Makandi, Varanavata, and one additional village, each for one of the Pandavas. Would you grant them these?"



"Yes," Vidura and Bhishma affirmed without hesitation. But Kripa's voice rang out with a resolute "No."



A hush fell over the room. All eyes turned to him in surprise, while Vasusena merely smiled, as though he'd expected this answer.



"Strategically, it would be suicide to surrender those villages," Kripa explained. "If the Pandavas ever decide to war against the Dhārtarāṣṭras, they would have access to these prosperous lands, leaving Dhārtarāṣṭras cornered, their positions vulnerable. It would be an assured loss for them."





(In simpler terms... Imagine if tomorrow Pakistan were to wage war on India but proposed to stop only if we handed over five major metropolitan cities (for example, Mumbai, Chennai, Bangalore, Kolkata, Hyderabad). I'm using Pakistan not China because Pakistan has lesser army capabilities compared to India. Kauravas had greater army power compared to Pandavas. In the Pandavas army, there are fewer Maharathis compared to the Kauravas army.



(Karna, Drona, Bhishma, Bhagdutta, Ashwatthama and Vrishasena versus Arjuna, Abhimanyu, Drupada, Virata and Dhrishakethu. And among those Arjuna, Abhimanyu, Karna, Drona and Bhishma are in a class of their own.



The condition the Pandavas laid down is not so different from this scenario. So, as readers, I ask you—do you think this is a fair trade?)



"And I think I already told my opinion of Devi Draupadi if I'm not mistaken. No woman will ever forgive what we have done to her. The so-called Sandhi Prastav is a farce Dhanunjaya. It's a farce to show Suyodhana as an ill-tempered and greedy person who does not want to concede."



He shook his head, brushing the thought away. "Never mind that. We are getting off track. Tell me, Chatur—sorry, Tritiyah Kaunteya—on that day, Suyodhana, Dushasana, and I were the only ones who truly sinned."



His words hung heavy in the air.



"So tell me, Dhananjaya," Karna pressed, his voice an icy blade, "why did you Pandu Putras slaughter Mahaamahim Bhishma, Guru Drona, and the rest of the Dhārtarāṣṭras?"



Arjuna's answer came hesitantly, as though he barely believed it himself. "Because they stood silent when Draupadi was humiliated."



Karna let out a hum—quiet, but it sent a chill through the room, a hum laden with something far darker than anger. Even Kripa shuddered at the sound. "So, for standing silently, they deserved death?"



His gaze pierced through Arjuna. "Tell me, Dhananjaya... when your brother sinned, when Yudhisthira committed the worst sin on that day because he lacked self-control, didn't all of you sit silently too? So, by that same logic, do you also deserve to die?"



"We begged for forgiveness, Karna," Arjuna's voice was soft, as if he was trying to find refuge in those words.



"She forgave you," Karna replied, his tone ice-cold, "because Vishwadhipathi himself begged her to and because she is your wife. But do you really think asking for forgiveness wipes away sin? Did it absolve us of the crimes we committed?"



He paused, the silence between them thick and suffocating. "Do you know Krishna himself came to me, asking me to join your side? I refused for two reasons. The first, of course, is my love for Suyodhana. But the second... the second is my guilt for the adharma I committed that day."



His voice softened, but it didn't lose its edge. "What I did on that day was unforgivable. Even our wives... our own wives, Arjuna, never forgave us for that sin."



Karna's face hardened as he looked at the Pandava. "We are enemies to her and we did it. It is wrong and yet we did it.



But you five brothers did something far worse than we ever could. Yes, we wronged her in an unforgivable manner, and I do not deny it.



But you five betrayed her. You five betrayed her in the worst way imaginable.



The punishment for betrayal is death, Dhananjaya. And for that betrayal, neither you nor your brothers walked away unscathed. And as for her bloodlust... your wife's punishment was so horrifying that I would not wish it upon any woman," Vasusena's voice dripped with bitterness, each word charged with a searing finality that sent a chill through the assembly.



Arjuna stiffened, shaken by Vasusena's words. The mournful tone of Vasusena hinted that something far more devastating was in store for them.



Vasusena turned sharply to Kripacharya. "Tell me, Kripacharya... if your own kin, your brother, your brother-in-law, even the children you come to love later, were butchered mercilessly, by breaking all the rules of war—how would you respond? How would you respond if the Pandavas did so, simply to cover the sins of their beloved brother?"



A silent, stifling dread settled over the hall as his words sank in. Kripa's heart raced, his thoughts clouded with a mixture of dread and painful clarity. He knew, deep down, what he would do.



A cold fury seized Kripa as Vasusena's words crystallized into a harsh truth he could no longer ignore. With an uncharacteristic rage, he drew his sword and strode toward Arjuna, his anger dark and unrestrained.



But Vasusena stepped between them, his stance unyielding.



"Move, Vaikartana," he snarled, voice trembling with fury. "I'll take the head off this ungrateful child." Tears welled in Arjuna's eyes at the brutality of Kripa's words, while Bhishma and Vidura watched in helpless silence, powerless to prevent the tempest brewing before them.



"In our future, Kripacharya," he said, voice as unrelenting as steel, "you did something far worse than anything the Pandavas could have done to you." He then clapped his hands and the scene changed before their eyes.



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



The battlefield lay in ruins, the remnants of the Kaurava army strewn like broken dolls across the blood-soaked earth. Silence hung heavy in the night air, disturbed only by the faint murmurs of dying men and the distant crackle of smouldering fires. Under the vast, ancient banyan tree, three figures remained—A grown-up Ashwatthama, an older Kripacharya, and a person with Yadava features, the last standing vestiges of Duryodhana's shattered forces.



Ashwatthama's eyes were restless, darting between the shadows, seeking something to anchor the seething rage simmering within him. The weight of his father's death, the ruin of his kin, had left his heart hollow, festering with a fury he could barely contain. Nearby, Duryodhana lay sprawled on the ground, his body broken from Bhima's final blow, his breath shallow and ragged. Death crept closer with each passing moment, but his gaze still burned with the fierce remnants of pride and vengeance.



Suddenly, Ashwatthama's attention snapped to a movement in the night—a pair of glowing eyes in the branches above. An owl, dark and silent, swooped down, striking with merciless precision as it tore into a group of crows resting among the leaves. One by one, the crows fell, lifeless and limp, their cries swallowed by the shadows.



Ashwatthama felt a surge of inspiration, a vision of his vengeance crystallizing in that single, ruthless moment. Without hesitation, he rose, his stance fierce, his voice taut with conviction. "I will bring you their heads, my friend," he vowed, eyes blazing as he looked down at Duryodhana. "I will see the Pandavas lying cold and dead before the night is done."



"Mamashree, Kritavarma with me..." he ordered.



As Ashwatthama approached the Panchala camp, his steps slowed. There, in the murky shadows of the night, a colossal figure loomed—a guardian spirit, radiant and towering, as unyielding as the mountains.



Its eyes gleamed with an ancient power, and the ground itself seemed to quake beneath its watchful gaze. Ashwatthama's hand tightened on his bow, and with swift precision, he released arrow after arrow. Yet each one merely brushed against the being, vanishing into thin air, as though swallowed by the darkness surrounding it.



Realization dawned on him, but instead of retreating, he felt only the embers of a new resolve. With a fierce glint in his eyes, Ashwatthama knelt, casting aside his bow and arrows. He closed his eyes and began to chant, his voice steady, and reverent, calling out to the one power in the universe that could guide him through this insurmountable trial.



The names of Mahadeva fell from his lips like a sacred offering, a litany of devotion flowing from his heart, each name carrying his desperation, his sacrifice, his surrender. He felt the ancient god's presence in the air, a weight pressing down on his soul as he offered himself—his body, his blood, his very life—as a sacrifice.



And then, before him, a golden altar appeared, gleaming in the darkness like a beacon. Strange beings—celestial, radiant, terrible in their beauty—materialized around him, their expressions impassive, yet charged with an ethereal energy. Ashwatthama, his gaze unwavering, placed his weapons upon the altar and stepped forward, resolute, his body braced to enter the sacrificial flames.



All the people who were watching saw that at that moment they understood that Ashwatthama decided to sacrifice himself to Shiva. But to their shock the fire that should have devoured instead embraced him, and from its center rose a figure clothed in blinding light and shadow. Mahadeva himself.



Mahadeva spoke, his voice resounding like a deep, ancient river flowing through realms unseen.



"With truth, purity, sincerity, resignation, ascetic austerities, vows, forgiveness, devotion, patience, thought, and word, I have been duly adored by Krishna of pure deeds," Mahadeva declared, his tone bearing the weight of ages. "For this, there is none dearer to me than Krishna. At his word, I have protected the Panchalas, wielding my illusions to shield them. In honoring him, I have upheld their lives. But know this, Ashwatthama—their time is over. Afflicted by destiny, the final chapter of their lives has reached its end."



As the god's words settled upon him, Ashwatthama felt his heart fill with a grim, sacred purpose. Mahadeva then placed a gleaming sword in his hands, its surface polished to a flawless sheen, its blade radiating a fierce, cold energy. With a gesture as natural as breathing, Ashwatthama raised the sword, feeling a surge of Mahadeva's power flow into him, consuming his very essence.



And then, in a moment both sublime and terrifying, Mahadeva's spirit entered Ashwatthama's body. The weight of the god's energy filled him, igniting a blinding fire within his soul. His form glowed, radiating Mahadeva's own celestial energy as he stood, transformed, now blazing like a living comet upon the earth.



With this newfound power, Ashwatthama turned, every movement charged with the presence of Mahadeva. Dark forms—Rakshasas, and beings unseen by mortal eyes—gathered around him, their shapes flitting in and out of shadow, keeping pace at his side. They followed him, silent but relentless, guardians and heralds of his vengeful path. In that moment, he was no longer merely the son of Drona; he was the avatar of divine retribution, a force beyond human reckoning.



With his sword held high, Ashwatthama began his march toward the camp, his steps resonating with the wrath and power of the very god who had claimed him as his own. He moved like the shadow of Mahadeva himself, entering the night as both judge and executioner, an unstoppable storm sweeping toward the fate-bound souls of his foes.



The air was thick with the scent of death as Ashwatthama strode into the heart of the Pandava camp, his form cloaked in Mahadeva's divine energy. His eyes were fierce, unyielding, his blade keen for vengeance. The Upapandavas rose to meet him, defiant but unaware that fate itself had sealed their end.



The first one who resembled Yudhistira but he cannot be Dharmaputra as he is too young compared to Ashwatthama, advanced first, his face set in determination. Yet Ashwatthama moved with the precision of a god's fury; in a single, swift motion, he drove his blade deep into the child's stomach. The young warrior's breath halted, his life snuffed in an instant as he crumpled to the ground.



The child who resembled Bhimasena, witnessing his brother's fall, surged forward. He hurled his javelin with fierce force, the weapon striking Ashwatthama's side.



But Ashwatthama did not falter. He lifted his sword and swung, severing the boy's arm even as the prince attacked again with his own blade. Blood poured forth, and with a final strike to his chest, Ashwatthama shattered his heart. He fell, lifeless, his courage extinguished under the weight of the god's wrath.



Nakula's son rushed at him next, his gaze wild, and in a desperate move, he raised a chariot wheel, hurling it with all his might. The wheel struck Ashwatthama's chest, forcing him to stagger, but only for a moment. With a terrible cry, Ashwatthama lunged, his sword a flash of light as it carved through the boy's defences, rendering him unconscious. As he lay sprawled on the ground, Ashwatthama brought his blade down, severing his head in one brutal, unrelenting motion.



Then came Arjuna's doppelganger, his face fierce with fury, wielding a heavy club that he swung with all his strength. It struck Ashwatthama's head, the blow reverberating through him. But it was no more than a brief ache in the torrent of divine power that possessed him. In reply, Ashwatthama's sword slashed across his face, disfiguring him horribly. The young warrior fell, the light leaving his eyes as he lay still upon the earth.



Finally, Sahadeva's son stood, resolute, raining down arrows upon Ashwatthama. But Drona's son lifted his shield, deflecting each shaft with ease. With a final, chilling precision, Ashwatthama lowered his shield and struck, his sword severing his head, ending the last of the princes.





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



The anguished scream that tore from Arjuna's throat echoed through the desolate scene, freezing everyone except Vaikartana. Yet nothing prepared them for the vision before them: Kripa, standing beside Kritavarma, mercilessly cutting down every survivor who had managed to flee Ashwatthama's blade.



"You lying suta..." Arjuna's voice wavered, the desperation palpable. "This...this is just an illusion! Ashwatthama and Kripacharya—they're kind souls who uphold dharma. This is a lie!" The doubt laced his voice as if he himself struggled to decide if he was accusing Vasusena of deceit or clinging to his own faltering faith.



Vasusena's expression remained impassive. "I merely told Kripacharya the way his brother Mahaamahim Bhishma died. I didn't even show him how it happened," he stated in a soft tone. "Just hearing that you killed his brother unlawfully, Kripacharya was prepared to take your life without hesitation.



Our Kripacharya... back in the time from where we came from, he witnessed you pierce his kin with thousand arrows and called it dharma.



As if it is not enough acharya here had to watch as your allies widowed his sister when he laid down his weapons and didn't wish to fight anymore. Is it really surprising that he did that deed?



"As for Ashwatthama..." Vasusena's voice took on a dark edge. "He has little restraint, no self-control. And you've seen his rage before, haven't you?" Arjuna's face blanched, haunted by some memory that flashed across his mind.



"How many did you and your brothers slaughter mercilessly, unlawfully, in that final battle?" Vasusena continued, his tone chilling. "Krishna justified it all as dharma—and you, so easily, so willingly, accepted it."



He leaned in, voice low and taunting. "But, Gudakesha, not everyone worships Krishna's every word as gospel. Not everyone follows him blindly."



Arjuna's composure splintered further. "Krishna..." he stammered, grasping desperately. "Krishna was on our side. He would never have allowed...he wouldn't have let my sons die." In the midst of his anger, Kripa felt a pang of pity which was swallowed by vindication.



The anguish etched across Arjuna's face that the children of the Pandavas had all perished was clearly seen and it gave him peace that those monsters too felt the loss he experienced.



"And where are we five? We five brothers are not present there..." Arjuna tried to rally, though to any experienced eye, he was failing spectacularly. "So where are we and Krishna? This alone is enough to tell me that this is all an illusion."



"Krishna already knew what awaited you," Vasusena said softly, his voice laden with an eerie calm. "He didn't want you or your brothers to fall to Ashwatthama's wrath. That night, under the guise of duty, he led you to stay in the tents of Dhārtarāṣṭra's army. Mahadeva himself took form as Ashwatthama that night—you would have been slaughtered had you faced him."



A stunned silence filled the room. Vasusena continued, "Out of love for you, Krishna took you and your brothers far from that battlefield. When the dust settled out of eighteen akshauhinis that had clashed, and of those countless soldiers, only eleven warriors remained. We owe thanks to Kripacharya for his contribution to that."



Kripa's heart pounded as the sheer magnitude of the loss gripped him. Eighteen akshauhinis? Just for the throne of Gajasharya that much blood shed happened? It chilled his soul to imagine such sacrifice.



"Let's finish this," Vasusena said, his eyes now dark and unreadable. "Kripacharya needs to know the full truth of what happened to everyone who butchered his kin."



Ashwatthama stood amidst the fallen, his form blazing with Mahadeva's energy, a dreadful figure carved from wrath itself. Yet there was no rest, for soon, from all directions, he was assailed by a flurry of arrows and weapons. Shikhandi, the slayer of Bhishma, charged forward with the Prabhadrakas, their faces fierce with resolve. They surrounded Ashwatthama, launching attacks with an unyielding fervor, each strike infused with the hope of stopping the rampage that ravaged their ranks.



Shikhandi's eyes gleamed with fierce determination as he took aim, unleashing an arrow that flew with deadly precision, striking Ashwatthama squarely between the eyebrows. For a brief instant, the son of Drona staggered, blood trickling down his brow, his senses ignited by the sudden sting of pain.



But his rage only deepened, flowing like molten lava through his veins. He set his gaze on Shikhandi, his lips curling into a snarl. In a single, swift movement, he closed the distance, lifting his sword high. The blade gleamed, descending with a force as though wielded by the god of destruction himself. In one brutal stroke, Ashwatthama cut Shikhandi in two, the warrior's body falling lifeless to the ground, his valour shattered in the face of Ashwatthama's divine fury.



With Shikhandi slain, Ashwatthama turned his blazing eyes upon the remaining Prabhadrakas. They hesitated, struck by the horrifying power emanating from him, yet they gathered themselves, attacking as one. But Ashwatthama, his rage now unrestrained, charged forward, cutting through them like a storm incarnate. His sword struck mercilessly, cleaving through armour, shields, and flesh alike, each swing a testament to Mahadeva's indomitable wrath channelled through him.



The Prabhadrakas fell one by one, unable to withstand the divine fury that coursed through the son of Drona. The night was consumed by the echoes of their last cries, swallowed by the darkness, as Ashwatthama pressed on.



As Ashwatthama approached the heart of the Pandava camp, his eyes locked onto Dhrishtadyumna, the son of Drupada and commander of the Pandava forces, lying asleep amidst the carnage. The man who had slain his father, Drona, lay vulnerable, unaware of the terror bearing down upon him. Ashwatthama's fury surged anew, his grip tightening on his weapon, Mahadeva's fierce energy still flowing within him.



Dhrishtadyumna awoke to the heavy sound of Ashwatthama's footsteps, his gaze meeting the seething eyes of his enemy. Realizing his fate, Dhrishtadyumna's face paled, yet he drew himself up with whatever dignity he could muster. He spoke, his voice steady but tinged with desperation. "If you are to take my life, let me fall as a warrior. Give me a sword; let me face my end with honour."



But Ashwatthama's face remained as unyielding as stone. The blood of his father, the betrayal of the battlefield, surged within him, drowning out any trace of mercy. He raised his foot, disregarding Dhrishtadyumna's plea for honour.



Without hesitation, he struck, the blows merciless and relentless, each one a channel for the rage and grief he bore. Dhrishtadyumna struggled, his pleas fading beneath the onslaught, as Ashwatthama continued to strike, driving his vengeance into every motion. Finally, the son of Drupada fell, his life snuffed out, denied the dignity of a warrior's end. Ashwatthama's breaths were harsh and steady, his rage momentarily appeased but his heart was untouched by the lifeless form before him.



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



Arjuna collapsed, sobbing as the visions of his allies' and his children's slaughter shattered him, driving him to his knees. Anguish twisted into wrath, and with a sudden, fierce cry, he snatched a sword from the hip of Bhishma and lunged at Kripa. As Kripa moved to intercept him, Vasusena held him back, while Vidura restrained Arjuna, and Bhishma stood by, helpless.



"Let me go..." they both growled, their rage barely contained.



Bhishma's voice broke through, laden with despair. "Vasusena vowed to turn us all against one another. Don't fall into his spell, Kripa."



Kripa's gaze shifted from Arjuna to Vasusena, cold and challenging. "Vaikartana," he snarled, "swear upon the Shivalinga that everything you've said is true. Only then will I stop. I will never be a kinslayer even if this is true. Unlike this Panduputron I'll never be a kinslayer. But if you don't swear on Shiva Linga I'll kill you."



On the other side, Arjuna echoed the demand, his voice seething. "Swear that this is true, Suta, and I'll stand down."



Vasusena's voice was almost a whisper, yet it reverberated through the chamber. "I cannot lie," he said softly. "I'm using Maheshwara's boon in full effect—I cannot utter falsehood while this boon holds over me. But if you wish for that, well... Not a single thing I showed here is a falsehood. I swear on Parameshwara that I didn't show a single thing that was a lie till now."



Gods... what had this world come to. He and Arjuna stood face to face, anguish and wrath carved into their expressions, their hearts burdened by the bitter truths Vasusena had revealed. Vasusena had warned them—he had warned Arjuna that if he continued, he would unravel them, pit them against one another. And he had delivered on that promise, stripping bare the very foundations of their loyalty and beliefs.



But even amidst this torment, Kripa did not wish for ignorance. Every vision, every truth Vasusena had shown them—these were realities he had long turned a blind eye to. No more. He could not, would not, live in willful ignorance again.







(Arjuna's POV)



Gods... what had this world come to? He and Kripacharya stood face to face, anguish and wrath carved into their expressions, their hearts burdened by the bitter truths Vasusena had revealed. Vasusena had warned them—he had warned him that if he continued, he would unravel them, pit them against one another. And he had delivered on that promise, stripping bare the very foundations of their loyalty and beliefs.



But amidst this torment, Arjuna wished for ignorance. He just wished that this accursed conversation never happened.



Arjuna felt as though the earth had cracked beneath him. His brother Yudhishthira, his elders—how could he ever look at them the same way again, knowing the depths of their failures and betrayals? He had witnessed the love in Pitamah Bhishma and Kakashree Vidura's eyes die slowly, eaten away by despair. Above all, he regretted not heeding Karna's warning to walk away, to leave this dark path untouched.



Pitamah Bhishma's voice trembled, heavy with despair. "So after one hundred and six sons of Kuru Vamsa were born during this generation... only the grandsons of Pandu Putras survived?"



"All the children of Kuru Vamsa after this generation, except those born to Devi Susshala and heirs of other kingdoms, were killed in the war, Mahaamahim Bhishma." Vasusena's eyes still glinted with that reddish-brown, the unmistakable mark of Maheshwara's boon. But Arjuna refused to believe.



"You're lying," he spat, each word filled with venom. "Which means your oath is false!"



Vidura's voice rang out, surprised and reproachful. "What are you saying, Arjuna? Vasusena swore by Maheshwara. While his boon is active, he cannot lie."



Arjuna's voice turned cold, unyielding. "My son Abhimanyu's wife, Uttara, was already pregnant before Abhimanyu came to the war. That means a Kuru child other than the five of us was not killed in the war."



Vasusena's face twisted with a mix of guilt and sadness, his eyes betraying a deep, painful truth. "About that child, Arjuna" None of them missed the fact that this was the first time since the start of the conversation Vasusena called Arjuna by his name. He clapped his hands once, the sound sharp and final.



Five minutes later, the most agonizing scream Arjuna had ever released tore from his throat, and he collapsed, drowning in grief, as the full weight of what he had lost—crushed him.



(Before you come at me with pitchforks... Yes, I know that King Parikshit was revived by Krishna. And even Karna in this story knew it too. However, he only showed events up to Parikshit's death to strategically blindside everyone present. And yes King Parikshit was killed. But he was revived.



Karna stated all of them were killed. He never said none of them survived. There is a difference.



And for those wondering if other children of Arjuna, like Chitrangada's lineage, could have survived—while they may exist, they are not Kuru Vanshis. They belong to their own kingdoms as sole heirs and thus cannot be heirs to Hastinapur's throne.)



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

(Bhishma's POV)



In that moment, Bhishma's heart cried out in agony, his silent wails echoing through the emptiness within him. 'I tried to live virtuously,' he lamented. 'My entire life, I lived and strove for the betterment of my Vansha... and yet...' The desolation of his clan, laid bare before his eyes by Vasusena, felt like a wound that would never heal.



Kripa's anger softened, though wrath and loathing still lingered. He had witnessed the death of his kin and the tragic killing of Arjuna's unborn grandson—an image that would haunt him. Torn between his love and his conscience, he found himself wavering, not knowing where his support should lie.



Could he truly stand behind the Pandu Putras, who had wiped out all of Dhārtarāṣṭra's children, only to see their own line end so brutally, so unfairly?



Or his brother, who had watched the children he cherished turned his sister into a widow, and, in his wrath, had contributed to the end of the Kuru lineage?



And beneath all of this, he saw his own reflection—the seeds of devastation sown in his own beliefs, his own choices, his own partiality. A cold realization settled within him: the sins, the devastation—they fell most heavily on his own shoulders, and no penance could wash them away.



The quiet, heart-wrenching sobs from his and Vidura's mingled with Arjuna's own broken cries, filling the air with a raw, shared agony. Bhishma glanced at Kripa, seeing the sorrow glisten in his eyes even as his face remained set in hardened wrath. Vasusena had shattered the very foundation of their family, leaving them in a place from which there was no return.



Vasusena's voice cut through the silence, carrying an unyielding finality. "I have seen thousands of worlds," he began, his tone devoid of triumph or regret, only a dark certainty. "And in each of them, I've learned a few simple but horrifying truths.



"As long as there exists a Karna who harbours jealousy towards the Tritiya Pandava, he will always tread the path of adharma, drawing Suyodhana deeper into its depths.



As long as there lives a Gandharraj Shakuni, war will be inevitable, no matter the circumstances.



And lastly—perhaps the hardest truth I've come to realize—so long as the hearts of the Dhārtarāṣṭras are filled with love for these monsters..." He growled "... they are destined to perish.



Even if a single one of these elements is present... War is inevitable."



Vasusena's words landed like a blow, stripping away their last illusions. "The only thing I care about is protecting the Kauravas and their progeny. I don't care for fate, I don't care for Niyathi, and I sure as hell don't care for any divine plans in motion. What I want is for them to be remembered with love, and for their good qualities to live on.



(It might not be a well-known fact, but even the Pandavas can also be called Kauravas. The term "Kaurava" simply means a member of the Kuru dynasty. Here, Vasusena is subtly conveying that his true intention is to save both the Pandavas and the Kauravas from mutual destruction, though he doesn't make his motives known to the people present. If you see clearly till now I mentioned the sons of King Dhritarashtra as Dhārtarāṣṭras not as Kauravas.)



And for that to happen, this war must be stopped. For that war to be prevented, the love Suyodhana had for Mahamahim Bhishma and Mahamantri Vidura must be destroyed.



And there should be no Karna to bind him tighter to adharma.



And finally without a question... Gandharraj Shakuni must die.



With my objectives set and strengthening my resolve, I began my war behind the scenes."



He paused, his gaze distant, remembering. "My first move was to eliminate Gandharraj Shakuni. Then I decided to change myself so that I'll never lead my friend down the path of adharma.



Vasusena's eyes darkened with the weight of his pact. "I turned to Parameshwara, and I didn't ask him for just strength or wisdom in battle. I asked him to teach me everything I'd need to defy Niyathi itself, to rewrite fate for my friend's sake."



He continued, voice filled with a strange reverence. "He granted me wisdom beyond any mortal—and stated that only the Chiranjeevis, Saptarishis, and Vishnu Avatars would surpass me in wisdom. He taught me all the astras, all except those personal to the devas themselves."



A faint, haunted smile played across his face. "At the time, I wondered why I needed all this knowledge, all this power. Only when I saw my friend again, standing at the edge of ruin, did I understand why Parameshwara had prepared me so thoroughly.



"And the second phase of my war is complete. With Parameshwara's help, I changed myself so that I would never lead Suyodhana down into the path of adharma with my actions."



Vasusena's voice was calm, almost eerily so, as his eyes surveyed them. "The final phase is to break the love he had for the elders of Hastinapur..." he continued, his gaze unwavering, "As you have witnessed, I've already won. I waged a war behind your backs and emerged victorious—all without you realizing what was happening."



A cold, knowing smile curled on his lips, sending a chill through those watching him. "I blindsided you completely. And now..."



"And now there is no hope that our family will stay united." Vidura stated softly beside him in anguish.



"We still have Putri Gandhari on our side," Bhishma murmured, a feeble attempt to reassure himself. Yet Vasusena's eyes glimmered with dark amusement.



"Suyodhana is the linchpin of the Dhārtarāṣṭras, Mahaamahim Bhishma," Vasusena began, his voice calm yet laced with an undercurrent of severity. "He is their strength, their unity, their very foundation. For his brothers, his word is law—unyielding and absolute."



A faint, weary smile curved his lips, though it failed to soften his expression. "And he loves me deeply, in ways you can never even imagine. He would stand against the entire world for me."



His gaze turned sharper, colder. "As for my friend, let there be no mistake—he would defy even Maharani Gandhari if she commanded him to sever ties with me. His contempt for you, Mahaamahim, is as resolute as his love for me."



"And as for Devi Gandhari..." Vasusena closed his eyes, his hand stretching forward as he uttered a low invocation. A sudden flash of light struck, momentarily blinding everyone, and when their vision returned, they saw a book crafted from seemingly fragile papyrus leaves resting in Vasusena's hands. Its title was marked by just two words:



"JAYA SAMHITHA."



"My friend is likely causing quite a storm in Devi Gandhari's quarters right now," Vasusena remarked, his gaze shifting subtly in the direction of the Queen's palace. "Give this to her."



Vidura's voice was quiet as he stepped forward, almost cautious. "What is this, Vasusena?"



"The fruit of the tapasya I did for the past nine months," Vasusena replied, his voice steady. "In about two centuries, it will be authored and narrated by Sage Ved Vyasa and the one who will write it down is none other than Ganapati."



Finally it became clear. Vasusena had invoked Vigneshwara, the god himself who wrote this book to gain his permission, and then prayed to Kalabhairava, who rules over time, to bring forth this creation from the future as he's disturbing the flow of time. Now, his devotions made sense.



The others looked upon the book in awe, reverent in the presence of something divine. But Vasusena's expression twisted into disdain.



"If I had my way, this book would not exist," he spat, his words slicing through their reverie. "But I have no choice. And don't look at it with reverence. This is the final weapon in my arsenal, and it will shatter your family completely."



"What?" Kripa's voice cut through. Only then did Bhishma realise that Kripa had moved away from them, standing beside Vasusena separating himself from their fold.



"This book holds every act, every transgression, every honour, and every cursed consequence each of us faced and done in my past life. And yes, it includes my own sins."



The words froze them, a foreboding chill seeping into the air around them. "Do not worry—the conversation Suyodhana and I had in the forest has not been recorded here," Vasusena continued, passing the book to Bhishma.



The weight of the book felt like a thousand mountains upon Bhishma's hands when he took it. "Deliver it to Devi Gandhari," Vasusena said with a bitter edge. "Tell her of its origin, and if she doubts its truth, she may go to Sage Ved Vyasa and confirm its authenticity herself."



"You wish for me to destroy my family with my own hands?" Bhishma's voice was heavy, laced with despair.



"Yes." Vasusena's reply was cold, almost ruthless, devoid of any hint of emotion.



"Why would I ever do such a thing?" Bhishma demanded.



"Because if this book does not reach her hands by the end of the month," Vasusena's voice grew softer, his gaze colder, "the full account of my conversation with Suyodhana in the forest will reach the ears of the King."



Bhishma's jaw tightened. "Are you blackmailing me?"



"If you wish to see it that way, yes." Vasusena's eyes were cold and unyielding. "I've shown you what happens if this family remains united, and still you persist? Your stubbornness deserves applause, I suppose."



"You... evil, wicked child," Bhishma growled, his voice trembling with anger and disbelief.



Vasusena did not flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, his gaze unwavering and cold. "When did I ever claim to be good, Mahaamahim?" He snorted "I'm not a good person in this story, Mahaamahim. I am the villain of this story."



The admission left everyone stunned into silence.





"I am not a hero, Mahaamahim. I never was, nor will I ever be. Do you know why?"



He took a step forward, his eyes burning with a fire that seemed to sear through Bhishma's soul. "I am not Krishna, who would cross every line if it meant dharma was established. Nor am I Arjuna, who would slay his own kin for the sake of dharma and the world. They are the heroes of this tale."



His voice softened, but the intensity of his words deepened, each syllable laden with conviction. "I am Vasusena and I am the kind that will set this world ablaze as a bonfire if it means those I love can feel even the faintest warmth amidst the cold surrounding them."



Bhishma's breath caught in his chest. There was no doubt, no hesitation in Vasusena's tone. It was not a threat—it was a vow, unyielding and absolute. And in that moment, Bhishma knew with an unshakable certainty that Vasusena would see it through.



For Suyodhana's sake, Vasusena had already severed the fragile threads binding their fractured family. And he had done so with a ruthless finality, heedless of the devastation he left in their hearts.



"For Suyodhana, I burned the bonds of your family without a second thought." Vasusena's voice cut through like cold iron. "The only reason I've kept that conversation in the forest hidden from the King and the others is because this Kingdom still needs you. Though the King despises you, he holds enough respect for your counsel to listen when necessary. Without your guidance, Hastinapura would crumble."



He paused, his expression hardening further. "But understand this—I love Suyodhana enough to burn this entire world for him. Give that book to Devi Gandhari, or I will take our conversation directly to the King. Because until she understands her own son, she will always support you, and in doing so, she'll drive Suyodhana into bitterness and adharma."



His words were laced with finality. "I will not allow it. So, here is your choice: sever off the ties with one part of your family to save the Kingdom, or watch the entirety of Hastinapura fall due to your stubborn clinging to broken ties."



Vasusena's eyes gleamed with cruel mockery. "You fancy yourself a dharmik... A hero, don't you, Mahaamahim? Then do what's right.



Sever off the ties with one half of your family or this entire kingdom will pay for your sin. Trust me... I have no compunctions watching Hastinapur burn down to the ground. I would regret it, yes but I will do it without a trace of hesitation or a hint of remorse."



With his warning delivered... Vasusena walked out of the room leaving four warriors broken down and destroyed beyond imagination.



The room was silent for several seconds. The silence was broken by Kripa.



"Even before any of us had laid eyes on you, Arjuna," Kripa's voice came softly, yet it held a ferocity that was almost chilling. "Before we knew what you looked like, before we knew the fire in your spirit or the strength of your hand, we loved you. Just from the words in your father's letters, we loved you." His voice grew hoarse, each syllable weighed down with a lifetime of burdens.



"Acharya..." Arjuna's voice was quiet, a slight tremor betraying the cracks forming in his resolve.



But Kripa's face was a mask of dark, unyielding anger as he interrupted him. "Oh, I understand. I understand the sins that will weigh upon my soul, and I know the darkness I carry, knowing that my own kin had a hand in the slaughter of your sons in the future, Arjuna." His voice turned sharp, his gaze steely.



"And yet, as I stand here, I feel no regret for what would have happened—only a bitter ache that it was not you and your brothers that Ashwatthama struck down that night."



"Kripa!" Bhishma's voice cut through the silence, a thunderous warning, but it held a faint tremble, a shadow of the crumbling authority that had once held them all in its sway.



"Enough, Jyestha!" Kripa's voice exploded, reverberating through the chamber like a storm that would not be tamed. His hands shook, his entire frame quivering with the weight of unspeakable grief and fury. "Enough. Just stop it."



There was a silence that felt like a chasm, swallowing any words left unspoken. Then, slowly, Kripa continued, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet laced with an intensity that demanded to be heard.



"Drona loved you more than his own blood, Arjuna," Kripa spoke, his voice cold and cutting, each word laden with unspoken accusation. His eyes locked onto Arjuna, unflinching, carrying the full weight of betrayal and simmering hatred.



"For months, he sang your praises, his affection so consuming it blinded him to everything else—even to himself. His love for you was so overwhelming that I often wondered if he had forgotten the truth—that Ashwatthama is his son and you are not. In his heart, it was you he cherished above all. That is how much he loved you."



He took a ragged breath, his fingers clenching tightly, a physical manifestation of the rage simmering within. "Dhritarashtra may have shown you nothing but indifference, and his sons may have tormented you at every turn in the old world, but tell me, Arjuna, did we—did I—ever hold back our affection? Did we ever fail you in love?"



Arjuna's head bowed under the weight of Kripa's words, shame coiling around him like a shroud, though he remained silent.



Kripa's voice, raw and tremulous, cut through the silence. "We warned Dhritarashtra countless times of the ruin that moh would bring. And we always wondered why he never seemed to follow the sound advice given by us about Suyodhana.



But who are we to ask him that? Who are we to advise him when we ourselves are blind because of our love for these ungrateful children?



We accused him of attachment that blinded his judgment while we, all of us here, showed the same moh, the same unseeing devotion. How could we expect him to hear us when we were just as guilty?"



Vidura and Bhishma, each carrying their own burdens, could say nothing. Vasusena tore open every ignored truth and every threadbare illusion they had ever clung to. He had not merely spoken harsh truths—he had unravelled them entirely, left them bare and bleeding with no hope of concealment.



Bhishma felt his heart tighten painfully, weighed down by an agony he hadn't known he could still feel.



"And even now, you continue to defend this child," Kripa's voice cut through the air, his tone laced with a venom that none had ever heard before. "Even after knowing that these five sons of Pandu will bring nothing but ruin to the Kuru Vamsa... you stand by them still. Tell me, Bhrata Bhishma, if this isn't moh, then what is?"



"It's not like tha—" Bhishma attempted, his voice faltering under Kripa's furious gaze.



Kripa did not allow him to finish. "No wonder Vasusena called you a stubborn old fool, Mahaamahim." Each word fell like a hammer blow, splintering Bhishma's defenses. This was not just rebuke—it was a wound deep enough to bleed. In all his years, Kripa had never raised his voice against him, had never judged him, even in the face of Bhishma's most unforgivable acts.



Not when Bhishma had shattered Kashi Princess Amba's life in a vow-bound pursuit of duty. Not when he had coerced Gandhara into surrendering Gandhari's hand in marriage. Through it all, Kripa had been unwavering, his loyalty unswerving. But now, his face was etched with a pain that spoke of betrayal too bitter to conceal, too profound to forgive.



The once-affectionate call of Jyestha was now stripped bare, impersonal, and cold.



"I will not demand you choose between your Devaputras and myself, Mahaamahim. I'm not that cruel," Kripa continued, each word as icy and unyielding as stone. "From this day forth, I have but one sister, Kripi, and one nephew, Ashwatthama. The Kurus... they are no longer my kin." His gaze held Bhishma's for a moment longer, filled with a sorrow that pierced to the core. "I will serve Hastinapura as its Kulguru. Nothing more, and nothing less."



With that final proclamation, he turned on his heel and left, his footsteps echoing through the silent hall, each step carrying with it the weight of a bond severed beyond repair.



For all the love Bhishma bore for the Pandavas, he could not forget the devastation Vasusena had laid bare before him. The battlefield sprawled endlessly, filled with fallen soldiers and stained in crimson; every corner was an unholy tapestry of blood and lifeless bodies.



How many among those bodies belonged to his grandsons, his great-grandsons?



The place Vasusena had called Saamantha Panchakam—now a gruesome mockery of its once-sacred name—was drenched in blood, overflowing with carnage. It was as if the land itself remembered the wrath of his Gurudev Parashurama, who, in ages past, had filled these very lakes with the blood of countless Kshatriyas. Now, the rivers of blood flowed once more, and Bhishma's heart twisted at the carnage.



Bhishma's love for the Pandavas—rooted so deeply in his heart—prevented him from despising them outright, no matter their sins. But after this betrayal, after seeing the bloody fate Vasusena had unveiled, he could not bring himself to look at Arjuna.



He had wished to console him; to be there, as always, a guardian and elder, offering solace after the horror Arjuna had just witnessed—his own great-grandson slain before even entering the world. But now, seeing the carnage wrought by the hands of the Pandavas themselves, the rivers of innocent blood they had spilled, he felt only a weight that no words could lift.



With a heart as heavy as stone, Bhishma turned and left the chamber, carrying Vasusena's book close to him like a burdensome secret. He'd been entrusted with it, the written testimony of every sin, every deed, every fate that would befall them.



Perhaps, after Gandhari had read it, he too would dare to turn its pages, to understand the choices of these children he had loved so much, who were bound to a cycle of dharma and adharma too deep and devastating to untangle.



And perhaps, through this cursed account of their actions, he could finally understand the world around him.



Vasusena was indeed his father's son. Surya Narayana is called Vikratana, the destroyer of shadows.



And as Vikartana's son, Vaikartana had fulfilled his birthright with an unrelenting cruelty that left no stone unturned. Every illusion, every shadowed comfort, every treasured pretense had been ripped asunder, exposing their naked truths in a light so harsh it seemed they would never again find solace in the comforting shadows they had once cherished so dearly.