Hastinapur Palace - The Same Night

The night sky over Hastinapur was dark and clouded, matching the ominous stillness within its grand palace walls. Not a sound could be heard, save for the occasional rustle of the wind through the high columns. After the fire at Lakshagraha,in hastinapur a lone figure moved through the palace corridors, careful to avoid the lighted paths, his footsteps eerily silent on the marble floors.

This man had no desire to be seen. His sharp, darting eyes scanned the passage ahead of him, and every so often, he glanced over his shoulder, checking for signs of life. Satisfied that he was alone,little did he know that he was already seen by the eldest kaurav. He swiftly made his way to the chamber of Shakuni, the cunning Gandhar king who was pacing, lost in his thoughts. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with anticipation.

As the man entered, Shakuni stopped abruptly and turned towards him, his piercing gaze assessing the visitor. He stepped forward with purpose, gripping the man’s shoulders tightly.

“Kya samachar laye ho Varanavat se?” Shakuni’s voice was low but intense, his words carrying the weight of a long-held expectation. (What news have you brought from Varanavat?)

The man’s lips curled into an evil grin. “Pandav mare gaye, Gandhar naresh. Unke astra bhi jale hue the.” (The Pandavas are dead, Gandhar king. Their weapons were burned as well.)

Shakuni exhaled deeply, a slow smile spreading across his face as his body visibly relaxed. “Ye baat Duryodhan ko bataya tumne?” he asked, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. (Have you informed Duryodhan of this?)

The man shook his head. “Nahi, Gandhar naresh. Main seedha aapke kaksh mein aaya hoon.” (No, Gandhar king. I came directly to your chamber.) He paused briefly before offering, “Aap chahein to main bol du—” (If you wish, I can tell him—)

Shakuni raised his hand to silence him. “Nahi, nahi. Main swayam bhanje ko ye khush khabri dunga.” (No, no. I will personally give this joyous news to my nephew.)

Shakuni’s expression grew serious again as he narrowed his eyes at the man. “Aur Purochan ka kya hua?” (And what about Purochan?)

The man’s reply was immediate. “Wah bhi bhawan ki aag ka shikaar hua, Gandhar naresh, aur mar gaya.” (He too became a victim of the fire, king of Gandhar, and died.)

A twisted smile spread across Shakuni’s face. “Acha hua. Warna main usse waise bhi khatam kar hi deta.” (Good. Otherwise, I would have dealt with him myself.)

Shakuni stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the man before him with a dangerous glint. “Ab tumhari bhi koi zarurat nahi hai,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. (Now, there’s no need for you either.)

Before the man could process Shakuni’s words, the Gandhar king let out a maniacal laugh, drawing a sharp knife from his waist. The man’s eyes widened in terror as he realized his fate. He spun on his heels, about to scream for help, but his voice was abruptly silenced as a strong hand clamped down over his mouth. It was Duryodhan.

With terrifying calm, Duryodhan bound a cloth around the man’s mouth, muting his cries. Shakuni, without hesitation, drove the knife into the man’s throat from behind, his movements swift and deliberate. Blood poured from the wound as the man's body convulsed before going limp. Duryodhan dragged the lifeless form towards the balcony and, with a grunt, heaved it over the edge.

The body disappeared into the darkness below and dropped on the ground with a loud thud.

Both Shakuni and Duryodhan exchanged a glance, their faces splitting into matching sinister smiles. Their laughter echoed in the silent night.

“Our plan succeeded, Mamashri,” Duryodhan said, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Aapka jawab nahi. Main aapka rini hoon. Aapki rajniti main koi sandeh nahi. Parantu aapke guptchar kisi kaam ke nahi.” *(You are unmatched, my dear uncle. I am indebted to you. No one can rival your political mind. Though, your accomplices(spies) are truly worthless.)* He sneered at the corpse below.

Shakuni nodded, pleased by his nephew's words. “Acha hua putra, isse tumne hi dekha, warna hum phas jaate.” (It’s good that you saw this, son, or else we would have been caught.) He turned, straightening his robe. “Chalo, ye subh samachar tumhare pitashri ko bolke aate hain.” (Come, let us go and give this good news to your father.)

Together, they walked out of the chamber, their faces alight with joy. The corridors of the palace had never seen such unbridled happiness. The Pandavas, they believed, were dead, and the kingdom was theirs for the taking.

--- The Palace of Hastinapur - The Morning After

Word of the Pandavas’ supposed death spread through the palace like wildfire, carried by whispers and shaken voices. Whole Hastinapur was mourning over pandava's supposed death.The news reached the ears of King Dhritarashtra early that morning, but the blind king did not react as one might expect. He sat motionless on his throne, his milky-white eyes gazing into nothingness, his hands gripping the armrests tightly. Though his face betrayed little emotion, deep within, he felt a growing fear, not for his sons but for the future of his lineage.

What will I tell my ancestors? How will I answer them when I meet them in the afterlife?

His thoughts spiraled, and for the first time, he feared the consequences of the game his sons had played. The weight of his position, his power, and the expectations of the throne felt crushing. His breaths became shallow, though he remained silent. Beside him, Queen Gandhari, her face hidden behind the long folds of her blindfold, stood still, her hands trembling. The news had left her numb. She said nothing, made no gesture, but her silence was heavy, speaking of her unutterable grief.

Together, they made their way to Bhishma, the patriarch of the Kuru dynasty, hoping for his counsel. But as soon as Bhishma heard the news, a terrible roar of anguish escaped his lips.

“How dare you, Duryodhan? Shakuni you have made this palace a burning hell!” Bhishma bellowed, his eyes aflame with a rare and terrifying fury. His voice echoed through the stone corridors, shaking even the guards who stood at attention nearby.

Without another word, Bhishma stormed away from the royal court, retreating to his private chamber. The heavy doors slammed behind him, and the great warrior, the undefeated commander of Hastinapur, broke down in solitude. His mighty shoulders shook as he wept, the sound muffled by the thick walls of the chamber. He, who had seen countless deaths on the battlefield, had never felt a pain so piercing as the thought of losing the Pandavas, the sons of his beloved nephews.

Karna was sitting quietly inside duryodhan's chamber and was also very sad over the fact that pandavas were killed in an unjust way. They were great warrior they didn't deserve such kind of death but still he couldn't do anything about this.

Later that day, Vidur, the wise prime minister, learned from one of the palace guards that Bhishma had left the palace. The guard informed him that Bhishma had gone to the banks of the river Ganga. Vidur, troubled, made his way to the river.

---

The soft murmur of the sacred river greeted Vidur as he approached, its waters glimmering beneath the afternoon sun. There, by the edge of the river, he saw Bhishma, kneeling on the ground, his head bowed low. The mighty Bhishma, the warrior feared by armies, was now a man grieving before the river Ganga, his mother. His tears flowed freely, mixing with the holy waters of the Ganga.

“Mata, kya yehi vidhi ka likha tha? Un veer putron ko veeron ki mrityu bhi nhi mili” Bhishma whispered, his voice cracking. (Mother Ganga, was this the fate written for them? They didn't even get to die like a warrior.)

Vidur hesitated for a moment, not wishing to disturb the sacred conversation between mother and son. But his heart was heavy with the truth he bore, and he could not delay. He approached quietly, bowing deeply in reverence before Ganga, the goddess of the river, before standing beside Bhishma.

“Pitamah,” Vidur greeted softly, “I must speak with you.”

Bhishma did not turn at first, his gaze still fixed on the flowing river, but Vidur’s voice had a way of cutting through even the deepest sorrow. Slowly, Bhishma rose to his feet, turning to face Vidur with eyes red from tears.

“Vidur,what is left to speak now.” he said, his voice hoarse,

Vidur’s heart sank at his grief. “Pitamah, forgive me. I kept this knowledge hidden to make you less worried. And to ensure the plan’s success. The Pandavas and Kunti along with Nisha… they are alive.”

Bhishma’s eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. “What did you say?”

“The Pandavas and Kunti along with Nisha are alive,” Vidur repeated, his tone firm but filled with relief. “I arranged their escape from the house of lac. They are safe, far from the hands of those who planned their end.”

For a moment, Bhishma was silent, the weight of Vidur’s words slowly sinking in. Then, with a deep exhale, he closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer of gratitude to the Creator, the Supreme. His tense shoulders relaxed, and the sorrow that had clouded his heart began to lift.

“The Pandavas are alive,” Bhishma murmured, as though testing the words on his lips. A small, relieved smile crept onto his face. “Thank the heavens… Vidur, you have done a great service not only to them but also to this entire kingdom.”

Vidur, ever the wise one, nodded respectfully. “I only did what I believed was right, Pitamah. Nisha too helped a lot. The path ahead is still uncertain, but at least now, there is hope.”

Bhishma, moved by the revelation, reached out and placed a hand on Vidur’s shoulder. “You have my thanks, Vidur. You are truly the conscience of this kingdom. I am also proud of Nisha she has a really good presence of mind. May the Creator watch over us all like this in the future as well.”

Together, they stood at the edge of the sacred river, the gentle waters of the Ganga carrying away the weight of the past as they looked towards an uncertain future. But now, at least, there was a glimmer of light amidst the darkness.

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