As the Kauravas and Pandavas returned to Hastinapur, Bhima's absence hung over them like a cloud. While some rode on horses and elephants and others on chariots, Bhima's whereabouts remained unknown.

The scheming Suyodhana, hiding his delight, feigned concern among his brothers. "Perhaps Bhima has gone ahead of us," he said with a sly smile, secretly celebrating the thought that Bhima might be no more.

Unaware of Suyodhan's malice, Yudhishthira, honest to a fault, assumed everyone shared his virtuous nature. Upon reaching the palace, he approached his mother, Kunti, and spoke with concern: "Mata, has Bhima returned? We did not find him in the gardens. We assumed he had come home ahead of us, but he was nowhere to be seen. Did you send him somewhere? I am worried—perhaps he has fallen asleep somewhere on the way."

Kunti's heart froze. Her voice trembled as she cried, "Putr, I have not seen Bhima. He has not come to me. Go back with your brothers and search for him immediately!"

Unable to mask her rising dread, Kunti summoned Vidura, her trusted confidant. Her voice quaked with emotion as she said, "Bhima is missing! Where has he gone? The other brothers have all returned, but Bhima is nowhere to be found! I fear the worst, Vidura. Jiji's sons, led by Suyodhana, despise him. Their malice knows no bounds. I cannot shake the fear that Suyodhana may have done something in a fit of anger. My heart is on fire with this agony!"

Vidura, the wise and measured prime minister, sighed deeply, his worry evident in his brow furrow. "Bhabhi Shree," he said, choosing his words carefully, "do not speak such things openly. Protect your other sons, for he may strike again if Suyodhana feels cornered by accusations. But rest assured, Maharshi Ved Vyas has foretold that your sons will live long lives. Bhima will return and bring joy to your heart. Until then, we must act with patience and vigilance."

Though his words offered some solace, Vidura's unease remained as he left Kunti's chambers. He immediately dispatched spies to scour the city and surrounding areas for Bhima, though the weight of his thoughts bore heavily on him.

Meanwhile, Arjuna, who overheard the conversation, could not stay still. Grasping the gravity of the situation, he wrote a letter to his eldest brother, Vasusena, detailing Bhima's disappearance. Though he knew his brother might not reply to the letter, Arjuna's heart yearned for Vasusena's wisdom and strength in such dire times.

The palace corridors seemed darker that evening, the air heavy with worry. As Kunti silently prayed, the looming question tormented her: where was Bhima, her mighty second-born? Could her motherly instincts be wrong, or had Suyodhan's hatred finally crossed an unforgivable line?

A Mother's Agony and a Kingdom's Reckoning

The stillness of the night in the royal wing was oppressive. It weighed heavily on everyone, suffocating them in their private fears and regrets. In every chamber, hearts ached for Bhima, but none more than Kunti's. The corridors were silent except for the occasional muffled cries of the younger Pandavas, who struggled to sleep, haunted by their elder brother's absence.

In the royal quarters, Gandhari and Dritarashtra sat together in a silence that screamed louder than words. The same dreadful thought consumed both. Suyodhan's jealousy of Bhima was no secret—it had been voiced too many times. Gandhari's heart pounded as she wondered, Had the curse begun to take shape through her eldest son?

Breaking the suffocating quiet, Vidura enters the chambers with a face etched in sorrow. His footsteps were slow, burdened by the weight of his knowledge. "Rajmata Kunti," he began, his voice heavy, "your fears are not unfounded. My spies have confirmed what I dreaded to be true. Suyodhana pushed Bhima into a lake teeming with poisonous serpents. No one has survived those waters, and Bhima is a child."

"No!" Kunti wailed, collapsing onto the floor. Her cries pierced the night, shaking even the most stoic of hearts. "Please, Brata Vidura, do not say such words! I have already lost so much—my husband, my sister, and my mother-in-law. I cannot bear to lose my son, too! Tatshree Bhishma," she turned her tear-streaked face toward him, "please ask Mata Ganga to help us. Do something! Bring back my Bhima!"

Gandhari, her heart shattered, whispered in disbelief, "What are you saying, Vidura? How could my son—how could Suyodhana—commit such an act? You must be mistaken."

Vidura's tone turned firm, his wisdom unyielding. "I swear on the wisdom I have earned, Jyeshta Bhabhi Shree, that Suyodhana has walked the path of adharma. He has committed a sin that cannot be undone. This act marks the beginning of the curse that hangs over your children. The Kuru dynasty will fall because of him—whether in months or years, the end is inevitable."

Trembling with a mix of anguish and fury, Dritarashtra bellowed, "Hold your tongue, Vidura! Do not forget you are speaking to the Queen of Hastinapur. My son did no such thing! You are lying!"

Bhishma, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, his voice a cold blade of truth. "You may shout, cry, or deny, but it will not change what has happened. Your son, Dritarashtra, has chosen the path of destruction. We all warned you to abandon and correct him, but you and Gandhari assured us he would follow the path of dharma. And now, what is this? Tell us! Will you disgrace our ancestors because of your blind faith and indulgence in your son's misdeeds?"

He turned to Gandhari, his piercing gaze unwavering. "Putri Gandhari, you who lead the women's council, I ask you: What punishment will you mete out for this crime? Kunti stands before you, a grieving mother, demanding justice. Tell us—what will you do?"

Gandhari fell to her knees, her strength crumbling under the weight of his words. Tears flowed freely as she cried, "I feel Kunti's pain. It is a mother's pain, and I share it. But none of you can understand my torment. I vowed to uphold Kuru's honour as a bride when I entered this family. When my children were cursed because of my blindness, I swore to guide them toward righteousness. And yet, today, my son has strayed so far. I never thought he would commit such a heinous act. Please give him one more chance. I beg you all to let me correct his path. I will make sure he never harms Kunti's sons again. I will ensure he follows dharma!"

Gandhari crawled to Kunti, clasping her hands in desperation. "Please, Kunti! Please give me one more chance. I will protect your sons. I will reform my own. Please, just one chance."

Kunti's voice, cold and unyielding, cut through the room. "And if you fail, jiji, what then?"

The question struck Gandhari like lightning. This was not the gentle Kunti she had known—this was a fierce and righteous mother demanding justice. Gandhari looked into her eyes, unable to summon a response.

"Tell me, Jiji, Putri of Subala," Kunti pressed, her voice trembling with grief and rage, "what will you do if you fail? Will you curse your son? Will you punish him? What justice will you give me, the mother who has lost her child? Tell me!"

Gandhari, her heart breaking, bowed her head. After a long silence, she lifted her tear-soaked face, her voice trembling but resolute. "I, Gandhari, Putri of Subala, Maha Tapasvini, wife of Maharaja Dritarashtra, will curse my own child if he commits the biggest sin of his life."

The room fell silent as her words echoed through it. Gandhari's wails followed, her heart shattering under the weight of her own promise.

Stunned by Gandhari's declaration, Dritarashtra stumbled back into a chair, his world spinning. What had his life become? What had he done to deserve such children? Yet, in his despair, one thought burned brighter than the rest: They are my children. No matter what, I will protect them.

Once again, Niyati wove her intricate web. In the past, Vidura silenced Kunti, preventing her from exposing Suyodhan's misdeeds. Yet, the same Vidura revealed the truth, forcing Gandhari to confront the weight of her son's sins. In a cruel twist of fate, Niyati compelled Gandhari to pledge a curse upon her children.

The day of reckoning would come. Suyodhana, though a child in the eyes of many, was no ordinary boy. He was the Rakshasa Kali incarnate, the embodiment of chaos and destruction. His presence was an affront to dharma, and his end was inevitable. However, this time would be brutal, for no Rakshasa could escape the divine justice that awaited.

Reborn in Strength

Meanwhile, on the eighth day, Bhima awoke from his deep slumber, his body surging with newfound strength as the divine nectar coursed through him, fully digested. His muscles burned with power, and his heart brimmed with vitality. The Nagas surrounded him, their voices filled with encouragement and reverence.

"O Bhima," they said, "the strength-giving nectar you consumed has blessed you with the might of ten thousand elephants. From this day forward, no warrior shall stand against you in battle. Your mother and brothers anxiously await your return. Bathe in these holy, auspicious waters and reunite with them, for their hearts are heavy with grief in your absence."

Following their guidance, Bhima immersed himself in the sacred waters, purifying his body and soul. When he emerged, the Nagas adorned him in pristine white robes and fragrant garlands, each petal radiating celestial purity. They offered him para manna, a divine rice pudding he consumed with gratitude.

The Nagas then blessed Bhima, decorating him with ornaments that shimmered with heavenly brilliance. With folded hands, Bhima accepted their adorations and returned their salutations, his heart swelling with respect for the serpent guardians who had transformed him.

As the Nagas lifted him to the surface, their chants echoed like a hymn, bidding him farewell. Bhima opened his lotus-like eyes to the sunlit garden where he had last played, feeling like a warrior reborn. The Nagas vanished into the ether, leaving Bhima standing tall and mighty—a figure of unshakable resolve, ready to face whatever destiny had in store.

A Guru's Wisdom

Vasusena sat by the riverside, clutching the letter from Arjuna, his hands trembling as he read the ominous words. Suyodhana had plotted to kill Bhima, and now Bhima was missing. The weight of the news shattered his composure. The letter slipped from his fingers, caught by the wind, and fluttered away.

Collapsing to his knees, Vasusena let out a cry of anguish. "First my parents, then my grandparents, and now my brother? Why is fate so merciless?" His voice broke as he covered his face, tears streaming down uncontrollably. The unbearable guilt gnawed at him—why was he not there to protect his family in their time of need?

Through his grief, memories of Bhima came rushing back, painting a bittersweet picture in his mind. He saw the two of them as children roaming the Shatashringa mountains. Bhima, ever the mischievous one, would challenge Vasusena to lift boulders.

"Jyeshta," Bhima once said with a cheeky grin, "if I can uproot this tree faster than you can lift that rock, you'll have to carry me back home!"

"And if I win?" Vasusena countered, arching an eyebrow.

"Then I'll carry you on my shoulders—like a true Kuru hero!" Bhima declared, puffing out his chest, only to trip over a branch moments later. They had both erupted in laughter, their voices echoing through the hills.

The memory made Vasusena smile through his tears, but the present weighed heavier. "How can a brother raise his hand to kill another? How could this happen in the house of the Kurus?"

From behind, a deep voice answered, "Why not, Putr?"

Startled, Vasusena turned to see his Guru, Parashurama, standing nearby. Quickly wiping his tears, he stood and folded his hands. "Pranam, Gurudeva."

Parashurama's eyes softened as he stepped closer. "Putr, do not hide your tears. They are not a sign of weakness but of strength. They remind you of your love and your duty. I read the letter that the wind carried away. Bhima is safe, and he will return home soon."

The words lifted the weight off Vasusena's chest. "Is it true, Gurudeva? Dhanyavaad!" he exclaimed, tears of relief streaming down his face.

Placing a firm hand on Vasusena's shoulder, Parashurama spoke gravely. "Putr, the days ahead are fraught with darkness. Adharma will rise like a storm. Brothers will kill brothers, greed will consume men, and women will suffer indignities at the hands of a broken society. You are not the first to witness such treachery. Kamsa imprisoned his own sister and killed her sons out of fear. Evil thrives when dharma is forgotten."

Vasusena's voice trembled as he replied, "I never imagined such wickedness would arise in the house of the Kurus, Gurudeva. I promised Tatshree Dritarashtra and Prathamamba Gandhari that I would guide their sons as my brothers. How could they turn so cruel? What should I do now?"

Parashurama's lips curved into a faint smile. "Suryaputr, you possess wisdom and a deep understanding of dharma. You have absorbed its essence; now it is time to act. Consider this your test. Write a letter to your family—a letter that can change the fate of all your brothers. What you write will shape the course of their destinies."

With those words, Parashurama turned and walked away, leaving Vasusena in deep thought. The weight of his Guru's command settled over him like a storm cloud. His mind raced, crafting the words that would unite his family or leave them divided forever.

Shadows of a Looming Storm

In Hastinapur, a sigh of relief swept through the palace as mighty and alive Bhima emerged from his ordeal. His arrival brought a torrent of emotions. Running to his mother's chambers, he fell to his knees, bowing before Kunti, his voice trembling with emotion as he said, "Mata, your Bhima has returned." He pulled his younger brothers into a tight embrace, their tiny hands clutching him as if to confirm his presence. Kunti held her son tightly, overwhelmed with joy and relief, her tears falling freely.

"Oh, what joy! My Bhima, my son, my strength, you have come back to me!" she cried, her voice breaking as her fingers traced his face as if to assure herself he was real. The brothers stood together, their bond glowing in the light of their reunion, repeatedly exclaiming, "O what joy, what a day this is for us all!"

Bhishma, Vidura, and Aruni entered the chamber, their faces reflecting the gratitude and relief shared by all. Aruni rushed to Bhima, enveloping him in a motherly embrace. "Putr," she whispered, her voice choked, "are you truly unharmed? Are you well?"

With warmth, Bhima reassured her, "Pranipat, Pitamah, Kaka Shree, and Kaki Shree. I am fine, thanks to the blessings of the Nagas."

Bhishma, visibly surprised, asked, "The Nagas? What happened, Bhima?"

Bhima's face darkened momentarily as he recalled the incident. "After Suyodhana pushed me into the water, I saw his face twisted in a cruel smile. I sank into unconsciousness and woke to find myself surrounded by Nagas. They told me their venomous bites did not affect me because of the poison that already resides within me. Instead, they saved me, drawing the poison from my body."

Pausing, Bhima's tone softened, "I was taken to Naglok, where I met Pramatamaha (Great grandfather from mother's side) Aryaka, the father of Matamahi (Maternal grandmother) and Nagakanya Marisha (Kunti's mother). He sat on King Vasuki's council and pleaded with him to save me. Not only did King Vasuki agree, but he also showered me with blessings, wealth, and wisdom.

Pramatamaha Aryaka then asked King Vasuki to allow me to drink from the Rasakunda. It is a sacred nectar, each sip bestowing the strength of ten thousand elephants. At Pramatamaha's urging, I drank deeply, and King Vasuki blessed me, saying, 'No warrior shall ever be able to match your strength in battle.'"

Kunti held her son's face in her hands, tears flowing freely as she whispered a prayer of gratitude. "May the kindness of Matamaha Aryaka and King Vasuki always shield you, my child. May their blessings protect you from all harm."

Bhishma, his pride radiating, placed a hand on Bhima's shoulder. Turning to Vidura, he instructed, "Draft a letter of gratitude to King Vasuki and Putri Kunti's Matamaha Aryaka. Their actions have preserved our family's strength and honour."

With cautious Yudhishthira stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "From this moment, we must guard each other with vigilance. Bhima, please do not speak of your newfound strength to anyone until the moment requires it. Let us walk together, watch over one another, and remain cautious. We cannot let our guard down again, not even for a moment."

His words struck a sombre chord. Bhishma and Vidura exchanged glances, their hearts heavy with the knowledge that such vigilance was needed within their family. It was a bitter truth that the shadows of mistrust and treachery now loomed over the Kuru lineage. All they could do was silently pray that this moment of unity would hold against the storms yet to come.