The halls of Hastinapur were heavy with the weight of concealed intentions and unspoken schemes. The air seemed to bristle with the hatred and jealousy emanating from Duryodhana and his allies.

Shakuni, ever the mastermind of devious plots, arrived from Gandara, his sharp eyes gleaming with cunning as he learned of the events that had unfolded in the court and the counsel Kanika had offered to Dritarashtra. His lips curled into a sly smile as the seeds of a sinister plan began to take shape.

Later that day, Duryodhana stormed into Dritarashtra's chamber, his face flushed with anger and desperation. Bowing slightly, he spoke in a tone laced with bitterness, his words carefully chosen to pierce his father's heart.

"Pitashree, day by day, the Pandavas' fame eclipses ours. The kingdom's laws were written under my direction, yet it is Yudhishthira whom the people revere as Yuvraj. They adore him, speak of his virtue, and look to him as their saviour. The citizens you once commanded with ease now turn their hearts toward them. Pandu Kaka Shree earned his kingdom through his valour and accomplishments, yet despite your qualifications, you were denied it, your blindness becoming a curse upon our lineage. And now, Kaka Shree Pandu's sons, wielding his legacy, aim to dominate the throne for generations. If Vasusena remains king, his progeny and theirs will inherit the throne, leaving us and our descendants as mere shadows of the royal line. Shall we stand by and watch as our lineage is erased from history?!"

Hearing the venom in his son's words, Dritarashtra felt the sting of his own inadequacies. Memories of Kanika's earlier counsel echoed in his mind, a chilling reminder of the harsh truths he had chosen to ignore. His shoulders slumped as sorrow and doubt clouded his judgment.

Duryodhana pressed on, his voice rising with urgency. "Pitashree, the Pandavas are a threat—not just to our power but to our very existence! They must be removed and banished before it is too late. Let us send them, along with Yuyutsu and Rajmata Kunti, to Varanāvata. There, they can bask in the festivities, far from Hastinapur. With them gone, we shall have no fear of rebellion. The people will soon forget them, especially if we win their loyalty with wealth and favors."

Dritarashtra hesitated, his voice trembling. "Pandu was not just my brother; he was my protector, my confidant. He gave everything to me and this kingdom, caring little for his desires. His sons are as virtuous as he was, and Vasusena has proven himself a king who upholds Dharma. How can I exile them? And Yuyutsu—he is your blood, Duryodhana! The citizens revere the Pandavas. If they sense betrayal, they will rise against us. Such a move could lead to chaos and bloodshed."

Before Dritarashtra could waver further, Shakuni stepped forward, his voice as smooth as silk but dripping with malice. "Maharaj, think not with your heart but with your mind. This is not about sentiments but survival. The Pandavas have the love of the people now, but love is fickle. Wealth and power can sway even the staunchest supporters. Still, under Vasusena's control, the treasury has bred discontent among many who dislike his reforms. Use this discontent. Gift riches, shower favors, and secure the loyalty of your people. Once they are ours, no one will question your decision to send the Pandavas away. As for their return—let them come back as ordinary citizens, stripped of royal privilege."

Duryodhana, emboldened by Shakuni's support, leaned closer to his father. "Pitashree, do not let this chance slip away. Act now, or we will live forever in the shadow of Pandu's sons. What legacy will we leave for our children? I beseech you—send them away!"

Dritarashtra, his resolve crumbling under the relentless pressure, finally nodded. His voice was barely audible as he whispered, "I will do as you say."

The following day, Dritarashtra summoned his ministers to weave a narrative that would mask the true intent behind the invitation.

In the court, a minister began extolling the virtues of Varanāvata. "Pasupathi's festival will grace the beautiful city of Varanāvata. The land is adorned with gems, the people are joyous, and the blessings of Mahadev are abundant. It is a sight to behold!"

Dritarashtra, feigning benevolence, addressed the Pandavas. "Maharaja Vasusena, Yuvraj Yudhishthira, Mahamahim Yuyutsu, and my dear nephews, I insist you visit Varanāvata. It is a city of divine beauty, and the festival of Mahadev is an occasion not to be missed. Take your attendants and soldiers, distribute wealth among the Brahmanas, and revel in the blessings of the gods. Enjoy yourselves, for even kings deserve respite from their duties. Return when your hearts are content."

The court was silent as the Pandavas exchanged glances. They saw through the charade, and their suspicions were confirmed. Yudhishthira's calm eyes met Vasusena's, and a quiet understanding passed between them. Their gaze turned to Niyati, who remained impassive, her earlier words of caution lingering in their minds.

Finally, Yudhishthira stepped forward, his voice steady and respectful. "So be it, Tatshree. We shall prepare to leave for Varanāvata."

Duryodhana's smirk deepened, the glint of triumph in his eyes unmistakable. Shakuni's face betrayed a flicker of satisfaction, while Duhsasana barely contained his glee. At that moment, the divide between the Kauravas and Pandavas seemed insurmountable, with hatred and jealousy so thick that it could be cut with a sword.

As the Pandavas retreated to prepare for their journey, Vasusena turned to his brothers, his voice filled with quiet determination. "Let them think they have won. We walk the path of Dharma, and no matter how dark the road becomes, the light of truth will guide us. Be vigilant, for the storm is coming."

Putting her hands on Vasusena's shoulders, Kunti whispered, "Remember, my sons, Mahadev watches over the righteous. Trust in your strength and the will of the gods."

The Pandavas, their hearts heavy but resolute, prepared to face the trial ahead, knowing their enemies' hatred would be their greatest challenge yet.

Into the Heart of Danger

The atmosphere in Hastinapur was charged with sinister intent and undercurrents of jealousy and betrayal. Duryodhana, however, was triumphant. His eyes sparkled with malice as his lips curled into a faint, wicked smile. His heart swelled with a dark satisfaction as he imagined the Pandavas walking into the trap he meticulously laid out.

That evening, behind closed doors, Duryodhana summoned Purochana. His voice was low and brimming with urgency.

"Purochana," he said, clasping the adviser's hand tightly, his nails digging into the flesh, "this world, with all its riches, belongs to me. And with me, it is yours too. You are the only one I trust to see this plan through. My enemies must be destroyed, but it must be done skillfully so that no one will suspect us. Do you understand?"

Purochana nodded, his loyalty unquestioning, as Duryodhana continued. "The Pandavas have been sent to Varanāvata under the guise of celebration, but their fate must be sealed there. Build a magnificent house for them—a palace of illusions, dazzling to the eye but made of the most inflammable materials. Use them all for Hemp, resin, ghee, and lac, but hide their presence. No one must suspect. You will light the fire when they are asleep, unaware of the danger. Start at the gate so that none can escape. Do this, and you will be my most trusted ally forever."

The malicious glint in Duryodhana's eyes made Purochana shiver, but he bowed and promised to execute the plan flawlessly. The following day, Purochana left Hastinapur on a cart drawn by swift asses laden with the materials needed for the treacherous house. Meanwhile, Duryodhana reveled in his perceived triumph, confident that his rivals would soon be eliminated.

At the same time, whispers of the plot spread among the citizens of Hastinapur. A group of fearless Brahmanas gathered in quiet corners, their hearts heavy with grief and anger.

"This is an act of adharma," one of them said. "His love for his sons blinds Dritarashtra. How can he allow such treachery against Pandu's noble sons and ask a King to leave? who have done no wrong?"

Another added, "Pandu was a tiger among men, a true Brahmarshi. His sons are righteous and virtuous. We cannot let this happen. Let us leave this city and follow Vasusena and Yudhishthira. They need our blessings and support now more than ever."

Their words reached Vasusena and Yudhishthira, who stood with his brothers, calm yet sombre. Vasusena addresses the Brahmanas with humility. "Tatshree is like our father, our guide. Though I'm a King, we must obey him, regardless of command. Your blessings are our greatest strength. Circle us, bless us, and return to your homes. When the time comes for you to act, do what is good for us and dharma."

The Brahmanas reluctantly complied, their hearts heavy, and returned to the city after bestowing their blessings.

Later that evening, Niyati approached Yudhishthira in private. Her voice was calm yet carried an unmistakable warning. "One who knows avoids danger before it strikes," she said cryptically. "There is a weapon that pierces without iron, a trap that burns without sight of the flame. Be alert, wise one. A path unknown can lead to ruin. Protect yourselves with knowledge, for the blind walk into darkness. Those who master themselves and their surroundings cannot be defeated."

Yudhishthira listened intently, understanding the weight of her words. He nodded solemnly, his mind already at work.

As Niyati departed, Kunti, noticing the exchange, approached Yudhishthira. "What did Niyati say to you?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "She spoke in riddles, and you seemed to understand her, yet we remain in the dark."

Yudhishthira replied, "Niyati has warned us of danger from fire and poison. She advises us to tread carefully, to know every path, and to act with restraint. I told her I understood, for her words are clear to those who seek the truth."

On the eighth day of Phalguna, under the ascendant Rohini, the Pandavas and Kunti decided to leave for Varanāvata.

The Price of Complicity

As the preparations to leave for Varnavat reached their final moments, Shakuni's sharp gaze lingered on Niyati. His sly smile barely masked his apprehension. He cleared his throat, speaking with feigned politeness, "Rajkumari Niyati, are you accompanying them? I mean..."

Kanika, standing at his side, tensed visibly. The thought of anything befalling the princess of Dwarka during this journey sent shivers down her spine. If harm came to Niyati, the wrath of the Yadavas might be swift and catastrophic.

Niyati turned to Shakuni with a serene smile, one that unsettled even the shrewdest schemer. Her voice was calm, yet it carried an unyielding resolve. "Do not worry, Subalputra. My brothers trust me enough, and I trust myself even more. Rest assured, I will return as I intend to."

Before mounting her horse, Niyati's gaze shifted, and she walked toward Gandhari with deliberate steps. The people at royal doors stilled as though the air grew heavy in anticipation.

Gandhari, standing quietly, sensed the princess's approach even without sight. Her heart stirred at the commanding presence that halted before her. She tilted slightly and asked, "What is it, Putri?"

Niyati's hand rested gently on Gandhari's head before trailing down to her cheek in a gesture of reverence and compassion. Her voice resonated through the chamber, soft but carrying the weight of unspoken truths.

"Maha Tapasvini Gandhari," she began, her words weaving an allegory. "Life is like the Samudra Manthan. Before the Devatas and Asuras obtained Amrit, they encountered celestial treasures—and the halahal poison. Only after enduring the poison did they witness the elixir's arrival. Your life mirrors that cosmic churning. Born a radiant princess with dreams as vast as the skies, you bound yourself to a man who sees only darkness. Yet, your devotion illuminated a path of sacrifice and strength."

Her words were like an incantation, holding the court in a trance. Dritarashtra shifted uneasily while the Kauravas and Pandavas exchanged furtive glances.

"Kuru Kulvadhu Gandhari," Niyati continued, her tone deepening, "this dynasty will see its elixir, but not without drinking its share of halahal. That poison, Mata, comes not from enemies beyond these walls but from the seeds sown within. You, the torchbearer of Dharma, have carried this family's burden with grace. Mahadev chose you for this role, instilling the strength to nurture righteousness even in the harshest storms."

A tear escaped beneath Gandhari's blindfold as Niyati's words pierced her soul.

"But," Niyati said, her voice tinged with sorrow, "a mother's righteousness alone cannot save a dynasty. A father must also uphold Dharma. Children, Mata, are mirrors reflecting their parents' hidden desires and flaws. When that darkness is left unchecked, neither a parent's love nor a god's grace can alter the course of fate."

The hall grew colder as if Niyati's words had summoned the winds of destiny itself. Gandhari's trembling hands sought something to hold onto, but all she found was the void of uncertainty.

"You have done your best, Mata Gandhari," Niyati said, her tone softening momentarily. "You gave your all, but now, time is no longer your ally."

The weight of those words fell like thunder, leaving Gandhari's heart to skip a beat. Dritarashtra clutched Sanjaya's arms, his knuckles white with fear.

"Putri," Gandhari whispered, her voice cracking with anguish.

Niyati's expression remained resolute. "Yes, Kuru Kulvadhu. Time has turned away. No matter what unfolds now, do not burden yourself with guilt or cast blame upon others. Those who have chosen to stray from Dharma will face the consequences of their actions. Forgiveness, perseverance, and prayer will no longer alter their path."

She turned her gaze toward Shakuni and Kanika, her voice rising just enough for all to hear. "Yes, they may believe they are winning. Yet they have forgotten a simple truth: mortals are not gods. They can only scheme within the limits of their mortality. Fate, however, plays its own game—and it always tilts in favor of Dharma."

Her words struck like arrows, silencing even the whispers in the grand hall.

Gandhari's composure broke, her voice trembling with desperation. "Putri, please no! Give me one more chance!"

Niyati's smile was both gentle and unyielding. "All chances are gone. Now, it is Niyati who will respond. Slowly and surely... it will answer everything."

Dritarashtra rose from his seat, his voice trembling as he spoke. "Niyati, Putri, this is not how you should speak with your elders...This is not the way of kings and dynasties."

Before Niyati could reply, Yuyutsu stepped forward. His presence was calm but commanding, his voice steady yet tinged with raw emotion.

"Pitashree," he began, his eyes locking with Dritarashtra's. "You've always spoken of destiny, Dharma, and duty, yet you often turned away from them when it mattered most. Today, allow me to remind you of a truth we cannot escape."

Dritarashtra clenched his arms, freeing from Sanjaya, his breathing shallow, "What truth do you speak of, Yuyutsu? I have always sought the best for my family, for this dynasty."

Yuyutsu shook his head, a bittersweet smile on his lips. "Yes, your family Pitashree. Not the Kuru family. You sought the best for your desires, not for your Dharma. You never won the hearts of people as a King. Because as a king, you must stand above attachments, yet you have always favoured your sons over righteousness. Greed and blindness—not of your eyes, but of your heart—have steered your path."

Dritarashtra flinched as though struck, but Yuyutsu's words only grew sharper.

"You love your sons, but love without wisdom is as dangerous as hatred. A father's blind adoration can become his children's curse. Pitashree, even Rakshasas, after their greatest penances and boons, fell because of unchecked greed and arrogance. Your sons walk a path not of glory but of destruction, and you... You encourage them with your silence."

Dritarashtra's voice cracked as he tried to respond. "Do not judge me, Yuyutsu. I have carried the weight of a kingdom, a family, and a legacy! My choices—"

"Your choices," Niyati interjected, her voice rising, "are what will destroy everything you hold dear. Rajkumar Dritarashtra, power gained through greed is like sand—it slips through one's fingers no matter how tightly it is held. Your sons will know victory, yes, but it will be short-lived, for their victories are built on deceit and adharma. And one day, the price of that deceit will fall upon you. On that day, you will feel the burden of all you have allowed, but it will be too late."

Her words echoed through the hall, striking every listener with their gravity. Dritarashtra took a step back, his face ashen. Gandhari reached for his hand, her blindfolded eyes unable to hide the tears streaming beneath them.

Yuyutsu stepped closer, his voice softening but retaining its resolve. "I say this not out of rebellion but out of love, Pitashree. I am your son, too, and I wish for your peace. But peace cannot be built on the foundations of injustice. Love your sons and guide them if you can, but do not condone their wrongs. And most importantly, do not let your love for them blind you to Dharma. For Dharma, it is the only shield that can save us when fate decides to strike."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the air seemed to hold its breath as Yuyutsu stepped back, bowing respectfully. "Until next time, Pitashree," he said softly.

Without another word, Yuyutsu turned and joined Niyati and the Pandavas. The sight of his retreating figure, walking toward an uncertain destiny, left Dritarashtra and Gandhari clutching each other's hands in a shared fear of the future—a future that seemed darker than ever.

As the Pandavas arrived at Varanāvata, the city erupted with joy. News of their arrival spread like wildfire, and citizens, eager to welcome the sons of Pandu, Mahamahim Yuyutsu, Dwaraka's Rajkumari Niyati, came out in throngs. They brought vehicles adorned with flowers, ceremonial offerings, and auspicious items as prescribed by the Sastras. The streets were alive with chants of "Jaya," their voices echoing through the air as they surrounded the Pandavas with reverence.

Vasusena and Yudhishthira, calm yet regal, acknowledged the greetings of the crowd, his demeanor radiating a quiet strength. They both stood amidst the people like Indra among the celestials, commanding awe and admiration. The Pandavas returned the citizens' warmth with gracious smiles and kind words.

Guided by Purochana, they entered the decorated streets of Varanāvata, the city glittering like a bride. Their first stop was the abodes of the Brahmanas, where they offered their respects to those engaged in sacred duties. From there, they visited the homes of officials, merchants, and even ordinary folk, honouring every stratum of society.

Finally, they reached the palace prepared for them—a magnificent structure, resplendent yet carrying an unsettling air. Purochana, ever the dutiful host, presented them with fine food, luxurious bedding, and richly adorned carpets. Though the Pandavas appeared at ease, their minds were alert, and every word and action was carefully measured.

After ten days of seemingly peaceful residence, Purochana mentioned the "Blessed Home" constructed especially for them. But as they approached the mansion. Yudhishthira's discerning eyes roamed its walls. His nose caught a faint but distinctive scent—the acrid tang of fat, clarified butter, and lac mixed into the structure.

Turning to Bhima, he spoke softly but gravely, his words laden with foresight. "This house is no sanctuary. It reeks of deceit. The enemy has constructed this mansion with the intent to burn us alive. Purochana, under Duryodhana's orders, watches us like a vulture, waiting for the moment we lower our guard."

Bhima's fists clenched, his voice a growl. "If you suspect this place, let us leave now and return to the house we occupied earlier."

Yudhishthira shook his head, his tone measured and resolute. "No, Bhima. To leave abruptly would alert Purochana and hasten his treachery. We must stay and feign ignorance. Let him believe we are content, unaware of his plans. Meanwhile, we will find a way to safeguard ourselves. We must prepare an escape route—secret and secure—before he can act."

Nakula interjected, his voice steady yet contemplative. "Brata Yudhishthira is right. We must stay vigilant yet patient until Pitamah, Kaka Shree Vidura, and Kaki Shree Subala intervene or guide us further."

All eyes then turned to Niyati, her presence a beacon of calm in the storm. But she remained silent, her gaze fixed on the heavens, her expression distant as if deciphering a cosmic puzzle.

Observing the quiet tension in the group, Yuyutsu spoke with gentle authority. "Leave her be. She has done her part. She has already set the wheels of fate in motion. The rest is up to us now. Let us not disturb her thoughts."

The group nodded, their trust in Niyati's judgment unshaken. Yet a sombre air lingered around them, for the mansion stood not as a sanctuary but as a silent adversary—a cursed house waiting to test their resolve.

Yudhishthira, always the pillar of wisdom, spoke again. "We must tread carefully, my brothers. The path ahead is perilous, but we will overcome even the darkest of trials with Dharma as our guide."

Thus resolved, the Pandavas began their secret preparations, masking their fears behind composed smiles as the spectra of danger loomed.