The journey back was wrapped in silence, each lost in the depths of their thoughts. Words felt unnecessary, for the weight of what had transpired still lingered. Rajkumari Krishnaa walked alongside them, questions swirling in her mind like an untamed river. Arjuna, the son of Brahmarshi Pandu, had won her, yet none had spoken of it. There were no introductions, reassurances, nothing to make her feel at ease. Was this their way? Warriors on the battlefield but strangers in companionship?

Her gaze wandered, and then she saw her—Niyati.

Niyati's beauty was not the kind that merely pleased the eyes; it was the kind that captivated the soul. She bore the grace of the morning sun, radiant yet gentle. Her eyes held secrets of the universe, depths unfathomable yet inviting. Something was ethereal about her as if she was untouched by the mortal world's imperfections. The moon's soft glow seemed to rest upon her skin, and the strands of her hair danced like poetry in motion with the wind.

How did people speak of her beauty when the woman beside her was far more enchanting? She had never heard of the Pandavas having a sister. Was she wedded to one of them? A strange thought crossed her mind—was she Arjuna's wife?

Before she could mask her expression, Niyati turned to her with a knowing smile. "No, Rajkumari, I am not married to Arjuna. He is my Brata. Do not let such thoughts trouble you."

The others chuckled, amused by Niyati's uncanny perception.

Draupadi arched a brow, "I didn't say anything... You heard my thoughts?"

Niyati chuckled, shaking her head. "You didn't have to. Your face speaks louder than words."

She glanced at the Pandavas and smirked, "Yes, they are the same. They are fierce warriors, unmatched on the battlefield. But ask them to converse with a woman, and they become as helpless as deer in a lion's gaze. Handle them with care."

A laugh escaped Draupadi's lips, the first since she had left the palace.

Bhima, who had been listening, scoffed. "Hey! I am married. I know how to handle a woman. I even have a son! Tell that to these fellows—especially the one you're about to marry—Yuyutsu. At least we speak. He barely does that."

Niyati's eyes twinkled mischievously. "He speaks with me. That's enough."

Arjuna smirked, "Really? How? I've never heard Brata Yuyutsu utter more than a handful of words to you. He either ensures your well-being or sits with you in meditation. Brata Yuyutsu, now that you're the super senior in relationships, share your wisdom."

Vasusena, ever watchful, stepped forward, resting a hand on Yuyutsu's shoulder. "Yes, my dear Karna, impart some wisdom. Arjuna is in desperate need of it."

A soft blush crept onto Arjuna's face, mirrored by Draupadi's amusement.

Yuyutsu, composed as ever, turned to Arjuna and spoke calmly, his words carrying the weight of wisdom beyond his years, "A marriage is not a stagnant bond but a continuous journey—a constant opportunity to refine and be refined. True love does not shy away from discomfort; instead, it embraces the responsibility of helping one another evolve. When two souls exchange uncomfortable truths, it is not a sign of love fading but of love striving to become something more significant.

We cannot always be the same in a relationship. Change is inevitable. The greatest kindness we can offer those we care for is to map out the uncharted territories of our hearts, to guide them through our most troubled depths. Doing so does not push love away—we make ourselves more lovable."

A stunned silence followed.

Bhima was the first to recover, shaking his head in disbelief. "Yuyutsu, my dear Anuj, I believe this is only the second time I have heard you speak at length. The first was when we met Niyati, and now with Draupadi here."

Arjuna, still in shock, stared at Yuyutsu. "What's even more shocking is you speaking about relationships. Wait... are you even real?" He stepped closer, pretending to inspect him.

Yuyutsu merely shrugged Arjuna away and continued walking, unaffected.

Bhima turned to Vasusena with a laugh. "Jyeshta, what have you done to him? How did he turn out like this?"

Vasusena smiled, draping an arm over Bhima's shoulder as they walked.

Arjuna, still unable to let go of an opportunity, turned to Niyati. "See what you've done to my Brata now. At least now, marry him. We all know you love each other. Then—"

Niyati shot him a sharp look, and he wisely fell silent.

Sensing the shift in the air, Rajkumari Krishnaa chose to ease the moment. "Do you always stay like this? So strong, yet always teasing each other?"

Vasusena smiled, his voice carrying the weight of years lived and lessons learned. "Rajkumari, strength is not only measured by how we wield our weapons but by the bonds we forge. A family is known for its actions and how it stands together through storms and the sun. The greatest fortress one can build is not of stone and walls but of trust and loyalty. A family grows not merely by blood but by the love it nurtures and by how it invests in one another. And now, Rajkumari Krishnaa, you are a part of this family."

Draupadi smiled, a warmth settling within her. Perhaps she was not walking toward uncertainty but toward something far more significant.

With a childlike eagerness, she stepped with Arjuna while Niyati ran up to Vasusena, walking by his side. He understood her unspoken words and reached out, ruffling her hair.

"Jyeshta, not the hair!" she protested, pouting.

He chuckled, side-embracing her, whispering, "I missed you."

She smiled, leaning into him. "I missed you too."

A Delicate Balance

An unspoken gravity filled the air as they gathered where Yudhishthira, Nakula, and Sahadeva were seated. Yudhishthira rose, his gaze falling on his eldest brother, Vasusena, and the ever-faithful Yuyutsu walking alongside him. He stole a fleeting glance at Rajkumari Krishnaa, and for a moment, his demeanor hardened. The shift did not escape Vasusena's perceptive eyes, yet he said nothing.

Instead, with the grace befitting his stature, Vasusena approached Yudhishthira, offering an embrace, while Yudhishthira touched his feet, seeking his blessings. As Yuyutsu prepared to follow suit, Yudhishthira enveloped him in a hug instead in a rare moment of tenderness.

Niyati, with a knowing smile, asked, "Why are you three here instead of at home preparing for the wedding? Shouldn't you be helping Bua prepare something for the bride?"

Sahadeva was always thoughtful and responded, "We were lost in our thoughts and decided to wait for all of you to return and surprise Mata."

Bhima and Arjuna exchanged glances, understanding the weight of what might be on their brothers' minds. Arjuna approached Yudhishthira with concern, "Are you well, Brata? If you wish, I can...."

"No, Arjuna," Yudhishthira interrupted abruptly, surprising everyone with his intensity. "I am well. Let us first introduce ourselves to Rajkumari Krishnaa before we step inside."

Everyone nodded in agreement, and Niyati, ever gracious, gestured to Yudhishthira, "Brata Yudhishthira, please, speak."

Taking a slow breath, Yudhishthira turned his gaze toward Krishnaa. His voice, though steady, carried the weight of generations. "Rajkumari Krishnaa, we hail from the Kuru lineage. Our father, Brahmarshi Pandu, and mother, Kunti, daughter of Kuntibhoja of Dwaraka, shaped us. We are also blessed by the presence of Mata Madri from the kingdom of Madra. Our family is vast. We have King Dritarashtra, the patriarch of Hastinapur, his queen Gandhari, and their hundred sons, including one daughter. Our brother Yuyutsu, born of another mother, though not of blood, is no less a brother to us than Arjuna or Vasusena."

He paused, his voice gaining strength as he continued, "We are seven brothers: Jyeshta Vasusena, myself, Yudhishthira, then Bhima, Arjuna, your husband, the fifth – Nakula, and the youngest – Sahadeva. And though Yuyutsu is not our blood brother, he is one of us. He is family."

Yudhishthira's words slowed as he spoke of Niyati, "Niyati, Princess of Dwaraka, Balarama and Krishna's sister, walks with us now. Her bond with Yuyutsu is unique, one you will understand in time. There is also Bhima's union with Hidimbaa, a Rakshasi, from which the next generation's eldest, Ghatotkacha, came. Though they may seem strange, know that they are family."

A deep sigh escaped him. "We lost our Pitashree and Mata Madri in our childhood. Why we live the way we do, with our burdens, is a tale for another day. But now, the hour grows late. Let us go home so Mata Kunti can meet you and Arjuna."

Krishnaa, absorbing the weight of her new family's history, cast a warm smile at Arjuna, who returned it with a quiet understanding. As the group moved forward, Niyati and Yuyutsu lingered behind, their shared glance speaking volumes of the unspoken future that lay ahead.

Breaking the silence, Vasusena asked, "Bhima, what is this tale of marriage to Hidimbaa and a son, Ghatotkacha? You spoke of it to Rajkumari Krishnaa, and now Yudhishthira mentions it. What is the true story?"

Bhima, looking at Yudhishthira, took a deep breath. With a heavy heart, he began to recount the journey that had brought them to this point: the intervention of their wise uncle Vidura, Bhima's battle with Hidimba, his eventual marriage to Hidimbaa, the birth of Ghatotkacha, their encounters with Bakasura and Gandharva Angaraparna, their meeting with Rishi Dhoumya and Ved Vyas, and the prophecy of Panchali, who was destined to be the wife of all five brothers.

Vasusena, struck by the revelation, paused, his thoughts heavy. With her radiant smile, the woman before him carried a past far more complex than he could have imagined, one in which she was destined to marry not one but five. He turned to Yudhishthira, his eyes seeking understanding.

"Did you all come to the Swayamvar to claim her as your wife?" Vasusena asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

"No, Jyeshta," Yudhishthira replied solemnly. "We decided that whoever wins her hand will be her husband. The others will respect the bond, forsaking their claim and honouring the relationship boundaries."

Vasusena, his gaze unyielding, studied Yudhishthira for a long moment. "I do not believe this will be so."

His resolve was unwavering, and Yudhishthira lowered his head in acknowledgement but did not falter. Together, they moved as one, their steps in sync with the weight of their shared history and the path ahead that would ultimately define them all.

A Destiny Foretold

Kunti sat in deep prayer in the humble abode, but her heart was restless. The words she chanted felt distant, almost meaningless against the rising tide of unease within her. What had happened to her children? Why this unbearable delay?

Dark thoughts coiled around her mind like serpents. Had the sons of Gandhari recognized them and ended their journey before it truly began? If so, what of Niyati? She was with them. Had she, too, fallen prey to fate's cruelty? And Sahadeva—he, who seldom left her side, had gone off on his own. He had assured her it was necessary, but why?

Another fear gripped her. What if some rakshasa, monstrous and cunning, had waylaid them? She had seen enough of the world to know that not all dangers wore mortal faces.

Then, like the first light of dawn breaking through a stormy sky, a different thought surfaced. Maharishi Vyasa had spoken of this—Panchala. A Swayamvar. The grandest of them all. The one meant for Rajkumari Krishnaa. Had her sons gone there for alms, like the countless Brahmanas who attended? Or had destiny written a different tale?

Her breath caught. What if... what if one of them had won her hand? The thought sent a shiver down her spine. What of the others? What of Krishnaa herself? She was destined for five, but Kunti's heart rebelled against that fate. No matter the gods ' decree, a woman should not be burdened with such a life. And Vasusena—had he, her firstborn, claimed victory? Did her sons even know of him? Had they met him and Yuyutsu?

Her thoughts became a whirlwind. The only prayer that escaped her now was for her children to return safely.

Steps halted just beyond the threshold of the hut. Vasusena turned, his voice steady but charged with something unspoken.

"Niyati. Yuyutsu. A moment."

The two paused, exchanging a glance, then stepped toward him.

His eyes searched Niyati's face, but his words were for her soul. "You know, don't you? You know what this means for Krishnaa."

Niyati held his gaze, her silence heavier than any answer. Then she nodded.

Vasusena exhaled sharply, agitation flickering in his voice. "Then why did you bring them? You, of all people, should have stopped this. A woman's life is about to change forever."

She didn't flinch. "Blaming someone is easy, Jyeshta," she replied, her voice calm but unwavering. "I did my part. I warned them. They told me that whoever won her hand would stand by their word. I trust them."

A sound from inside the hut made Vasusena's breath hitch.

The next moment, he was striding inside. His eyes scanned the room until they fell upon Krishnaa. Tears clung to her lashes, her expression a storm of emotions.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Vasusena turned sharply. "Yudhishthira?"

His elder brother met his gaze, his voice quiet but firm. "Arjuna said, 'We have brought alms.' Without seeing what we brought, Mata told us to share it among ourselves."

Silence. A silence so thick it could suffocate. Vasusena felt the ground shift beneath him.

"How could you?" His voice was not loud, but the weight of his words sent a shudder through the air. "Mata, do you not understand? Words are not mere sounds—they are power. They shape destinies. And once spoken, they cannot be taken back."

Kunti looked at him, then slowly turned to Niyati. Her mind raced through all the times Niyati had warned her and tried to make her understand that words had consequences. And today, her own words had sealed Krishnaa's fate.

Niyati stepped forward, her voice a whisper, but each word struck like a blade.

"I know what you did, Bua."

Kunti felt her body tense.

"The saddest part is," Niyati continued, "you had the power to change someone's destiny... but chose not to. You let it unfold exactly as it was foretold."

A chill ran down Kunti's spine.

Niyati's eyes glistened, but her voice did not waver. "I won't say more. Because, in the end, you were merely a vessel. A tool for Draupadi's boon to manifest. And yet..." she breathed, her voice trembling, "as a woman, I wish—oh, how I wish—you had paused to think first."

There was silence. Kunti could only watch as Niyati turned away and walked out of the hut, Yuyutsu following closely behind.

Inside, the sons of Kunti stood frozen, the weight of fate pressing upon their shoulders. And Krishnaa... Krishnaa sat among them, bound now to a destiny she had not chosen, yet one that had always awaited her.

The Sorrow of Truth

Niyati sat beneath the ancient tree, her hands clenched in her lap, her breath uneven. A bitter chuckle laced with unshed tears escaped her lips. She lifted her gaze to Yuyutsu, the being who walked the mortal realm yet carried the weight of the divine, "You, Mahadeva, who claim to understand the hearts of mortals, who claim to see beyond their words, tell me—why do you give boons so recklessly? When the asuras ask, you grant them even the desires buried in the darkest corners of their hearts.

Yet here was a woman—Vedavati, Chaya Sita, Nalayani—who wanted nothing more than love from her husband, and you twisted her wish into a curse wrapped in the disguise of a boon.

Yes, she asked five times, but you knew. You knew her heart trembled with longing, not greed. You preach that intention shapes the power of a boon, yet here...here, you turned a desperate plea into chains of fate."

Her voice was edged with raw pain, a fury deeper than words.

Yuyutsu met her gaze, his eyes holding both sorrow and the weight of time. "You can change her fate, Niyati," he said gently. "Go and change it."

A hollow laugh left her lips, bitter as the burden she bore. "I am the arbiter of destiny, yes. I can halt a curse and weave fate anew, but a boon given by Mahakaal? You know as well as I do, Yuyutsu. The moment I alter it, the threads of time will unravel, and she will be forced into yet another birth. This isn't a boon that binds a lifetime—it binds eternity. Until she marries five men, her soul will be caught in this cycle, returning again and again, shackled to this fate. She will not be divided among five but forced to be one with them all. Her existence is no longer her own—it is an instrument of dharma now."

A heavy silence hung between them. Yuyutsu placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch light but grounding. "You know why this is necessary."

Niyati turned to him, her anguish sharp, unrelenting. "Then tell me, Yuyutsu. Tell me why. Do you mean to say these brothers—these sons of Pandu—could not stand united without Draupadi? Is their love so fragile that they need a woman to hold them together?"

A voice, rich as the ocean and steady as time itself, broke through the air.

"They can live together no matter what," Shri Krishna said, his very presence shifting the air as if the cosmos itself moved with him.

Niyati turned, her lips parting to demand an answer, but Krishna only smiled, not with amusement or dismissal but with a knowing that stretched beyond lifetimes.

"However," he continued, stepping forward, his voice carrying the weight of ages, "Krishnaa is not their bond. She is their balance. Without her, they may walk the same path but never reach their destination. Without her, they may share blood, but not destiny. Without her, they may fight, but they will never triumph."

His gaze locked with hers, unwavering. "A single force does not uphold dharma, Niyati. It does not rest on the shoulders of men alone. The world sees Draupadi as a wife, queen, and woman bound to fate. But she is more than that. She is the fire that tempers their steel, the storm that forges their purpose. She is the voice that will remind them of who they are when the world makes them forget. She is not meant to be divided among them but to complete them. Without her, they remain warriors. With her, they become destiny."

The wind stilled as if the universe itself held its breath.

Niyati clenched her fists, her nails digging into her skin. "And yet, Krishna, was it necessary to bind her with no choice?"

Krishna's smile did not waver, but his eyes held the sorrow of truth too heavy for mortal hearts.

"Choice is an illusion when dharma calls, Niyati. Do you think I have not wished for another path?" His voice was softer now, laced with something rare—regret. "You know, fate is not kind. Nor is it cruel. It simply is. And sometimes, to set the world right, one must bear burdens they never sought. This is not about the Pandavas alone. Draupadi is the storm that will cleanse an era of its sins. Without her, dharma will waver, and the darkness will rise unchecked. Without her, the war that must come will lose its purpose."

Niyati's breath hitched, her heart aching with the unbearable weight of his words.

"She will suffer," she whispered.

Krishna nodded, his eyes dark with understanding. "Yes. And she will rise because she must. Because only she can."

Niyati turned away, staring at the sky as if searching for an answer where none would come. She had nothing left to say. Because deep down, she knew.

And that knowing was the cruelest part of all.

A New Dharma

Vasusena stood still, his gaze moving from his mother to his brothers, watching the unspoken emotions reflected in their eyes. He could see it—every one of them was captivated by Rajkumari Krishnaa. Perhaps it was inevitable. How could they not be? She was a woman of unparalleled beauty and a force of nature itself.

Yet, his heart ached. He wanted to refuse. He tried to defy fate. But he knows that Mahadev's boon bound Krishnaa's life, and his Mata Kunti, had become nothing more than a pawn in this vast cosmic game. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. What a terrible fate.

He inhaled sharply, then turned his piercing gaze toward Krishnaa. "This is meant to be," he said, his voice steady yet carrying the weight of reluctant acceptance. "Yet before anyone takes a step forward, I want to ask Rajkumari Krishnaa what you want. This is your life, Rajkumari. No matter what my Mata says, I will listen only to you now. Tell me, what is your will? Do not think of duty. Do not think of fate. Speak from your heart."

A silence settled over them, heavy and expectant.

Krishnaa lifted her gaze, her expression unreadable. Then she spoke, her voice carrying the quiet storm of a woman at a crossroads. "Rajkumar Vasusena, the question which should have been asked by the one who won my hand is instead asked by you. Dhanyavaad. For seeking my consent rather than imposing your will upon me."

She exhaled slowly. "Please grant me some time to think. It is my entire life at stake. A mother's word is the highest dharma to her children, but as a woman, I am my own. I am Ayonija. Give me time to decide what path I must walk."

Vasusena held her gaze for a moment longer before nodding. "Whatever you choose will be final. No one—" his eyes flickered toward his brothers, then to his Mata, "—I promise you, no one will question or challenge your decision."

Krishnaa offered a small, weary smile before turning away. Without another word, she stepped through the hut's backside, her steps leading her to the riverbank, where the waters flowed ceaselessly, as restless as the storm within her heart.

As they watched her leave, Shri Krishna turned to Niyati. "Niyati, I believe you should go to her."

But Niyati shook her head. "No. The one who wove this web should be the one to untangle it. Mahadeva gave the boon. Let him be the one to explain."

Shri Krishna and Yuyutsu were silently understanding. The latter stepped forward, walking toward Krishnaa with an ethereal grace.

Krishnaa sat by the river, her fingers grazing the flowing water, her heart turbulent. The sky above was silent, and the earth still awaited her decision.

Footsteps approached, but they carried no weight. A presence, ancient and boundless, filled the air around her. She turned and saw Yuyutsu. Yet, in that moment, he was more than Yuyutsu—something far more significant.

He stood before her, tall as the Himalayas, his gaze fathomless as the cosmic ocean. The moon itself seemed to pale compared to the divine radiance emanating from him. There was a power within him, one that had witnessed the rise and fall of yugas. A power that had seen the first light and the final darkness.

"I am Yuyutsu," he said, his voice even. "I may not be the one you wish to see right now, but perhaps I am the one you need."

Krishnaa scoffed, though there was no actual malice in her tone. "That I must wed five brothers. Vasusena, Yudhishthira, Bhima—"

But Yuyutsu raised his hand, stopping her before she could complete the list. "Not Jyeshta."

Krishnaa frowned, confused.

Yuyutsu continues, "Your count begins with Brata Yudhishthira and ends with Sahadeva. Mata Kunti does not know if Jyeshta is with them. And so, the ones who are bound to this fate with you are those five alone."

A cold understanding seeped into Krishnaa's veins. "And why should I agree to this? Why should I listen to you? I know, you are here to tell me why I should agree to something that no woman should have to?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yuyutsu did not flinch. "No, Rajkumari Krishnaa. I am here to tell you why no woman should have to bear what Sita bore."

Krishnaa stiffened, her hands curling into fists. "Mata Sita? The most revered woman in all of Aryavarta? The embodiment of dharma itself? What did she bear, Rajkumar Yuyutsu? She was the wife of a great king. She lived by dharma. She followed her husband into exile, she endured the trial of fire, and she—"

"She was abandoned." His voice cut through the night like a blade.

Krishnaa fell silent.

Yuyutsu's gaze remained on the water. "Devi Sita followed dharma in every way. She was pure, yet she was forced to prove it. She was devoted, yet she was cast away. She was a queen, yet she was left in the forest like an orphan. Tell me, Rajkumari Krishnaa, was this dharma?"

Krishnaa's breath hitched, but she did not look away. "Bhagawan Rama had to uphold dharma as a king. He could not ignore the whispers of his people."

Yuyutsu turned to her then, his eyes deep, unreadable. "And so, one dharma had to be upheld at the cost of another. He upheld raj dharma, but at the cost of patidharma. He fulfilled his duty as a king but failed his duty as a husband. And in doing so, he failed dharma itself."

Krishnaa frowned. "But he established dharma after slaying Ravana. He freed the world from evil."

Yuyutsu nodded. "He did. But tell me, Rajkumari Krishnaa, what was Ravana's greatest crime?"

She answered without hesitation. "He took a woman against her will. He separated a wife from her husband."

Yuyutsu's voice was quiet but piercing. "And what did the world do to Devi Sita after she was freed? It doubted her purity. It demanded proof of her chastity. And in the end, it separated her from her husband. Tell me, Rajkumari Krishnaa, how is this different from what Ravana did?"

Krishnaa inhaled sharply, the weight of his words settling upon her like a boulder.

"Bhagawan Rama slayed Ravana, but the world never truly changed," Yuyutsu continued, his voice steady. "A woman was still forced to bear the burden of her suffering alone. A woman was still questioned, abandoned, and left to prove herself when no man ever had to. If dharma had truly prevailed, Rajkumari Krishnaa, Devi Sita would have never been cast away."

Krishnaa's lips trembled. "But Bhagawan Rama did not wish for it... it was raj dharma... the people..."

Yuyutsu exhaled. "And that is where that yuga failed. Because dharma was placed in the hands of men alone. Because the world decided that a king's duty was greater than a husband's. Because no woman stood beside Devi Sita when she was cast away. No God stood with her. Because no man dared to question the dharma that demanded her exile."

A tear slipped down Krishnaa's cheek, though she quickly wiped it away.

"This time," Yuyutsu said, his voice gentle now, "it will not be the same. You are not meant to walk this path alone. You will not be left to bear the burden of dharma in silence. And your fate will not be decided by the fears of men."

Krishnaa turned to him, searching his face. "Then tell me... why must I marry five?"

Yuyutsu looked up at the vast sky before answering.

"This time," Yuyutsu continued, his voice gentler, "the world will not repeat that mistake. You are not bound to one man because your duty is not to serve one. You are meant for five because they will fall apart without you. Without you, Yudhishthira will lose himself to mercy. Without you, Bhima will destroy without wisdom. Without you, Arjuna will wield his bow without purpose. Without you, Nakula and Sahadeva will follow without question instead of guiding with foresight. Do you understand now?"

Krishnaa exhaled, her chest rising and falling heavily.

Yuyutsu continues, "You were not given to five men to serve them, Krishnaa. You were given to them so they may not break as Rama did. You were given to them so dharma may not falter again."

Krishnaa's fingers trembled as she clutched the fabric of her saree. Her voice, though steady, carried the weight of every fear she had yet to speak.

"How do you know?" she asked, her gaze searching Yuyutsu's face. "How do you know things will happen the way you have explained? The world thinks differently. They see me differently. They will say so many things about me... and what then?"

Yuyutsu watched the river flow as if seeking his answer in its endless currents. Then, he turned to her, his voice calm but resolute.

"The world has always spoken, Rajkumari Krishnaa," he said. "It spoke when Devi Sita entered the fire. It spoke when Devi Ahilya turned to stone. It spoke when Mata Renuka was beheaded by her own son. And in every story, the woman bore the weight of its words, while the men who failed them remained untouched."

Krishnaa flinched.

Yuyutsu continued his voice like the whisper of eternal truth. "The world will always speak, Rajkumari Krishnaa. But tell me—has it ever changed anything? Did it save Devi Sita? Did it protect Devi Ahilya? Did it spare Mata Renuka? No. And yet, those women did not cease to be who they were. Their truth remained, whether the world accepted it or not."

He met her eyes, and in that moment, the weight of time seemed to rest between them.

"You fear the world's words, but the world does not decide dharma. If it did, then tell me, Rajkumari Krishnaa—was the world right when it doubted Devi Sita? Was it right when it cast Devi Ahilya aside? Was it right when it demanded Mata Renuka's death?"

Krishnaa's throat tightened, but she did not speak.

Yuyutsu exhaled, his gaze softening. "You ask me what will happen when they speak against you. And I tell you this—let them. Because their words have no power over dharma. The world does not define you, Rajkumari Krishnaa. You define yourself."

A tear slipped down Krishnaa's cheek, though she did not wipe it away this time.

"You are not Devi Sita, waiting for the world to accept you. You are not Devi Ahilya, cursed into silence. You are not Mata Renuka, cast aside by those who should have protected you."

His voice turned firm, unyielding. "You are Yagnaseni Draupadi. The woman who will stand at the heart of dharma itself. The woman who will not wait for the world to decide her fate but will decide it for herself."

The river roared beside them as if carrying his words into eternity.

Krishnaa inhaled deeply. And when she exhaled, the weight in her heart had lessened.