The city, usually alive with its ceaseless rhythm, seemed to hold its breath, weighed down by an invisible force—the knowledge that fate was shifting within the walls of the royal court.

Every noble of the Kuru lineage had gathered within the grand royal court. The vast and imposing hall witnessed countless decrees, victories, and betrayals. Still, today, something different hung in the air—a stillness charged with expectation, the kind that only precedes storms.

At the heart of it all sat Dritarashtra, the King, upon his ancestral throne. Though blind to the grandeur surrounding him, his presence alone dictated the fate of those gathered before him. To his right stood Gandhari, her silence heavier than the gold and silk that adorned her. Shakuni sat near them, fingers idly tracing the ivory dice in his grasp, a knowing glint flickering in his sharp gaze. Suyodhana, the fire of unrelenting ambition burning in his eyes, sat rigid, his breath measured as though restraining words waiting to erupt. The other Kauravas lingered in the background, unreadable yet watchful.

Before them stood the six Pandavas, their mother Kunti, and their wives draped in dignity and resolve. They were not mere sons of Pandu—they were warriors carved by fate and tempered by trials few could endure. They had come not as supplicants but as men who understood sacrifice, who had already braved storms far more significant than this moment.

A silence stretched, taut as a drawn bowstring, until Dritarashtra's deep and commanding voice filled the hall. "Listen well, Vasusena." His voice carried an unshakable finality, though beneath it lurked an unspoken weight. "Hear me, and hear me with your brothers, for I wish you had no discord in the coming days. Go to Khandavaprastha."

The words landed heavily, echoing across the chamber. The courtiers exchanged glances, reading between the lines, sensing the deeper play at hand.

Dritarashtra continued his tone carefully measured. "No one will harm you there. You will rule unchallenged." He inhaled deeply as if attempting to convince himself. "I know that land was once given to Vidura, but he has returned it to the crown. And now, I give it to you."

There was a pause—a carefully placed silence that begged interpretation.

"Khandavaprastha is vast. In size, it is no lesser than Hastinapur. I am bestowing upon you more than you had even asked for."

A murmur rippled through the court, but the Pandavas remained still, their expressions unreadable. This was no act of generosity. The play was a manoeuvre dressed in magnanimity, but the Pandavas had learned well. They did not protest.

Vasusena turned to his brothers, meeting their gazes. A silent exchange passed—Yudhishthira's composed understanding, Bhima's barely contained fire, Arjuna's calculating calm, Nakula and Sahadeva's quiet resolve. They did not need words.

Finally, they nodded.

"As the King wishes," Vasusena responded, bowing his head ever so slightly.

A flicker of something—relief, perhaps—crossed Dritarashtra's face, but it was gone before anyone could be sure.

Breaking the moment, he continued, "Then let the matter be settled. We shall perform the Raj abhisheka for Khandavaprastha tomorrow. If this is acceptable, you may leave with your families after the rites are complete."

The court stirred, absorbing the weight of the proclamation.

Vasusena, the shield of his brothers, spoke once more. "The King of Khandavaprastha shall be Yudhishthira. Therefore, yes, we accept."

A sharp voice slashed through the air like a blade.

"Why him?"

Suyodhana.

His voice was controlled, but his eyes betrayed him—flames of resentment smoldering beneath his carefully crafted facade. "Why should he be King?"

Bhima exhaled through his nose, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at his lips. His voice, though steady, carried the weight of a storm held at bay, "Because that is our Jyeshta's wish."

Final. Unchallenged.

Shakuni's fingers twitched over his dice, but he said nothing. Not yet.

Sensing the undercurrents, Dritarashtra shifted the conversation before embers could turn to wildfire. "Tatshree, Vidura," he addressed them, "considering that Khandavaprastha shall now belong to the Pandavas, would you not return to Hastinapur?"

A request? No. An expectation.

Bhishma, who had seen generations rise and fall, finally spoke. His voice was gentle yet unyielding, a river carving its course through stone.

"It is fine, Dritarashtra." A pause, heavy with meaning, "We are content where we are."

For the first time that day, something in Dritarashtra's form faltered. A shift, subtle but unmistakable. His fingers tightened on the armrests of his throne. His lips parted as if to speak but closed just as quickly. Was it regret? Or was it the bitter realization that power did not grant him control over everything? The hall remained hushed and thick with unspoken truths.

Wit, Rivalries, and New Beginnings

The golden sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows over Hastinapur, when a royal messenger rushed into the court. His breath was labored, but his voice was unwavering.

"Maharaj!" he declared, his voice carrying the weight of his message, "Shri Krishna of Dwaraka has arrived!"

A hush fell upon the gathered royals. The Pandavas and Kauravas alike turned towards the entrance. Even the flickering lamps seemed to pause as if in reverence. And then, a figure clads in yellow silk and adorned with a garland of wildflowers entered with an easy, knowing smile. His dark curls framed his serene yet mischievous face, and his eyes twinkled with the weight of untold wisdom and mirth.

A day before Krishna's arrival, Niyati had already come to Hastinapur, and her presence had stirred the palace. Draped in flowing garments the twilight colour, she moved like a celestial dream. The Kauravas had taken notice of her for eons. Suyodhan's breath hitched. Dusshasan, who had seen countless women swoon at his brother's grandeur, now found himself speechless. The younger Kauravas exchanged quick, incredulous glances, each reluctant to admit their awe.

In particular, Durshrita, Rajkumari of Kalinga, stood frozen, her usually brash demeanour forgotten. Bhanumati's fingers curled around the golden edge of her saree. Her gaze flickered from her husband's face—so uncharacteristically lost—to Niyati's serene countenance. A sharp, unfamiliar pang of bitterness coiled in her chest.

Bhanumati and Durshrita were meeting Niyati for the first time. Yet, they felt an unspoken understanding when they stood before her.

"It is an honour to meet you finally," Bhanumati said, her voice carefully poised, "Your name has echoed in Hastinapur long before your arrival."

Niyati smiled, unshaken by the attention, "And now that I stand before you, do I match the tales?"

Durshrita, unable to tear her gaze away, murmured, "You surpass them."

Bhanumati glanced at her co-wife before returning to Niyati, "Hastinapur holds many wonders, but you bring your own light."

"Perhaps because I do not see this place as a battlefield of rivalries," Niyati responded smoothly, "I have come only to witness what unfolds."

The women exchanged looks filled with unspoken words before parting ways for now.

When Krishna arrived, Vasusena strode toward him and embraced him warmly, "Ah, Krishna! Dwaraka must be quite dull if you've finally decided to grace us with your presence!"

Arjuna folded his arms and smirked, "Or did your dear sister drag you here, knowing we'd question her if she came alone?"

Bhima's booming laughter joined in, "I say he simply smelled the prepared feast! Our cooks must have burned extra ghee to lure him!"

Always composed, Yudhishthira shook his head with a smile, "Krishna never needs an invitation. He arrives when it pleases him... and departs the same way."

Krishna's expression remained unbothered as he chuckled, "If only I had known what awaited me—arrows of wit sharper than even Arjuna's! I should have asked the guards to announce that 'Niyati of Dwaraka has arrived.'"

Niyati rolled her eyes, gracefully stepping beside Krishna, "And yet, Brata, you seem perfectly at ease with all this 'trouble.'"

Sahadeva grinned, "Of course, he is. If anyone enjoys a good jest at someone else's expense, it's him."

Krishna raised a hand in mock surrender, "Guilty as charged. But tell me, Brata Yudhishthira, does your wife ever scold you for your brothers' antics? Or does she wisely stay out of it?"

Draupadi, wife of Yudhishthira, Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva, arched an eyebrow, "If I scolded them for every jest, dear Govind, I would have no time left for anything else!"

Krishna then looked at Vasusena, "And where are your wives, Jyeshta? I have yet to meet them. I hear the fire of Krodhini Bhabhishree and the resolve of Stambhinī Bhabhishree are unmatched."

At that moment, Krodhini and Stambhinī arrived, their regal bearing undeniable. Krodhini smirked, folding her arms, "So, the famed Keshava of Dwaraka finally meets us. We had begun to think you were avoiding us."

Stambhinī added with a knowing smile, "Or perhaps he feared he would be unable to beat us in wit."

Krishna laughed, "A fear well-founded! But tell me, how is it that Jyeshta, with all his warrior's pride, remains standing against such fierce queens?"

Vasusena smirked, "The secret is simple—standing against them is folly. Standing with them, however, makes one invincible."

The gathering chuckled as Krishna gazed toward Suyodhana and his newlywed wives, "And I see Brata Suyodhana has not been idle! I have yet to congratulate you on your marriage. Two radiant stars have entered Hastinapur's sky, Rajkumari of Kashi - Dhumavati and Rajkumari of Kalinga - Durshrita."

Now more composed, Bhanumati inclined her head, "Now, I'm known as Yuvrani Bhanumati. Pranipat. However, it is an honour to be acknowledged by you, Shri Krishna."

Durshrita, still recovering from her awe at Krishna's presence, gracefully nodded, "I have heard much about you, yet nothing quite prepares one for meeting you in person."

Krishna chuckled, "That is the problem with stories, Bhabhishree. They make one seem grander than reality. In truth, I am but a humble cowherd who wandered into a royal court."

Meanwhile, across the court, Shakuni and Mantri Kanika approached Krishna. The king's advisor spoke first, his voice coated in honeyed diplomacy, "Dwarakadeesh, it seems you have arrived just in time. A great decision has been made; Hastinapur shall be divided. The Pandavas shall have Khandavaprastha."

Krishna's expression did not change, but the glint in his eye sharpened, "A most generous offering indeed! Giving them a barren wasteland while keeping the kingdom's heart... truly, Hastinapur has outdone itself in charity!"

Kanika smirked, "Khandavaprastha island, nonetheless. One should not be ungrateful when gifts are bestowed."

Krishna's laughter was soft but laced with meaning, "Ah, Mantri Kanika, you remind me of an uncle of mine. He once gifted his neighbor a boat with a hole in it and called it an act of goodwill. When the poor man drowned, my uncle shrugged and said, 'But I did give him a boat.'"

Before exchanging any further words, Dritarashtra raised his hand, "Enough. Shri Krishna, you have come at an opportune time. Tomorrow shall be the coronation of Yudhishthira as the King of Khandavaprastha."

Krishna's smile returned, deeper and knowing, "Then let us celebrate, Maharaj. Tomorrow marks not just a coronation but the beginning of something precious."

A Night of Reflection, Wit, and Destiny

As the moon cast its silver glow over Hastinapur, a select gathering found themselves in quiet company with Krishna. Within the private halls of the palace, the Pandavas, their mother Kunti, and their wives—including Draupadi, Krodhini, and Stambhinī—sat alongside Bhishma, Vidura, Aruni, and Yuyutsu.

Niyati, ever radiant in her composed silence, was also among them. Yet, despite the occasion, an air of uncertainty loomed over them all. No one was joyous or sorrowful—merely suspended in thought, caught between acceptance and the unknown.

Krishna leaned back, draping an arm lazily over the cushioned seat, "What is this silence? The great warriors of Hastinapur look as if they have lost a battle before even stepping onto the field. Have you all decided to take up the life of a hermit? If so, tell me—I shall start bringing cows and flutes instead of weapons and war strategies."

Bhima let out a short laugh, "Perhaps, Vasudeva, if you bring those cows, Brata Yudhishthira might finally stop worrying about the fate of Khandavaprastha and take up a peaceful life as a shepherd instead."

Yudhishthira sighed, "I would not mind such a fate, Bhima, if it meant our people did not have to suffer."

Krishna smirked, "Ah, ever the wise and righteous Rajkumar. But tell me, Brata Yudhishthira, what happens if a shepherd does not defend his flock? The wolves rejoice, of course. And make no mistake—many wolves in Hastinapur are dressed in royal silks and golden crowns."

Kunti shook her head with a weary smile, "You speak in riddles, Murari, as always."

"That is because the truth, Bua, is often a riddle. A thousand paths exist, but only one leads to destiny," says Shri Krishna.

Niyati, listening quietly, chuckled, "And is that path one of our choosing, Brata Krishna? Or do we merely walk where fate commands?"

Krishna's grin widened, "Ah, Niyati, the one person who dares question fate itself. What shall I say? Are you both the weaver and the thread? That destiny and choice are two dancers, neither leading nor following?"

Arjuna shook his head, "Do not encourage her, Madhava, or we will never hear the end of it."

Niyati arched an elegant brow, "And why not, Brata Partha? Is it because the great warrior fears that even the sharpest arrows cannot pierce fate's design?"

Krishna laughed heartily, "Now, this is a duel worth watching! Partha versus Niyati—bow against wit! I would wager a hundred chariots that Niyati wins."

Draupadi smiled, "And I would wager a hundred more that neither would accept defeat."

Vidura, ever patient, finally spoke, "Jests aside, Krishna, what do you truly think of the division?"

Krishna's gaze darkened slightly, "A game of dice, Kakashree, played not on a board but with lives. But we will play along—for now. Khandavaprastha may be a wasteland, but it will not remain so. We already have a backup plan. So, there are greater things at work. And sometimes, the barren land grows the strongest roots."

Bhishma, who remained silent primarily, suddenly said, "And when those roots are strong, Krishna, it will be time for another matter. I have not forgotten my promise. Once Khandavaprastha is established, I shall journey to Dwaraka to formally ask for Niyati's hand for Yuyutsu."

A charged silence followed. Then, Yuyutsu coughed slightly, looking anywhere but at Niyati, "It is an honour beyond my worth, Pitamah."

Krishna's eyes twinkled mischievously, "An honour, indeed. But have you asked Niyati what she thinks?"

Niyati smirked, leaning forward, "Tell me, Yuyutsu, do you accept such a grand fate?"

Yuyutsu, still avoiding her gaze, mumbled, "Fate has yet to decide, I suppose."

Bhima laughed, nudging him, "Look at him! The brave Yuyutsu, who stands against his kin when needed, turns into a mere boy before Niyati!"

Arjuna shook his head, "It is not fear, Brata Bhima. It is wisdom. He knows that winning Niyati's approval is a battle far greater than any war he has fought."

Krishna clapped his hands, "Well said! Brata Yuyutsu, Priya Mitr, you are braver than most—but let me offer you advice. If you seek to marry Niyati, be prepared. She will question you at dawn, debate you at noon, and challenge your patience by nightfall. If you survive, perhaps you are worthy."

Niyati crossed her arms, "And what of my say in this, Brata Krishna? Or have you already sent a wedding invitation to the Devas?"

Krishna grinned, "Ah, my sister, you are right. Perhaps we should leave it to fate?"

Yudhishthira, with an amused smile, finally said, "Enough teasing. Let fate decide, as it always does. For now, we prepare for tomorrow."

The night stretched with laughter, wisdom, and the quiet knowledge that the morrow would bring a new dawn of change, power, and the first steps toward destiny. And amidst it all, Krishna smiled. For the game had only just begun.

The Coronation of Dharma

The golden hues of dawn bathed Hastinapur in a glow befitting the grandeur of the occasion. The city, adorned with festoons and fragrant garlands, pulsated with anticipation. A new beginning was upon them—Dharma was poised to take the reins.

Within the chambers of the royal palace, the air was thick with sacred chants and the fragrance of sandalwood. Niyati, dressed in celestial white, stood before Yudhishthira, her delicate fingers working through the elaborate fabric of his coronation attire. Her movements were precise, almost reverent, as she adjusted the silk folds, ensuring that every detail was flawless.

"Does it feel right, Maharaja?" she asked, her voice tinged with quiet amusement.

Yudhishthira exhaled deeply, "Right? It feels like I carry the weight of a world yet to be built."

Niyati smiled knowingly, "That is because you do. But worry not, Brata. Foundations laid with Dharma never crumble."

He looked at her, gratitude evident in his gaze, "You speak as if you know my fate better than I do."

"I merely remind you of what you already know," she replied, fastening the golden belt around his waist, "This crown will sit heavy, Brata, but it is not the weight of burden—it is the weight of responsibility. Wear it well."

Draupadi stood before Krodhini and Stambhinī in another chamber, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The solemnity of the moment was heavy between them, "Forgive me, Bhagini," she said, her voice thick with emotion, "By fate's cruel design, the right that should have been yours has been given to me. It should be you standing beside your husband as queen. But now... fate has played its game."

Krodhini stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Draupadi's shoulder, "Panchali, do not seek forgiveness for what was never in your hands. The crown may be yours, but our place in Arya's heart is unwavering. That is all that matters."

Stambhinī, ever serene, smiled, "And today, you must not let sorrow cloud your eyes. You are the queen, Panchali. Let us prepare you as one."

They began dressing Draupadi, adorning her with the finest jewels. She would walk into the royal court without hesitation but with the grace of a queen who knew her place was earned, not given.

The nobility and citizens gathered in the grand court of Hastinapur, their voices hushed but heavy with discontent. Whispers of disapproval echoed through the pillars.

"Pandavas are being sent away to Khandavaprastha?"

"A barren wasteland! Is this how the sons of King Pandu are treated?"

"They deserve better. This division is nothing but an insult."

Dritarashtra sat upon his throne, hearing every word yet saying nothing. His hands clenched the armrests, his blindness not shielding him from the weight of unspoken truths.

Yudhishthira took his seat at the centre of the ceremonial hall. Sacred waters from the holy rivers—Ganga, Yamuna, Saraswati, Godavari, Narmada, Sindhu, and Kaveri—were sanctified over him. The air was thick with Vedic chants, and the fragrance of ghee and incense mingled in a divine embrace. The sanctified coronation was completed, and Yudhishthira emerged, clad in royal splendour.

Vyasa was the first to step forward. His deep and knowing gaze rested upon Yudhishthira as he touched his head firmly, "May you become a great emperor. May you always perform excellent yajnas like the Rajasuya, including the Ashvamedha? Always be on the path of Dharma."

Bhima, too, was crowned as the crown prince, standing tall beside Draupadi, who now bore the weight of queenship with resolute grace.

Vyasa then spoke solemnly, "For seven days, you shall not step out of the kingdom, for the auspicious energies of Rajyabhishekam must not be disturbed. On the eighth day, you may depart for Khandavaprastha."

As the court settled into silence, Krishna, ever watchful, suddenly spoke, "Tell me, Maharaja Yudhishthira, have you decided upon your Kula guru?"

Before anyone could respond, Sahadeva, ever perceptive, spoke with quiet confidence, "Rishi Dhoumya shall be the Kula guru of Khandavaprastha. We have already written to him. He shall arrive on the same day we reach our kingdom."

Niyati, her eyes gleaming with insight, then asked, "And what of the riches, Maharaja Dritarashtra?"

At once, Suyodhan's voice cut through the chamber, "What riches? We have given the kingdom!"

A knowing glance passed between Niyati and Shri Krishna, their smirks mirroring each other. Krishna leaned forward, his voice light but firm, "Brata Suyodhana, the division does not mean merely handing over land. Everything ancestral must be divided. Just as you have generously given more land than was asked, I believe Maharaja Dritarashtra will also provide riches beyond measure."

Suyodhan's anger flared, and he lurched forward, only for Shakuni's firm hand to stop him. The Gandara prince shook his head slightly, "Shri Krishna is right, Maharaja. We must give them some wealth to begin anew."

Dritarashtra, his face unreadable, finally sighed, "Fine. I..."

Before he could finish, Sahadeva spoke, his voice cutting through the tension with quiet authority, "Tatshree, we wish to seek only the riches that our Pitashree earned. We need nothing from our ancestors. Let our cousins enjoy those. Give us only what belongs to our father."

Krishna's smirk deepened, his eyes betraying approval.

Bhishma, ever the guardian of Dharma, spoke before Dritarashtra could object, "Just as Suyodhana claims his right as heir due to your kingship, the Pandavas should receive what their father brought to Hastinapur."

Before Shakuni could interject, Bhishma turned to Bahlika, the eldest in the Kuru lineage, second son of the King Pratipa and his wife Sunanda, elder brother of King Shantanu of Hastinapur. At a point, he was the King of Bahlika kingdom from his mother's side, "Tatshree, what do you think? Is this Dharma?"

Bahlika could not stay silent, bound by his position yet compelled by truth, "You speak rightly, Devavrata. They should receive what their father achieved." Turning to Dritarashtra, he added, "Why do you hesitate, Dritarashtra? Is this not just?"

Caught in the presence of the assembled royals, Dritarashtra struggled, knowing that refusing would cast a shadow upon his reign. Finally, he relented: "Pitamah, Tatshree, I agree."

Turning to Sanjaya, he commanded, "Open the treasury and give away all that Pandu earned as king."

And so, the game of fate turned once more, guided by Dharma's hand, even amidst those who sought to defy it.

The Embers of a New Kingdom

As everyone entered the cabins, the Pandavas rejoiced in private. Nakula embraced Sahadeva tightly, his eyes gleaming with pride, "Well done," he said, his voice filled with admiration.

Turning to Yudhishthira, Nakula smirked, "Brata, yesterday you said Tatshree wouldn't give us any riches, especially the ones Pitashree earned, because that would make them weak. Now, see—he agreed to give away what our Pitashree earned."

Yudhishthira smiled gently, a rare flicker of satisfaction crossing his usually serene face. Kunti and Draupadi, too, shared a glance of quiet contentment. For the first time in a long while, it felt as if destiny had granted them a fair chance.

Shri Krishna, observing the happiness in the room, chuckled, "Now, Pitamah Bhishma, it's time. Once we reach Khandavaprastha, after the Bhoomipujan, ensure that Dev Vishwakarma is called upon. He shall build something extraordinary. However, we must also contribute our thoughts. After all, a kingdom is not merely about structures but also vision. So, how do you think it should be?"

Vasusena stepped forward with conviction, "Krishna, whatever we are today is because of your and Niyati's guidance. We all have heard tales of Dwaraka, and Bhima never stops raving about it. Therefore, we seek your guidance—along with Niyati's. Whatever you both decide, we shall stand by it."

Before Shri Krishna could speak, Niyati smiled knowingly, "Do not forget to invite your fathers to the Bhoomipujan."

A stunned silence followed. Everyone exchanged puzzled glances while Shri Krishna sighed, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. In his mind, he connected with Niyati and murmured, "What are you doing, Niyati? First, you ensured Vidura received three wishes—something that should not have been. And now this? Please stop."

Unmoved by Krishna's protests, Niyati looked around and declared, "You are not merely building a kingdom—you are laying the foundation of Dharma. Hence, we invite Surya Dev, Yama Dev, Vayu Dev, Indra Dev, and Ashwini Kumaras. Let them bless you and your kingdom. We may not be able to call Mamashree Pandu, but we can certainly seek the blessings of the celestial beings."

She then turned to Bhishma and Vidura, "Kakashree, please invite Krishna Dwaipayana Maharshi. Pitamah, request Mata Ganga's presence. Since the Yamuna blesses Khandavaprastha, Mata Ganga can speak to Devi Yamuna to ensure our lands flourish."

Her gaze swept across the room, saying, "We must invite all our Gurus. Guru Drona, Guru Parashurama, Maharshi Atri, Rishi Durvasa, Dev Guru Brihaspati, Asur Guru Shukracharya, Rishi Vashishtha, Rishi Chyavana, Guru Sandipani, the eldest Sanatkumara, and Rishi Markandeya. Panchal Maharaja Drupada, Shikhandi, with his wife and son, the parents of Krodhini and Stambhinī Bhabhishree, the foster parents of Jyeshta Vasusena from Anga, Rani Dhanumati, and Rajkumar Dhrishtadyumna—all must be summoned."

Turning to Vasusena, she instructed, "Jyeshta, invite all the kings from the eastern side who have pledged their allegiance to you."

Finally, she approached Bhishma and said, "Pitamah, take your time, but you must ensure that the kingdom of Bahlika submits under Khandavaprastha. How you accomplish this is entirely up to you."

Bhishma, touched by her wisdom, patted Niyati's head with pride.

She then turned to Shri Krishna with a glint of mischief, "Dwaraka's support for Khandavaprastha is unquestionable. Also, I am considering inviting Pitashree and the rest of the family. What do you say, Brata?"

Krishna sighed deeply before smiling cheekily, "No matter what I say, you always do as you please. Alright then, invite everyone."

Excited, Arjuna clapped his hands together, "Then let us start preparing the invitations immediately! Let everyone witness Dev Vishwakarma building Khandavaprastha before their very eyes."

The Road to Khandavaprastha

The last six days had been a whirlwind for the Pandavas. Bhima and Nakula oversaw the inventory of the riches granted by their Pitashree to Dritarashtra, ensuring that every gold coin, every gem, and every resource that once bolstered Hastinapur now rightfully accompanied them.

Arjuna and Vasusena devoted themselves to the weapons' chambers, inspecting the armouries and ensuring they carried the finest craftsmanship—bows that sang when drawn, swords tempered in the purest fire and spears honed to unerring precision.

Yudhishthira embarked on the noble task of sending invitations to the esteemed guests. With meticulous care, he ensured that every name mentioned by Niyati was accounted for and that each parchment was crafted with precision. Although the weight of responsibility rested on his shoulders, his spirits remained buoyant.

Meanwhile, Yuyutsu and Sahadeva departed for Khandavaprastha, tasked with preparing a grand welcome for the distinguished gathering of celestial beings, revered Gurus, Kings, and their armies. Their mission was to create an unforgettable experience befitting the majesty of the occasion.

Amidst the duty-bound chaos, Krishna, Niyati, Draupadi, Krodhini, and Stambhinī carved out moments of warmth. Their laughter echoed through the palace corridors, a melody of fleeting joy. Kunti, Vidura, Aruni, and Bhishma watched them with hearts swelling with pride. A new kingdom awaited, and a new beginning loomed, but for these brief moments, there was happiness—a rare and precious respite.

However, a different fire raged on the other side of the palace. The Kauravas burned in silent fury. Their envious eyes followed the riches being carried away—the wealth that had cemented Hastinapur's might now stripped away, bit by bit.

Suyodhana, however, remained unmoved, his lips curling into a smirk. "Let them take everything," he said, his voice smooth and brimming with sinister certainty, "We know what awaits them in Khandavaprastha."

His gaze shifted toward Shakuni, "Mamashree, are the Nagas ready? Pitashree has given the villages surrounding Khandavaprastha to Kakashree Vidura. We can no longer demand their return to Hastinapur."

Shakuni's knowing smile deepened, "Yes, Svasr. Everything is set. The moment they step foot into Khandavaprastha, they will witness something they never could have prepared for."

Suyodhan's eyes gleamed with malevolence. He exhaled slowly, releasing all attachment to the riches he had lost, "Then, I am ready to let go of the wealth as well," he declared, his voice laced with an ominous finality.

As the eighth day's early hours painted the sky in hues of lavender and gold, the Pandavas, their wives, and their mother, Kunti, stood at the palace gates, ready to depart. Vidura, his wife Aruni and Bhishma stood with them. Niyati and Krishna, ever watchful, prepared to accompany them toward the land that awaited transformation.

One by one, they bent to take the blessings of the Kuru elders. Dritarashtra sat still, his lips parted, but words failed him. The weight of his unspoken thoughts hung heavy in the air.

Gandhari hesitated, her heart urging her to raise her hands in blessing. But before she could, Suyodhan's firm grip stilled her. He shook his head—silent, resolute. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and her hands fell to her sides.

The Departure

As the Pandavas set forth toward Khandavaprastha, carrying half the treasury, a great upheaval stirred within Hastinapur. The city's dwellers, bound not by law but by devotion, readied themselves to follow, "Fie upon the evil Suyodhana, who has driven away the noble Pandavas!" they lamented. Their voices rose in sorrow and fury.

"He leaned upon their strength when imprisoned in Kalinga," one elder declared, "It was through their valour that he walked free. Through their efforts, the princess of Kalinga was brought to this city. And yet, he repays them with hatred?"

"Let us not stay in a land ruled by such ingratitude," another voice cried, "Look—Bhishma is leaving with them! Vidura too! Shri Krishna and his sister Niyati accompany them. What does that tell us of where righteousness truly stands?"

The murmurs swelled into a tide of resolution. The people of Hastinapur, merchants and artisans, scholars and warriors, rich and poor, prepared to leave. They would walk alongside the Pandavas, away from the city they once called home.

But Suyodhana had been listening. His lips curled in disdain, and with a single gesture, he issued an order. The beating of drums echoed through the streets, a proclamation ringing with his authority: "Let no one follow the Pandavas. Those who defy this decree shall have their wealth confiscated."

A threat, A command. A claim to power.

Yet, the people did not cower. They looked at one another, steel in their eyes. "Let this wicked man do as he pleases," they said, "Gold, grain, and homes—what are these if our hearts are in exile? We shall not forsake the Pandavas."

With steadfast resolve, they stepped forward, ready to abandon all for the sake of virtue.

It was then that Vasusena and Yudhishthira came forth. The eldest of the Pandavas, faced with emotion, raised their hands, bidding the people to halt. Rich with affection and command, Yudhishthira spoke first, "If you truly love us, then stay."

The words fell upon the crowd like a sudden storm, stopping them in their tracks.

"Your devotion is dearer to us than all the riches of this world," Vasusena continued, "But if you follow us, our reputation will be tainted. Our departure is already a wound to Hastinapur's honour—let it not be marred further by rebellion. Your rightful rulers are our Tatshree, Maharaja Dritarashtra, and Prathamamba, Maharani Gandhari. To defy them is to violate the very Dharma we uphold. Therefore, for our sake, stay. Follow Maharaja Dritarashtra, for this is your home."

Silence gripped the air. The people trembled, torn between devotion and duty. Slowly, one by one, they lowered their heads. They would obey. They would remain. But their hearts, their spirits, their very souls—these travelled with the Pandavas. The people wept as the exiled princes crossed the threshold of Hastinapur, leaving behind the city that had once been theirs. They stood frozen, watching until their beloved Pandavas faded from view.

And within the palace, in the echoing emptiness of his chamber, Dritarashtra sat in silence. For the second time, a strange shift stirred within him—a whisper of guilt, a shadow of regret. He clenched his hands upon the armrest of his throne, the weight of his decision pressing upon his chest. Had he sinned? The thought burned within him.

Yet, even as it festered, love for his sons wove around his conscience, a shield against remorse. And so, once again, he buried the guilt deep within, masking it beneath the unwavering love for Suyodhana.

Even as the winds of destiny carried the Pandavas away, Hastinapur remained in turmoil—silent, aching, and divided in heart and soul.

Note:

According to the original manuscripts, the division of the Kuru kingdom was equal, with Khandavaprastha and additional, unnamed regions given to the Pandavas. However, they chose Khandavaprastha as their capital.

The people of Hastinapur wished to leave with the Pandavas, but Suyodhana declared that those who did so would lose their wealth. The Pandavas urged them to stay, uphold their honour, and prevent hardship for the people.

Shri Krishna led the Pandavas to Khandavaprastha, where they called upon Dev Vishwakarma to construct their kingdom. The burning of the Khandava forest occurred later and was not part of building the city.

Unlike film and television portrayals, Kunti was never left behind in Hastinapur. She went with the Pandavas to Khandavaprastha and remained there until the Dyut Sabha, after which she resided in Vidura's home.