The departure was quiet. Too quiet. As the chariots rolled toward Khandavaprastha, a land they had yet to make their own, an unsettling silence hung in the air. The vast expanse of the road ahead seemed to stretch infinitely, and dusk crept in with its muted hues, casting elongated shadows over those who travelled.

The Pandavas, their wives, their mother Kunti, Vidura and his wife Aruni, Bhishma, Yuyutsu, Shri Krishna, and Niyati all moved together, yet the weight of what they had left behind pressed upon them like a heavy fog. Even Bhima, whose spirit usually roared like a tempest, was uncharacteristically restrained. The gravity of leaving their birthplace, the city that had been their home, had rendered them speechless.

It was Niyati who finally shattered the silence.

"Do you know," she began, her voice cutting through the hush like a silver blade, "why did Brata Shri Krishna move our kingdom from Mathura to Dwaraka?"

The question startled them. Their gazes shifted toward her, their minds stirred from the haze of their thoughts. Krishna, who had remained contemplative till now, allowed the faintest smirks to tug at his lips as though he already knew what was coming.

Bhishma, ever the scholar of history and wisdom, answered, "To escape Jarāsandha's relentless invasions."

Niyati smiled knowingly. "Yes, Pitamah. That is one part of the story but not the whole."

She paused, ensuring all eyes were on her before she continued, "It was about more than just safety. It was about prosperity. It was about Dharma. Yato'bhyudaya-nihshreyasa siddhih sa Dharmah. Dharma leads to prosperity in this life and salvation in the next.

Mathura, our land, is blessed by the Yamuna, which flows into the Ganga and the great ocean. But trade was strangled. Why? Because every route passed through Magadha. Jarāsandha controlled those roads, and despite Brata Krishna defeating him seventeen times, the truth remained—Mathura was smaller, weaker in number, and always at a disadvantage. Was it worth fighting for endlessly, without gain?

Kamsa Mamashree was once the bridge between Mathura and Magadha, but when he fell, so did the illusion of peace. Mathura became a prison, not a kingdom. So, Brata took the boldest step—he abandoned it. He chose exile over struggle, not out of weakness but out of foresight. We retreated to the lands of our ancestors, to Dwaraka. And there, with the divine architect Vishwakarma, we built something more splendid, something untouched by the past—free from the politics of the mainland, connected to the world by the sea, flourishing beyond anyone's expectations. It was not just a retreat. It was a rebirth."

The wind rustled through the trees as if whispering its agreement.

"So, tell me, Panduputro," she said, her voice softer now yet resonant with ancient wisdom. "If we have left Hastinapur behind, is it truly a loss? Some battles are not worth waging. Some burdens are best relinquished. What is a kingdom if its very foundation is laced with conflict? Build anew. Build something that will not merely endure but flourish—something that stands as a beacon of righteousness."

A silence followed, but it was no longer the silence of sorrow. It was contemplation, revelation.

Krishna watched her with the quiet amusement of a man who had long mastered allowing fate to unfold. He reached out and ruffled her hair affectionately. "You reveal too much about me, dear sister," he mused, his voice laced with mirth.

Niyati met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. "Narayan, do you remember the penance of yours and celestial beings?"

The shift in her tone made Krishna pause. The teasing smile in his eyes softened into something deeper—something ancient.

"When the call came for my descent," she continued, "I told you, this time, I would hold the reins of this tale. You will do your part, as you must, but do not interfere with mine. I will ensure it unfolds as it should."

Krishna's sigh was a gentle whisper, a blend of resignation and amusement. "As you wish, Niyati," he said, his voice hushed yet resonating with an unfathomable depth. "Remember, this epic tale, this war, this Yuga, is but a grand illusion—a Proxy, a reflection of the eternal struggle between light and darkness. We are settling ancient debts, weaving a narrative to guide the people of Kaliyuga in their choices, battles, and quest to uphold Dharma.

Celestials will align with the Pandavas in this grand tapestry, while Asuras will stand by Suyodhana. Every soul must face their destiny in this life or the next. The battlefield will not be a realm of salvation but a reckoning—a balancing of accounts, where boons and curses, friendships and enmities, will be fulfilled and laid to rest. For Kaliyuga to dawn, the slate must be clean."

Niyati exhaled, her gaze distant. "I know." Her voice was quiet yet resolute. "But even those who must fall deserve a moment—one chance—to taste what could have been. Even if they reject it and fall to their darkness, let them know there was another path."

Krishna's gaze lingered on her, searching for something in her words. Then, with a soft chuckle, he shook his head. "As you wish. But do not lose yourself in their struggle, dear sister. You cannot save those who do not wish to be saved."

Niyati exhaled, her expression momentarily shadowed with something unspoken. "I cannot shield them from you if they turn away. None in this mortal world can stand against you unless you allow it."

Krishna laughed, full and free, while Niyati merely shook her head, a rare smile tugging at her lips. The chariots rolled forward, their burdens lighter now. The road ahead was still long, but in the distance, on the horizon, the first lights of Khandavaprastha awaited—a city yet to be built, a future yet to be written. And as the Pandavas looked upon it, they no longer saw exile. They saw destiny.

By the time the Pandavas arrived, night had woven its quiet veil over Khandavaprastha. Their journey culminated in the desolate lands that now bore the weight of their destiny. The stars stood as silent witnesses to their arrival, their silver light tracing the barren earth to be transformed into a realm of righteousness and prosperity.

Yuyutsu and Sahadeva had meticulously arranged for their rest, ensuring that comfort was not forsaken despite the starkness of their new land. The air was thick with exhaustion yet equally charged with anticipation.

Ever the sentinel of Kuru's honour, Bhishma stepped forward, his gaze scanning the arrangements with the quiet scrutiny of a guardian. Before he could speak, Yuyutsu approached him with folded hands, his voice steady yet laced with reverence, "Everything is in place, Pitamah. By the first light of dawn, the Bhoomipujan shall commence. The guests shall arrive, and with their witness, we shall begin the sanctification of this land."

Then, turning to Draupadi, he added, "Panchali, you must perform the Bhoomipujan."

At this, Draupadi stepped forward, her presence unwavering, yet her eyes shone with a decision that surprised many. "No," she said, her voice calm yet resolute. "I wish for Krodhini and Stambhinī Bhagini to perform the Bhoomipujan."

A ripple of astonishment passed through those gathered. Such an assertion was unprecedented. However, in the quiet corner of the assembly, Kunti's face lit up with pride. Panchali had not merely spoken words of respect—she had upheld the highest dharma by honouring those who had stood with her as family, as sisters.

Krodhini and Stambhinī, Vasusena's wives, exchanged glances of disbelief. Stambhinī hesitated, her voice faltering as she whispered, "But... us? Our birth, our caste... is it even befitting?"

Before Panchali could respond, Yudhishthira stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with the weight of a greater proclamation. "Bhabhishree," he said, addressing them with the reverence of an elder son, "you are our family. That alone is enough. Do not let the chains of old beliefs shackle your worth."

Then, he turned his gaze to all those present, his stance regal, his voice imbued with the certainty of a sovereign pronouncement. "I had intended to declare this tomorrow, but perhaps the moment demands it now. I shall abolish the caste system in this kingdom we are about to build."

A stunned silence fell upon the gathering. Even Shri Krishna, the ever-knowing, raised his brows in intrigue before turning to Niyati, whose sharp gaze met his with the unspoken challenge of an equal. She smirked as if daring him to counter the decree. He chuckled, shaking his head at the inevitability of her will.

Yudhishthira continued, his voice steady, resonant, filled with the weight of dharma, "Maharshi Atri once said that one of the truest forms of dharma is to uphold the divine order—the dharma of the Gods. And for the Divine, all beings are equal. The Creator does not distinguish between birth or station, only between deeds and intentions. If a King reflects God's justice on earth, let it be so in this kingdom. Here, every soul shall have the right to choose their path—not by the circumstances of their birth, but by the merit of their actions. The divisions of caste shall hold no dominion over our land."

His words rang with the gravity of a revolution. The foundation of Khandavaprastha was not merely built on stone and earth but on a philosophy that would shatter the very chains that bound society.

Turning back to Krodhini and Stambhinī, he spoke with a brother's warmth and a king's decree, "You are our Lakshmi, the prosperity that will grace our new home, like Draupadi. You are our Annapurna, the nourishment that shall sustain us, just as Mata Kunti has been. And you are our Guru Mata, like Kakishree Aruni, whose wisdom has guided us through every storm. Let this kingdom begin with you if it is to be born anew."

Krodhini and Stambhinī's eyes welled with tears, their souls overwhelmed by the honour bestowed upon them. They lowered their heads, not in submission but in gratitude too immense to be spoken. With newfound pride, they nodded, accepting the duty they had been entrusted with. Draupadi stepped forward, embracing them as sisters—not by the bond of marriage or the decree of blood, but by the unity of hearts that had chosen each other as family.

As the cool night air whispered through the plains of Khandavaprastha, the foundation of a new age was being laid in soil and stone, but in the very fabric of thought that would define a kingdom like none before it.

Niyati's Sovereignty

The first light of dawn bathed Khandavaprastha in hues of gold and vermillion, a day unlike any other. It was not merely the birth of a new kingdom but the beginning of a new order—one woven with destiny, dharma, and the unseen forces that stirred beneath the mortal realm. The Pandavas stood at the threshold of a dream yet to be realized, basking in the quiet joy of creation, unaware that the tides of fate were already shifting.

But before the sacred rites could commence, a tremor of distress shattered the morning's peace.

A desperate commotion arose from the outskirts of their newly claimed land. Villagers, their faces stricken with terror, came rushing toward the Pandavas. Their cries echoed through the settlement, shattering the stillness with the weight of an impending calamity.

Nakula, ever the swiftest, reached them first. Concern laced his voice as he demanded, "What has happened? Why are you all in such fear?"

The rest of the Pandavas emerged at his words, their expressions turning grave at the sight before them—scores of villagers trembling, their eyes wide with dread.

Then, one among them stepped forward, desperation thick in his voice. "Rajkumar Vasusena, Rajkumar Yuyutsu," he called out before collapsing at their feet. Others followed suit, seeking the protection of the Kuru princes. "Please save us! The Nagas—who have never once disturbed us—are suddenly upon us. They are attacking, seeking blood. We do not know why! We have done nothing to provoke them or trespass upon their lands!"

A dark silence fell over the gathering, broken only by whispers of uncertainty. The Nagas had been a dormant force for generations, bound by their secluded laws. Their sudden wrath was unnatural—manipulated.

Yuyutsu, his mind as sharp as ever, reached beyond the physical realm. Telepathically, he connected with Niyati and Shri Krishna. "Why is Khandavadahan unfolding now?" he questioned, his inner voice laced with wariness. "Niyati, you know that neither Narayan nor I can fully perceive fate's design in your presence. What game are you setting into motion this time?"

A light yet burdened sigh echoed in his mind as Niyati answered, "Mahadev, this is not Khandavadahan. It is the handiwork of Shakuni and Suyodhana."

Yuyutsu's eyes darkened with realization, "Noted. Then I shall inform Vasuki to restrain his clan."

But before he could act, Krishna's voice cut through. "No." His command was firm, laced with a knowing that reached beyond foresight, "Just as the world has borne witness to my Leela, let them now witness Niyati's Leela."

He paused, and for the first time in an age, the air seemed still as he recounted an ancient decree, "Remember, Mahadev, before she took mortal form, Niyati gave her word to Shesh Naag and Vasuki. She proclaimed, 'When I stand before any Naga upon the battlefield, they shall yield to my dominion and acknowledge my sovereignty. Defiance shall not be tolerated. Should any among them refuse to submit, they shall be exiled from the clan, cursed for eternity.' Both Vasuki and Shesh Naag swore fealty to her. And now, it is time for her will to be realized."

As the words settled, Bhishma's voice rang through the encampment, summoning Yuyutsu with a name few now dared to use: "Karna, come here!" Bhishma commanded, his form straight and unyielding as the pillar of Hastinapur's strength, "Let me lift my weapon today. I will see which Naga dares to threaten the people under my protection. No harm shall befall Khandavaprastha while I stand."

Arjuna, stepping forward alongside Vasusena, placed a hand on his bow. "Pitamah," he said, his voice measured, "something is amiss here. The Nagas have never been our enemies and have not turned against us without cause. This bears the mark of Brata Suyodhana and Mamashree Shakuni's machinations." He met Bhishma's steely gaze with the quiet certainty of a warrior wise beyond his years. "If you lift your weapon now, the news will reach Hastinapur before the truth does. Let Jyeshta and me handle this. If we fail, then you may act. In this way, no one will question your intent. You will have acted not in offence but in defense of dharma."

Vasusena, his wisdom mirroring Arjuna's, nodded, "Phalguni speaks the truth, Pitamah. We will face this first."

Bhishma hesitated. His hands longed to wield his weapon, to protect as he always had. Yet, his grandsons stood before him, reasoning with the patience and foresight that once belonged to kings of old. Reluctantly, he conceded.

Vasusena summoned Vijaya. Arjuna bore Kindhura. Together, they strode forth to meet the advancing Nagas.

But fate had written another course.

She emerged before either side could act, an arrow could be nocked or a spell cast.

Niyati.

And the world changed.

The moment she stepped forth, the Nagas faltered. A shift in the air—no, in existence—stilled their limbs and bound their spirits. A force beyond time and mortality wove through the battlefield, commanding submission.

Takshaka, their leader, rushed forward, only for his breath to catch in his throat. His pupils dilated, and recognition dawned on his trembling form before him stood not a mere woman but the manifestation of the Infinite.

Her form blurred between reality and something beyond, a cosmic visage unfathomable to mortal eyes. She was the celestial force of fate, the immutable law of the universe given form. Her presence stretched across realms, touching the fabric of existence itself. Eyes like the void and the cosmos combined, a cascade of infinite night and light shifting in unfathomable patterns. Garments that shimmered with the radiance of uncountable stars, yet darker than the most bottomless abyss. Each step resonated across planes of being, reverberating through time itself.

The Nagas, bound by an oath older than their lives, dropped their weapons. Their bodies, their very souls, recognized what their minds could not comprehend—submission was inevitable.

Takshaka, shedding his serpentine form, fell to his knees. "Mata," he whispered, his voice hollow with realization. "We know who you are. Yet... your side stands against us. We act in self-preservation."

Niyati's voice, neither soft nor cruel, rang with the weight of cosmic law, "Takshaka, you are a leader among your kind. Yet, you have allowed yourself to be led. Did the Pandavas disturb your realm? Did they threaten you? Without cause, you moved to strike the innocent. Is that dharma?"

Takshaka's face twisted in anguish, "But Gandara Rajkumar Shakuni told us they had come to destroy us!"

A ripple of anger surged through the Pandavas. Arjuna's jaw clenched—his suspicion had been correct. This was yet another deception woven by Shakuni's hand. Bhishma remained unmoving, though those who knew him well could see the rage seething beneath his composed exterior.

Niyati's gaze bore into Takshaka, "Return to your domain. If you do not bring harm first, no harm shall come to your people. But remember this—boons overused turn into curses. Every power has its limit. Cross it, and you shall bring ruin upon yourself."

Takshaka trembled. He understood. The Nagas had enjoyed their dominion over Khandavavan for too long. The end of their reign was approaching by fate's decree. Lowering his head, he spoke, "Understood, Mata." And with that, the Nagas departed.

As silence fell, Arjuna shook his head in awe, "You two siblings are alike in the strangest ways. One plays upon a serpent's head, while the other weaves words so serpents bow."

Krishna chuckled, "Partha, you must first know yourself to know us. And that... is a journey yet to begin."

The world rejoiced, yet he stood still.

Bhishma—Devavrata—Gangaputr—Shantanunandan. A man of many names, yet bound by one chain.

The laughter of his kin wove through the air like a melody, but he did not hear it. His mind was elsewhere—locked within the unbroken circle of time, within the silent whispers of a promise that had long outlived its purpose.

A boon overused is a curse.

A truth so simple, yet its fangs sank deep. Could a gift granted by the heavens become an anchor, dragging its bearer beneath the tides of fate? Could a vow sworn in fire, if held too long, turn to ice and shatter in its rigidity?

The night had not yet fallen, but a shadow passed over him.

A presence. A certainty.

Shri Krishna.

The Dark One did not speak at once. He merely stood, his gaze a reflection of the inevitable. Time itself seemed to exhale between them. When he finally said, his words rippled upon an ocean far more profound than Bhishma dared to peer into, "Pitamah, an arrow that never leaves the bow, burdens the archer. A river that refuses the ocean does not escape its fate—it merely delays its decay. And a boon... a boon that outlives its moment does not guard the wielder. It devours him."

Bhishma did not flinch, but something shifted within him—a disturbance in the stillness of a soul that had not questioned itself in decades.

Shri Krishna's gaze flickered, seeking Niyati for a moment before he added, "When the time comes, let go. Even the immovable must one day bow—to something greater than itself."

Bhishma exhaled a soundless sigh. A release had not yet been granted, and a surrender had not yet been accepted, but he understood the weight of unspoken things, "If the mountain must crumble, let it not be the wind that takes it, but the hand that dares to break it. If the river must meet the ocean, let it not be dragged—let it choose to flow."

A pause. A promise. A prophecy.

Krishna did not smile, for there was nothing to smile for. There was only what was and what must be, "Then so be it."

Sacred Bhoomipujan

A hush fell upon Khandavaprastha, a land once forsaken but now bearing witness to an epoch-defining moment. The convergence of mortals and celestials blurred the lines between the earthly and the ethereal as sacred mantras wove through the very fabric of existence. The air trembled with a potent divinity, and even time seemed to hold its breath.

The greatest luminaries of the age stood in solemn attendance—Ved Vyas, the embodiment of timeless wisdom; Mata Ganga, the celestial river incarnate; Guru Drona, the master of warfare; Bhagawan Parashurama, the wielder of an ire eternal; Maharishi Atri and Mata Anasuya, paragons of virtue; Rishi Durvasa, a tempest of ascetic fury; Dev Guru Brihaspati and Asur Guru Shukracharya, the guiding stars of gods and demons alike; Rishi Vashishtha and Mata Arundhati, custodians of dharma; Rishi Chyavana, Guru Sandipani, the eldest Sanatkumara, and Rishi Markandeya, each a beacon of cosmic knowledge.

Kings and queens of illustrious lineage graced the land—Panchal Maharaja Drupada and his kin, the noble houses of Krodhini and Stambhinī, and the emissaries of Anga, alongside Vasusena's foster parents, Rani Dhanumati, and Rajkumar Dhrishtadyumna. From the sacred city of Dwaraka came Vasudeva, Rohini, Devaki, the indomitable Balarama with Revati by his side, Satyabhama, resplendent in her celestial grace, and the valiant Pradyumna and Satyaki.

And then, the heavens themselves parted.

A cavalcade of divine chariots descended in resplendent majesty, their golden wheels etching luminescent trails upon the sky. Suryadev, Vayudev, Indradev, the Ashwini Kumaras, Agnidev, and Yamadev arrived, their celestial radiance suffusing the air with an aura too magnificent to be borne by mortal senses. The confluence of gods and men stood as a testament to an unprecedented hour—an event beyond the confines of history, where destinies were not merely written but sculpted anew.

With reverence due to one invoking cosmic force, Rishi Dhoumya stepped forward, his gaze traversing the assembly as he proclaimed, "This Bhoomi Pujan is not merely a ritual but an invocation to the very soul of the earth. We consecrate this land in the name of Vastu Purush, Goddess Bhoomi, the Pancha Boothas, and the Ashta-Dikpalas—the celestial sentinels who guard the eight directions. Through this invocation, the shadows of misfortune shall be dispelled, and the land itself shall awaken to its destined grandeur."

The assembled souls listened in rapt attention as he continued, "The land upon which a kingdom rises must first be nourished with life. Greenery must embrace its bosom, the hooves of cows and calves must tread upon its soil, for only then will Bhudevi—the Earth Mother—embrace her children."

A solemn silence followed before he gestured towards the assembled royal women.

"The blessings of Bhudevi must be received through a woman of sanctity. Krodhini and Stambhinī offer the ornaments and garments of Bhudevi to one whose hands are worthy of bestowing her benedictions."

As the two women stepped forward, Niyati, ever discerning, raised her voice. "Rishi Dhoumya, if we seek reverence, who among us is more suited than Rajkumari Satyabhama? She who strode onto the battlefield, who wielded her might against Narakasura, is she not the very incarnation of Bhudevi's valour?"

All turned towards Satyabhama. The warrior-queen, unshaken by adulation, stepped forth with effortless grace. Krishna's eyes gleamed with quiet amusement as she accepted the offerings and blessed Vasusena and his wives.

"Ah," he mused inwardly, "you orchestrated the divine itself, ensuring that Bhudevi would truly bestow her grace."

Without glancing his way, Niyati answered in his thoughts, "I learned from the best."

Krishna's smile deepened, laced with admiration.

This was no ordinary gathering, no mundane event. The mortals who stood as witnesses were left breathless—not merely by the grandeur scale but by the cosmic forces aligning in harmony. Even the common folk, who had once dismissed Khandavaprastha as a cursed wasteland, now beheld a phenomenon beyond mortal comprehension.

Echoes in the Halls of Hastinapur

Far from the sacred land, the ripples of this momentous occasion reached the marbled chambers of Hastinapur's court.

Suyodhana sat unmovingly; his expression was impassive, yet the tautness of his grip upon his throne betrayed the storm within. Shakuni, his ever-scheming uncle, furrowed his brows, thoughts weaving a silent web of calculations. "The Nagas..." he muttered under his breath. "How did they retreat? What unseen hand played this game?"

A minister, wary yet emboldened, spoke. "Maharaj, I hear that all were summoned—the Pandavas' teachers, their celestial fathers, their kin from Dwaraka, Panchal, Kashi, and the kingdoms that Vasusena conquered. Even Mahamahim Bhishma saw fit to invite Mata Ganga herself."

Another voice, dripping with disdain, interjected.

"Why would they invite Maharaj and Maharani? What did they receive but an expanse of desolation? That honour lies in summoning those who cast forth barren land as alms?"

Dritarashtra silenced the chamber with a single word. "Enough."

Yet, though his lips bid silence, his heart was restless. He could feel it—the tremors of an impending shift, an unseen force coiling beneath the dust of Khandavaprastha.

The Ascent of Indraprastha

Upon the sacred land, Bhishma stepped forward, his voice unwavering as he called forth Vishwakarma, the divine architect. The celestial artisan bowed. "Tell me, Pandavas, what shape shall your kingdom take?"

Arjuna turned to Krishna, his voice steadfast, "Madhava, guide us. How do you envision Khandavaprastha?"

Krishna's eyes gleamed with knowledge beyond the veils of time, "Fashion a city that mirrors Amaravati, adorned with celestial splendour, steeped in divine magnificence." He turned to Balarama, "Dau, with your Hal, furrow the land so it may birth prosperity." To Mata Ganga, he beckoned, "Devi, the Yamuna flows westward—bid her embrace this soil so it may bloom." Then, addressing the divine host, he proclaimed, "Lend your blessings so that this land may transcend the bounds of the mortal realm."

The decree was met with celestial assent, and the transformation began.

The earth quaked, its very essence reshaped. A kingdom arose from the dust, a marvel unlike any before it. Surrounded by a trench as wide as the sea and walls that reached toward the heavens, its brilliance was akin to Bhogavati, the fabled capital of the Nagas. The towering gates stood like the wings of Garuda, their panels gleaming in celestial radiance. The city's turrets, high as Mandara, were fortified with weapons that no foe could breach. The battlements bristled with sentinels, warriors in training, and machines of war—sharp hooks, Sataghnis, and wheels of iron, poised to defend its sanctity. The streets were wide and perfect, free from imperfection, crafted with precision beyond mortal capability. The people who stood upon the soil of Khandavaprastha beheld what had emerged from the dust—an empire of divine magnitude, a city birthed by gods.



Niyati's voice, resonating with an undeniable finality, proclaimed: "This is Indra's Amaravati reborn upon Prithvi. From this day forth, this kingdom shall be known as Indraprastha."

There was a moment of silence, and then Bhishma raised his voice, "Indraprastha Ki Jai!" A thunderous roar followed. A new destiny had been forged.



The Rise of Indraprastha's Throne

A moment of silence embraced the land of Indraprastha, where the fates of men and gods intertwined. As the celestial sun bathed the golden city in its ethereal glow, Shri Krishna stood before the gathered sovereigns, his form radiant with an aura of divine wisdom. His steady and knowing gaze swept across the assembly. With a voice resonant with the weight of cosmic decree, he declared, "Let my Brata in Dharma, Brata Yudhishthira, ascend the throne of Indraprastha, and let my sakhi, Panchali, reign beside him as his Queen."

A solemn hush settled over the assembly before heads nodded in harmonious assent. With gracious poise, the gathered sovereigns and sages proceeded towards the heart of Indraprastha's royal court—a sanctum of power and Dharma, where the destiny of the new kingdom would be sculpted.

Majestic and unparalleled, the court of Indraprastha stood as a testament to celestial artistry. Carved from gleaming gold, its walls bore intricate depictions of cosmic sagas adorned with gems that shimmered like the stars themselves. At its centre, the grand throne overlooked the city, a realm sculpted by divine hands, where rivers of silver and sapphire fountains murmured in quiet reverence. The air pulsed with the harmony of veenas and celestial conch shells, an enchanting symphony that resonated through gardens of eternal bloom. The Parijata tree, a gift of the heavens, spreads its fragrance, mingling with the scent of sacred sandalwood. The very atmosphere seemed to breathe with the promise of a golden age.



There, seated upon the throne, was Maharaj Yudhishthira, the sovereign of Indraprastha, with Maharani Draupadi beside him—a queen whose grace matched the splendour of the kingdom she would nurture.

With composed dignity, Yudhishthira rose, his gaze steady as the northern star. His voice, imbued with the humility of a seeker and the wisdom of one born for Dharma, resounded through the grand hall, "As I have learned from my Gurus, my family, and the trials of life, I shall lay forth the tenets of righteous governance. Yet, wisdom is an ocean, and I am but a drop. I beseech the revered rishis and the august rulers gathered here to guide me so that Indraprastha may shine as a beacon of Dharma."

A serene smile graced the lips of the assembly, their nods signifying assent. And thus, Yudhishthira began to expound upon the principles that would serve as the pillars of his reign: "Upholding Dharma, Understanding the Six Constituents of Polity, Knowledge of the Four Purusharthas, The Five Expediencies, Treaties and Victories, The Eight Types of Open Units, Covert Means of Attack, Knowledge of the Planets and Constellations, Knowledge of the Planets and Constellations, Strengthening the Army, Calamities and Their Remedies, Encouraging the Army, Encouraging the Army, Encouraging the Army, Customs and Tradition, Positioning of the Twelve Kinds of Kings, Promoting Dharma, Acquisition and Protection of Wealth, Agricultural Seasons, Diseases, Fear, and Death, Consequences of Neglecting Duty, Rewards of Protecting the People, Sharing Merit with the People, Compensating for Losses, Respecting the Learned and Talented, Providing for the Poor, Supporting Ascetics, Humility and Devotion, Seeking Guidance, Appointing Administrators, Defending the Kingdom, Impartial Decision-Making, Rare Qualities, Loyal Aides, Prioritizing Duty, The King's Influence, The Four Ages, Taxation and Governance, Fair Taxation, Self-Control, Knowledge and Devotion, Honouring Servants, Protecting the People."

Raja Drupada's eyes, glistening with quiet pride, rose and proclaimed, "Putr Yudhishthira, you have encompassed all that is required of a just ruler. My heart swells with contentment."

Indradev, who had watched in silence, now stepped forward, his celestial presence commanding the hall's attention, "Yudhishthira, you are indeed the son of Yama, the harbinger of justice. But heed my words, for a King must know two things above all—when to show mercy and when to wield the sword. Every crime cannot be pardoned. No matter if the wrongdoer is kin, friend, subject, or foe—there shall come a time when justice demands steel. When that hour arrives, hesitate not, lest Dharma itself crumbles."

A profound stillness descended upon the court. Absorbing the gravity of Indra's words, Yudhishthira bowed his head in humble acknowledgement. From among the sages, Mata Anasuya, the embodiment of virtue, rose with a serene smile, "As I once imparted wisdom to Devi Sita in Treta Yuga, so shall I bestow the same upon Maharani Draupadi."

Draupadi, overcome with reverence, clasped her hands, "Mata, if you permit, I would be honoured if Krodhini Bhabhishree, Stambhinī Bhabhishree, Rani Dhanumati, and my sakhi Satyabhama may receive this knowledge alongside me."

Mata Anasuya's eyes gleamed with approval, "She who is devoted to her spouse, whether in the city or the forest, regardless of whether he is a sinner or virtuous, is the woman who attains the highest region. Whether a husband is cruel, a slave of desires, or poor, a virtuous wife will continue to worship him as a god. I have studied deeply and do not think a woman can have a better friend than her husband, who protects her in all circumstances. Those evil women who, enslaved by desire, do not regard what should or should not be done, imprudently commit unworthy acts and, becoming abhorrent, fall from virtue. But women such as you, acquainted with what is good or evil in the world, like pious men, attain heaven. A wife who has been faithful to your conjugal duty and through your virtuous acts, undertaken in conjunction with your husband, shall attain merit and fame."

Draupadi steps down from the throne and humbly seeks Mata Anasuya's blessings, bowing her head to touch Anasuya's feet. Mata Anasuya glances at Shri Krishna, Niyati, and Mahadev, and all three nod in gracious approval. Mata Anasuya gently lifts Draupadi with a warm smile and says, "You are a revered soul, dear one. I am blessed to be a part of your journey. Let me bestow upon you a special gift."

As she spoke, a radiant box manifested in her hands. She placed it before Draupadi, "My gifts would enhance your beauty; they will never fade and become you well. Apply this powder which I now give to you; you shalt, by this, augment your husband's beauty as Lakshmi increases the glory of the imperishable Vishnu."

A flicker of understanding passed through Draupadi's eyes as she received the gift with reverence and returned to Yudhishthira's side.

Rising again, Yudhishthira declared, "I shall establish new laws for Indraprastha, ensuring prosperity for all. Let these tenets be known far and wide so righteousness may endure." Thus, under the celestial gaze of gods and sages, Indraprastha was not merely built but consecrated in Dharma, enshrined in wisdom, and adorned in destiny.

A Kingdom of Progress

Yudhishthira gazed upon the gathered assembly, his eyes calm yet resolute, carrying the weight of an unyielding truth. His voice, measured yet profound, resonated through the grand court, "First and foremost, I invoke a principle drawn from the sacred soil of my ancestral land, Hastinapur. In the wake of a grievous past, Pitamah Bhishma established a doctrine—that no action affecting a woman's fate shall proceed without her consent. And yet, even today, the world remembers only the tragic end of Devi Amba—her anguish, her flames, her sacrifice."

Shikhandi and King Drupada exchanged glances; the words weighed heavily upon them. Bhishma, silent as ever, absorbed the proclamation with an inscrutable gaze.

"But," Yudhishthira continued, "no one recalls the ferocity with which she fought for her honour. No one remembers the warrior that she was. Thus, let her name be immortalized in justice. Yatra naryastu pujyante ramante tatra devata - Where women are honored, divinity blossoms there.

Henceforth, I declare the enactment of the 'Amba Law'—a decree that sanctifies a woman's right to defy the fate imposed upon her. Any woman who wishes to live her life on her terms and refuses to bow before the yoke of societal constraints shall find sanctuary in Indraprastha. Under this law, they shall be given employment according to their merit or, should they seek it, the means to educate themselves.

But above all, they shall live with dignity. Every woman embodies Shakti, the cosmic force of creation and destruction. Dishonoring Shakti invites ruin, for even the gods do not stand against her. Who am I, then, to dictate the course of another's life? They shall walk unshackled as long as their path brings no harm to the Aryavarta."

A heavy silence engulfed the hall, the weight of his proclamation settling into every heart. Shikhandi, the very soul of Amba reborn, trembled, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Krodhini and Stambhinī were left without words, their silence a testament to the depth of their emotions.

Then, rising from her seat with an unwavering gaze, Rani Dhanumati of Kashi spoke, her voice imbued with reverence and determination, "Maharaja Yudhishthira, my land, though bound to Panchala by rule, yearns for justice like this. If Pujya (father-in-law), King Drupada, consents, I shall pledge my kingdom under your sovereignty."

Drupada stood, pride radiating from his very being, "Putri, today, you honour me beyond measure. I grant my consent with joy. Not only shall Kashi be bound to Indraprastha, but I, Drupada, hereby pledge Panchala to your rule. The laws of Indraprastha shall extend to my land henceforth."

A murmur swept through the hall, but before it could settle, Balarama rose, his formidable presence commanding attention, "Dwaraka has always stood by you. Today, we reaffirm our allegiance. These laws shall be upheld in Dwaraka as well."

Vasusena, a tower of silent conviction, stood next. His voice, steady as the ocean depths, echoed through the chamber, "From this moment forth, I relinquish dominion over all eastern kingdoms under my rule. They now belong to Indraprastha."

Yudhishthira smiled, reflecting gratitude and purpose, "Education is the birthright of all. No longer shall knowledge be caged within the confines of caste."

At this, Guru Drona—keeper of sacred wisdom—rose, his brows furrowed with concern, "Maharaja Yudhishthira, the Vedas decree that certain castes must not partake in learning. If you intend to impart education unto all, does this not defy the Vedic order?"

A gentle smile played on Yudhishthira's lips, his voice carrying the timeless wisdom of the scriptures themselves, "Gurudeva, Janmana jayate shudrah, samskarad dvija ucyate, Veda-pathad bhavet viprah, brahma janati iti brahmanah.

By birth, all are born as Shudras. Through refinement of character, one attains the status of Dvija—twice-born. By studying the Vedas, one becomes a Viprah—learned. And he who comprehends the essence of Brahman alone is a true Brahmana. Thus, knowledge shall be the sole measure of worth. The hierarchy shall not be dictated by birth but by merit alone."

Though Guru Drona remained skeptical, his eyes flickered toward the revered sages of the assembly—Maharshi Atri, Maharshi Vashishtha, and their divine consorts, Mata Anasuya and Mata Arundhati. The great sages nodded in solemn approval.

Yudhishthira turned to them with reverence, "Rishivar, Mata, though you dwell in distant abodes, I beseech you—will you not grace Indraprastha with your presence? The women of our land shall learn under the tutelage of Mata Anasuya and Mata Arundhati, while you, revered Maharishis, shall impart wisdom unto all who seek it."

Maharshi Atri and Maharshi Vashishtha exchanged knowing glances. With a smile, they answered in unison, "We shall reside upon the banks of the Yamuna, should you provide us the space for our ashrams."

Vasusena, beaming with purpose, stood tall, "I shall ensure it is arranged at once."

Yudhishthira continued, his words shaping the very foundation of governance, "And now, let me introduce the stewards of Indraprastha's future. Rajkumar Sahadeva shall oversee healthcare. Rajkumar Nakula shall govern trade. Rajkumar Yuyutsu, as Mahamahim, shall counsel in matters of diplomacy and governance. Bhima shall be the Yuvraj, my right hand. Rajkumar Vasusena shall command our armies while Rajkumar Arjuna shall lead on the battlefield. Above all, Maharani Draupadi shall preside over the kingdom's treasury as our finance minister."

A stunned silence filled the hall. A woman in charge of finance? Dhanumati's eyes gleamed with unrestrained joy while Dhrishtadyumna struggled to contain his amusement at her exhilaration. The court broke into soft laughter at her delight.

Yudhishthira turned then to Bhishma, "Gangaputr Bhishma, from this day forth, shall take the mantle of Guru. He shall be known as Guru Devavrata."

Another wave of astonishment swept through the court. Bhishma himself was motionless—until Devi Ganga, stepping forward, gently grasped Niyati's hand, which startled all present. Niyati whispered, "Devi?"

But Ganga merely embraced her, whispering, "Mata, Dhanyavaad. I know not what his fate was, but this rewritten tale gave my son an identity beyond his vows. Now, the world shall remember him not as a mere warrior but as one who shaped wisdom. Shatakoti Dhanyavaad."

She approached Bhishma and spoke with divine solemnity, "Devavrata, think of this as your second birth. The path of a Guru is akin to that of the divine. Never let Adharma stain your soul. From this day, you shall be known as Guru Devavrata."

His lips curling into the rarest of smiles, Bhishma bowed and touched her feet.

Yudhishthira then turned to the court, "If there is aught I have missed, speak now."

King Himavat rose, "Maharaja, are these the only new laws?"

Before Yudhishthira could respond, Yuyutsu—Mahamahim of Indraprastha—answered, "Raja Himavat, these are but the beginning. Indraprastha is a kingdom of progress, and with time, laws shall evolve. Change is the only constant. Let us embrace it."

Arjuna then rose, his gaze unwavering as he declared, "Indraprastha shall stand as a sanctuary, not merely for its subjects, but for all those who seek refuge. Any soul, regardless of birth or station, who wishes to become part of this realm shall be granted asylum. We shall bestow a token to each—an emblem of their right to call this land their home."

A murmur of astonishment rippled through the assembly, for never before had a kingdom opened its doors with such unguarded benevolence. Yet, none could dispute the nobility of Arjuna's decree.

At this moment, Guru Brihaspati, the celestial preceptor, rose from his seat, his aura exuding the wisdom of ages. His deep and resolute voice resonated through the grand hall, "Yuvraj Bhima, every kingdom must anchor itself in divine sanctuaries, for where Dharma prevails, so must devotion. Therefore, as a guardian of this land, I urge you to consecrate your faith in the mighty Kala Bhairava. Worship him, for he is the protector of sacred rites, the vanquisher of malevolent spirits that seek to disrupt the balance of the cosmos. Invoke his presence so that no unholy force may taint the sanctity of this realm."

A solemn smile graced Bhima's lips, his nod of unwavering assent. "So, shall it be, Acharya. The land of Indraprastha shall resound with the chants of Bhairava."

Brihaspati, pleased, turned his gaze towards Yudhishthira, "Maharaja, there lies a place of great sanctity—Nigambodh—where once, in ages past, Lord Brahma himself bathed and regained his lost memory, along with the sacred Vedas. Such a site must not remain untended. Therefore, I implore you and Maharani Draupadi to establish a Shivalinga there, to sanctify the waters with your devotion so that wisdom may eternally flow from this land."

Ever reverent to the words of the learned, Yudhishthira inclined his head, "It shall be done, Acharya. Nigambodh shall become a beacon of spiritual awakening, where even the gods may descend to seek wisdom."

With these decrees, the great king turned to his people and, with a benevolent smile, proclaimed the royal court open for a grand feast—a celebration not of mere sovereignty but of a kingdom born from justice and wisdom.

As the proceedings continued, Sanjaya relayed the news from far away to the royal court of Hastinapur. Dritarashtra sat in silence, listening to the murmurs of his court—voices in awe, jealousy, and disbelief, "They have built a replica of Amaravati on earth," one minister marveled.

Another whispered, "The land they were given was barren. How did they turn it into gold?"

As praise filled the halls, Dritarashtra rose and departed, unable to endure the admiration for his nephews. Yet, in the shadows, Gandhari allowed herself a small smile. Despite everything, her heart swelled with quiet pride—the sons of Kuru had built something truly magnificent.

Note: -

Contrary to popular cinematic portrayals, the Pandavas did not set fire to Khandavaprastha upon their arrival with Shri Krishna, Draupadi, and Kunti. The renaming of Khandavaprastha to Indraprastha was not due to its destruction but because Shri Krishna commanded Vishwakarma to construct a kingdom mirroring Indra's celestial city, Amaravati. The great conflagration of Khandavadahan transpired years later.

Furthermore, the scriptures well document that Draupadi managed Indraprastha's financial affairs, which she confirmed in conversation with Satyabhama during the exile.

Regarding the presence of sages, Rishi Vashishtha was present during the construction of Indraprastha, as per Madhvacharya. My inclusion of Maharishi Atri and Mata Anasuya is a creative liberty. Similarly, Mata Arundhati, the consort of Rishi Vashishtha, may also have been present.

Lastly, historical and archaeological records support Bhima and Yudhishthira's consecration of the Kala Bhairava and Shiva shrines. The Sri Kilkari Bhairon Temple near Delhi's Old Fort is believed to have been established by Bhima, who is said to have attained spiritual Siddhi. Similarly, Nigambodh Ghat, constructed by Yudhishthira, is revered as the site, and Vishnu blessed the spot on the Yamuna bank and called it "Nigambodhak."