The forest near Hastinapura quaked as the scream's echo dissolved into a haunting stillness, its shadowed depths drinking the last of dawn's frail light. Leaves rustled mournfully overhead, a chorus of whispers beneath a canopy that sagged like a shroud over the earth. Mist thickened into a heavy veil, cloaking the twisted roots and moss in a gray haze, the air now saturated with the iron tang of blood and the wild's bitter wrath. The Ganga's hum faded to a distant murmur, overwhelmed by a low, guttural moan threading through the trees, a lament that turned the silence into a living wound.
Pandu shoved through the brambles, his hunter's green tunic catching on jagged thorns, the fabric tearing as he pressed forward with desperate haste. His bow lay abandoned behind him, discarded in the dirt, a relic of a hunt gone horribly awry. His dark hair hung wild and sweat-soaked, framing a face drained of color, his eyes wide with a terror that clawed at his chest. Each breath came ragged, a king unmade by the unseen truth his arrow had pierced, his hands shaking as he parted the undergrowth with frantic strength.
Kunti stumbled after him, her crimson sari snagging on brambles, the gray shawl slipping from her shoulders to trail in the muck. Her dark hair whipped free, tangled by the wind, her piercing brown eyes burning with a mix of fear and resolve as she tracked Pandu's faltering steps. Her voice trembled on the edge of breaking, a queen torn between shielding her king and facing the dread that swelled within her.
Madri kept pace, her indigo sari ripping at the hem as she pushed through the thorns, her midnight hair unraveling from its knot to spill across her shoulders. Her green eyes glinted with sharp, fearful intensity, a desert queen caught in the forest's tightening grip, her steps swift yet unsteady as she followed the moan's pull. Her breath hitched, a silent prayer forming on her lips, her poise fraying under the weight of the unknown.
Keshav and Ravi surged ahead, their spears thrust forward, the creak of their leather gear slicing through the quiet. Their faces were taut with alarm, sweat beading on their brows as they cleared a path through the dense brush, their warrior instincts flaring at the scent of blood. The servant lagged behind, his pack slipping from his shoulder, his wiry frame shrinking as he muttered under his breath, "Holy ones, we've struck holy ones," his voice a quivering thread lost to the forest's menace.
Pandu broke through the final wall of brambles, halting beneath a twisted oak, its gnarled branches clawing at the sky like a judge's skeletal hands. His gaze fell upon a sight that sucked the air from his lungs, a vision that shattered the world he knew. Where the golden deer had stood, its shimmering form now dissolved into a fading radiance, revealing a man sprawled in the dirt. He was old, his white robes stained crimson, blood pooling from his side where Pandu's arrow jutted grotesquely, its fletching a dark smear against the pale dawn.
Beside him knelt a woman, her own deer form melting away, leaving her in a tattered sari, her hair a wild cascade of gray and black. Her hands clutched the man's, her sobs tearing through the stillness, raw and unrestrained, a cry of loss that shook the forest to its roots. Her face twisted with anguish, her eyes red-rimmed and blazing as she rocked over the dying sage, her grief a force as tangible as the mist around them.
Pandu dropped to his knees, the earth cold beneath him, "Sages," he rasped, his voice cracking like brittle wood, "Kindama, I didn't know. I swear by all I hold, I thought it was a stag, not you!" His hands reached out, then fell, useless, his plea a hollow echo against the blood-soaked ground.
The woman's head jerked up, her gaze locking onto Pandu with a fury that burned through her tears. "You swear?" she shouted, her voice a jagged blade of sorrow and rage. "Your oath means nothing, hunter! You've ripped my husband from me, slain him with your careless hand!" Her words struck like blows, each syllable laced with venom, her hands trembling as she gripped Kindama tighter.
Kindama coughed, a wet, guttural sound, blood flecking his lips as he struggled to lift his head. His hand squeezed hers, frail but insistent, "Pandu," he wheezed, his voice a dying ember flickering in the wind, "king of Kuru, your arrow has pierced my heart. Its weight falls on you now, a burden you cannot shed." His eyes, dimming yet fierce, bore into Pandu, a sage's judgment delivered from the brink of death.
Kunti sank beside Pandu, her arms encircling him, her sari pooling in the dirt as she clung to him. "Pandu, how could this happen?" she faltered, her voice thick with disbelief, her eyes darting to the sage. "They were disguised, hidden in the deer's form. You couldn't have seen, could you? Tell me you couldn't!" Her plea hung desperate, a lifeline she threw to pull him from the abyss opening before them.
Madri knelt by the woman, her hands outstretched, "We meant no harm," she said, her voice steady but laced with urgency. "He hunted game, not lives. Mercy, I beg you, tell us how to mend this horror!" Her green eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her grace bending under the strain, a queen seeking to bridge a chasm too wide to cross.
Kindama's chest heaved, his breath a ragged gasp, "No mercy can undo a life unmade," he said, his words slow and deliberate, each one carved from his fading strength. "You sought release, king, an escape from your burdens. Now you'll bear a fate heavier than any you've known." His hand trembled, lifting slightly, a gesture of finality in the dim light.
Pandu's hands clawed into the earth, digging furrows in the soil, "Fate?" he choked, his voice breaking under the weight of realization. "I'm no murderer, sage! Name your price, my wealth, my lands, my very blood, anything to right this wrong! I beg you, don't leave it like this!" His plea rose, raw and ragged, a king stripped bare, his pride crumbling into the dirt.
The sage's wife rocked back, her sobs choking into a snarl, "Right a life stolen?" she spat, her voice venomous, her eyes blazing with a hatred that seared the air. "You struck us in the midst of love, disguised as deer to shield our union from prying eyes. Your blindness, your arrogance, they earn no forgiveness, no reprieve!" Her hands shook as she cradled Kindama, her grief a storm that threatened to consume them all.
Kindama's voice rose one last time, a thunder fading into dusk, "Curse you, Pandu, king of Kuru," he intoned, his hand lifting higher, trembling with the last of his power. "As I die entwined with my beloved, so shall you meet your end. Touch your wives in desire, and death will claim you, swift and unyielding." His words crashed through the forest, the air quivering with their might, a decree that bound the world in its grip.
The sage slumped, his hand falling limp, his breath stilling as the blood pooled wider beneath the oak, a dark tide swallowing the last of his light. The woman's wail pierced the silence, a keening that split the heavens, "Gone!" she cried, her voice a howl of despair. "Gone, and you, Pandu, bear this doom! Your line ends with your lust, cursed king, your pride is ash!" Her hands clutched Kindama's robes, her body curling over him, a widow forged in the fire of loss.
Pandu reeled, his hands fisting in the dirt, "No," he groaned, the word a guttural cry torn from his depths. "My line, Kuru, this can't be the end! I didn't mean this, I didn't see!" His voice shattered, a king broken by his own hand, his body slumping as the curse's weight crushed him into the earth.
Kunti tightened her hold, her arms a fierce anchor around him, "Pandu, we'll fight this," she whispered, her voice a blade of resolve cutting through her tears. "A curse isn't the end, not for us. We'll find a path, a way to defy this, I swear it to you!" Her hands gripped his shoulders, her strength a beacon in the dark, her heart racing with a vow unspoken.
Madri stood, her eyes locked on the woman, "A path, yes," she said, her tone firm despite the tremor beneath it. "Sage's wife, your grief is righteous, your loss cuts deep, but spare him death itself. Let us atone, let us bear a burden we can mend!" Her plea hung in the air, a desert queen's grace bending to seek mercy, her hands clasped in supplication.
The woman's gaze flickered, softening for a heartbeat before hardening into steel, "Atone in exile," she hissed, her voice a whip of scorn. "His seed dies with him, let that be your burden. Live with the ruin you've wrought, Kuru's pride crumbles beneath your feet!" Her words lashed out, final and unyielding, her hands stroking Kindama's still face as she turned from them.
Keshav let his spear fall, the clatter loud in the hush, "Exile?" he muttered, his voice thick with disbelief. "Prince, this is a nightmare. A curse like that, what do we even do?" His hands ran through his hair, his sharp eyes dulled by shock, a warrior grappling with a foe he couldn't strike.
Ravi's growl rumbled deep, "Nightmare doesn't cover it, Keshav," he said, his tone gruff and heavy. "Cursed over a deer, Pandu, we're loyal, but this is a pit deeper than the Ganga's bed. How do we climb out?" His spear sank into the earth, his broad frame sagging as the reality settled.
Pandu's silence engulfed the forest, a void that swallowed sound and light, the mist coiling thicker around them, the oak's branches looming like a gallows overhead. His hands remained buried in the dirt, his bowstring slack far behind, the arrow's path a doom irrevocably sealed. Kunti's hold tightened, her breath a lifeline against his collapse, Madri's plea a fading echo, the curse a shadow that ended Sub Arc 1 in a fall from glory.
The forest stood witness, its depths a tomb for Pandu's pride, the mist a shroud for Kuru's fading