Dhritarashtra turned, his steps stiff and heavy, guided by a servant as the crowd's cheers thundered behind.
His staff struck the stone with a steady rhythm, Gandhari's hand warm on his arm as they crossed the threshold.
The palace doors loomed like a cavern's maw, swallowing them whole, the courtyard's roar fading into echoes.
The banquet hall glowed with celestial fire, tables laden with spiced meat piled high as mountains.
Wine flowed in rivers of crimson ambrosia, goblets glinting under banners of crimson and gold swaying aloft.
Laughter buzzed through the air like a storm, clinking cups a hymn to the night's wild revelry.
Nobles thronged the hall in silks of sapphire and emerald, a court of stars shimmering in mortal guise.
Warriors sprawled across benches, armor cast aside, their voices weaving tales beneath flickering torchlight.
Servants darted through the chaos, trays heavy with bounty, the air thick with cumin and saffron's embrace.
Dhritarashtra sat enthroned at the hall's head, his dark tunic stark against the gilded seat's radiance.
His staff rested beside him, jade and ebony gleaming, a silent witness to the storm brewing within.
Gandhari settled at his side, her blindfold a stark banner, her indigo sari a quiet tempest amid the feast.
A bard strode forth, his lute strung with silver threads, his crimson cloak flaring like a phoenix reborn.
He plucked a chord, sharp and resonant, the notes rising to hush the hall's raucous din.
His voice boomed forth, a thunderous chant, singing of battles waged beyond the mortal sun.
"Pandu's sword carved a path none could withstand!" he cried, his words a blade slashing through silence.
"Mountains crumbled before his wrath, tribes knelt, his name a flame searing the western skies!"
The hall erupted in cheers, shaking the beams, goblets thrust high in a tide of fervent worship.
Nobles roared their approval, voices blending into a chorus, toasting Pandu's name with unshakable zeal.
A lord in emerald silk leaped up, his gray beard trembling, his shout a war cry echoing off stone.
"Pandu's might gilds Kuru's star!" he bellowed, his goblet spilling, red drops staining the floor like blood.
Dhritarashtra's fingers dug into the throne's wood, the grain bending beneath his crushing grip.
His blind face hardened into a mask of fury, Pandu's name a whip lashing his fragile pride.
His lips parted, a low growl escaping, "Why him, Gandhari? Why not me?" he murmured.
Gandhari's hand rested on his, warm and steady, her touch a thread of light piercing his darkness.
"You're here, my king," she replied, her voice warm, "that's enough for now, your time will come."
Her words flowed soft and sure, a balm against his rage, though the hall's roars drowned her vow.
The bard sang on, his lute a tempest, each note stitching Pandu's valor into an immortal tapestry.
"Tribes shattered beneath his heel," he chanted, "their chiefs broken, their banners dust in his wake!"
Nobles pounded tables, their cheers a gale, the air thick with the weight of Pandu's boundless glory.
Dhritarashtra's grip tightened, the wood creaking, his chest heaving with a fury he couldn't voice.
His staff trembled beside him, untouched yet alive, its jade tip glinting with the fire of his envy.
Gandhari's fingers lingered, a fragile anchor, her presence steady as the hall spun into chaos.
A noble in sapphire silk raised his goblet high, his voice piercing, "To Pandu, Kuru's unconquered son!"
The toast swept through like a wave, each cheer a stone piling onto Dhritarashtra's burdened soul.
His teeth ground together, jaw locked tight, the mask of fury cracking under the relentless tide.
Servants wove through the throng, refilling cups, their steps swift in the feast's exultant storm.
A warrior laughed, his tale bold and loud, recounting Pandu's strike that felled a western titan.
The hall thrummed with life, Pandu's name a chant, a celestial hymn leaving Dhritarashtra in shadow.
Gandhari leaned closer, her breath soft and warm, her hand pressing harder against his trembling fist.
"You are my king," she whispered, fierce and low, "this hall will sing for you, in time, I swear it."
Her blindfold gleamed, a vow unbroken, though his bitterness surged, unyielding as granite.
Dhritarashtra's fingers clawed deeper into the wood, splinters piercing, blood welling beneath his nails.
His blind eyes stared ahead, unseeing yet burning, Pandu's shadow a specter he could not slay.
The bard's voice soared, a final triumphant flourish, "Pandu, the blade that carves Kuru's destiny!"
The crowd exploded, a thunderous roar, their fervor shaking the banners high above the feast.
A noble in crimson silk staggered forward, wine sloshing, his laugh a spark in the heated air.
"Pandu's latest kill!" he crowed, spilling his cup, red staining the stone like a battlefield's echo.
Dhritarashtra's scowl deepened, a storm brewing, the noble's mirth a dagger twisting in his side.
Gandhari's touch held firm, unwavering and strong, her warmth a shield against his rising wrath.
The hall pulsed, a sea of revelry, Pandu's name a chant that drowned all other sound.
Footsteps sliced through the din, soft yet resolute, a calm presence cutting the chaotic tide.
Vidura entered, his tunic plain and unadorned, his dark eyes steady, a sage stepping into the fray.
His shadow fell across the hall, a quiet force, the air shifting as he approached the throne.