Vidura slipped into the council chamber late that night, his plain tunic streaked with dust from the throne room, his dark eyes sharp despite the long hours. The messenger's words about Pandu's silent camp still buzzed in his head, like a riddle he couldn't quite piece together. The room was quiet, lamps burning low on the walls, casting a dim, flickering glow over the oak table cluttered with scrolls. Bhishma sat near the head, his silver hair dull in the shadows, his big hands resting on a map, his gray eyes lifting as Vidura approached. The air felt thick, heavy with tension and the weight of questions no one could answer yet.
He pulled a chair closer, the legs scraping softly against the stone floor, and sat across from Bhishma, his voice low but firm. "That rumor from the west, Bhishma—Pandu's camp gone quiet, no heirs, no word—it's stirring trouble. Silence from him breeds doubt, and we must watch." He unrolled a scroll, smoothing it flat with steady hands, his fingers brushing the edges as he glanced up. Bhishma leaned forward, his deep voice rumbling through the stillness. "You see it clear, Vidura—always do. What's it mean for us, this hush?" He tapped the map, his brow creasing, his broad shoulders hunching slightly.
Vidura traced a line from the western front, where Pandu was last known to be, his finger steady against the worn parchment. "It means the court's getting restless," he said, his tone even, like he was laying out a problem step by step. "No news, no children—they're starting to wonder why he's not back. We need eyes out there—border patrols, quiet ones, to catch any whispers before they turn loud." Bhishma nodded slowly, his hand rubbing his jaw, his gray eyes narrowing as he followed Vidura's mark. "Smart thinking—keep us ahead of it. Pandu's been gone too long for it to sit easy."
The lamps flickered, their wicks burning low, sending shadows dancing across the scattered scrolls, the air growing heavier with every word. Vidura kept his voice steady, his dark eyes fixed on Bhishma. "If he's delayed—or worse—it could shift things here. Dhritarashtra's already on edge, and the nobles are watching west instead of east. Patrols give us answers, keep us ready." Bhishma grunted, his deep voice low and solid. "You're right—send them out, Vidura. Quiet like you said. We can't sit blind while they murmur."
A soft creak broke the quiet, the chamber door edging open just enough for a shadow to slip through—Dhritarashtra, his dark tunic blending into the gloom, his staff tapping a slow, sharp rhythm against the frame. He'd lingered after the throne room, drawn by their voices, his blind eyes wide with a simmering anger that hadn't cooled. Vidura kept talking, his tone firm and unshaken. "We start at the river—small groups, moving west. If something's wrong, we'll know before the court spins it into chaos." Bhishma nodded again, his big hand clapping Vidura's shoulder, his voice deep. "Good—keep us steady, like always."
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped louder, a quick, hard thud against the doorframe, his low voice cutting through like a blade. "They're plotting for him still? You two, whispering about Pandu like he's the king here?" He stepped into the room, his shadow stretching long across the table, his fingers gripping the staff so tight his knuckles paled. Vidura turned, his dark eyes calm, not a flicker of surprise in them. "Not plotting, my lord—just watching. His silence is a risk we can't ignore." Bhishma stood, his broad frame filling the space, his deep voice steady. "Vidura's keeping us sharp, Dhritarashtra—nothing more."
The air thickened, the lamps casting a faint glow over Dhritarashtra's scowl, his staff tapping a fast, angry beat now. "Watching?" he said, his voice low and bitter, almost a growl. "They're all watching him—out there, doing nothing, and they still think he's better than me!" He took another step, his tunic brushing the table's edge, his shoulders tense like he might shove something over. Vidura folded his hands, his tone still even. "They think what they want, my lord—but we hold what's real. Patrols keep the borders safe, keep the court from tipping."
Bhishma crossed his arms, his gray eyes glinting in the dim light, his deep voice firm. "He's right—we're not praising Pandu, we're guarding you. Silence out west doesn't mean he's winning." Dhritarashtra's staff cracked the doorframe, a sharp snap that echoed through the chamber, his bitterness spilling out fast. "Guarding me? He's gone quiet—no heirs, no word—and they're still waiting for him to ride back and fix everything!" His blind eyes widened, his rage bubbling up, the room's stillness shattering under his weight.
Vidura didn't move, his voice staying steady, like a rock in a storm. "Waiting doesn't make it true, my lord. We send riders, we get facts—rumors don't rule if we don't let them." He leaned forward a bit, his hands resting on the scroll, his dark eyes holding Dhritarashtra's unseen glare. Bhishma grunted, his deep voice low. "Vidura's got the sense of it—patrols settle this, keep the nobles from dreaming up nonsense." He shifted his weight, his big frame a quiet wall beside Vidura, his trust clear in the way he stood.
Dhritarashtra paced a step, his staff tapping hard, his low voice dripping with envy. "Facts? They don't care about facts—they see him out there, silent or not, and I'm the one stuck here, scrambling!" His shoulders shook, his shadow swinging across the table, his bitterness a fire that wouldn't die down. Vidura's gaze didn't waver, his tone firm but calm. "You're not scrambling, my lord—you're ruling. We watch west so you don't have to. That's strength, not weakness." The words hung there, simple and solid, a lifeline in the growing dark.
The lamps sputtered, one winking out, the chamber dimming as shadows swallowed the edges of the room. Bhishma clapped Vidura's shoulder again, his grip steady, his deep voice rumbling. "He's your anchor, Dhritarashtra—listen to him. This quiet from Pandu's trouble, but we'll handle it." Dhritarashtra's staff slowed, his breath hissing out, his low voice bitter but quieter. "Trouble? He's trouble—always has been, even when he's not here." He turned, his tunic brushing the wall, his rage simmering as he faced the door, the divide between them stretching wider.
The door creaked open fully, Satyavati stepping in, her silver hair glinting in the faint light, her sharp eyes cutting through the gloom like a knife. She stood tall, her silks rustling, her voice crisp and commanding. "What's this whispering about Pandu's delay? The court's buzzing—why's it stirring them up?" She planted her hands on her hips, her gaze flicking from Vidura to Bhishma, then landing hard on Dhritarashtra. Vidura rose, his scroll rolling shut, his dark eyes steady as he nodded to her. Bhishma stayed put, his deep voice low. "Vidura's sorting it—patrols, that's all."
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped once, sharp, his low voice a growl as he turned to her. "Sorting it? They're waiting for him out there, and I'm tired of hearing it!" His scowl twisted, his fingers flexing, the chamber's tension shifting under Satyavati's sharp stare. She stepped closer, her voice firm. "Then come with me, Dhritarashtra—I want a word, just you." She jerked her head toward the door, her eyes narrowing, her presence pulling him away as Vidura watched, his calm unshaken, the mystery of Pandu's silence hanging heavy in the air.