Satyavati led Dhritarashtra into a small private chamber, her steps quick and sharp, her silver hair glinting under the low lamplight as she pushed the door shut with a firm thud. The room was cozy, silks draped over low benches, the faint hum of the Ganga seeping through the stone walls like a whisper you couldn't quite catch. Gandhari followed, her indigo sari brushing the floor, her blindfold stark against her pale face, her hands folded as she settled near a wooden table. Dhritarashtra didn't sit, his dark tunic swaying as he paced, his staff tapping a restless beat, his scowl deep from Satyavati's sharp words about Pandu's delay stirring the court.
She turned to face him, planting her hands on her hips, her voice crisp and commanding. "Pandu's camp's gone quiet—no word, no heirs—and the court's buzzing about it. He's heirless out there, Dhritarashtra. Build your house now, or they'll keep looking west." Her sharp eyes locked on him, her silks rustling faintly, her presence filling the small space. Dhritarashtra's staff thumped the floor, a hard, angry sound, his fierce voice rising fast. "They'd crown him silent over me shouting! He's not even here, and they still want him!" His shoulders shook, his blind eyes wide, his frustration spilling out like water from a cracked jug.
Gandhari stepped closer, her sari whispering against the stone, her voice soft but steady. "Our sons will rise, my lord—our time's coming, you'll see." Her hand hovered near his arm, her calm a thin thread trying to hold back his storm. Satyavati's gaze didn't soften, her tone cutting through the air. "Time's not waiting for you to feel ready. Pandu's silence is weakness—his camp's empty of children, and that's your chance. Get heirs, Dhritarashtra, or his shadow grows longer." She pointed to the table, where a small scroll lay, its edges curling, a half-sketched family tree scratched in black ink.
Dhritarashtra's pacing quickened, his staff swinging out to strike a bench, the wood cracking with a sharp snap that made Gandhari flinch. "Weakness?" he snarled, his voice fierce and loud. "He's out there, doing nothing, and they still cheer him—while I'm here, blind, fighting every step!" His fingers tightened around the staff, his tunic flapping as he turned, his rage bouncing off the walls. Gandhari's hand found his arm this time, her touch light, her voice gentle. "He's not fighting, my lord—we are. Our sons will make them cheer you."
The lamps flickered, their dim light casting long shadows over the silks, the Ganga's hum growing louder, a restless undertone to the room's rising heat. Satyavati crossed her arms, her sharp eyes glinting, her voice firm. "They cheer what they know—Pandu's got two wives and no heirs yet. You've got Gandhari—make it count, or they'll keep dreaming of him." Her words landed hard, the air bending under their weight. Dhritarashtra's staff tapped fast, his fierce tone biting back. "Dreaming? They're dreaming of a king who's not even here—I'm the one stuck with the mess!"
Gandhari moved closer, her hand resting on his arm now, her voice soft but sure. "You're not stuck, my lord—you're leading. Our house will grow, and they'll see it." Her blindfold hid her eyes, but her words carried a quiet strength, a lifeline in his storm. Satyavati's eyes narrowed, her sharp voice pressing on. "Leading's nothing without a line to follow it. Pandu's silence means he's faltering—your sons can bury that dream of his, but you've got to start." She leaned forward, her silks shifting, her presence a steady push against his fury.
Dhritarashtra spun, his staff striking the bench again, another crack splitting the wood, his snarl loud and raw. "Bury it? He's got the court in his pocket—silent, childless, and they still think he's golden!" His blind eyes glared at nothing, his pacing frantic, the room shrinking under his anger. Satyavati's gaze hardened, her voice sharp as a whip. "Then fill your pockets instead—Gandhari's here, ready. Heirs, Dhritarashtra—that's what shuts them up." She stood taller, her silver hair catching the light, her words a challenge he couldn't dodge.
The Ganga's hum pulsed through the walls, the lamps burning low, shadows stretching as Dhritarashtra's staff slowed, his breath hissing out. "Ready?" he muttered, his voice fierce but quieter, his fingers flexing. "He's ready—out there with his wives, and I'm the one begging for sons!" He stopped pacing, his shadow looming over the table, his bitterness a thick cloud. Gandhari's hand tightened on his arm, her soft voice steady. "Not begging, my lord—building. We'll have ours, and they'll look to you." Her sari glowed faintly in the dimness, her calm a fragile shield holding his rage at bay.
Satyavati stepped back, her sharp eyes glinting, her voice firm but low. "Building's right—heirs are your wall, Dhritarashtra. Pandu's got nothing to show yet, and you can beat him to it." She folded her arms again, her silks settling, her plan clear in the way she stood. Dhritarashtra's staff tapped once, his snarl fading into a growl. "Beat him? He's not even here, and they're still his—how's that fair?" His shoulders slumped a bit, his blind eyes narrowing, the envy simmering hot under his skin.
The door creaked open, Vidura slipping in, his plain tunic dusty from the corridors, his dark eyes steady as he caught the tail of Dhritarashtra's words. He stepped into the lamplight, his voice calm and clear. "Fair or not, my lord, the nobles are murmuring—Pandu's silence looks like failure to some now." He folded his hands behind him, his presence quiet but solid, like a rock in a rushing stream. Satyavati turned, her sharp gaze softening just a touch, her voice low. "Vidura—good. What's this about failure? Speak up."
Dhritarashtra's head snapped toward Vidura, his staff thumping the floor, his fierce voice rising again. "Failure? They're saying that, and still waiting for him—while I'm here with nothing?" His scowl twisted, his fingers flexing, the room's tension shifting under Vidura's arrival. Gandhari's hand stayed on his arm, her soft voice steady. "Not nothing, my lord—you've got us, and more's coming." Vidura nodded, his dark eyes calm, his tone even. "They're guessing, my lord—some think he's faltering, others think he's hiding. We're watching it, keeping it steady."
Satyavati's sharp eyes flicked between them, her voice firm. "Guessing's enough to stir trouble—Vidura, what're they saying out there?" She leaned against the table, her silks rustling, her presence pulling the focus as Dhritarashtra's staff tapped a slow, angry beat. Vidura stepped closer, his hands unfolding, his voice clear. "They're saying his camp's too quiet—no heirs, no return. Some call it weakness, but it's loud enough to keep them talking." Dhritarashtra's growl rumbled low, his bitterness flaring anew, the chamber's air thick with the fading echo of Pandu's name.