The private chamber hummed with tension, the single lamp on the wooden table flickering like it was about to give up, casting jittery shadows over the silks draped on the benches. Dhritarashtra stood near the table, his dark tunic stretched tight across his shoulders, his staff tapping a slow, angry rhythm against the stone floor, his scowl fixed from Vidura's report of noble murmurs. Vidura faced him, his plain tunic still, his dark eyes calm and steady, like he could see through the storm brewing in the king. Satyavati lingered by Gandhari, her silver hair glinting faintly, her sharp eyes watching as she leaned close to the queen, the air thick with voices that rose and fell like a restless tide.
Vidura stepped forward, his boots quiet on the stone, his voice measured and clear. "Rule what's here, my lord—let his silence fade. Pandu's not back, no heirs, no word—that's their problem, not yours." His hands folded behind him, his tone steady, like he was trying to thread a needle through a shaking cloth. Dhritarashtra's staff thumped harder, a sharp crack against the floor, his bitter voice cutting through fast. "They cling to him, heirless or not! I'm here, fighting, and they're still dreaming of him!" His blind eyes glared at nothing, his shoulders hunching, his frustration spilling out hot and loud.
Satyavati turned to Gandhari, her voice low and urgent, barely above a whisper. "Gandhari, heirs now—silence their doubts before they turn it all to Pandu." She rested a hand on the queen's arm, her sharp eyes glinting in the dim light, her silks rustling as she leaned closer. Gandhari nodded, her blindfold stark against her pale face, her soft voice firm. "We'll have them, mother—our sons will come soon, I know it." Her hand brushed the table's edge, her calm a quiet thread weaving through the room's tangle.
Dhritarashtra's staff swung out, tapping the bench he'd cracked earlier, his bitter tone rising again. "Dreaming? They don't dream—they wait! He's out there, silent, and I'm the one they blame for every stumble!" His pacing started up, slow and heavy, his tunic flapping as he moved, his glare darkening the air around him. Vidura didn't flinch, his voice staying calm, a steady hum against the king's storm. "They wait because they don't know, my lord. Focus here—build your rule strong, and their waiting fades. Division splits us if you let it."
The lamp sputtered, its flame dipping low, shadows shifting over the stone walls as the Ganga's faint hum seeped through, a restless undertone to the growing strain. Satyavati's grip tightened on Gandhari's arm, her low voice pressing harder. "He's right—your sons will stop their waiting, Gandhari. Pandu's got nothing yet—make sure we do." Her sharp eyes flicked to Dhritarashtra, her plan firm in the way she stood, her silks settling as she spoke. Gandhari's hand rested on the table now, her soft voice steady. "We will, mother—our line's growing, they'll see it soon."
Dhritarashtra's staff thumped again, his fierce voice biting back. "Growing? His shadow's growing—I'm king, and they still look past me to him!" His pacing quickened, his blind eyes wide, his bitterness a tide crashing against Vidura's calm words. Vidura took a step closer, his hands unfolding, his tone even and clear. "They look because he's a mystery, my lord—not because he's better. Rule what you've got—make it solid, and his silence won't matter." His dark eyes held steady, his advice a fragile thread trembling under the weight of Dhritarashtra's rage.
Satyavati pulled Gandhari a step aside, her voice dropping lower, urgent and sharp. "No delays, Gandhari—heirs are what hold this court. Pandu's quiet, childless—your sons can drown that out." Her silver hair caught the lamp's flicker, her sharp eyes narrowing as she whispered, her plan unfolding in the corner. Gandhari nodded again, her sari glowing faintly, her soft voice sure. "I feel it, mother—our time's close. They'll talk of us, not him." Her blindfold hid her expression, but her words carried a quiet strength, a counterpoint to the king's storm.
The Ganga's hum pulsed louder, the lamp's light wavering, shadows stretching as Dhritarashtra spun, his staff tapping fast. "Talk of us?" he snapped, his bitter voice loud. "They talk of him—silent, heirless, and still the golden son! I'm here, and it's not enough!" His shoulders shook, his glare darkening, the room's tension coiling tight around Vidura's steady thread. Vidura's hands folded again, his voice calm and firm. "It's enough if you make it, my lord. They'll talk of what they see—give them your strength, not his shadow."
Satyavati straightened, her sharp eyes glinting, her low voice cutting through. "Vidura's got the right of it—strength's in your line, Dhritarashtra. Gandhari's ready—build it, and they'll stop looking west." Her silks rustled as she moved, her presence a steady push beside Vidura's quiet resolve. Dhritarashtra's staff paused, his bitter growl low and rough. "Ready? He's ready—out there with his wives, and I'm the one scrambling for scraps!" His blind eyes narrowed, his fingers flexing, his envy a fire burning hot under the surface.
Gandhari stepped closer to him, her hand brushing his arm, her soft voice gentle but sure. "Not scraps, my lord—our sons will be more than that. They'll see you, not him." Her sari swayed as she stood still, her calm a thin shield against his rising tide. Vidura nodded, his dark eyes steady, his tone even. "She's right—they'll see what's here, my lord. Pandu's silence is his own mess—don't let it split us." His words hung there, a fragile lifeline, trembling as Dhritarashtra's staff tapped a slow, angry beat.
The lamp flickered again, its light dipping, the shadows growing longer as the Ganga's hum filled the quiet spaces. Satyavati's sharp voice rose, her hand still on Gandhari's arm. "No more waiting, Gandhari—your heirs silence their doubts, and his fade. That's the plan." Her eyes locked on Dhritarashtra, her tone firm, her silks settling as she stood tall. Dhritarashtra's staff thumped once, his bitter voice quieter but sharp. "Fade? His shadow's everywhere—I'm king, and they still want him!" His shoulders slumped a bit, his rage simmering, the divide stretching wider under Vidura's steady gaze.
A sharp knock rattled the door, quick and loud, a noble stepping in, his emerald silk tunic creased from pacing the halls, his voice urgent. "My lord—merchants are at it again, shouting about taxes and Pandu's delay! They're clogging the gates!" He bowed fast, his eyes darting between them, the chamber's tension snapping outward. Dhritarashtra's scowl twisted, his staff thumping hard, his bitter voice rising. "More trouble—fine, I'll deal with it!" He turned, his tunic swinging, his focus shifting as Vidura watched, his calm thread trembling but holding, Satyavati's sharp gaze following him out.