Vidura stepped into the council chamber, his plain tunic catching the dim glow of the low lamps, his dark eyes sharp after the scout's troubling report from the throne room. The air felt heavy, thick with suspicion and the echo of absent news, the oak table sprawled with maps that curled at the edges like they'd been forgotten. Bhishma sat near the head, his silver hair dull in the shadows, his big hands resting on a parchment, his gray eyes lifting as Vidura approached. Dhritarashtra paced near the far wall, his dark tunic swaying, his staff tapping a slow, restless beat, his scowl tight from the court's growing whispers. The chamber was quiet, the lamps flickering, the weight of Pandu's silence pressing down on them all.
Vidura pulled a chair closer, its legs scraping the stone, and sat across from Bhishma, his voice calm but firm. "That scout's news—no word from Pandu's camp—means we're blind out west. We need eyes out there, Bhishma—truth matters more than guesses." He unrolled a map, smoothing it flat with steady hands, his fingers tracing the western front where Pandu was last seen. Bhishma leaned forward, his deep voice rumbling through the stillness. "You're right—send them, Vidura. We can't sit here wondering." He tapped the map, his brow furrowing, his broad frame shifting with purpose.
Vidura nodded, his finger sliding to a river bend near the border, his tone even and clear. "Small groups—riders, not an army. Start here, move quiet, see what's real. The court's spinning tales already; we need facts before it gets worse." His dark eyes flicked up to Bhishma, steady as stone, his plan taking shape like a rope tossed into fog. Bhishma grunted, his deep voice low and solid. "Good thinking—quiet's best. Pandu's hush is stirring them up too much." He rubbed his jaw, his gray eyes narrowing as he followed Vidura's mark.
Dhritarashtra's staff thumped harder, a sharp thud against the floor, his gruff voice cutting in, rough and low. "Stirring them? They're turning on me—nobles, merchants, all of them—waiting for him like he's still king!" He stopped pacing, his shadow falling across the table, his fingers gripping the staff tight, his envy twisting into a raw, jagged edge. Vidura turned, his dark eyes calm, his voice steady. "They're waiting because they don't know, my lord—riders give us answers, keep them from jumping to him." Bhishma stood, his broad frame looming, his deep voice firm. "Vidura's got it—we need to see, not guess."
The lamps sputtered, their light dimming, shadows stretching over the maps as the air grew heavier. Dhritarashtra stepped closer, his staff slamming the table's edge, a dull dent marking the wood, his gruff voice rising. "They'd cheer his ghost over me! Silent, gone, and they still pick him—while I'm here, holding this wreck!" His blind eyes glinted, his shoulders tense, his rage peaking into something wild and desperate. Vidura didn't flinch, his hands resting on the map, his tone even. "They pick what they imagine, my lord—riders cut through that. Truth holds us, not their dreams."
Bhishma clapped a hand on Vidura's shoulder, his grip steady, his deep voice rumbling. "He's spot on—send them out, get it clear. The court's fracturing over nothing but whispers." He pointed to the river bend, his big finger brushing Vidura's mark, his trust solid in the way he stood. Dhritarashtra's staff tapped fast, his gruff voice a low snarl. "Nothing? It's not nothing—they're shifting, I can feel it! Every day he's quiet, they lean harder toward him!" His tunic creased as he leaned over the table, his envy a dark cloud swallowing the room's edges.
Vidura's voice stayed calm, his dark eyes locked on Dhritarashtra, his words measured. "Leaning doesn't mean falling, my lord—riders stop the slide. We find out what's real, and their loyalty stays here." He smoothed the map again, his fingers steady, his resolve firm like a root taking hold. Bhishma nodded, his deep voice low. "That's the way—facts over fancies. I'll pick the men myself, get them moving by dawn." He shifted his weight, his silver hair catching a flicker of light, his broad frame a quiet wall beside Vidura.
Dhritarashtra's staff dented the table again, a sharper thud, his gruff voice bitter and tight. "Dawn? They're already gone—nobles whispering, merchants moaning—all for him, and I'm the fool left shouting!" His blind eyes widened, his rage spiraling, his fingers flexing like he might snap the staff in half. Vidura leaned forward, his tone steady, a lifeline in the storm. "You're not shouting alone, my lord—we're here, and riders will quiet them. They can't cheer a ghost if we prove there's nothing to cheer." His dark eyes held firm, his plan rooting deeper despite the king's fury.
Bhishma crossed his arms, his deep voice rumbling. "Vidura's right—they're chasing shadows. Riders bring light, and we keep this court steady." His gray eyes glinted, his broad hands flexing, his support a solid weight behind Vidura's words. Dhritarashtra's staff slowed, his breath hissing out, his gruff voice dropping low, almost a mutter. "Light? They don't want light—they want him, silent or not, and I'm stuck with the dark." His shoulders slumped a bit, his envy curling into something heavy, brooding, the chamber's dimness matching his mood.
The lamps flickered, one winking out, the room sinking deeper into shadow as the maps lay still under Vidura's hands. He straightened, his voice calm and clear. "Dark's what we fix, my lord—riders go west, we see what's there. That's how we hold them." His dark eyes stayed steady, his resolve a quiet force against the fracturing court. Bhishma gave a short nod, his deep voice firm. "Dawn, then—small groups, like you said. We'll know soon enough." He turned to the map, his big frame a steady anchor, the plan set as Dhritarashtra's staff tapped a slow, resentful beat.
The chamber door burst open, a merchant stumbling in, his tunic patched with sweat and road dust, his breath ragged as he dropped to his knees. "My lord—Pandu's camp—it's abandoned!" he gasped, his voice hoarse from shouting. "Traders saw it—tents empty, fires cold, no sign of him!" Dhritarashtra's scowl snapped tight, his staff slamming the table one last time, a deep dent cracking the wood, his gruff voice a furious growl. "Abandoned? He's slipped away, and they'll love him more for it—while I'm buried here!" Vidura's hand lifted, his dark eyes steady as he turned to the merchant, his calm unshaken while Bhishma's gaze sharpened, wild rumors fueling Dhritarashtra's mounting fury.