Madri stood in a meadow ringed by tall pines, her bare feet sinking into the soft grass, the air cool and still under a gray dawn. Her green sari, freshly washed, hung smooth and bright against her frame, a rare spot of color after months of fading in the wild. She twisted her hands together, her voice trembling as she faced Kunti, her arms empty while the sounds of three boys playing nearby filled the quiet. "Please, Kunti," she said, her tone soft but edged with a plea, her dark eyes wide and searching. "You've got three now. Three sons, strong and perfect. I've got nothing. Share it with me, just once. Let me have this."
Kunti sat on a weathered stump, her crimson sari patched at the hem from a year of wear, nursing Arjuna as he tugged at her with small, insistent hands. Yudhishthira knelt a few feet away, sorting stones into neat piles, his small brow furrowed with concentration, while Bhima wrestled a log, his grunts loud as he rolled it over the grass, his dark curls bouncing with each heave. Kunti looked up at Madri, her dark eyes softening, though her hands stayed steady around Arjuna. "You're asking a lot, Madri," she said, her voice calm but measured, like a river smoothing over stones. "This isn't a small thing to share."
Pandu leaned against a pine, his tunic frayed at the collar, his gray eyes tired from a sleepless night tending a feverish Bhima. He shifted his weight, the bark scraping his shoulder, and nodded slowly, his voice gentle as he spoke. "She's got a point, Kunti. Three's a fine number, but Madri's empty-handed. We're a family, aren't we? Balance it out. Give her something too." He brushed a hand through his hair, his faint smile warm but weary, his gaze flicking between the two women.
Madri stepped closer, her green sari catching on a pine needle, and she tugged it free with a quick jerk, her voice rising slightly, trembling still. "I'm not trying to take anything from you, Kunti. I've watched you call them—Yudhishthira, Bhima, Arjuna. I've seen what it does, how it works. I just want one. One chance to hold my own. Please." Her hands clenched at her sides, her breath hitching, and she looked away, her eyes glistening as the gray sky lightened faintly above.
Kunti shifted Arjuna in her lap, his soft coos quieting as he settled, and she sighed, a small, thoughtful sound. "I've never said no to family, Madri," she said, her tone firm but kind, her dark eyes steady on the other woman. "You've been patient. I'll give you this. One call, one child. That's fair." She stood, brushing grass from her crimson sari, and handed Arjuna to Pandu with a careful nod, her hands steady despite the weight of her words.
Pandu took the boy, cradling him close, his grin breaking through the tiredness in his face. "That's it, then! Good on you, Kunti. Madri, you'll see—this is something special." He rocked Arjuna gently, his gray eyes brightening as he glanced at Yudhishthira and Bhima, then back to Madri. "One more for us, eh? A proper family now."
Madri's breath caught, her hands unclenching as she stepped forward, her voice breaking with relief. "Thank you, Kunti. Thank you. I won't forget this, I swear." She wiped at her eyes, her green sari swaying as she turned to face the meadow, her shoulders straightening, a flicker of hope cutting through her usual guarded edge.
Kunti moved to the center of the meadow, the grass brushing her ankles, her crimson sari patched but bold against the gray dawn. She took a deep breath, her hands lifting as she began to chant, her tone firm yet kind, calling for one Ashvin, the twin gods of dawn and healing. The words flowed out, steady and clear, and the meadow grew still, the pines standing silent as the breeze faded to nothing.
Pandu shifted Arjuna in his arms, his voice low and warm as he watched. "Here we go again. Fourth time, Kunti. You're a marvel, you know that?" He leaned against the pine, his tunic catching on the bark, his grin widening as Yudhishthira looked up from his stones, his small hands pausing.
Madri stood beside him, her green sari fluttering faintly, her voice soft but eager. "What'll it be this time, Pandu? Another strong one? Or something different?" She glanced at Kunti, then at the boys, her fingers twisting together, her breath quickening as the sky began to shift.
The gray dawn blushed pink, a soft glow spreading across the clouds, and birds erupted from the pines, trilling in chorus, their wings flashing against the light. A silver shimmer bathed the grass, gentle and warm, and a voice spoke from above, quiet but clear, like a melody on the wind. "You summon me, woman of grace," it said, and Pandu's grin softened, his gray eyes widening as he held Arjuna closer. "I am an Ashvin, bringer of dawn's light. I grant you a son, marked by grace and charm." A gentle breeze swept through, carrying the scent of pine and dew, and Nakula emerged, his cry soft and melodic, a sound that danced through the meadow like a flute's note. His beauty struck even as an infant—his skin fair and glowing, his eyes bright with a quiet, captivating spark.
The heavens sighed, a blessing drifting down with the breeze: "Grace and charm shall mark him, a light among men." The silver light pulsed once, then settled, the meadow glowing with a quiet splendor, the pines standing tall and still around it.
Madri gasped, dropping to her knees beside Kunti, her hands trembling as she scooped Nakula up, her tears falling fast onto his soft curls. "Oh, he's perfect," she whispered, her voice breaking as she rocked him, her green sari bunching around her arms. "So perfect. Kunti, look at him—look what you've given me!" She pressed her cheek to his, her sobs mixing with laughter, her fingers tracing his tiny, flawless face.
Kunti stepped back, her hands steady as she brushed her crimson sari, her smile small but warm. "He's yours, Madri," she said, her voice clear and kind, cutting through the birdsong. "The Ashvin's gift. Grace for our family." She glanced at Nakula, her dark eyes softening, then turned to Pandu, her expression steady despite the ache of giving away a call.
Pandu shifted Arjuna to one shoulder, his faint smile growing as he stepped forward, his voice gentle but bright. "Grace, eh? Look at that, Kunti. Four sons now, and this one's a beauty!" He bent, peering at Nakula in Madri's arms, his gray eyes glinting with pride. "You've done us proud again. Madri, he's yours, but he's ours too, isn't he?"
Madri nodded, her tears slowing as she rocked Nakula, her voice thick with thanks. "Ours, yes. But mine to hold, Pandu. Mine to love first. Kunti, I… I can't thank you enough. I won't ever forget this." She looked up, her green sari bright against the grass, her smile wide and unguarded for once, her shadow soft in the silver light.
Yudhishthira tilted his head, his stones forgotten as he toddled over, his small voice curious. "Pretty," he said, pointing at Nakula, his hands clapping together with a sharp little sound. Bhima paused, staring from his log, his dark curls bouncing as he sat back, his grunts quieting as he watched, wide-eyed and still.
Pandu laughed, a soft, warm sound, setting Arjuna down beside Yudhishthira as he straightened. "Pretty's right, little man! Four of you now—justice, strength, valor, and grace. What a crew!" He clapped his hands, his tunic fraying further at the seam, his grin fierce and joyful. "Kunti, one more left, isn't there? We're nearly there!"
Kunti's smile faded slightly, her hand brushing Arjuna's head as he cooed beside her, her voice steady but thoughtful. "One more, Pandu. But let's take this one in first. Nakula's here, and Madri's happy. That's enough for today." She glanced at the sky, the pink blush fading into a soft gold, the birds settling back into the pines.
Madri's arms tightened around Nakula, her voice soft but firm as she looked at Pandu. "She's right. Let me have this day, Pandu. He's so small, so light—I want to hold him a while before you start counting again." She rocked him gently, her green sari brushing the grass, her eyes fixed on Nakula's glowing face, her tension easing into quiet joy.
Pandu nodded, his grin softening as he sat beside Yudhishthira, pulling Arjuna into his lap. "Fair enough, Madri. A day for you, then. He's a fine one, no rush." He ruffled Yudhishthira's hair, his voice warm and easy. "Come on, boys, let's get back to the fire. Madri, bring him along when you're ready."
Madri stayed where she was, her green sari pooling around her as she rocked Nakula, her whisper barely audible. "You're mine, little one. Mine." She smiled, her tears dry now, her shadow blending with the meadow's glow as Pandu led the boys away, their chatter fading into the pines.
Kunti watched them go, her crimson sari settling around her, the meadow growing quiet except for the faint trill of birds and Nakula's soft coos. She pressed a hand to her chest, her breath steady, her dark eyes tracing the silver light that lingered on the grass. Nakula's melodic cry echoed in her mind, gentle and bright, and she felt a quiet pride settle beside her other sons' gifts. Four now, each a piece of their future, and one more to come—she knew it, a certainty that steadied her heart. She started after Pandu, her steps firm, the meadow glowing with Nakula's quiet splendor as the dawn deepened into day.