Kunti stood on a cliff overlooking a valley, her boots planted firm on the rocky edge, the evening wind whipping her crimson sari around her legs. The fabric, patched and worn from a year in the wild, snapped like a flag, and she brushed her dark hair from her face, her expression set as she prepared to chant once more. Below, the valley stretched wide and shadowed, its trees swaying faintly in the fading light, and the air carried a cool bite, sharp with the scent of pine. Madri's joy with Nakula still lingered in her mind, a bright spark from days ago, and she took a steadying breath, her hands lifting as twilight deepened around her.
Pandu sat cross-legged near the cliff's edge, his tunic threadbare at the elbows, bouncing Nakula on his knee with a gentle rhythm. The boy giggled, his fair curls bouncing, his tiny hands patting Pandu's chest, and Pandu's gray eyes glinted with a tired but warm smile. Yudhishthira knelt nearby, stacking twigs into a neat pile, his small fingers precise as he hummed a tune under his breath. Bhima napped on a blanket a few feet away, his dark curls splayed across the wool, his chest rising and falling with soft snores, while Arjuna sat beside him, batting at a moth with quick, eager swipes, his giggles bright in the dusk. Madri cradled Nakula close when Pandu handed him back, her green sari bright against the gray stone, her eyes soft but pleading as she looked at Kunti, her voice trembling with hope.
"You've given me so much already, Kunti," Madri said, her tone soft as she rocked Nakula, his melodic coos blending with the wind. "I know I've asked before, but… one more. Just one more. Nakula's perfect, but I'd love another. Please." She pressed her cheek to Nakula's head, her smile wide, her tension gone, replaced by a quiet, eager longing.
Kunti glanced at her, her hands pausing mid-air, her voice steady but kind, cutting through the evening's hush. "You've got Nakula, Madri. He's yours, and he's enough, isn't he? I've only one call left." She shifted her weight, her crimson sari whipping harder as the wind picked up, her dark eyes searching Madri's face, softening at the plea she found there.
Pandu looked up, shifting Nakula to his other knee, his voice gentle but firm as he nodded at Kunti. "She's right to ask, Kunti. Nakula's a beauty, but one more wouldn't hurt. Five's a good number—balances us out proper. You've got it in you, I know you do." He bounced Nakula again, his faint smile warm, his gray eyes tired but curious, glinting in the dimming light.
Madri's breath hitched, her arms tightening around Nakula as she stepped closer, her green sari brushing the cliff's edge. "I don't mean to push, Kunti. I'm so grateful for him, you've no idea. But Pandu's got a point—five's perfect. One more, for me, for us. I'd cherish him, I swear." Her voice broke slightly, her eyes glistening, and she rocked Nakula faster, her smile trembling but bright.
Kunti sighed, a small, thoughtful sound, her hands lowering for a moment as she looked between them. "Five," she said, testing the word, her tone steady despite the wind tugging at her. "Four's a family already, but five… All right, Madri. One more, for you. The last Ashvin, then. That's it." She lifted her hands again, her crimson sari settling briefly before the wind caught it anew, her face set with resolve as she began to chant.
Pandu's smile widened, his voice warm and low as he shifted Nakula in his arms. "That's my Kunti. Fifth time's the charm, eh? Let's see what this one brings." He leaned back against the cliff, his tunic catching on the rough stone, his gray eyes fixed on her with quiet wonder.
Madri's eyes brightened, her voice soft but eager as she cradled Nakula closer. "Thank you, Kunti. Again, thank you. I'll never stop saying it. What'll he be, do you think? Another beauty like Nakula?" She glanced at Pandu, then back to Kunti, her green sari vivid against the dusk, her breath quickening as the chant rose.
Kunti's voice steadied, the mantra flowing out, firm and clear, calling the second Ashvin, twin to the first. The words hummed in the air, a rhythm that matched the valley's distant rustle, and twilight deepened, the sky bruising purple as stars flared one by one, sharp and bright. A low hum rose, soft but growing, vibrating through the cliff, and Pandu's grin softened, his hands stilling on Nakula as he watched.
The sky pulsed, a comet streaking across it, its tail a silver thread against the dusk, and a voice murmured from above, quiet but piercing, like a whisper carried on the wind. "You summon me, woman of steadfast heart," it said, and Kunti's hands lifted higher, her crimson sari whipping wild now. "I am the second Ashvin, keeper of dusk's wisdom. I grant you a son, wise beyond his years." A gentle glow spread, stars flaring brighter, and Sahadeva emerged, his cry a quiet note, a sound that settled over the cliff like a hush. His gaze pierced, deep and uncanny even as an infant, his skin fair but shadowed with a knowing calm.
The heavens murmured, a blessing drifting down with the hum: "Wisdom beyond years is his, a mind to pierce the dark." The comet faded, the sky pulsing once more, and the cliff bathed in dusk's glow, a serene light that softened the stone and grass around them.
Pandu rose, his breath catching as he stepped forward, his tunic threadbare and loose as he reached for Sahadeva. "Another one," he whispered, lifting the boy with careful hands, marveling at his calm, his gray eyes wide with quiet awe. "Look at him, Kunti. So still, so… wise already. Sahadeva, that's his name. Wisdom's son." He rocked him gently, his smile faint but deep, his voice thick as he turned to Madri.
Madri pressed Nakula close, her green sari bright against her chest, her smile wide and soft as she stepped beside Pandu. "He's beautiful," she said, her voice breaking with joy, her eyes glistening as she looked at Sahadeva. "So different from Nakula, but just as perfect. Kunti, you've given me two. Two sons." She leaned over, her tears falling onto Nakula's curls, her fingers brushing Sahadeva's cheek, her tension gone, replaced by a radiant warmth.
Kunti stepped back, her hands clasping together, her crimson sari settling as the wind eased. "They're yours, Madri," she said, her voice clear and steady, cutting through the dusk's hush. "The Ashvins' gifts—grace and wisdom. Our family's complete now." She glanced at Sahadeva, then Nakula, her dark eyes softening, her breath steady despite the weight of her final call.
Yudhishthira looked up, his twigs scattering as he stood, his small voice curious. "Quiet," he said, tilting his head at Sahadeva, his hands brushing dirt from his tunic. Bhima stirred on the blanket, blinking awake with a grunt, his dark curls tousled as he stared, while Arjuna giggled, batting at the moth again, his sharp eyes flicking to the new baby with a quick grin.
Pandu laughed, a soft, warm sound, shifting Sahadeva to one arm as he ruffled Yudhishthira's hair. "Quiet's right, little man! Five of you now—justice, strength, valor, grace, and wisdom. What a set!" He turned to Kunti, his grin fierce and proud, his gray eyes glinting in the starlight. "Five, Kunti. You've done it. All five, like you promised."
Kunti's lips curved, a small, tired smile, her hands unclasping as she brushed her sari smooth. "Five," she said, her voice steady but soft, echoing his wonder. "That's all, Pandu. No more calls, no more chances. This is our circle." She glanced at the boys, her dark eyes tracing each one, a quiet pride settling deep in her chest.
Madri's arms tightened around Nakula, her voice gentle as she rocked him, looking at Sahadeva in Pandu's arms. "No more? Then this is enough, Kunti. More than enough. They're mine, both of them, and I'll love them every day for it." She smiled, her green sari brushing the cliff as she stepped closer, her eyes fixed on Sahadeva's calm gaze, her joy bright and unguarded.
Pandu nodded, his grin softening as he sat back down, pulling Arjuna into his lap beside Sahadeva. "Enough, aye. A full hand of sons. Let's get them down to the fire, Kunti. It's getting cold up here, and Bhima's waking up grumpy." He chuckled, nudging Bhima with his foot, the boy rolling over with a sleepy growl.
Madri followed, her green sari trailing as she cradled Nakula, her voice a whisper as she spoke to him. "You've got a brother now, little one. Two of us for you." She glanced at Sahadeva, her smile lingering, her shadow blending with the dusk as Pandu led the boys away, their chatter fading into the valley below.
Kunti watched them go, her crimson sari still against her now, the cliff quiet except for the faint hum of the stars and Sahadeva's soft breath. She pressed a hand to her chest, her breath steady, her dark eyes tracing the comet's fading path. Sahadeva's quiet cry echoed in her mind, serene and deep, and she felt a calm certainty settle beside her other sons' gifts. Five now, the Pandavas complete, each a piece of their destiny—she knew it, a truth that steadied her heart. She started after Pandu, her steps firm, the cliff bathed in dusk's glow as the night deepened around her.