Pandu walked a forest trail at dusk, his boots scuffing the dirt path, his tunic hanging loose and threadbare around his lean frame. The air hummed with crickets, their chirps weaving through the rustle of leaves under a purple sky, and his gray eyes shone bright, catching the last light as he watched Madri ahead. Her green sari swayed with each step, vivid against the fading day, and she cradled Nakula and Sahadeva in her arms, their soft coos mingling with the evening sounds. She laughed, a gentle, lilting sound as Nakula patted her cheek, and Pandu's steps slowed, his chest tightening with a warmth he hadn't felt in years.
Kunti followed a few paces behind, her crimson sari heavy with dew from brushing against the undergrowth, her dark hair damp and clinging to her neck. She guided Yudhishthira by the hand, his small fingers curled around hers, his steps steady as he hummed a quiet tune. Bhima stomped beside her, kicking pebbles with gleeful grunts, his dark curls bouncing, while Arjuna clung to her shoulder, his tiny hands tugging at her sari, his giggles bright against the dusk. The family moved together, whole and alive, their voices blending with the forest's song, and Pandu's heart swelled, a fragile, fleeting joy he couldn't name.
He paused, his bow slipping slightly in his grip, and called out, his voice husky with something raw. "Madri, wait a moment." She turned, her green sari catching on a fern, and smiled, her arms full with the twins, her dark eyes soft as she tilted her head. "What is it, Pandu?" she asked, her tone warm, teasing almost, as Nakula cooed louder, Sahadeva's quiet gaze fixed on his father.
Pandu's breath hitched, his bow dropping to the dirt with a soft thud as he stepped closer, his hands reaching for her. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he said, his voice low, trembling with a fire he'd buried since the curse. "The way you laugh with them… it's everything." He caught her arm, pulling her gently toward him, his lips brushing hers before she could react, her startled gasp lost against his mouth.
Madri stiffened, her arms tightening around the twins, her voice sharp with surprise. "Pandu, what are you—" Her words cut off as lightning flashed, a jagged bolt splitting the purple sky, and a thunderclap roared, shaking the trees. Pandu's body seized, his gray eyes glazing over, and he collapsed, his weight dragging her down as the twins wailed, their cries piercing the sudden silence. The sage's curse—death for desire—struck true, a shadow from years past claiming him in an instant.
Kunti's scream tore through the dusk, raw and jagged, as she dropped Arjuna to the dirt, her crimson sari tangling around her legs. "No! Pandu, no!" She rushed forward, her hands clawing at the air, her breath coming in gasps as she fell beside him, her fingers grasping his tunic, shaking him as if she could pull him back. "Get up, please, get up!" Her voice broke, a sob choking her words, and tears streaked her face, her dark eyes wild with panic.
Madri clutched Pandu's limp form, her green sari pooling around her as she sank to her knees, the twins' wails rising with her own. "Pandu, oh gods, Pandu, I didn't mean—" She rocked him, her hands trembling as she pressed his head to her chest, her sobs shuddering through her. "It's my fault, my fault, I shouldn't have laughed, shouldn't have…" Her whispers drowned in guilt, her tears falling onto his still face, his gray eyes staring blankly at the sky.
Yudhishthira froze, his small hand slipping from Kunti's, his twig pile forgotten as he stared, his voice a whisper. "Father?" He stepped closer, his boots scuffing the dirt, his small face crumpling as he reached out, then pulled back, his hands shaking. Bhima stopped stomping, his dark curls still as he stared, his grunts silenced, his wide eyes fixed on Pandu's body. Arjuna wailed from the ground, his tiny fists pounding the dirt, his sharp cries echoing through the trail as the forest darkened around them.
Kunti's hands gripped Pandu's tunic tighter, her voice rising, desperate and broken. "You can't leave us! Not now, not like this! Five sons, Pandu, five—you said it yourself, our circle! Wake up, please!" She shook him again, her crimson sari heavy with dew and tears, her breath hitching as she pressed her forehead to his chest, her sobs raw and unrelenting. The thunder mourned overhead, a low rumble that shook the ground, and the crickets fell silent, the dusk swallowing their song.
Madri's arms trembled around Pandu, Nakula and Sahadeva squirming against her, their wails softening to whimpers as she rocked back and forth. "I didn't know," she whispered, her voice cracking, her green sari stained with dirt and tears. "I didn't think… one kiss, just one, and now you're gone. Oh, Pandu, forgive me." She buried her face in his hair, her pleas fading into sobs, her guilt a weight she couldn't shed.
Pandu lay still, his bow abandoned in the dirt, his gray eyes dull, the brightness snuffed out like a candle in the wind. His hands rested limp at his sides, the warmth leaching from them, and the forest seemed to hold its breath, the purple sky bruising darker as night crept in. Kunti lifted her head, her hands sliding to his face, cupping his cheeks as she searched his eyes, her voice a broken whisper. "You promised me. You promised we'd raise them together. What am I supposed to do now?" Her tears fell onto his skin, her fingers trembling as she traced his jaw, her heart splintering with every silent second.
Yudhishthira stepped closer, his small voice trembling as he tugged at Kunti's sari. "Mother, why's Father sleeping? Wake him up, please." His hands shook, his small pile of twigs scattered behind him, and he knelt beside her, his dark eyes wide with confusion and fear, tears welling as he looked at Pandu's still form.
Kunti turned to him, her sob catching as she pulled him close, her arms wrapping around his small shoulders. "He's not sleeping, my love," she whispered, her voice breaking as she pressed her cheek to his hair. "He's… he's gone. The curse took him." She rocked him, her tears soaking his tunic, her breath ragged as she held him tight, her other hand reaching for Arjuna, pulling him up from the dirt into her lap.
Bhima shuffled forward, his boots dragging, his voice a low, shaky grunt. "Father?" He reached out, his small hand hovering over Pandu's arm, then pulled back, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he stared, his strength useless against the stillness. Arjuna clung to Kunti, his wails softening to hiccups, his tiny fists clutching her sari as he buried his face in her shoulder, his sharp giggles gone.
Madri's sobs grew louder, her green sari tangled around her as she rocked Pandu, Nakula and Sahadeva quieting in her arms, their soft coos lost in her grief. "I didn't mean it," she said, her voice rising, desperate and pleading. "I didn't know it'd happen, Kunti. I'd take it back, I'd do anything to take it back!" She looked up, her eyes red and wild, her tears streaming as she clutched Pandu tighter, her guilt a storm she couldn't escape.
Kunti's head snapped toward her, her voice sharp through her sobs, raw with pain. "You couldn't know, Madri! None of us could! It's the curse, not you—it's that wretched curse!" She pressed a hand to her mouth, her breath hitching, her crimson sari heavy and cold against her skin. "He wanted you, he wanted us, and now he's gone. Oh, gods, he's gone." She rocked Yudhishthira and Arjuna, her tears falling faster, her dark eyes hollow as she stared at Pandu's body.
The forest darkened, the purple sky fading to black, and thunder rumbled again, a mournful echo that rolled through the trees. Pandu lay between them, his tunic loose, his bow untouched, his gray eyes staring at nothing. Madri's hands shook as she brushed his hair back, her voice a whisper, broken and small. "I loved you, Pandu. I didn't mean to… I loved you." She pressed her lips to his forehead, her tears falling onto his skin, Nakula and Sahadeva still in her arms, their quiet presence a cruel contrast to the loss.
Kunti's arms tightened around her sons, her voice a ragged sob as she looked at Madri, her pain spilling over. "We all loved him. And now we're alone. Five sons, Madri, and no father for them." She buried her face in Yudhishthira's hair, her body shaking, her crimson sari pooling around her as she knelt, the weight of it crushing her heart.
Yudhishthira's small hands clutched her, his voice a whisper, trembling with tears. "Father's not coming back?" He looked up, his dark eyes searching hers, and Kunti shook her head, her sob breaking free as she held him closer, her words lost in grief.
Bhima sat back, his small fists clenching, his voice a low growl. "Gone?" He stared at Pandu, his strength faltering, and a tear slipped down his cheek, his dark curls hiding his face as he turned away. Arjuna whimpered, his tiny hands gripping Kunti's sari, his sharp eyes dull with confusion, his cries fading to silence.
Madri rocked Pandu, her green sari stained with dirt and tears, her voice a broken plea as she looked at Kunti. "What do we do now? How do we… how do we go on?" She clutched Nakula and Sahadeva, her sobs softening, her guilt and grief a tangle she couldn't unravel.
Kunti lifted her head, her tears slowing, her voice hoarse but steadying, a thread of steel beneath the pain. "We go on because we have to, Madri. For them. For all five. He gave us that much." She pressed a hand to Pandu's chest, her fingers lingering, then stood, pulling Yudhishthira and Arjuna with her, her crimson sari heavy and dark in the night.
The forest stood silent, the crickets gone, the thunder fading to a distant rumble as the family gathered around Pandu's body. His gray eyes stared at the sky, unseeing, his tunic loose, his bow a forgotten relic in the dirt. Kunti's hand rested on Yudhishthira's shoulder, her breath shaky but firm, her dark eyes tracing his still face one last time, her heart breaking with every beat.