The late afternoon sun filtered through the dense forest canopy, casting long shadows across a clearing near a shallow river. A massive banyan tree stretched its gnarled roots into the earth, its shade sprawling over the soft grass where Kunti knelt by the riverbank. Her crimson sari clung damply to her legs, the hem darkened from the water as she scrubbed a handful of roots with slow, careful hands. She hummed a tune—a hunting song Pandu used to sing—her voice low and steady at first, then cracking as she reached the chorus. Her dark hair fell loose, brushing her shoulders, and she paused, staring at the rippling water, her breath catching as the melody faltered.
Yudhishthira sat a few feet away, cross-legged on a flat stone, a leather pouch open in his lap. His small fingers sorted through fishhooks, untangling their sharp curves with a precision that made him look older than his five years. His tunic, patched and a little too short at the wrists, shifted as he leaned forward, his dark eyes flicking up to Kunti. Bhima, meanwhile, bounded up a nearby tree, his heavy boots snapping twigs as he chased a squirrel, his grunts loud and cheerful. The branches creaked under his weight, leaves fluttering down as he swung higher, his dark curls bouncing wildly. Arjuna perched on a fallen log, a flint in one hand and a stick in the other, sharpening it into a point. His small brow furrowed, his sharp eyes narrowed in concentration as he tested the tip with his thumb. Nakula and Sahadeva toddled closer to Kunti, their tiny tunics dusty, stacking pebbles into wobbly towers that collapsed with every giggle, their soft laughter mingling with the river's gurgle.
Kunti dipped another root into the water, her hands moving slower now, and she spoke, her voice quiet but firm. "Your father knew every snare, Yudhishthira. Every trick to catch what we needed. We'll learn them too. We'll survive like he did."
Yudhishthira looked up from his fishhooks, his fingers pausing as he tilted his head. "Did he catch boars, Mother? Big ones with tusks?"
She nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she scrubbed harder, the root's dirt clouding the water. "Oh, yes. He'd come back with stories—how he'd wait in the bushes, still as stone, then leap out and wrestle them down. Strong as he was, he always said the trick was patience."
Bhima's head poked out from the tree, leaves caught in his curls, his voice booming across the clearing. "I'll catch one! Bigger than Father's! I don't need patience—I'll just grab it!" He swung down a branch, his boots thudding as he landed, grinning wide enough to show a missing tooth.
Arjuna snorted, not looking up from his stick, his flint scraping faster. "You'd break it before you caught it, Bhima. You're too loud. It'd hear you stomping a mile away."
Bhima puffed out his chest, stomping over to Arjuna with exaggerated steps, the ground trembling slightly under his weight. "I'm not loud! I'm strong! Stronger than you and your little stick!"
Kunti set the root aside, wiping her hands on her sari as she turned to them, her voice sharp but warm. "Enough, you two. Bhima, strength's no good if you scare everything off. And Arjuna, don't poke at him—he'll learn. We all will."
Yudhishthira slid off his stone, clutching the pouch as he stepped closer, his voice calm and thoughtful. "Father used hooks for fish too, didn't he? Not just snares. These are small, but they'd work in the river. We could try tomorrow."
Kunti's eyes softened, and she reached out, brushing a smudge of dirt from his cheek. "They would. You're right, my love. We'll set them at dawn—fish are easier than boars, and we need to eat. You're good at remembering these things."
Bhima kicked a pebble, sending it skittering into the grass, his grin fading a little as he crossed his arms. "Fish are boring. I want something big. Something Father would've fought."
Arjuna looked up now, his stick sharp and gleaming, his voice quick and teasing. "Then go fight a tree, Bhima. That's big enough for you. Leave the boars to me—I'd hit one right between the eyes." He mimed drawing a bow, his small hands steady, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Nakula giggled, toppling his pebble tower as he clapped his hands, his voice high and bright. "Bhima fights trees! Big crash!" Sahadeva nodded beside him, his quieter laugh bubbling up as he added a pebble to the pile, his tiny fingers careful.
Kunti laughed too, a small, tired sound that broke through her humming, and she pulled the twins closer, their heads resting against her knees. "Trees might win against Bhima yet. But we'll stick to fish for now. And roots. We've got to keep our strength up—all of us."
Bhima huffed, stomping back toward the tree, but Yudhishthira stepped in front of him, holding up a hand, his voice steady. "Mother's right. We can't eat boars every day. Fish are smart—you have to be smarter. Father said that too."
Bhima stopped, scratching his head, his frown softening as he looked at Yudhishthira. "Fine. Fish today. But I'm still catching a boar. You'll see—I'll bring it back and we'll eat for a week!"
Kunti smiled again, her hands resting on the twins' curls as she watched Bhima climb back up the tree, his grunts echoing. "You'll get your chance, Bhima. Just not today. We've got to start small—build what we need. Like your father did."
Arjuna set his stick down, sliding off the log to sit by Yudhishthira, his voice quieter now, curious. "Did Father ever miss? With his snares or his bow? Or was he always perfect?"
Kunti's hands stilled, her gaze drifting to the river, and her voice dropped, soft and heavy. "He missed sometimes. Not often, but he did. He'd laugh about it—say it kept him humble. Said the forest teaches you more when you fail."
Yudhishthira nodded, his small brow furrowing as he tucked the pouch into his tunic, his voice thoughtful. "Then we'll learn too. Even if we miss. I'll set the hooks right, Mother. You'll see."
She reached for him, pulling him into a quick hug, her crimson sari rustling as she pressed her cheek to his hair. "I know you will. You've got his patience, Yudhishthira. More than I do some days."
Bhima shouted from the tree, his voice carrying over the clearing as he swung higher, chasing the squirrel again. "I don't need patience! I'll catch that boar and show you all! Bigger than Father's, bigger than anything!"
Arjuna rolled his eyes, picking up his stick again, his voice sharp but playful. "You'll fall out of that tree first, Bhima. Then we'll be fishing you out of the river!"
Nakula giggled louder, clapping his hands as Sahadeva added, his voice soft but clear, "Bhima splash! Big splash!" The twins tumbled into each other, laughing as their pebble tower collapsed again, pebbles rolling toward Kunti's feet.
She scooped them up, one in each arm, their small bodies warm against her, and she stood, her sari dripping as she stepped away from the riverbank. "No splashing today, you two. We've got enough to carry without wet clothes. Come on, let's get these roots back to the fire."
Yudhishthira followed, his pouch jingling faintly, his voice steady as he walked beside her. "I'll help with the fire, Mother. Bhima can carry the big stuff—he's good at that."
Bhima dropped from the tree, landing with a thud that shook the ground, his grin back as he brushed leaves from his curls. "I'll carry everything! Roots, fish, boars—whatever you want!"
Arjuna hopped up, tucking his sharpened stick under his arm, his voice quick and eager. "I'll scout ahead. Make sure nothing sneaks up. I'm faster than Bhima anyway."
Kunti nodded, adjusting the twins in her arms, her voice firm but warm. "Good. We'll need all of you—scouting, carrying, building. This is our home now, boys. We make it work together."
Before she could take another step, a rustle broke through the underbrush, loud and sharp, and a boar burst into the clearing, its tusks gleaming in the fading light. Its snout snorted, its hooves churning the dirt as it charged straight toward Nakula and Sahadeva, who froze, their giggles turning to gasps. Kunti's breath caught, her arms tightening around the twins as she stumbled back, the roots slipping from her hands to splash into the river.
"Bhima!" she shouted, her voice cracking with panic as she set the twins down, pushing them behind her.
Bhima leapt from where he stood, his boots slamming the ground as he roared, a sound that drowned the boar's squeals. He landed hard in its path, his fists swinging, catching the beast's snout with a thud that echoed through the trees. The boar squealed louder, thrashing as Bhima grabbed its tusks, his muscles straining, dirt flying in clumps around them. They wrestled, rolling across the clearing, Bhima's boots digging into the earth as he twisted, his roars fierce and wild. Yudhishthira stepped forward, his small hands clenched, his voice steady but urgent. "Hold it, Bhima! Don't let go!"
Arjuna darted to the log, grabbing his stick, his voice sharp as he ran closer. "I'll get it! Right in the eye—hold it still!"
Kunti's hands flew to her mouth, her crimson sari tangling around her legs as she watched, her breath shallow. "No, Arjuna—stay back! Bhima's got it!"
Bhima heaved, his arms locking around the boar's neck, and with a final bellow, he pinned it to the ground, his chest heaving, his grin wide and breathless as the beast squirmed beneath him. The boar snorted once more, then bolted, its hooves pounding as it vanished into the underbrush, leaves scattering in its wake. Bhima sat back, wiping sweat from his brow, his laughter booming as he punched the air. "See? Told you I'd catch one! Bigger than Father's!"
Kunti rushed forward, her hands trembling as she pulled him into her arms, her voice a whisper against his curls. "You're his strength reborn, Bhima. His strength and more." She held him tight, her breath steadying, her pride swallowing the grief that had clung to her all day.
Yudhishthira nodded, his small face solemn as he stepped closer, his voice calm. "You did it, Bhima. Like Father would've. But next time, let's eat it."
Arjuna whooped, tossing his stick into the air, his voice bright and teasing. "He didn't catch it—he scared it off! I'd have hit it, Mother—you should've let me!"
Nakula and Sahadeva clapped from behind Kunti, their small hands smacking together as Nakula shouted, "Big Bhima! Big win!" Sahadeva added, softer, "Boar run fast!"
Bhima stood, brushing dirt from his tunic, his grin unshaken as he ruffled Arjuna's hair. "Next time, I'll hold it for you, little archer. You can shoot it then. But I'm still stronger!"
Kunti laughed, a real laugh this time, warm and clear as she gathered the twins again, her voice steady now. "You're all strong, in your own ways. Bhima's got the muscle, Arjuna's got the aim, Yudhishthira's got the sense—and you two," she kissed Nakula and Sahadeva's foreheads, "you've got the heart. We'll survive, boys. Together."
The forest buzzed around them, birds settling back into the trees, the river gurgling as the sun dipped lower, painting the clearing gold. Bhima flexed his arms, still grinning, while Yudhishthira picked up the dropped roots, his hum resuming softly. Arjuna retrieved his stick, testing its point again, and the twins giggled, their pebble game forgotten. Kunti watched them, her crimson sari damp and singed, her hands steady as she lifted the roots from the water, her resolve deepening with every breath. The boar was gone, but its echo lingered—a promise of strength, a whisper of survival drifting beyond the trees.