The chamber deep within Hastinapura's palace glowed faintly, its stone walls flickering with the warm, uneven light of torches set in iron brackets. Rows of ghee-filled jars lined the floor, their clay surfaces glistening, each one sealed tight and humming with a strange, quiet energy. The distant roar of the Ganga seeped through the wooden shutters, a low rumble that mingled with the crackle of the flames. Gandhari stood near the center, her indigo sari trailing behind her like a river of midnight blue, the hem brushing the cold stone as she pressed a trembling hand to the first jar—empty now, since Duryodhana's birth years ago. Her blindfold, damp with sweat or tears, clung to her face, and she tilted her head, listening to the silence where her firstborn had once stirred.
Dhritarashtra paced nearby, his dark tunic swishing with each step, his staff tapping the floor in a restless rhythm. His broad shoulders hunched slightly, his blind eyes twitching beneath heavy brows as he muttered to himself, his voice rough and low. "Pandu's sons. Five of them, they say. Growing wild out there. We'll see about that." He turned sharply, his staff striking harder, and a torch flared, casting his shadow long across the jars.
Gandhari's hand lingered on the empty jar, her fingers tracing its curve, and she spoke, her voice soft but warm, cutting through his grumbling. "They're just boys, husband. Forest boys. Ours will be greater. Look at Duryodhana already—stronger every day."
Dhritarashtra snorted, pausing mid-step, his staff stilling as he turned toward her voice. "Strong, yes. But one against five? I've heard whispers—Pandu's brood's got something in them. Something unnatural. We need more, Gandhari. A lot more."
She smiled beneath her blindfold, her hand dropping to her side as she straightened, her sari rustling softly. "We will have more. Vyasa promised me a hundred. A hundred sons to fill this palace. Duryodhana's only the start."
Before Dhritarashtra could reply, the chamber door creaked open, and Vyasa stepped in, his white robes rustling like dry leaves, his staff clicking against the stone with each slow, deliberate step. His long beard swayed as he moved, his dark eyes calm and steady, catching the torchlight as he approached the jars. He stopped beside Gandhari, resting his staff against the floor, and his voice rolled out, deep and even. "The time has come, Gandhari. Your boon unfolds tonight."
Gandhari's breath caught, her hands clasping together as she turned to him, her voice trembling with hope. "Another son, Vyasa? Strong like Duryodhana?"
Vyasa nodded, his white hair glinting as he raised a hand, his fingers brushing the second jar's lid. "Fierce and loyal, Gandhari. He'll follow his brother's shadow. A warrior born to stand at Duryodhana's side." He began to chant, his words low and rhythmic, a hum that seemed to vibrate through the stone, and the jar trembled under his touch, a faint crack splitting its surface.
Dhritarashtra stepped closer, his staff tapping once, his voice gruff but eager. "Good. We'll outnumber Pandu's brood yet. Crack them all open, Vyasa—let's see what we've got."
Gandhari laughed, a soft, joyful sound, and she reached out, her hand hovering near the jar as Vyasa's chant grew louder. "Patience, husband. One at a time. I want to hear him—my second son."
The jar split with a sharp snap, clay crumbling to the floor, and a baby's wail pierced the air, high and fierce, cutting through the hum of Vyasa's voice. Duhshasana emerged, his tiny fists flailing, his dark eyes wide and blazing as he kicked against the ghee that clung to his skin. Vyasa lifted him gently, his hands steady as he brushed the slickness away, and he held the boy up, his voice calm over the wail. "Duhshasana. That's his name. Strength and fire in him, Gandhari."
Gandhari's hands shook as she reached forward, her fingers brushing Duhshasana's small arm, her voice breaking with delight. "Oh, he's loud! Listen to that cry—strong, just like you said, Vyasa. My fierce little one."
Dhritarashtra leaned in, his staff tapping closer, his voice rumbling with approval. "Loud's right. He'll do. Another fighter for us. How many more, Vyasa? Let's have them all—fill this room tonight!"
Vyasa set Duhshasana into Gandhari's arms, her indigo sari bunching as she cradled him, and he turned to the other jars, his voice steady. "Patience, Dhritarashtra. The rest stir already. You'll have your hundred, but they come as they will." He tapped his staff against the floor, and a low tremor ran through the chamber, the remaining ninety-eight jars quivering, faint cries rising like a distant chorus.
From a cradle in the corner, Duryodhana's voice rang out, sharp and possessive, cutting through Duhshasana's wails. "Mine!" He sat up, his dark tunic wrinkled, his small hands gripping the cradle's edge as he stared at his new brother, his dark eyes glinting with something fierce.
Gandhari laughed again, rocking Duhshasana gently, her voice warm and teasing. "Yours, is he, Duryodhana? You'll share him, my love. He's your brother—yours to lead."
Duryodhana climbed out of the cradle, his bare feet slapping the stone as he toddled over, his voice loud and firm. "Mine first! I'm biggest! He's mine!" He reached up, tugging Duhshasana's arm, and the baby's wail turned to a gurgle, his tiny fist swatting back as he squirmed in Gandhari's hold.
Dhritarashtra chuckled, a deep, rough sound, and he tapped his staff against the floor, his voice booming. "That's my boy! Already claiming what's his. Let him have it, Gandhari—Duryodhana's got the right idea."
Vyasa watched them, his calm unbroken as he stepped to the next jar, his fingers tracing its rim. "A pack forms already. Fierce and loyal, as I said. They'll follow him, Dhritarashtra—starting with this one." He began chanting again, softer now, and the third jar trembled, a faint crack splitting its side as another cry joined the din.
Gandhari shifted Duhshasana in her arms, her blindfold tilting as she leaned toward Duryodhana, her voice gentle but firm. "You'll lead them, my darling, but they're all ours. A hundred sons, like I promised. Isn't that wonderful?"
Duryodhana crossed his arms, his small brow furrowing as he stared at Duhshasana, his voice stubborn. "Mine first. He listens to me. You'll see, Mother." He tugged Duhshasana's arm again, and the baby kicked, his gurgle turning to a sharp yelp, his dark eyes fixed on his brother with a spark of recognition.
Dhritarashtra laughed louder, his staff tapping a quick rhythm as he turned to Vyasa, his voice eager. "Look at that—already a pair! Keep going, Vyasa. I want them all out, all hundred. Pandu's five won't stand a chance against this!"
Vyasa's chant paused, his hand resting on the third jar as he glanced at Dhritarashtra, his voice steady and quiet. "They'll come, king. But numbers alone don't win battles. These boys carry fire—wild fire. You'll need more than strength to guide them."
Gandhari rocked Duhshasana, her voice soothing as his yelps softened, her sari brushing the floor. "Wild or not, they're mine. My sons, my pride. Duryodhana's fire, Duhshasana's loyalty—oh, Vyasa, it's more than I dreamed."
Duryodhana plopped down beside her, his small hands tugging at her sari, his voice insistent. "More! I want more brothers! Bigger than me, stronger than Pandu's boys!" He punched the air, his dark curls bouncing, and Duhshasana gurgled again, his tiny fist mimicking the motion.
Dhritarashtra nodded, his staff stilling as he stepped closer, his voice gruff but pleased. "That's the spirit, Duryodhana. More, Vyasa—give him what he wants. A hundred strong, a hundred fierce. Let Pandu's forest brats try to match that!"
Vyasa resumed his chant, the third jar cracking wider, and the chamber filled with a rising chorus of cries, faint but growing, as the remaining jars stirred. Servants rushed in, their sandals slapping the stone, their arms full of cloths and bowls as they hurried to the jars, their voices a jumble of gasps and whispers. "Another one! And there—look, that one's moving!" The air grew thick with noise, the torchlight dancing wildly as shadows stretched and twisted across the walls.
Gandhari shifted Duhshasana to one arm, reaching down to pull Duryodhana close, her voice trembling with joy. "Listen to them, my love. Your brothers—all coming to join you. Isn't it loud? Isn't it wonderful?"
Duryodhana grinned, his small teeth flashing as he leaned against her, his voice loud over the cries. "Loud's good! They'll be mine—all mine! We'll be the best, Mother!"
Duhshasana squirmed, crawling free from Gandhari's hold, his tiny hands scrabbling across the stone as he reached Duryodhana, tugging his tunic with a fierce little yank. His gurgle turned to a shout, sharp and demanding, and Duryodhana laughed, pulling him closer, his voice triumphant. "See? He knows me already! Mine!"
Vyasa stepped back, his chant fading as the third jar split fully, another baby's wail joining the chaos, and he watched the scene, his dark eyes calm but shadowed. "A bond forms fast. Fierce and loyal, as I said. The rest will follow."
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped once more, his voice booming over the noise as he turned to the servants, his pride swelling. "Tend them quick! A hundred sons—my hundred! Let the forest hear it—let Pandu's widow hear it! We're stronger now!"
Gandhari hugged Duryodhana and Duhshasana tight, her indigo sari pooling around her as she rocked them, her voice soft and warm. "Stronger, yes. My boys, my fierce little pack. Oh, husband, can't you feel it? They're everything."
The chamber pulsed with life, the jars trembling, the cries rising, the servants scrambling as torchlight flickered over the chaos. Dhritarashtra's grin widened, his unease buried beneath his pride, while Gandhari's hands shook with triumph, her blindfold hiding the tears that soaked it. Duryodhana sat between them, Duhshasana at his side, their bond a fierce, wild thing already taking root, the promise of ninety-eight more echoing through the stone.