Dusk settled over the forest, painting the sky a warm orange that bled into the treetops, casting a soft glow over a rocky overhang beside a trickling stream. The water gurgled faintly, winding through pebbles and moss, while a small fire crackled in the center of the clearing, its flames licking at a pile of twigs. Kunti sat on a flat stone near the fire, her crimson sari patched and frayed at the edges, her hands busy mending a fishing net. The coarse threads snagged her fingers as she worked, her dark hair falling loose around her shoulders, brushing the tops of Nakula and Sahadeva's heads as they napped beside her. Their small bodies curled against her lap, their fair curls tousled, their breaths slow and even in the fading light.
Bhima sprawled on the ground a few feet away, his tunic stretched tight over his broad shoulders, gnawing on a roasted fish skewered on a stick. Grease glistened on his chin, dripping onto his chest as he chewed, his dark curls bouncing with each bite. He grumbled loudly, shifting to tug at his boot, his voice rough and thick. "Stupid thorn. Got it stuck in my foot all day. Hurts worse than a boar's tusk."
Arjuna sat cross-legged on a mossy rock, a twig in one hand and a small knife in the other, whittling it into a sharp point. His brow furrowed, his sharp eyes flicking between the twig and Bhima, and he snorted, his voice quick and cutting. "You're just mad because you ate my fish. I caught that one, and you took it. I'm hungry too, you know."
Yudhishthira stood near the stream, his hands clasped behind his back, his tunic too short at the wrists, the hem riding up as he paced slowly. His small frame cast a long shadow in the firelight, and he turned, his dark eyes steady as he watched his brothers, his voice firm but calm. "Stop it, both of you. We share what we have, or we'll have nothing. Father taught us that."
Kunti's hands paused on the net, her fingers stilling as she looked up, her voice low and warm. "Listen to him, boys. He's right. We can't fight over every bite."
Bhima wiped his chin with the back of his hand, his frown deepening as he yanked the boot off, shaking it hard. "He took my fish first, Mother! I caught two yesterday, and Arjuna snatched one while I was fixing the trap. He's sneaky like that."
Arjuna's knife slipped, nicking the twig, and he glared at Bhima, his voice sharp and indignant. "Sneaky? You ate two already, greedy! I saw you—stuffing your face while I was sharpening sticks. You didn't even save me a tail!"
Kunti set the net down, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she shifted Nakula gently, her voice steady but edged with warning. "Enough now. Bhima, you're big enough to miss a bite. Arjuna, you'll catch more tomorrow. We don't squabble like this—not over fish."
Yudhishthira stepped closer, his boots crunching on the gravel, and he held up a hand, his voice cutting through their bickering like a cool breeze. "It's not about who caught what. We've got one fish left tonight, and we're all hungry. Fighting won't make it bigger. We split it, or we go to bed empty. That's how it works."
Bhima huffed, tossing his boot aside as he crossed his arms, his voice gruff but quieter now. "Fine. Split it. But I'm still hungry, and this thorn's making me mad."
Arjuna rolled his eyes, setting his twig and knife down as he leaned back, his voice teasing but softer. "You're always mad, Bhima. And hungry. Maybe if you didn't wrestle every tree in the forest, you'd have more energy for fishing."
Kunti smiled faintly, her hands resting on the twins' backs as she watched Yudhishthira, her eyes tracing his small, steady stance. "He's got a point, Bhima. But Yudhishthira's got the sense here. Go on, my love—show them."
Yudhishthira nodded, stepping to the fire where the last fish roasted on a stick, its skin crisp and golden. He picked up a flat piece of bark, his movements careful as he slid the fish onto it, his voice calm and even. "Bhima, you take this bit—it's bigger because you're bigger. Arjuna, here's yours—smaller, but you're quick enough to catch more tomorrow. I'll take this, and Mother gets the rest with the twins. Fair?"
Bhima squinted at the piece Yudhishthira handed him, his frown easing as he took it, his voice grumbling but pleased. "Biggest, huh? All right, that's fair. But I'm still pulling this thorn out—it's driving me crazy."
Arjuna snatched his share, nibbling at it as he grinned, his voice bright and playful. "Fair enough. You're good at this, Yudhishthira. Next time, I'll catch three, and Bhima won't get any!"
Yudhishthira sat beside Kunti, breaking his piece in half as he handed her the larger share, his voice steady. "You'll catch what you catch, Arjuna. We'll share it either way. That's what Father did—he never let us go hungry, even when the traps were empty."
Kunti took the fish, her fingers brushing his as she smiled, small and tired, her voice soft with pride. "You remember that, do you? He'd sit us down, just like this, and divide everything. Even the smallest scraps. You've got his way, Yudhishthira—keeping us together."
Bhima chewed loudly, grease dripping as he tugged at his foot again, his voice muffled but curious. "Did Father ever fight over fish? Bet he'd punch Arjuna for stealing his!"
Arjuna laughed, tossing a fishbone into the fire, his voice quick and cheeky. "He'd punch you for eating it all, Bhima! You'd eat the bones if Mother let you!"
Kunti shook her head, her smile widening as she broke her share, feeding bits to Nakula and Sahadeva, who stirred awake with sleepy gurgles. "No punching. He'd talk, like Yudhishthira does. Tell us why we had to share—why it mattered. You boys could learn from that."
Yudhishthira leaned forward, his hands clasped again as he watched the fire, his voice thoughtful. "It's not just fish. It's everything. We've got the stream, the forest, the fire—all of it's ours, but only if we keep it together. If we fight, we lose it. Father said that once, after a bad hunt."
Bhima paused mid-bite, his dark eyes flicking to Yudhishthira, his voice gruff but earnest. "You're always saying smart stuff like that. Guess it's why you're oldest. Still wish I'd punched that boar harder—it'd be dinner now."
Arjuna grinned, leaning back on his rock as he licked his fingers, his voice light and teasing. "You punched it plenty, Bhima. It's probably still running! Yudhishthira's right, though—we'd have nothing if you broke everything."
Kunti fed Sahadeva a small bite, her hand steady as she watched them, her voice low and warm. "You're all right, in your ways. Bhima's strength, Arjuna's quickness, Yudhishthira's sense. Nakula and Sahadeva will have their turn too. We're a family because of it."
Nakula yawned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, his voice high and sleepy. "Fish good. Bhima loud." Sahadeva nodded beside him, his quieter voice adding, "Yudhishthira smart. Share nice."
Bhima laughed, a big, booming sound that shook the overhang, and he ruffled Nakula's curls, his voice rough but fond. "Loud's good, little one! Keeps the wolves away. But yeah, Yudhishthira's smart—I'll give him that."
Arjuna stretched, tossing his twig into the fire, his voice bright and eager. "Smart's fine. I'll still catch more tomorrow. Bet I can get four—beat Father's best day!"
Yudhishthira smiled, small and steady, as he poked the fire with a stick, his voice calm. "You might, Arjuna. But we'll split them, like tonight. That's how we stay strong—all of us."
Kunti set the net aside, her hands resting on the twins' heads as they curled back against her, her eyes fixed on Yudhishthira. The firelight danced on his small face, his steady gaze, his clasped hands, and her breath caught, a whisper slipping out, too quiet for them to hear. "You'll lead them, my son. I see it now." She brushed a tear from her cheek, her pride battling the grief that lingered, her heart swelling with the shadow of a king in his words.
Bhima finally yanked the thorn free, holding it up with a triumphant grin, his voice loud and cheerful. "Got it! See, Mother? I'm tough—thorn's nothing to me!"
Arjuna clapped, his laugh sharp and clear as he hopped off his rock, his voice teasing. "Tougher than fish, anyway! You're still greasy, Bhima—wipe your face!"
Yudhishthira stood, brushing dirt from his tunic as he handed Kunti the stick, his voice steady and warm. "Fire's low, Mother. I'll get more twigs. We'll keep it going tonight—together."
Kunti nodded, pulling the twins closer as they dozed off again, her voice soft but firm. "Together, yes. That's how we'll do it—all of you. My boys."
The fire crackled, the stream trickled, and the forest grew quiet around them, the orange sky fading to deep blue. Bhima wiped his chin, still grinning, while Arjuna sprawled by the fire, his whittling forgotten. Yudhishthira stepped into the shadows, gathering twigs, his hum low and steady, and Kunti watched, her net forgotten, her pride a quiet strength tightening their bond.