The sun blazed high over Hastinapura's palace, pouring golden light into a wide courtyard where dust swirled in lazy spirals around stumbling feet. Stone benches lined a bubbling fountain, its water glinting as it splashed against the edges, while the faint hum of the Ganga drifted over the high walls, a steady murmur beneath the chaos. Duryodhana, now three, stomped across the packed earth, his dark tunic torn at the shoulder from a morning of rough play. His small boots kicked up clouds of dust as he shoved Duhshasana aside, his hands snatching a wooden sword from a pile of toys scattered near the fountain. His dark curls bounced, his eyes blazing with a fierce, unyielding spark as he swung the sword in a wide arc, its blunt edge whistling through the air.
Duhshasana, barely a year old, tumbled backward with a yelp, his tiny tunic dusty as he scrambled to his feet, his dark eyes wide but eager. The other ninety-eight brothers, newly emerged from Vyasa's jars, toddled and crawled around them, their cries a chaotic din that echoed off the stone walls. Some clutched sticks, others tugged at each other's clothes, their small voices blending into a jumble of wails and giggles. Servants darted between them, their sandals slapping the ground, their arms outstretched as they tried to corral the sprawling pack, their shouts lost in the noise. "Stay together! No, not the fountain—come back here!"
Gandhari sat on a bench near the fountain, her indigo sari pooling around her like spilled ink, her hands clapping as she tilted her head toward Duryodhana's swing. Her blindfold hid her eyes, but her smile stretched wide, her voice warm and bright as it carried over the din. "Oh, that's it, my brave boy! Show them how it's done!"
Duryodhana planted his feet, his chest puffing out as he swung the sword again, his voice loud and commanding. "I'm strongest! You follow me, Duhshasana! All of you—follow me!" He jabbed the sword toward his brothers, his small frame trembling with pride as he glared at them, daring anyone to argue.
Duhshasana grinned, brushing dust from his tunic as he toddled closer, his voice sharp and fierce. "Yes, brother! I'm with you!" He grabbed a stick from the pile, mimicking Duryodhana's swing, his small arms flailing as he stumbled forward, his loyalty a bright, burning thing in his eyes.
Gandhari clapped harder, her laughter ringing out as she leaned forward, her sari slipping slightly off her shoulder. "My brave boy, lead them all! Look at you, Duryodhana—so strong already. And Duhshasana too—oh, what a pair!"
Before Duryodhana could swing again, a shadow fell across the courtyard, and Shakuni limped in, his black robes swishing around his thin legs, his cane tapping the ground with a soft, uneven rhythm. His sly grin curved his lips, his dark eyes glinting as he watched the boys, his head tilting slightly. He stopped beside Duryodhana, kneeling with a grunt, and pulled a sharper stick from his sleeve, its tip whittled to a point. He held it out, his voice soft and smooth, curling around the words like smoke. "Here, nephew. A proper weapon for a proper leader. Power's yours. Take it, hold it—let them fear you."
Duryodhana dropped his blunt sword, snatching the sharper stick with a grin, his voice booming as he tested its weight. "This is better! Look, Duhshasana—mine's sharper! I'm the best now!" He swung it hard, the air hissing as it cut through, and he turned to his brothers, his eyes fierce. "Line up! Follow me or I'll hit you!"
Duhshasana laughed, a wild, barking sound, and swung his own stick, his voice eager. "Hit them, brother! I'll help! We're the best!" He charged at the nearest toddler, a boy with a mop of dark hair, who squealed and toddled away, tripping over his own feet.
Gandhari tilted her head, her hands stilling as she listened, her voice warm but curious. "What's that, Duryodhana? A new stick? Where'd you get it? Oh, you're so clever, my love—always finding the best things."
Shakuni straightened, his cane tapping as he leaned closer to Duryodhana, his voice dropping lower, a whisper meant just for him. "From me, sister. A gift for a king. You're stronger than them all, nephew. Make them know it—make them bow. That's how you keep power."
Duryodhana nodded, his small jaw tightening as he swung the stick again, his voice loud and sharp. "Bow! All of you—bow to me! I'm the leader! Duhshasana, get them in line!" He stomped toward a cluster of brothers, jabbing the stick at their legs, his grin wide and fierce as they scattered or stumbled into place.
Duhshasana ran after them, his stick waving wildly, his voice shrill with glee. "Line up! Brother says so! Move, move!" He shoved a smaller boy, who wailed and fell, his tiny hands clutching the dust as he crawled back to the group.
Gandhari clapped again, her laughter bubbling up as she rocked on the bench, her voice bright and doting. "Oh, listen to them, Shakuni! So lively, so strong! Duryodhana's got them all moving already—he's a natural, isn't he?"
Shakuni's grin widened, his fingers tracing patterns in the dust beside him as he watched Duryodhana, his voice soft and sly. "A natural, yes. Born to rule, sister. He'll have thrones one day—big ones. And rivals? They'll fall. Teach them early, nephew—fear keeps them close."
Duryodhana turned to Shakuni, his stick raised, his voice eager. "Thrones? I want thrones! Big ones, like Father's! I'll make everyone follow me!" He swung the stick at the air, his dark curls bouncing, his chest puffed out even more as he glared at his brothers.
Gandhari reached out, her hand brushing the air as she called to him, her voice warm and playful. "Come here, my little king! Thrones later—sweets now. You've earned them, leading like that. All of you—sweets for my boys!" She waved to a servant, her sari rustling as she settled back, her smile unshaken.
Duhshasana dropped his stick, his eyes lighting up as he ran to her, his voice loud and demanding. "Sweets! Me first, Mother! I helped brother!" He climbed onto the bench, tugging her sari, his small hands sticky with dust.
Duryodhana marched over, his sharper stick still in hand, his voice firm. "No, me first! I'm leader! Sweets are mine, then yours, Duhshasana!" He pushed Duhshasana's shoulder, his grin fierce as he stood tall beside Gandhari, his small frame bristling with pride.
Gandhari laughed, pulling them both close, her voice soft and doting. "Oh, you'll both have plenty! My strong boys, my leaders. Here—sweets for everyone!" She took a tray from the servant, her hands steady as she broke a honeyed lump, pressing it into Duryodhana's palm, then Duhshasana's, her blindfold hiding the joy in her eyes.
Shakuni limped closer, his cane tapping as he watched, his voice low and smooth. "Sweets today, nephew. Power tomorrow. Keep them in line—make them yours. You've got rivals out there, you know. Far off, but coming."
Duryodhana chewed the sweet, honey dripping down his chin as he squinted at Shakuni, his voice muffled but curious. "Rivals? Who? I'll beat them! I'm strongest!"
Shakuni knelt again, his fingers tracing a crown in the dust, his voice a whisper, sharp and sly. "Pandu's boys. Five of them, growing wild. They think they're strong too. Show them, Duryodhana—show them you're better."
Gandhari tilted her head, her hands pausing on the tray as she laughed, her voice warm and oblivious. "Pandu's boys? Oh, Shakuni, they're just children in the woods! My hundred will outshine them—starting with these two. Look at them, so fierce already!"
Duryodhana swallowed, his stick jabbing the air as he turned to his brothers, his voice booming. "I'm better! Strongest! Line up—follow me or no sweets!" He stomped back to the group, shoving a toddling boy into place, his grin fierce and wide as they shuffled closer, some crying, some giggling.
Duhshasana jumped off the bench, grabbing his stick again, his voice shrill and eager. "Follow brother! Me too! We're best!" He ran after Duryodhana, swinging at the air, his small feet kicking up dust as he mimicked every move.
Gandhari clapped once more, her laughter bright as she handed sweets to the servant, her voice ringing out. "More for them all! My hundred, my pride—oh, Shakuni, isn't it wonderful? They're growing so fast!"
Shakuni stood, his cane tapping as he watched Duryodhana rally the pack, his voice soft and sly, barely audible over the noise. "Wonderful, yes. And dangerous, nephew. Keep them yours—always yours." He traced another pattern in the dust, his grin a shadow as the courtyard pulsed with the boys' chaos.
The sun dipped lower, the fountain splashing, the Ganga humming beyond the walls. Duryodhana stood at the center, his sharper stick raised, his brothers stumbling into a ragged line, Duhshasana at his side, their cries a wild chorus. Gandhari doted, her hands full of sweets, her love a shield around them, blind to the edge in Shakuni's whispers, the seeds of ambition taking root in the dust.