Midday light barely reached the shadowed corridor deep within Hastinapura's palace, where dust motes floated lazily in the dim air, stirred by the hurried steps of servants. The stone walls loomed high, muffling the faint hum of the Ganga beyond, while wooden trays clattered in the hands of those rushing past, their sandals slapping against the floor. Duryodhana, now four, crouched behind a heavy curtain, its faded red fabric brushing his dark, dusty tunic as he clutched a wriggling frog in his small hands. His dark curls stuck out wildly, his eyes glinting with a sharp, eager spark as he peered through the gap, his breath quick and quiet. Duhshasana squatted beside him, his tiny tunic streaked with grime, giggling as he gripped a stick, its tip jagged from earlier play. His fair hair bounced with each suppressed laugh, his fierce grin mirroring his brother's.
Shakuni leaned against the wall nearby, his black robes blending with the shadows, his cane resting lightly against the stone. His sly grin curved his thin lips, his dark eyes flickering as he watched the boys, his voice slipping out soft and smooth, curling around them like a thread. "Small fears build big power, Duryodhana. Start here—make them jump. It's the little things that grow."
Duryodhana's smirk widened, his fingers tightening on the frog as he glanced at Shakuni, his voice low and eager. "She'll run crying! Watch this, Uncle—I'll make her scream!" He shifted, his small frame tensing as a servant girl approached, her bare feet padding softly, a clay water jug balanced on her hip.
Duhshasana giggled louder, his stick tapping the floor as he leaned closer, his voice fierce and excited. "Scream loud! I'll poke her—more fun that way!" He waved the stick, his small hands trembling with glee, his eyes fixed on the girl.
Shakuni's grin sharpened, his cane tapping once as he nodded, his voice a whisper, smooth and sly. "Good, nephew. A scream's a start. Fear's a tool—use it well. She's yours to play with."
The girl, no older than ten, hummed softly as she walked, her brown braid swinging, her tunic patched at the hem. Duryodhana waited, his breath held, then darted out, quick as a shadow, slipping the frog into her jug with a flick of his wrist. It splashed into the water, its legs kicking, and he ducked back behind the curtain, his smirk stretching wide as he stifled a laugh.
The girl froze, peering into the jug, then shrieked, her voice shrill and piercing as she dropped it, water splashing across the stone. The frog leapt free, hopping toward her feet, and she stumbled back, her hands flailing, her cry echoing down the corridor. "My lords, please, no! Get it away!"
Duhshasana burst out, his giggles erupting into a wild laugh as he jabbed his stick at her legs, his voice loud and fierce. "Run, run! Frog's coming! More, brother—let's scare them all!" He poked again, the stick grazing her ankle, and she yelped, scrambling back as the frog hopped between them.
Duryodhana stepped from the curtain, his chest puffed out, his voice booming with delight. "Look at her! Crying already—told you I'd do it!" He kicked at the spilled water, his dark eyes glinting as he watched her flee, her braid bouncing as she vanished around the corner, her sobs fading into the stone.
Shakuni straightened, his cane tapping slowly as he limped closer, his voice soft and approving. "Well done, nephew. See how she ran? That's power—small now, but it grows. Keep them afraid, and they're yours."
Duryodhana nodded, his smirk curling tighter as he picked up the frog, holding it high, its legs dangling. "Mine! They'll all run from me—servants, everyone! I'm best, Uncle—better than anyone!" He tossed the frog into the shadows, his small hands brushing together as he grinned.
Duhshasana danced around him, his stick swinging, his voice shrill and eager. "Best ever! I'll poke more—make them scream louder! We're strongest, brother!" He jabbed at the air, his small frame buzzing with excitement, his giggles echoing off the walls.
Footsteps sounded again, softer this time, and two older servants paused at the corridor's end, their trays wobbling as they whispered, their voices hushed and tense. "It's the princes again—did you hear her? Poor Lata, scared half to death." The other nodded, clutching her tray tighter, her eyes darting toward the shadows. "They're getting worse—cruel little games. What's next?"
Duryodhana caught their whispers, his head tilting as he stepped forward, his voice loud and sharp. "What's that? Talking about me? Come here—say it louder!" He stomped toward them, his small boots smacking the stone, his smirk darkening as they flinched.
Shakuni's cane tapped again, his voice slipping out, sly and low. "Let them whisper, nephew. Fear's already there—see their hands shake? That's your doing. Build it—little by little."
Duhshasana ran to the servants, his stick raised, his voice fierce and wild. "Shake more! Drop it—drop it now!" He swung at their trays, wood clattering as one tipped, a bowl of grain spilling across the floor, and the servants gasped, backing away.
Duryodhana laughed, a sharp, barking sound that bounced through the corridor, and he grabbed a handful of the spilled grain, tossing it at them, his voice triumphant. "Run like her! Go on—I'm in charge here!" He stomped again, his dark curls bouncing, his delight swelling as they scurried off, their trays clutched tight, their whispers trailing behind.
Shakuni limped to his side, his black robes swishing as he rested a hand on Duryodhana's shoulder, his voice smooth and cunning. "That's it, my boy. They scatter like mice now. Power starts small—frogs today, thrones tomorrow. You've got rivals, you know—far off, but watching."
Duryodhana squinted up at him, his hands brushing the dust from his tunic, his voice eager and curious. "Rivals? Pandu's boys again? I'll scare them too—worse than this!" He kicked the spilled grain, his smirk sharpening as he imagined it, his small frame bristling with intent.
Duhshasana giggled, dropping his stick to clap his hands, his voice loud and fierce. "Worse! Frogs for them—big ones! We'll win, brother—best ever!" He jumped, his small feet splashing in the water puddle, his grin wild and bright.
Shakuni's eyes glinted, his fingers tracing the air as he leaned closer, his voice a whisper, sharp and sly. "Big ones, yes. And more than frogs. They've got skill, those forest brats—one shoots arrows, they say. But you've got cunning, Duryodhana. Sharpen it—make it yours."
Duryodhana's smirk faltered for a moment, his brow furrowing as he crossed his arms, his voice stubborn but intrigued. "Arrows? I'll break his bow! I don't need arrows—I've got this!" He punched the air, his small fist quick and hard, his delight twisting into something darker.
Duhshasana mimicked him, his tiny fist swinging, his voice shrill and eager. "Break it! Smash it! We're better—stronger!" He punched again, stumbling into Duryodhana, and they laughed, their voices tangling in a wild, echoing chorus.
The corridor grew quiet, the servants gone, their whispers fading into the stone, and Shakuni tapped his cane, his grin widening as he watched them, his voice soft and smooth. "Better, yes. Keep them running, nephew. Fear's your crown—wear it well."
Duryodhana grabbed Duhshasana's stick, tossing it down the hall, his voice loud and commanding. "Next time, more! Bigger screams—everyone's scared of me!" He stomped back to the curtain, his small hands flexing, his cunning sharpening with each step, his delight a shadow spreading through the palace.
Duhshasana ran after him, his giggles bubbling up as he retrieved the stick, his voice fierce and bright. "More! I'll help—always help! Best brothers ever!" He swung the stick again, his small frame a blur of motion, his loyalty a twisted mirror to Duryodhana's malice.
The dust motes settled, the Ganga's hum faint and steady, the corridor tense with the echo of their laughter, the servants' fear lingering in the air. Shakuni leaned back against the wall, his black robes still, his sly grin a quiet promise as Duryodhana's games darkened, his influence sinking deeper into the stone.