Nightfall cloaked a hidden grove near a forest shrine, the air thick with the sweet, heavy scent of incense drifting from a stone altar. Fireflies glowed in lazy spirals, their tiny lights flickering against the dark leaves of ancient trees, while a sage's torch cast a warm, wavering glow over the scene, its flame dancing atop a wooden staff. Kunti stood by the altar, her crimson sari patched and frayed, its edges brushing the mossy ground as she crossed her arms tight across her chest. Her dark hair hung loose, framing her sharp, weary face, and her eyes glinted with a mix of defiance and worry as she faced three sages in saffron robes. They circled her slowly, their voices urgent, their staffs tapping the earth in a steady, insistent rhythm that echoed through the stillness.
Yudhishthira knelt a few feet away, his small hands stacking offerings—dried leaves and berries—on a flat stone, his tunic dusty as he listened, his dark eyes flicking between his mother and the sages. Bhima sat cross-legged near a tree, sharpening a spear with a flint, his broad shoulders hunched, his grunts loud as the blade scraped against stone. Arjuna perched on a stump, stringing his bow with a fresh vine, his sharp gaze fixed on the task, his small fingers deft and sure. Nakula and Sahadeva slept under a woven blanket near the altar, their fair curls peeking out, their soft breaths steady in the quiet, their small bodies curled together like pups.
The tallest sage, his beard long and gray, stepped closer, his staff pointing east through the trees, his voice firm and clear. "Your sons are marked, Kunti. Hastinapura needs them—now, before the shadows grow too long."
Kunti's arms tightened, her chin lifting as she met his gaze, her voice sharp and quick. "Needs them? Or envies them? Dhritarashtra's got a hundred now—a hundred boys to fill his palace. Why would he want mine?"
The second sage, shorter with a lined face, tapped his staff, his voice calm but insistent. "Their light must face that shadow. Five against a hundred, yes—but your sons carry something greater. Destiny calls them east."
Bhima looked up from his spear, his flint pausing as he snorted, his voice gruff and loud. "A hundred? I'll fight 'em all! Smash 'em flat—don't need destiny for that!" He jabbed the spear into the dirt, grinning wide, his dark curls bouncing with the motion.
Kunti shot him a glance, her voice softening but firm. "Hush, Bhima. No smashing—not yet. They're not just boys, these Kauravas. A hundred's a wall, and Dhritarashtra's envy's the mortar. He'd see you all crushed before he'd welcome you."
Yudhishthira set a berry down, his hands stilling as he turned, his voice steady and thoughtful. "Mother's right. A hundred's a lot—too many to fight without a plan. But why east, sages? What's waiting there?"
The third sage, lean and bald, stepped forward, his torch casting shadows across his face as he spoke, his voice low and urgent. "A throne, boy. And a war. We've seen it—smoke and fire, crowns and blood. Your brothers are pieces of it, Kunti. They must go where they're meant."
Kunti's hands clenched, her nails digging into her arms as she paced away from the altar, her sari trailing over the moss, her voice rising with a sharp edge. "A throne? A war? You'd send my boys—my five—into that? Against a hundred and a king who'd rather see them dead than share a scrap of power? No—I've kept them safe here, and I'll keep them safe still!"
The tall sage followed her, his staff tapping slower, his voice firm but gentle. "Safe's a dream, Kunti. The forest hides you now, but not forever. Their gifts—Bhima's strength, Arjuna's aim, the twins' grace—they're not for hiding. Hastinapura's their place, shadow or not."
Bhima grinned, lifting his spear as he stood, his voice rough and eager. "Strength, huh? Let me at 'em! I'll break that wall—hundred or not!" He swung the spear, its tip glinting in the torchlight, his broad frame casting a shadow over the grove.
Arjuna looked up from his bow, his vine taut as he tested it, his voice sharp and quick. "I'll shoot through it! Arrows for every one—hundred's nothing if I'm fast!" He notched an imaginary arrow, his small arms steady, his eyes glinting with challenge.
Kunti spun toward them, her hands dropping to her sides as she snapped, her voice fierce and protective. "Stop it, both of you! This isn't a game—Dhritarashtra's not some boar or leaf! He's got envy thicker than these trees, and a hundred sons to back it. You think he'd let you near his throne? He'd bury you first!"
Yudhishthira stood, brushing dirt from his tunic as he stepped closer, his voice calm and steady. "He might, Mother. But the sages see something—thrones and wars don't come from nothing. Maybe we're meant for it, even if it's hard."
The short sage nodded, his staff tapping once, his voice quiet but firm. "Meant for it, yes. Five lights against a shadowed horde. You've raised them strong, Kunti—now let them shine where it matters."
Kunti paced again, her boots crunching leaves as she shook her head, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury. "Shine? They shine here—Bhima's smashing boars, Arjuna's shooting leaves, Nakula and Sahadeva taming colts. That's enough! Dhritarashtra's got a hundred wild boys—wild and cruel, I've heard. Why drag mine into that?"
The bald sage raised his torch, its light flaring as he pointed east again, his voice low and grave. "Because the wildness grows, Kunti. We've heard whispers too—cruelties in the palace, small now but spreading. Your sons are their counter—light to dark. Hide them, and the dark wins."
Bhima snorted, leaning on his spear as he crossed his arms, his voice gruff and bold. "Cruel, huh? I'll show 'em cruel! Punch 'em all—hundred's just a bigger fight!" He laughed, a big, rumbling sound that shook the grove, his grin wide and fierce.
Arjuna strung his bow tighter, his voice quick and eager as he hopped off the stump. "I'll shoot 'em before you punch 'em, Bhima! Cruel or not—arrows'll fix that fast!" He aimed at a firefly, his small frame buzzing with energy.
Kunti's hands clenched again, her voice rising as she turned on the sages, her eyes flashing in the torchlight. "Listen to them! Ready to fight, and they're just boys—my boys! You'd throw them at a hundred cruel hands, a jealous king, for some vision? I won't do it—I won't lose them like I lost Pandu!"
The tall sage stepped closer, his staff stilling as he met her gaze, his voice firm but kind. "You won't lose them, Kunti. They're marked for more—Pandu's blood, the gods' gifts. The forest's a cradle, but they've outgrown it. Hastinapura's their forge."
Yudhishthira tilted his head, his hands clasping behind his back as he spoke, his voice thoughtful and quiet. "A forge, Mother? That's hot—hard. Maybe they're right. We can't stay here forever—Father wouldn't have."
Kunti's breath caught, her pacing stopping as she turned to him, her voice softening but sharp with pain. "Forever? No—but long enough to keep you safe! Dhritarashtra envies you—hates you for Pandu's name. A hundred sons, Yudhishthira—a hundred! What's five against that?"
The short sage tapped his staff, his voice calm and steady. "Five with light, Kunti. Numbers bend to fate. We've seen it—thrones won, shadows broken. Your sons are the key—bring them east."
Bhima laughed again, jabbing his spear into the ground, his voice loud and brash. "Key? I'm a hammer! Smash that shadow—hundred or a thousand, I'll take 'em!" He flexed his arms, his dark curls bouncing, his grin unshaken.
Arjuna grinned, slinging his bow over his shoulder as he stepped to Bhima, his voice bright and teasing. "Hammer's slow, Bhima! I'll be the arrow—fast and sharp! We'll break 'em together!"
Kunti's hands flew up, her voice cracking as she silenced them, her sari swirling as she faced the sages again. "Enough! No hammers, no arrows—not yet! I've heard your visions—thrones, wars, shadows—but I see a hundred hands, a king's envy, my boys in danger. I won't give them up to that—not for your forge!"
The bald sage lowered his torch, his voice soft but piercing as he stepped forward, his eyes steady. "Danger finds them either way, Kunti. Hide here, and it creeps closer. Face it east, and they shape it. Your fear's real, but your sons are stronger."
Kunti's resolve wavered, her hands trembling as she glanced at her boys—Bhima's spear, Arjuna's bow, Yudhishthira's calm, the twins' sleep—and her voice dropped, fierce and firm. "Strong, yes. But mine. I'll face what comes here—where I can shield them. That's my answer."
The tall sage sighed, his staff tapping once as he stepped back, his voice gentle but resigned. "Your choice, Kunti. For now. But destiny waits east—thrones and shadows both."
The grove fell quiet, the fireflies glowing, the incense curling into the night, the tension thick as Kunti stood, her arms crossed again, her fear battling her duty, her sons' presence a quiet strength behind her resolve.