Late afternoon brought a storm to the forest ridge, rain pelting the leaves with a relentless hiss, thunder rumbling low and deep as it rolled through the dark, churning sky. Mud slicked the ground underfoot, pooling in dips and clinging to roots, while the air crackled with an electric tension that set the trees swaying. Bhima stomped through the mire, his tunic soaked and plastered to his broad frame, his dark curls dripping as he roared, his voice a bellow that cut through the downpour. A wolf darted past, its gray fur matted, jaws clamped around their last fish snatched from a trap near the stream. The trap's sticks lay scattered, snapped by the beast's haste, and Bhima's fists clenched, his boots sinking deeper as he chased it, his fury shaking the ridge.
Kunti stood higher up, her crimson sari drenched and heavy, its patched edges slapping against her legs as she called after him, her voice sharp and urgent. "Bhima, come back! Leave it!" She held Nakula and Sahadeva close under a tarp stretched between two trees, their small bodies pressed against her, their fair curls damp as they shivered, their wide eyes following their brother's rampage.
Yudhishthira knelt beside her, his tunic sodden as he tied the tarp tighter, his small hands tugging at the vine knots, his voice steady despite the rain streaking his face. "He's too loud, Mother. That wolf's gone—we'll starve if he keeps this up." He glanced down the ridge, his dark eyes calm but narrowed, watching Bhima's storm of rage.
Arjuna crouched a few feet away, his bow raised, an arrow notched as he squinted through the rain, tracking the wolf's blur between the trees. "I'll get it!" he shouted, his voice eager and sharp, but the rain blurred his sight, and the arrow flew wide, sinking into a trunk with a dull thud. He cursed under his breath, his small hands fumbling for another arrow, his dark hair plastered to his forehead.
Bhima spun, his roar growing louder as the wolf vanished into the storm, his voice thick with fury. "Stupid wolf! Stealing our fish—I'll break everything!" He grabbed a sapling, its trunk no thicker than his arm, and yanked, his muscles bulging as roots snapped free from the mud with a wet, tearing sound. He bellowed again, hurling the tree into the storm, its branches crashing against others as it tumbled down the ridge, leaves scattering in the wind.
Kunti's hands tightened on the twins, her voice cracking as she stepped forward, rain streaming down her face. "Bhima, stop—enough! You'll bring the ridge down on us!" She pulled the tarp higher, shielding Nakula and Sahadeva as they clung to her, their small voices whimpering beneath the thunder.
Bhima stomped back, his chest heaving, mud caking his boots as he glared at the broken trap, his voice rough and wild. "Enough? That wolf took our dinner! I'll rip up every tree—smash every rock—till there's nothing left to steal!" He kicked the mud, sending a clump flying, his dark curls bouncing with each furious move.
Yudhishthira stood, brushing wet hair from his eyes as he stepped closer, his voice calm and firm. "You won't catch it now, Bhima. It's gone, and the fish with it. Breaking things won't fill our bellies—sit down and think."
Bhima rounded on him, his fists raised, his voice a growl. "Think? I'm hungry! You think—I'll fight! That wolf's laughing at us—stealing like we're nothing!" He punched the air, rain dripping from his knuckles, his fury a storm within the storm.
Arjuna slung his bow over his shoulder, his arrow forgotten as he ran to Yudhishthira, his voice quick and sharp. "I'd have hit it if the rain stopped! Bhima's right—it's mocking us! I'll shoot the next one—right between the eyes!" He mimed the shot, his small frame tense, his eyes glinting with frustration.
Kunti handed the twins to Yudhishthira, her sari clinging as she marched down the ridge, her voice cutting through the rain like a blade. "No more shooting, Arjuna! No more breaking, Bhima! Look at us—wet, hungry, fighting a storm and a wolf! This isn't living—it's surviving!"
Bhima stopped, his fists lowering as he panted, his dark eyes locking on her, his voice gruff but quieter. "Surviving's fine! I'll smash anything that tries us—wolves, storms, whatever! We don't need more!"
Kunti stood before him, rain streaming down her face, her hands on her hips as she stared up, her voice sharp but trembling. "Smashing won't keep us, Bhima. Not anymore. The sages were right—we can't stay wild forever. Hastinapura's where you belong—all of you."
Yudhishthira tilted his head, stepping down with the twins huddled under the tarp, his voice steady and curious. "Hastinapura? You said no yesterday, Mother. What's changed? The wolf?"
Kunti's gaze flicked to him, her hands clenching as she nodded, her voice low and resolute. "The wolf, yes. And Bhima's tree. And Arjuna's arrow missing. We're strong here—fierce, quick—but it's not enough. The court's your destiny, risks or not."
Bhima snorted, wiping mud from his face as he crossed his arms, his voice gruff but uncertain. "Court? With that hundred? I'll smash 'em too—don't need a throne for that!" He kicked at the mud again, his grin flickering beneath the anger.
Arjuna grinned, shaking rain from his hair as he stepped closer, his voice bright and eager. "A hundred? I'll shoot 'em all! Court's fine—more targets for me!" He notched another imaginary arrow, his small hands steady despite the wet.
Nakula peeked out from the tarp, his voice soft and sleepy as he rubbed his eyes, rain streaking his face. "Court loud? Horses there?" Sahadeva nodded beside him, his voice quieter but clear. "Big place. Scary?"
Kunti knelt, pulling them close as she brushed their curls, her voice warm but firm. "Big, yes. Scary, maybe. But it's yours—horses for you, fights for Bhima, targets for Arjuna. Yudhishthira'll keep us steady. We'll face it together."
Yudhishthira set the tarp's edge down, his hands clasping as he looked east through the trees, his voice thoughtful and calm. "Together's good, Mother. The sages saw a throne—I've been thinking on it. Maybe it's time."
Bhima laughed, a rough, booming sound that drowned the thunder, and he clapped Yudhishthira's shoulder, his voice loud and bold. "Time? Fine! I'll break their throne if they try anything—hundred or not!" He flexed his arms, mud dripping, his grin fierce and wide.
Arjuna darted to Bhima's side, his bow raised as he laughed, his voice quick and teasing. "Break it after I shoot it! We'll show 'em—forest boys beat palace brats!" He aimed at the sky, rain blurring his grin, his energy sparking in the storm.
Kunti stood, her sari heavy as she turned to them, her voice cutting through the rain, steady and clear. "No breaking yet, Bhima. No shooting, Arjuna. We go east—to Hastinapura. The court's your place, risks and all. Pack up—we leave when the rain stops."
Bhima squinted at her, his hands on his hips as he nodded, his voice gruff but willing. "East, huh? Fine—better fights there. I'm ready—wolf won't follow!" He grabbed the broken trap, tossing it aside, his fury easing into purpose.
Yudhishthira stepped to the tarp, folding it as he spoke, his voice calm and sure. "I'll pack, Mother. East's a long walk—we'll need everything. The sages knew—we're ready."
Arjuna slung his bow over his back, his voice bright and eager as he ran to help, rain dripping from his nose. "Ready! I'll shoot anything that moves—court'll see me coming!" He grabbed their small bundle of arrows, his grin unshaken.
Kunti pulled the twins to their feet, her hands steadying them as they clung to her, her voice soft but resolute. "You'll see horses, my loves. And more. We're going home—not this wild, but a real one." She glanced at Bhima, the uprooted tree a dark shape in the storm, and her fear yielded to clarity, her sons' trust anchoring her choice.
The rain pounded on, thunder rumbling, the ridge slick and wild, but Kunti's resolve burned brighter, the storm a mirror to their turbulent path as they turned their faces east, toward Hastinapura's distant court.