Torches flared along the stone walls of a palace courtyard, their flames spitting and dancing as early evening settled over Hastinapura. The air cooled, a soft breeze tugging at the edges of tunics and saris, while stars pricked the darkening sky overhead. A wooden dais creaked under the weight of gathered elders, their gray beards catching the torchlight as they sat on low stools, their silk robes rustling with every shift. Yudhishthira stood at the dais's center, his hands clasped in front of him, his patched tunic swaying slightly as he faced the elders. His dark hair was tied back, and his voice carried steady and clear, cutting through the murmur of the crowd below.
Bhima lounged a few steps away, sprawled on a stone bench, tearing into a loaf of bread with big, greedy bites. His broad frame cast a shadow that dwarfed the guards standing nearby, their bronze armor glinting faintly as they watched him. Crumbs tumbled down his tunic, and he grinned, his dark curls bouncing as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Arjuna balanced on a low wall at the courtyard's edge, his bow slung over his shoulder, twirling an arrow between his fingers. His stance was steady, fluid, and he flicked the arrow without looking, sending it spinning into a torch's flame where it caught and flared, drawing gasps from the onlookers. His sharp eyes glinted, his small frame poised as he hopped down, dusting his hands.
Kunti stood at the courtyard's edge, her crimson sari folded neatly, her arms crossed as she watched her sons, her dark hair stirring in the breeze. The crowd hummed around her, courtiers and servants alike craning their necks, their whispers swirling like the wind. Duryodhana sat on a bench near the wall, his dark tunic rumpled, a stick tapping his knee in a restless rhythm. His scowl deepened with every murmur of praise, and Duhshasana slouched beside him, whispering taunts in his ear, his fair hair tangled from earlier play.
An elder with a gruff voice leaned forward, his staff resting against his stool, his silk robe creasing as he tilted his head at Yudhishthira. "What's your learning, boy? Forest's no school—tell us what you've got." His tone was curious, but there was a bite to it, and the other elders nodded, their eyes fixed on the small figure before them.
Yudhishthira met his gaze, his hands still clasped, his voice calm and clear as he spoke. "Truth and patience. Those were Father's lessons. He taught us to listen, to think, to hold steady when things get hard." He paused, his dark eyes steady, and a faint smile tugged at his lips as he added, "The forest taught us the rest."
Bhima laughed, a loud, booming sound that rolled across the courtyard, and he tore off another chunk of bread, his voice bold and cheerful. "And smashing boars! That's my learning—kept us fed!" He grinned, crumbs falling as he waved the loaf, his broad shoulders shaking with the laugh.
Arjuna hopped back onto the wall, twirling another arrow, his voice quick and sharp as he grinned at the elders. "I aim truer than fire. That's what I learned—hit what I see, every time." He flicked the arrow again, its tip grazing a torch's edge, and the flame sputtered, drawing more gasps from the crowd.
The gruff elder chuckled, a rough, gravelly sound, and he nodded, his staff tapping the dais. "Truth, smashing, aiming. Fair enough, boy. You've got something—more than I thought." He leaned back, his nod slow but firm, and a few others murmured agreement, their heads dipping as they watched Yudhishthira.
A second elder, his beard streaked with white, stood, his silk robe shimmering as he raised a hand, his voice slow and thoughtful. "Patience is good. But ruling? That's different. What do you know of courts, of laws? Forest's got no thrones." He sat again, his eyes narrowing, waiting for an answer.
Yudhishthira tilted his head, his voice steady and even as he replied. "Courts need truth, same as forests. Father said a king listens before he speaks, weighs before he judges. I've listened to my brothers, settled their fights. That's a start, isn't it?" He glanced at Bhima and Arjuna, his smile faint but warm, and the elder nodded, his white beard bobbing as he settled back.
Bhima snorted, swallowing a mouthful of bread as he leaned forward, his voice loud and gruff. "Fights? I'd win 'em all if he didn't talk me down! Good thing he's got sense—I've got the muscle!" He flexed an arm, his grin wide, and a few courtiers laughed, their eyes widening at his size.
Arjuna jumped down, landing lightly as he laughed, his voice sharp and teasing. "Muscle's slow, Bhima! I'd shoot you before you swung—sense or not!" He tapped his bow, his small hands quick, and the crowd murmured again, their heads turning to watch him.
Kunti's lips twitched, her arms uncrossing as she stepped closer, her voice firm but soft. "Enough, you two. Show off when it's time—not now. Yudhishthira's talking sense—listen to him." She glanced at the dais, her dark eyes meeting Yudhishthira's, a flicker of pride passing between them.
Duryodhana's stick tapped faster, its rhythm sharp against his knee, and he muttered, his voice bitter and low as he glared across the courtyard. "Tricks and talk. Nothing real. Big oaf eating, bow-boy playing—pathetic." He leaned toward Duhshasana, his dark eyes burning, his scowl twisting deeper.
Duhshasana nodded, his voice quick and fierce as he whispered back, his fair hair falling into his eyes. "Pathetic! We'd smash 'em, brother—real strength, not this rubbish!" He kicked the bench, its creak punctuating his words, and a few nearby courtiers glanced their way, their whispers faltering.
A third elder, his voice raspy but kind, stood, his staff trembling slightly as he smiled at Yudhishthira. "Sense, you say. Good start, boy. Forest's tough—kept you alive, I see. Maybe there's more to you than tales." He sat, his nod gentle, and the gruff elder grunted agreement, their approval spreading like ripples.
Bhima tore off another piece of bread, his voice loud and bold as he grinned at the elders, crumbs tumbling. "Alive's right! I carried half the forest on my back—kept 'em all going! That's more than talk!" He patted his chest, his laugh booming, and the guards nearby shifted, their eyes wide as they watched him.
Arjuna twirled his arrow again, his voice sharp and bright as he hopped onto the wall once more. "Carried? I hunted it! Shot birds clean out of the sky—fed us better than bread!" He flicked the arrow into the torch again, its flame flaring, and the crowd gasped louder, their murmurs turning to praise.
Yudhishthira raised a hand, his voice calm and steady as he turned to the elders, his tunic swaying. "We all did our part. Truth kept us together—strength and aim made it work. That's what Father gave us." He lowered his hand, his dark eyes steady, and the raspy elder nodded again, his smile widening.
Kunti watched, her arms crossing again as she stood at the edge, her voice low and warm, barely audible over the crowd's hum. "My boys. Shining already." Her sari caught the torchlight, and her pride flickered, steady and quiet, as she traced their faces.
Duryodhana's stick snapped in his hand, the crack sharp in the cooling air, and he stood, his voice bitter and loud as he glared at Bhima. "Shining? Rubbish! That lump's just big—nothing else! And that bow trick's a joke!" He tossed the broken stick down, his small fists clenching, his scowl burning across the courtyard.
Duhshasana jumped up, his voice shrill and fierce as he pointed, his tunic flapping. "Joke! Smash that big lump, brother—show 'em real strength!" He kicked the bench again, its creak echoing, and a few courtiers turned, their whispers hushing as they watched.
Bhima laughed, standing with a stretch, his voice gruff and cheerful as he faced Duryodhana, bread crumbs tumbling. "Smash me? Come try, little stick-breaker! I'll lift you up and spin you 'round!" He cracked his knuckles, his grin wide, and the crowd stirred, a mix of laughs and gasps rippling through.
Arjuna grinned, stepping off the wall, his voice quick and sharp as he tapped his bow. "Spin him? I'd shoot his stick first—make it quick! He's all talk!" He mimed an arrow flying, his small hands steady, his eyes glinting with challenge.
Yudhishthira stepped forward, his voice calm and firm as he raised a hand again, his tunic settling. "No lifting, Bhima. No shooting, Arjuna. We're here to answer, not fight. Sit down, both of you." He turned to Duryodhana, his dark eyes steady, his words quiet but clear. "And you—save your sticks. We've got nothing to prove to you."
Duryodhana sat hard, his bench creaking, his voice a mutter as he glared at Yudhishthira, his resentment simmering. "Nothing? We'll see. You'll trip—watch me help you fall." He leaned toward Duhshasana, his dark eyes narrowing, his broken stick forgotten at his feet.
Duhshasana nodded, his voice low and fierce as he grinned, his fair hair bouncing. "Fall hard, brother. We'll make 'em—real hard!" He kicked the bench once more, its creak fading into the crowd's hum, their unease palpable.
The gruff elder stood again, his staff tapping the dais, his voice rough but warm as he nodded at Yudhishthira. "Good head on you, boy. Truth and patience—rare enough. You'll do." He sat, his nod firm, and the others murmured agreement, their approval settling over the courtyard.
Kunti's lips curved, her arms uncrossing as she watched, her voice soft and steady, a whisper to herself. "They'll do more than that." Her sari swayed in the breeze, her pride glowing as the torchlight flickered, the courtyard alive with shifting loyalties and the quiet storm of Duryodhana's glare.