Sunlight streamed through a narrow window in a small courtroom off the throne hall, its midmorning glow spilling across the stone floor. Wooden benches creaked under the weight of a handful of courtiers, their silk robes rustling as they shifted, their whispers buzzing like flies. Yudhishthira sat on a raised chair at the room's front, his hands folded in his lap, his patched tunic swaying slightly as he leaned forward. His dark hair was tied back, and his steady gaze moved between a merchant and a farmer standing before him, their voices overlapping in a heated row. The merchant waved a tally stick, his green robe flapping, his fair hair damp with sweat. The farmer clutched a rope, his rough tunic patched, his broad hands red from work, his beard bristling as he shouted.
Kunti stood in a corner, her crimson sari folded neatly, her arms crossed as she watched, her dark hair catching the light. Her lips pressed tight, and her quiet presence steadied the room's edge. Duryodhana lounged by the door, his dark tunic rumpled, his small frame slouched against the frame. He rolled his eyes, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm, while Duhshasana sat beside him on a bench, his fair hair tangled, nodding at every mutter Duryodhana let slip.
The merchant's voice snapped, shrill and quick as he jabbed the tally stick toward the farmer, his robe creasing. "He stole my cow! Paid for it—three sacks of grain—and he keeps it! Thief!" He turned to Yudhishthira, his fair hair bouncing, and his hands shook as he waved the stick again.
The farmer's voice retorted, gruff and loud as he tugged the rope, his beard twitching. "Stole? I raised it! Fed it, milked it—his grain's nothing to that! It's mine!" He stomped a boot, the dust puffing up, and his broad hands gripped the rope tighter, his glare burning.
Yudhishthira raised a hand, his voice calm and even as he leaned back, his tunic settling. "Quiet, both of you. One at a time—merchant, you first. What's your claim?" He tilted his head, his dark eyes steady, and the room hushed, the courtiers' whispers fading.
The merchant stepped forward, his voice shrill but slowing as he waved the tally stick, his robe flapping. "Three sacks, like I said! Gave 'em last harvest—he took 'em, promised the cow. Now he's got my grain and my cow—cheating me!" He jabbed the stick toward the farmer, his fair hair sticking to his brow, and his breath huffed out.
Yudhishthira nodded, his hands folding again, his voice steady and clear. "Three sacks. Fair price for a cow—did he promise it?" He turned to the farmer, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, and the merchant lowered the stick, his grumble softening.
The farmer's voice growled, gruff and firm as he tugged the rope again, his broad hands steady. "Promise? I said I'd think on it! Took the grain, sure—fed her with it. She's mine—raised her from a calf!" He squared his shoulders, his beard bristling, and the rope creaked in his grip.
Yudhishthira's lips twitched, his voice calm and thoughtful as he leaned forward, his tunic swaying. "Think on it? Grain's gone—cow's grown. What's she worth now, farmer? Milk, calves—your work shows." He glanced between them, his dark eyes steady, and the room waited, the benches creaking faintly.
The farmer shifted, his voice gruff but quieter as he scratched his beard, his rope loosening. "Milk's good—twice a day. Calves coming, maybe. Took my sweat, not his!" He glanced at the merchant, his broad hands flexing, and his glare softened, uncertain.
The merchant's voice rose, shrill and quick as he waved the stick again, his robe creasing. "Sweat? My grain started it! I'd have milk too if he'd kept his word—robbery, this is!" He turned to Yudhishthira, his fair hair bouncing, and his hands shook with frustration.
Yudhishthira raised a hand again, his voice even and firm as he sat back, his tunic settling. "Enough. Grain bought a start—sweat built the rest. Share the yield—milk splits even, calves stay with the farmer. Both prosper that way." He folded his hands, his dark eyes meeting theirs, and his logic hung clear in the air.
The merchant's stick dropped to his side, his voice low and grumbling as he nodded, his robe stilling. "Even? Half's better than nothing, I suppose. Fine—milk's mine too." He tucked the stick under his arm, his fair hair falling into his eyes, and his huff faded.
The farmer's rope slackened, his voice gruff but steady as he dipped his head, his beard settling. "Half's fair—calves are mine. I'll live with it." He coiled the rope, his broad hands slow, and his glare eased, his grumble trailing off.
Kunti's arms uncrossed, her voice soft and warm as she glanced at Yudhishthira, her sari swaying. "Fair's right. You've got Father's way, my son." She smiled faintly, her dark eyes glowing, and her trust deepened, a quiet anchor in the corner.
Duryodhana straightened, his voice fierce and loud as he leapt up, pointing a finger at Yudhishthira, his dark tunic flapping. "Share? Fair? You'd give my side nothing—bias, I say! Outsiders win, kin lose!" He stormed forward, his small fists clenching, and the room stirred, the courtiers' whispers buzzing again.
Duhshasana nodded, his voice shrill and quick as he jumped up beside him, his fair hair bouncing. "Bias! Nothing for us—cheating kin! Fix him, brother!" He kicked the bench, its creak punctuating his shout, and a few courtiers turned, their heads tilting.
Yudhishthira met Duryodhana's glare, his voice calm and steady as he leaned forward, his hands still folded. "Your side? They're not here, Duryodhana. Merchant and farmer—both Kuru folk. Fair's fair, kin or not." He tilted his head, his dark eyes unwavering, and his silence held the accusation at bay.
Duryodhana's finger jabbed the air, his voice fierce and bitter as he stepped closer, his tunic creasing. "Folk? Strangers! You'd pick 'em over me—over us! I see it—soft on them, hard on kin!" He crossed his arms, his small frame bristling, and his glare burned, his spite twisting deeper.
Kunti's voice sharpened, soft but firm as she stepped forward, her sari swaying. "Soft? He's just, Duryodhana. No sides here—only truth. Watch your words." She crossed her arms again, her dark eyes narrowing, and her trust in Yudhishthira steadied her stance.
The merchant bowed, his voice low and quick as he tucked the tally stick away, his robe settling. "Truth's good—half's mine. I'm done here." He turned, his fair hair bouncing, and he slipped past Duryodhana, his steps brisk toward the door.
The farmer dipped his head, his voice gruff and warm as he coiled the rope fully, his broad hands steady. "Done, yes. Calves stay—milk's split. Fair enough." He nodded at Yudhishthira, his beard bobbing, and he followed the merchant, his boots thudding softly.
Duhshasana's voice rose, shrill and wild as he pointed after them, his fair hair falling into his eyes. "Fair? They walk off happy—us, nothing! Cheat, brother—cheat!" He kicked the bench again, its creak sharper, and the courtiers' whispers grew, their unease spreading.
Yudhishthira's voice stayed calm, his hands unfolding as he looked at Duryodhana, his tunic swaying. "Nothing? You've got no cow here, no claim. They prosper—I settled it. That's all." He leaned back, his dark eyes steady, and his quiet respect lingered, unshaken.
Duryodhana's fists tightened, his voice fierce and low as he glared, his small frame trembling. "Settled? For them—not me! You'll see—I'll make my own fair! Watch me!" He spun, storming toward the door, his dark tunic flapping, and Duhshasana trailed, his nods fierce.
Kunti watched them go, her voice soft and steady as she murmured, her sari catching the light. "His own fair? Trouble's brewing, Yudhishthira. Stay sharp." She stepped closer, her dark eyes thoughtful, and her trust held firm, a quiet strength in the room.
The courtiers shifted, their benches creaking as they whispered, some nodding at Yudhishthira's ruling, others glancing at Duryodhana's retreat, the room split by unease. The merchant and farmer vanished into the hall, their grumbles gone, but Duryodhana's accusation rang out, sowing seeds of discord amid the settled peace. The courtroom stood as a battleground of words, Yudhishthira's calm a beacon, Duryodhana's paranoia a shadow growing darker.