The grand hall of Maharaj Dhritarashtra's palace was a testament to the opulence of Hastinapur. Majestic tall pillars adorned with intricate carvings of celestial beings and floral patterns stood proud, reflecting the grandeur of the kingdom. Rich tapestries depicting scenes from great epics covered the walls, and the air was filled with the faint scent of sandalwood, emanating from the incense burners placed strategically around the room.
Dhritarashtra sat on his grand throne, his face a canvas of deep contemplation. His unseeing eyes were closed, his thick brows furrowed in thought. The room's silence was interrupted by the firm yet respectful voice of a soldier who stood at the door.
"Mahamantri Vidur andar aane ki agya chahte hain, Maharaj," the soldier announced.
("Great Minister Vidur seeks permission to enter, Your Majesty.")
Dhritarashtra opened his eyes, though they gazed into nothingness, and nodded slightly, signaling his assent. The soldier bowed and stepped aside, allowing Vidur to enter. The minister, dressed in simple yet dignified attire, walked with calm confidence and stood beside Dhritarashtra's throne. Bowing slightly, he said, "Maharaj ki Jai ho!"
("Victory to the King!")
Dhritarashtra tilted his head in Vidur's direction and spoke with curiosity tinged with amusement.
"Aaj tumhari vani mein ek alag hi anand samaya hai, Vidur. Batao, kya khabar hai?"
("Today, there is a distinct joy in your voice, Vidur. Tell me, what is the news?")
Vidur's face broke into a pleased smile as he replied,
"Kampilya se badi hi khush khabri aayi hai, Maharaj."
("Great news has come from Kampilya, Your Majesty.")
Hearing this, Dhritarashtra rose from his throne, his excitement making his movements slightly unsteady. He placed a hand on Vidur's shoulder for balance and asked eagerly,
"Batao, Vidur, kya mere priya jyesth putra Duryodhan ne swayamvar jeet liya?"
("Tell me, Vidur, has my beloved eldest son Duryodhan won the swayamvar?")
Vidur shook his head, his expression steady yet unreadable.
"Nahi, Maharaj."
("No, Your Majesty.")
Dhritarashtra paused, his face reflecting his thoughts, then asked again with renewed hope,
"Toh kya putra Dushasan ne jeeta? Avashya usne hi jeeta hoga. Woh bhi toh bada pratapi hai."
("Then has my son Dushasan won? Surely he must have. He is also quite accomplished.")
Once again, Vidur shook his head and said,
"Nahi, Maharaj. Dushasan ne bhi nahi jeeta."
("No, Your Majesty. Dushasan has not won either.")
Dhritarashtra frowned slightly and leaned back as if searching for an explanation. With a tinge of impatience, he asked,
"Toh aur khushi ki baat kya hai, Vidur?"
("Then what is the good news, Vidur?")
Vidur's calm voice carried weight as he delivered the unexpected news.
"Swayamvar to aapke priya anuj-putra Arjun ne jeeta hai, Maharaj."
("The swayamvar has been won by your beloved nephew, Arjun, Your Majesty.")
Dhritarashtra's expression froze, his unseeing eyes widening in shock. His balance faltered, and he clutched Vidur's arm for support. The news seemed almost too much to bear as he asked in disbelief,
"Kya? Arjun ne? Aur mere anuj-putra zinda hain?"
("What? Arjun? And my nephews are alive?")
Vidur, ever composed, replied,
"Ji, Maharaj. Sabse badi khushi ki baat yeh hai ki aapke anuj-putra Varanavat ke hadse ke baad bhi jeevit hain."
("Yes, Your Majesty. The greatest news is that your nephews survived the incident at Varanavat.")
Dhritarashtra's face fell. His earlier enthusiasm drained away, replaced by a conflicted frown. He stumbled back to his throne and sat down heavily, his hands resting on his forehead. Vidur watched him, puzzled by the king's reaction. After a long silence, Vidur spoke. "Kya hua, Maharaj?"
("What happened, Your Majesty?")
Startled out of his thoughts, Dhritarashtra quickly regained his composure. Forcing a smile, he said,
"Kuch nahi, Vidur. Main toh bada khush hoon. Parantu kya mere anuj-putra mujhe Varanavat ke hadse ka doshi manenge?"
("Nothing, Vidur. I am very happy. But will my nephews blame me for the incident at Varanavat?")
Vidur frowned, surprised by the question. He shook his head firmly.
"Nahi, Maharaj. Jahan tak mujhe lagta hai, woh aapse naaraz nahi honge. Aapko unhe ek chithi likhkar yeh batana chahiye ki aap unke lautne par kitne prasann hain. Swayamvar aur vivah ke liye ek purohit bhi bhejna uchit hoga."
("No, Your Majesty. As far as I believe, they won't be angry with you. You should write them a letter expressing how happy you are about their return. It would also be appropriate to send a priest for the swayamvar and wedding.")
Dhritarashtra exhaled deeply, relief washing over him.
"Jao, jao, yeh sab isi waqt karo, Vidur. Main toh bada khush hoon ki main apne purvajon ke samne lajjit hone se bach gaya. Ab tum turant Kampilya ko doot bhejo."
("Go, go, do all this immediately, Vidur. I am so happy that I have been saved from shame before my ancestors. Now, send a messenger to Kampilya at once.")
Vidur bowed respectfully and left the room. Yet, as he walked away, his heart felt uneasy. The king's words and demeanor did not align with the joyous news Vidur had brought. Something about the reaction didn't sit well with the wise minister, but he chose to keep his thoughts to himself for now.
In the dimly lit corridor of the Hastinapur palace, the sound of Shakuni's uneven steps echoed. His limp was pronounced, his one lame leg dragging slightly as he walked, his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. His mind churned with frustration, questioning how his meticulously crafted plan to eliminate the Pandavas had failed. Suddenly, the laughter of his nephews broke through his brooding thoughts. The hearty guffaws, accompanied by a deeper chuckle-clearly Karna's-came from Duryodhan's chamber.
Shakuni's head turned sharply toward the sound. His expression darkened, and with hurried steps, he made his way to the chamber. Inside, he found Duryodhan, Dushasan, and Karna lounging together, immersed in their mirth. Shakuni stormed in, his face a mask of fury, and bellowed, "Tum jaisa murkh iss duniya mein aur kadachit hi kabhi dekhne ko milega, Duryodhan!"
("A fool like you might never be seen in this world again, Duryodhan!")
Duryodhan's laughter faded instantly, replaced by confusion and irritation. He frowned and asked, "Parantu maine kiya kya hai, Mamashree?"
("But what have I done, Uncle?")
Shakuni pointed a finger at him and spat, "Rone ke avsar par hansoge toh murkh na kahun toh kya kahun tumhe main?"
("If you laugh in moments meant for crying, what else should I call you but a fool?")
Turning to include Dushasan and Karna in his ire, Shakuni continued, "Dushasan se woh Rajkumar ka pad nahi chinenge, aur Karna se Ang Naresh ka pad. Woh toh tumse Hastinapur ka raj singhasan chinenge, vats."
("They won't take the title of prince from Dushasan, or the throne of Ang from Karna. They will snatch the throne of Hastinapur from you, my boy.")
The three men exchanged alarmed glances. Duryodhan finally asked, "Kaun, Mamashree?"
