THE ROAR OF THE LION(ON HOLD)

Madhavan

A cute boy of 3 years runs across the hallways of the grand palace of Hastinapur. Behind him runs two tired and hap-hazarded men, one white haired and built warrior - Mahamahim Bhishm and the other lean and witty scholar - Mahamantri Vidur. 

The polished marble floor of the Hastinapur palace echoed with the frantic pounding of tiny feet. Three-year-old Madhavan, as called by his dearest prapitamahi, a whirlwind of energy with a crown of natural black hair bouncing, weaved through the grand hallway, his infectious laughter trailing behind him. His prize possession, a feathered quill meant for signing royal decrees, clutched triumphantly in his chubby fist.

Hot on his heels came two exasperated figures. Mahamahim Bhishma, the white-haired warrior with a physique defying his age, lumbered after the prince, his every step a testament to his dedication to his duty as protector. Beside him,Mahamantri Vidur, the lean and witty scholar, sprinted with surprising agility for a man of his years, his normally composed expression replaced by a look of good-natured exasperation.

"Madhavan!" boomed Bhishma, his voice rumbling through the hall. "Stop this instant!"

Madhavan, however, remained blissfully unaware, his attention captured by the shimmering reflection of the quill in a nearby polished shield. He giggled, attempting to poke the quill's feather at the image, his tiny form barely reaching the shield's surface.

Suddenly, a gentle but firm voice cut through the chase. "Bhishma, Vidur, perhaps a gentler approach is needed?"

The two men turned to find a serene figure emerging from an adjoining corridor. It was Satyavati, Madhavan's great-grandmother. Her eyes, though aged, held a lifetime of wisdom, and her smile could calm the most turbulent storm.

Madhavan, at the sound of her voice, looked up. His lower lip wobbled for a moment, the thrill of the chase giving way to the fear of getting into trouble.

Satyavati's smile widened. She knelt down, her gaze meeting Madhavan's at eye level. "Madhavan, my little prince," she said softly, "that feather is not a toy. It's for important matters of the kingdom."

Madhavan, his eyes welling up, held the quill out towards her, a silent apology. Satyavati took it gently, her touch surprisingly strong.

"But," she continued, a twinkle returning to her eyes, "perhaps there's another way for you to have fun with feathers?"

Madhavan's tears dried up instantly, replaced by a spark of curiosity. Satyavati beckoned him closer, and as Bhishma and Vidur exchanged relieved glances, the four generations walked off together, whispers of a grand adventure with feathers already forming in the air.

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