The Other Princess

Lessons

Six years had passed since that fateful night when Samyukta first opened her eyes to the world. The palace of Hastinapur, with its grand halls and sprawling gardens, had become her playground, her school, and her home. But within its walls, Samyukta had also learned that life was filled with subtle complexities, some of which she was beginning to understand.

Each day, Samyukta would rise early, eager to begin her lessons with Princess Kunti. Under Kunti's patient guidance, she learned to read and write, her small fingers carefully tracing the letters on palm leaves, her young mind absorbing the stories of the past and the wisdom of the scriptures. But Kunti's teachings extended beyond the written word. She also instructed Samyukta in the gentle arts—how to weave garlands, how to mix herbal pastes, embroidery, music and the ways of a noblewoman.

In the afternoons, Grandsire Bhishma took over her education. Despite his stern demeanour, Bhishma had a soft spot for Samyukta, seeing in her a spark that reminded him of his own younger days. He admired Samyukta's determination, her willingness to learn, even when the lessons were hard. He taught her how to ride horses, guiding her with a firm hand as she learned to control the powerful animals. Under his watchful eye, Samyukta learned to mount a horse with grace and ride with a confidence that belied her young age. 

She also learned the basics of sword fighting. Bhishma had insisted on this, believing that even a young girl should know how to defend herself, especially in a world as unpredictable as theirs.  

"Remember, Samyukta," Bhishma would say as he handed her a wooden sword for practice, "it is not about seeking battle, but about being prepared to protect yourself and those you love."

But it wasn't long before Samyukta noticed something that unsettled her. Her cousin, Princess Dushala, the only daughter of Dhritarashtra and Gandhari, received far more attention when it came to her education. Dushala was given private tutors who taught her not only the arts but also the sciences, along with lessons in etiquette and statecraft fit for royalty. While Samyukta's lessons were enriching, they were more limited, reflecting her status as neither royal nor commoner. 

Dushala was a princess by birth, while Samyukta, though loved and respected, was not considered royalty. It was a distinction that was never spoken of openly, but it hung over her like a shadow nonetheless. Samyukta took these lessons to heart, but she couldn't help but notice that Dushala's training was far more rigorous, preparing her for a future role that Samyukta herself would never attain.

It was during these moments of quiet observation that a seed of awareness began to grow in Samyukta's mind—a seed that made her question her place in the world around her.

As the day turned to dusk and the palace grew quieter, Samyukta would find herself in the company of her father. Vidura, though a man of few words, was generous with his time when it came to his daughter. Each night, as the oil lamps were lit and the air filled with the scent of jasmine, he would teach her the art of statecraft—an education that he believed was just as important as any other.

"Listen well, Samyukta," Vidura would say, his voice calm and steady. "A ruler's greatest weapon is not the sword, but the mind. Understanding the needs of the people, the workings of the court, and the balance of power—these are the true tools of leadership."

And Samyukta listened, her young mind absorbing every detail, every nuance. Though she was still a child, she felt the weight of her father's words, sensing that they held the key to a future she was yet to fully comprehend.

But there was one more connection to the world beyond the palace that Samyukta held dear—her letters from Yudhishtira. Ever since the Pandavas and Kauravas had left for Gurukul, Yudhishtira had taken it upon himself to write to her on behalf of his brothers. The letters, filled with tales of their rigorous training and studies, brought a smile to her face each time they arrived.

"Dearest Samyukta," one letter read, "we are all doing well here, though we miss Hastinapur and you. Bhima often speaks of the sweets he wishes to share with you when we return, and Arjun is eager to show you the new skills he has learned with the bow. Stay strong, little sister, and know that we think of you always."

These letters were a source of comfort and connection, reminding Samyukta that even as the world around her grew more complex, there were bonds that remained unbroken, ties of love and loyalty that would carry her through whatever lay ahead.

* * * * *

The sound of a stern voice filled the chamber as Samyukta carefully peeked out from behind a heavy curtain. Her eyes were fixed on her cousin, Princess Dushala, who sat attentively as her tutor lectured her on the laws and governance of Hastinapur and the surrounding kingdoms.

 The tutor, an elderly scholar with a deep, authoritative voice, was going over the intricate legal systems, the duties of rulers, and the delicate balance of power that held the kingdoms together.

"This is the foundation of our rule," the tutor explained. "Understanding these laws, knowing how to apply them with wisdom and fairness, is what will make you a just ruler, Princess Dushala."

Samyukta's heart raced as she listened, captivated by the complexity of the lesson. She had always been curious about the art of governance, something her father had started teaching her in simpler terms during their evening sessions. But here, Dushala was learning concepts far beyond what Samyukta had ever heard. She leaned in closer, eager to absorb every word.

The lesson continued for what felt like hours, each word stirring something deep within Samyukta. She could see herself in Dushala's place, learning these important lessons, preparing to make a difference in the world. But as she was lost in her thoughts, the tutor concluded the session, and Dushala stood up to leave.

Suddenly, Dushala's sharp eyes caught a glimpse of movement behind the curtain. She frowned, slowly walking towards it. Before Samyukta could slip away, Dushala reached out and pulled the curtain aside, revealing a startled Samyukta.

"What are you doing here?" Dushala asked, more curious than angry.Samyukta looked up at her cousin, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I... I was just listening. I liked the lesson."

Dushala raised an eyebrow, surprised by the confession. "You understood it?"

Samyukta nodded earnestly. "Yes, I did. It was about the laws of the kingdoms, how rulers must know them to govern wisely."

Dushala stared at her for a moment, her surprise turning into admiration. "But this is advanced statecraft, Samyukta. It's not something for someone your age."

"I know," Samyukta admitted, "but I want to learn more. I want to understand how to govern, how to make decisions that will help people."

Dushala's expression softened. She hadn't expected this from her younger cousin, who had always seemed so eager to learn, but this was a different level of dedication. She thought for a moment before smiling.

"Alright," Dushala said, "I'll teach you what I know. But you must promise me you'll work hard. 

This isn't easy, and it's going to take time."

Samyukta's eyes lit up with excitement, and she nodded eagerly. "I promise, Dushala! I'll work hard, and I'll learn everything you can teach me."

Dushala chuckled, placing a hand on Samyukta's shoulder. "Very well then. We'll start tomorrow after my lessons with the tutor. But remember, you must keep this between us. We don't want anyone thinking you're overstepping."

Samyukta agreed, her heart swelling with gratitude and determination. As the two cousins walked out of the chamber together, a bond formed between them, one that would shape their futures in ways they couldn't yet foresee. For Samyukta, this was the beginning of a journey into the intricate world of statecraft, a path that would challenge her, shape her, and prepare her for the trials that lay ahead.