Anya's ancient antics: a mahabharat tale

Chapter :10

As days passed, Anya began to find her place within the grand palace of Hastinapur. She had grown close to Dushala, who enjoyed Anya's lively company, and Rajmata Gandhari had taken a special liking to her. Gandhari spoiled Anya with affection and kindness, treating her like a beloved granddaughter. Anya basked in the attention, loving every minute of it.

One day, Anya was introduced to the formidable Pitamah Bhishma. He was tall and imposing, with a long, flowing beard and deep, wise eyes that held years of knowledge and experience. His stern expression could intimidate anyone, but there was a warmth behind his eyes, a kindness that suggested he was more than just a fierce warrior.

Anya, naturally curious, bombarded him with questions. "Pitamah Bhishma," she began, her tone both respectful and eager, "is it true that you took a vow of celibacy just to honor your father's wishes? And you defeated Lord Parashurama in battle? And that you were so handsome in your youth that even the gods were jealous?"

Bhishma chuckled softly, amused by her barrage of questions. "Yes, child, it is true. But what is more important than these tales is to live a life of duty and honor."

Anya blinked and asked, "But Pitamah, don't you ever feel like, you know, going on a little vacation? You've done so much! Don't you deserve a break?"

Bhishma laughed heartily, a sound that echoed through the palace halls. "A break, you say? My duty is my rest, little one. But I appreciate your concern."

Anya grinned. "You're like the coolest grandpa ever. If I had to choose between you and a mango, I'd still pick you!"

Bhishma raised an eyebrow. "Is that a compliment, Anya?"

"Of course!" Anya replied earnestly. "I mean, mangoes are awesome, but you are like... Pitamah Bhishma, the legend! And you're not even afraid of mosquitoes!"

Bhishma laughed again, shaking his head at her. "You are a peculiar one, Anya. But I find your spirit refreshing."

--

Anya skipped over to the training ground, hoping to find her brother Balaram, whom she affectionately called "Dau." Instead, she was greeted by the sight of Duryodhan, who was engrossed in his mace practice. His powerful swings created a rhythmic whooshing sound in the air, and Anya couldn't help but stare, her thoughts running wild.

*Is he plotting something sinister?* she mused, recalling all the stories she had heard about Duryodhan being the villain of the Mahabharat. *I must keep an eye on him! Maybe he's planning some evil scheme right now!*

Suddenly, Duryodhan's deep voice cut through her thoughts. "Done staring?" he asked, his tone laced with irritation.

Anya snapped back to reality, putting her hands on her hips. "I was not staring at you! I was staring at the mace," she retorted with a huff. "And trust me, you're not handsome enough for me to waste my precious time staring at!"

Duryodhan's eyebrows shot up, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Oh, really? And you think you're some kind of great beauty?"

Anya stomped her foot indignantly. "I am not just any beauty! I am *the* beauty! The most beautiful woman in Dwarka!" She lifted her chin, her confidence radiating. "People in Dwarka lined up just to see me! Even the birds would stop singing to hear my voice!"

Duryodhan's lips curled into a smirk. "Self-praise much? I'm not interested in childish, self-obsessed girls."

Anya's eyes narrowed, and she scoffed. "Childish? Ha! I am youthful and vibrant! And I am not self-obsessed - I'm just aware of my own unique charm." She tossed her hair back with dramatic flair. "Even the ocean waves paused to admire my reflection. The merchants in Dwarka called me more precious than their finest goods!"