Anya's ancient antics: a mahabharat tale

chapter 48

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The grand hall of Hastinapur shimmered in the soft glow of the evening lamps, their golden light casting intricate patterns on the marble floors and the ornate tapestries that lined the walls. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood incense, its smoky tendrils weaving through the murmurs of conversation that filled the vast room.

Princess Bhanumati of Kalinga sat with a poised elegance beside Queen Gandhari, her posture perfect, her sari flowing gracefully around her like a river of silk. Every movement she made was deliberate, each smile serene and calculated. Her voice, melodic and soothing, was captivating the attention of the elders, who seemed entranced by her charm and intellect.

Anya, seated a few places away, tried to focus on the meal before her, but her attention kept drifting back to Bhanumati. She felt an uneasy knot forming in her stomach. The princess was a vision of grace—effortlessly perfect in every way. And to Anya's dismay, everyone in the hall seemed to hang on her every word.

“I must say, Princess Bhanumati,” Queen Gandhari said with warmth, her blindfolded face tilted toward the young princess. “Your wisdom and grace remind me of my own early days in Hastinapur.”

Bhanumati smiled sweetly, lowering her gaze in a display of modesty. “You honor me, Queen Gandhari. To be compared to someone as revered as you is beyond anything I could have hoped for.”

King Dhritarashtra, seated beside his queen, nodded in agreement. His deep voice rumbled through the hall. “Indeed, Princess. Your composure and intelligence reflect the finest qualities of Kalinga.”

Bhanumati turned to him, her eyes shining with respect. “King Dhritarashtra, your words humble me. It is my hope that I can continue to learn from the great leaders of Hastinapur.”

Anya shifted in her seat, barely suppressing an eye-roll as she overheard the exchange. Her fingers absentmindedly twirled a lock of her hair as she muttered under her breath, “Great, now she’s buttering up the king too.”

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft chuckle from her side. Dushasan, ever the mischievous one among Duryodhan’s brothers, leaned in with a teasing grin. “Bhabhi, why do you look like you’re about to stab your plate with that fork?”

Anya shot him a look, but her lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because everyone’s acting like I’ve turned invisible ever since ‘Princess Perfect’ over there walked in.”

Vikarna, who was seated on her other side, frowned slightly, his brow furrowed in concern. “That’s not true, bhabhi. We all see you.”

Anya waved her hand in the air dramatically. “Oh, sure. You lot see me, but does anyone else? Look at her,” she gestured towards Bhanumati, who was now laughing softly at something Shakuni had said. “Even Shakuni mama is smiling, and he practically invented scheming!”

Dushasan bit back a laugh. “She is impressive,” he admitted, glancing over at Bhanumati. “But don’t let it bother you, bhabhi. You’re still our favorite.”

Anya gave him a skeptical look. “Favorite? Please. I’m sitting here like a potted plant while Princess Charming is working her magic on everyone, including your brother.”

Just as she said that, Bhanumati stood from her seat, her movements as graceful as ever. Anya’s gaze narrowed as she watched the princess glide over to where Duryodhan was deep in conversation with Pitamah Bhishma and Karna, who had just joined them. Bhanumati's sari trailed behind her, shimmering in the warm light of the lamps, and her smile seemed to grow brighter as she approached.