A Change of Fate

Half- Sick of the Shadows (Part-2)

(Vidura's POV)

Vidura moved through the echoing corridors of Hastinapura with purpose, each footfall feeling as though it were weighed down by more than just his body. The news of Bhimasena's safety that he had just delivered to the Pandavas should have comforted him, yet there was a nagging sensation that something had been... wrong. He couldn't shake it.

When he had been in Yudhishthira's chambers earlier, their reaction had been what one would expect. Nakula and Sahadeva had grasped his hands in silent gratitude, their faces mirroring the relief that had washed over them.

In her overflowing joy, Kunti had attempted to touch his feet, but Vidura had gently stopped her. Usually calm and composed, Yudhishthira hugged him so tightly that Vidura could feel the prince's heart pounding in his chest.

And if there had been a wet patch where Yudhishthira's face had rested against him, Vidura did not draw attention to it. The room had been filled with a sense of peace, the quiet relief of knowing that the second Pandava was alive and safe. A storm had passed, or so it seemed.

But one person did not seem to share their happiness in that moment of peace: Arjuna.

Vidura had noticed the son of Indra, standing apart from the others. His face had been calm, almost serene on the surface, but Vidura hadn't failed to notice the shadows in his eyes. There had been no joy, no release of tension. While everyone else had visibly relaxed, Arjuna's thoughts had been elsewhere, his eyes distant and troubled.

He hadn't celebrated, hadn't smiled. Instead, there had been a heaviness, a weight pressing down on his shoulders that no one else seemed to notice. 'Why?' Vidura had asked himself. 'Why would Arjuna, of all people, appear so troubled by such joyous news?'

The image of Arjuna's face continued to haunt him as he moved through the palace. It lingered in his mind like the distant rumble of thunder before a storm, a warning of something deeper. Something more ominous.

But there was no time to dwell on Arjuna's reaction, not now. Not when a servant had approached him moments earlier, breathless and pale, barely able to form words. "It is Mahaamahim Bhishma.........he has collapsed".

Vidura's heart had lurched in his chest at those words, a sudden rush of fear spreading through him. Bhishma— who had always been the pillar of strength, the immovable force of the Kuru dynasty—had collapsed? The very thought of it seemed impossible, a violation of some cosmic order. And yet, the look in the servant's eyes told him it was true. Bhishma, the unbreakable, had fallen. And, reportedly, the last person to speak with him was Vasusena.

Vidura's pace quickened, his mind a flurry of questions and mounting dread. What had happened? What could Vasusena have said to bring Bhishma to such a state? Vasusena, who had been bold enough to challenge the great patriarch, had stirred unease within the entire court. But to bring Bhishma to his knees? It had been less than an hour since Vidura had left them to their conversation. 'What could that boy have done in such a short time?' Vidura wondered, his heart racing.

When Vidura reached the room where Bhishma sat, the sight that greeted him nearly stopped him in his tracks. Bhishma—the grand figure who had always seemed larger than life—sat slumped and motionless, his armour discarded in a heap beside him like the remnants of a forgotten past. His gaze was fixed on some distant point, staring at nothing, lost in thoughts that seemed.