The Unexpected Bride : Mahabharat

Sixty : Lost In You

Arjun

Dushala's wedding was finally over, yet the echoes of her departure still lingered in the palace. Parthavi had shed more tears today than I had ever seen her cry for herself. She had always been so close to Dushala, like sisters. Their bond was something even I admired. Now, as the quiet settled in after all the wedding festivities, the palace felt unnervingly empty, as though something vital had been torn away. For the past month, preparations had filled every corner of the palace, and now... only silence remained.

I glanced at Parthavi, seated by the window, her face still wet with the last traces of tears. The soft glow of the afternoon sun fell on her, making her look even more fragile, and my heart clenched at the sight. She turned toward me as if sensing my gaze and walked over. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around me in a quiet embrace.

"Are you going somewhere?" she asked softly, her fingers moving to help me with my jewelry, as she often did.

"You don't have to do this, little explorer," I said with a small smile, attempting to step back, though knowing well enough she'd insist.

She shot me a glare, her eyes still holding the sadness of saying goodbye to Dushala. "Stand still," she ordered with sternness. I relented, staying near her as she finished fastening my armbands. Her hands lingered briefly on my wrist. "Come back soon," she added quietly.

I nodded, my smile softening. "I will."

But inside, my thoughts were heavy. Today, Taatshri was to make a decision, one that would change the course of our future. Pitamah had told me of the council’s suggestion, to partition the kingdom, to keep the fragile peace between us and the Kauravas intact. The thought alone filled me with unease, a sense of foreboding that settled deep in my chest. We had already spoken to Madhav about it, and though we all understood the reasons behind this decision, it did little to calm my mind.

As I made my way to the council chamber, Nakul's voice broke through my thoughts. "What part is Taatshri even going to offer us?" he asked, his tone filled with uncertainty.

"Whatever it is, we’ll accept without argument," Jyeshta replied firmly, his usual calm in place. "Taatshri is like a father to us. We owe him our respect."

But Bhrata Bheem wasn’t convinced, his fists clenching as he spoke. "What about justice, Jyeshta?" he growled. "Duryodhana has tried to kill us, time and again! And yet, here we are, discussing peace as if none of it matters."

I sighed, sharing his frustration but knowing there was little we could do. This partition wasn’t about justice. It was about maintaining a semblance of peace, appeasing Duryodhana’s fragile ego. We all knew what would happen if Jyeshta were made king outright, Duryodhana would revolt, and chaos would consume the kingdom. No, this partition was necessary, though it came at a bitter cost.

But what part of Hastinapura could we be offered that wouldn’t feel like a punishment? What barren corner would we be sent to, while Duryodhana would remain in the palace, triumphant?

As we stepped into the court, a heavy tension hung in the air, and my heart sank at the sight of Pitamah seated on his seat, his face etched with an unmistakable strain. I could see the weight of this moment pressing down on him, the sadness was palpable. He had always fought for unity, both within our family and throughout the kingdom, yet here we were, faced with a decision that would tear us apart. I could only imagine how heartbreaking it must be for him, to have to choose between the love for his family and the need to maintain the fragile peace that lingered over our household like a storm cloud.

Just then, Taatshri entered the court, and my stomach churned at the sight of Duryodhana standing beside him, wearing a triumphant smirk that could only be born of victory. He was basking in the glory of what he believed to be his hard-won success. He didn’t realize, of course, that the true strength of our family was not in the throne he thought he would claim, but in the bond that held us together. As long as we stood united, we would find a way to endure, no matter where we were sent.