The afternoon sun cast a golden sheen over the Anga palace, yet the air within its walls felt heavy, almost suffocating. The massive gates creaked open as Vikram approached on his ebony horse. Dust clung to his dark cloak, his face hardened into a mask of fury. The guards at the gate exchanged uneasy glances before bowing deeply, sensing the storm swirling around their sovereign.
Vikram dismounted with practiced ease, his boots landing with a thud on the stone-paved courtyard. His piercing eyes, darkened by unspoken wrath, sent a shiver through those who dared to look his way. Without a word, he strode toward the palace, his every step echoing like a thunderclap.
In the cool shade of the palace corridors, Pristi stood waiting with Vasuhoma at her side. Pristi, regal in her emerald sari, held herself with a mixture of grace and authority. Beside her, Vasuhoma, draped in understated royal attire, observed the unfolding scene with his usual detached expression.
Pristi :- Brother, where have you been?
She called, her voice firm yet tinged with concern. Vikram did not pause. His stride remained unbroken, his eyes fixed on the path ahead as if he hadn't heard her.
Vasuhoma :- Father! You seem unsettled.
He said calmly, his tone devoid of any emotion. The boy's words, logical and straightforward, were met with silence. Vikram pushed past them without so much as a glance, his presence a storm contained in human form.
Pristi's brow furrowed. Her brother's silence was troubling. She turned and followed him, her sari rustling softly against the polished marble floor. Vasuhoma trailed behind, his posture straight, his face unchanging.
Vikram entered his chamber and slammed the heavy wooden doors behind him. The dim room smelled faintly of sandalwood and wine. He strode to a carved wooden table, his fingers gripping the neck of a wine container. Pouring himself a generous amount into a crystal goblet, he downed the liquid in one go before refilling it.
Pristi entered cautiously, her voice softer now.
Pristi :- Bhrata, speak to me. What has happened?
He didn't answer, staring into the goblet as if it held the answers to his torment.
Pristi :- Brother! Where have you been?
She pressed, stepping closer.
Vikram's grip tightened on the goblet. Without turning to face her, he said in a low, gravelly voice,
Vikram :- Indraprasth.
Pristi's eyes widened.
Pristi :- Indraprasth? What business took you to meet Maharani Draupadi?
Her tone carried a note of accusation. She knew Vikram's reputation too well-his penchant for seeking out princesses and queens had often brought disgrace to their house. But something about his demeanor stopped her from launching into the scolding he so often earned.
Pristi :- What happened there? Why do you look as though you carry the weight of a thousand curses?
She asked, her voice softening. Still, he said nothing, his jaw clenching as he stared into the goblet.
Pristi :- Vikram! Speak!!
She snapped, her patience wearing thin. With a sudden burst of anger, Vikram hurled the goblet to the floor. It shattered with a sharp, ringing sound, red wine spreading like blood across the stone tiles.
Vikram :- She insulted me! Draupadi-the queen-mocked me, scorned me like I was nothing in front of her! I am burning in the fire of her insult!
He roared, his voice trembling with fury. Pristi flinched at the outburst, but her brother's anguish held her tongue.
Vasuhoma stepped forward, his calm, unflinching gaze meeting Vikram's fiery one.
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Dharmyudh : The Rewritten Destiny
Historical FictionWhat if the Mahabharat was reshaped by wishes from another age? Long ago, when Lord Ram prepared to leave for his abode, he demanded last wishes from his brothers. Lakshman knew his motive was to protect his brother from all that he had to go thro...
