MIRAGE OF HEARTSTRINGS

THE FALLING PICTURE

The storm had long since passed, but the weight of it seemed to linger in the palace corridors. Rain dripped from the eaves in a steady rhythm, like the beating of a distant drum, and the marble floors still carried the damp scent of water and earth.

In the quiet hall of Indraprastha, where a single row of oil lamps burned against the gloom, the five brothers sat together for the first time since the upheaval. They had left Duryodhana and his son in the guest chamber, safe, dry, and clothed. Now the air was thick with words unsaid, and the silence between them pressed heavier than any storm cloud.

Yudhishthir was the first to move. He sat on the edge of chair with his spine straight, palms pressed lightly against his knees, the gold thread of his robe catching the dim light. His gaze lingered on Nakula, steady and expectant, though beneath that calm, his thoughts tangled like roots beneath the soil.

"Nakula" the elder started, voice giving away command and demand at the same time making it impossible to ignore.

The command seemed to echo in the room, reaching each corner before sinking into the silence again.

Bhima shifted where he sat, broad arms crossed against his chest, his jaw tight, as if bracing himself for an answer that could twist either into anger or into something he did not wish to name.

Arjuna leaned back slightly, arms folded too, his eyes not on Nakula but on the floor, the flame of the nearest lamp reflected in his dark pupils.

Sahadeva, quietest of all, sat with his hands clenched in his lap, gaze lowered yet attentive, as though every syllable spoken here would carve itself into his memory.

Nakula sat opposite them, his posture graceful as always, his face calm and unreadable. He let the silence stretch a moment longer, as though weighing his words with care. Only when the stillness began to fray did he draw a breath.

"It was a mere coincidence" the eldest Madriputra began softly, his voice smooth, touched with what seemed like genuine gravity. "It was during the time when I was coming back from the border tribe on the path of Magadh but heavy rain started all of sudden, so I went to find a roof to stay for a while"

His gaze lowered, as though recalling. "There, hidden amidst the ruin of the abandoned royal palace of Magadh, I stumbled upon him. Alone—or so I thought at first. The palace's walls were crumbled, the gardens long gone to wild thorns, the silence unbroken except for the rustle of weeds. But he was there. I thought it was an illusion until the branches twitched by the wind and the face of his confronted me directly..........His eyes directly look into mine but—but there was no King of Hastinapur there"

The brothers listened, the images forming in their minds. The ruin, the silence, the impossible sight of Duryodhana among the wreckage of forgotten stones.

Arjuna’s brows drew together, but he said nothing. Bhima let out a slow, restless breath, the weight of his body sinking further into his chair. Sahadeva’s gaze flickered upward only briefly, then fell again, as though afraid to meet anyone’s eyes while the elder just kept his steady gaze on the speaker, wanting to gulp down the whole story without a pause, knowing fully well that he is about to choke soon.

But the fourth, unaware of his brother's inner turmoil, continued. "he was.......he was like the pride man of childhood facing his enemies which he technically was but he refused to answer my any question. However his silence was the loudest hammering thing inside the palace rather than my screams of demand to know the truth"

His words trailed for a moment, his expression tightening faintly, like a man carrying pity he cannot set down. He let the silence fill again before continuing. “It was then the truth revealed itself—not from him, but from a child who ran to him, unafraid. His son. Lakshman.”

The name itself settled into the chamber like a stone dropped into still water. Each brother stiffened in his own way, though none spoke.

Nakula’s tone grew quieter, softened with what seemed like compassion. "I saw then that he lived not for himself, but for that child. Every breath he took, every guarded glance, every weary step—it was all bound to the boy. There was no deception in that. Only a father’s burden, carried alone in a place no one would look. The way he stood in front of the boy showed me his distrust in us but I........"

He lifted his gaze to his brothers then, each in turn. “I could not leave them there. You may say I acted without counsel, and perhaps I did. But pity moved me, more than reason. The child is innocent. Should he suffer for the enmities of his father? Should he grow up in ruin, knowing only hunger and shadow, when safety lay within my grasp to offer?”

His words rang clear, smooth as water poured into a vessel.
Yudhishthir’s fingers tightened upon his knee, a subtle motion betraying the storm that his composed face would not. Bhima’s jaw worked, though he said nothing. Arjuna’s lips parted as if to speak, then closed again, his throat shifting with a swallowed word. Sahadeva drew a slow, unsteady breath, his shoulders faintly trembling before he stilled them again.

Nakula went on, the rhythm of his speech unbroken. "I told him he would find no judgment here, not for the child. I told him his son would be safe, clothed, fed, and given the life any child deserves. I asked nothing of him but that he come, and allow me to place that boy beyond the reach of hunger and danger"

The elder, silent till now, questioned quietly "did he accepted just like that?" making the speaker lower his head slightly with a scoffing chuckle "Never. He hesitated. Of course he did. His mistrust runs deep, as does his pride. But the boy’s safety… it was stronger than his doubts. He agreed, not for himself, but for Lakshman. And so I brought them here.”

When he finished, silence reclaimed the hall. It stretched on, heavy and suffocating. The oil lamps sputtered faintly, one giving a long hiss as a droplet of rainwater fell into its flame.

Yudhishthir’s eyes lingered on Nakula with quiet intensity, as though searching for fissures in his words. Yet none were visible. Nakula’s tone had been steady, his face untouched by hesitation, his story seamless. Still, something unsettled Yudhishthir, though he could not name it.

Bhima shifted again, arms unfolding, then folding tighter. His broad chest rose and fell with a restless rhythm, but he held his tongue. His gaze drifted to the stone floor, then to the darkened archways, anywhere but his brothers’ eyes.

Arjuna’s gaze had finally lifted, sharp and searching. Yet even he found no fault to seize, no gap to pry open. What Nakula spoke was, on its face, plausible—too plausible. It was the ease of it that unsettled him most, though he would not voice that unease.

Sahadeva’s lips pressed into a thin line. He seemed almost younger than his years in that moment, his shoulders bowed under the weight of silence. The words “a child” echoed through him, caught in the hollow of his chest.

No one moved.

Finally, Yudhishthir inclined his head slowly, as though acknowledging the burden of what had been said. "Then it is done" he murmured, more to himself than to the others. "They are here now. The question is not why, but what should we do now?

The others remained silent, each adrift in his own storm of thoughts.

The rain outside had dwindled to a whisper, the last drops sliding down the stone gutters. Inside, the lamps burned low, their light thin and uncertain. The silence of the hall pressed down heavier than before, thick with unspoken questions, unvoiced fears, and the fragile thread of trust they all clung to.

And so they sat in that silence, the weight of it unrelieved, the truth veiled beneath smooth words, while the presence of Duryodhana and his son in the guest chamber hung over them like a shadow too vast to name.

However, in the midst of all, the slowly creeping up smirk of the fourth Pandava went unnoticed by the four restless souls.

********************