MIRAGE OF HEARTSTRINGS

FALLING OF VEIL

INSIDE THE INDRAPRASTHA'S GUEST ROOM

The heavenly grey eyes flicker across the fireplace before glancing around the room after being left alone from a while.

It was spacious, yes, but there was only one window — narrow, latticed, overlooking a courtyard too high to climb down from. Every beautiful detail — the golden drapes, the polished floor, the carved ceiling — suddenly felt like part of a gilded cage.

It feels too fine to be prison and too caged to be guest room.
Guest or prisoner — he wasn’t sure which he was meant to be.

Everything here feels too perfect, too real.....and too much.

The room is completely silent with nothing but the soft snores and gentle breathe of his sleeping child echoing inside.

It felt like as if serenity has jumped out of his written fate to ruin his dribbles, as he thinks of everything of moment ago.

He could still picture Nakula’s face — calm, unreadable. Too calm.
Something about that serenity unsettled him.

Men who want peace do not smile like that.

His mind churned with possibilities.
Nakula could have exposed him, handed him over to Yudhishthira for judgment.
He didn’t.
He could have left him in the ruins, to be found and executed later.
He didn’t.
Instead, he brought him here — to the city of his enemies.

Why?

He clenched his jaw. Nothing comes without purpose. Not from a Pandava.

Although the whole situation make him dizzy, he grasped the last bit of string before sliding down on the floor, sitting against the bed where his son is sleeping.

The moonlight slip into the room, pale and cold.
His gaze softened when it fell on Lakshman’s sleeping face. The boy’s lips parted slightly, his hand clutching the edge of his blanket.

Duryodhana’s breath trembled when
Bhanumati’s face flashed before him — her calm eyes, her voice on that cliff edge, her last words still echoing in his mind.

“You will protect him, won’t you? No matter the cost.”

He had sworn he would.

He has kept it from the time he was founded by his three bestfriends, alive but surviving, in a situation he would rather wish he would not had been. If it weren't for her, maybe his son wouldn't had been.......

The time he has thought he has lost everything, the three fortunately found him at the edge of lacerated destiny and showed him what he still has and he can protect his only reason to be alive.

He even kept himself hidden if it is what it takes to keep Lakshman safe for years.

And now, even if it meant walking into the heart of his enemies’ kingdom, even if it meant bowing his head before those he once fought to destroy — he would keep that promise.

Still, unease stirred in him. The silence beyond the door wasn’t the silence of peace. It was the kind of quiet that listened.

He leaned back against the wooden luxury furniture, the light of fire from fireplace flickering over his face.
“Safe,” he murmured bitterly. “Let’s see how long your peace lasts, Pandavas.”

But even as the defiance rose in him, his eyes drifted back to Lakshman — and it softened.

If danger came, he would face it.
If they dare try to take his son, he would burn this palace down again.

He closed his eyes, exhaustion dragging at his body, but his hand stayed on the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath his cloth.

When Lakshman shifted again in his sleep, Duryodhana’s attention snapped back. The boy murmured something faint — a dream name, perhaps his mother’s. His small fingers reached blindly through the air until Duryodhana caught them and held them tight.

“Sleep,” he said again, voice softer now, steadier. “I am here.”

For a while, he stayed like that — father and son, hand in hand beneath the glow of a dying fire. Outside, the first whisper of moonlight touched the horizon, brushing the sky with darkness.

And yet Duryodhana felt no warmth.
Only the chill of a night that promised questions without answers, and peace that felt too fragile to trust.

The door creaked faintly in the distance — perhaps just the wind, perhaps not. His eyes flickered toward it, muscles tightening instinctively. Then, after a long pause, he released a slow breath.

The sun had not yet risen, but he already felt the weight of the coming day pressing on his shoulders.

Somewhere beyond these walls, he knew Nakula would be awake too — calm as ever, waiting for the right moment to play whatever game he had begun.

Duryodhana brushed his son’s hair once more, eyes fixed on the thin strip of light creeping beneath the door.

He closed his eyes, exhaustion dragging at his body, but his one hand stayed on the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath his cloth while the other gently grounding his son.

No matter what peace Nakula spoke of — Duryodhana knew this place.
And he knew better than anyone that palaces, no matter how beautiful, are built on secrets and traps.

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