Undying Legacies | Mahabharata one-shots (✓)

5. Thawing Night

The cold night air wrapped itself around the kingdom of Virata like a shroud, the silence broken only by the distant rustle of trees and the occasional crackle of a dying fire. The moon, half-veiled by clouds, cast a pale light over the shadowy figures moving through the armory. But two men, larger than life in stature and reputation, sat apart from the others, facing each other across the smoldering embers of an untended fire.

Bhima stared into the dying flames, his massive hands resting on his knees, fingers twitching as if grasping for something that wasn't there. His heart was heavy with guilt, a weight he had carried for thirteen long years. Across from him sat Dhrishtadyumna, silent and still, his face unreadable, the once-close bond of friendship between them now stretched thin by time and unspoken grief.

For years, Bhima had avoided this moment. He had avoided him. There was no denying it. Whenever Dhrishtadyumna had been near, Bhima found a reason to turn away, to busy himself with something, anything—lest he be reminded of what he had lost. And Dhrishtadyumna, it seemed, had done the same. The silence between them, once filled with the warmth of friendship, had grown into a yawning void, a vacuum that neither had dared to cross.

But tonight, there was no escape. The air between them was thick with the weight of unsaid words, of emotions buried too deep for too long.

At last, it was Dhrishtadyumna who broke the silence, though his voice was barely more than a whisper. "It's been thirteen years."

The words fell like stones into the stillness. Bhima flinched, his jaw tightening. He didn't need to be reminded. Thirteen years. Thirteen years since that cursed day when he had sat, helpless, as his wife was humiliated before the court of Hastinapura. Thirteen years of exile. Thirteen years of burning shame.

"I know," Bhima said, his voice rough, low. The words scraped out of him like they hurt. "Thirteen years... and I failed Draupadi."

Dhrishtadyumna was silent for a moment, watching Bhima, his gaze unwavering. There was no anger in his eyes, no accusation. But there was something deeper—a cold, distant pain that had been festering for too long.

"You didn't just fail Krishnaa, Bhaginipati," Dhrishtadyumna said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of truth. "You failed all of us. You failed yourself."

Bhima's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. He knew it was true. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Draupadi's face—her tears, her rage, her plea for justice. And he, the man who had sworn to protect her, had sat there, bound by the chains of dharma, powerless to act.

"I failed her," Bhima repeated, his voice a growl now. "I should have stood up then. I should have ripped Duryodhana's throat out, torn his men to pieces, and burned the hall to ashes."

The fire flickered, casting jagged shadows across Bhima's face. His eyes were wild, burning with the rage that had never truly left him. But even as his anger surfaced, it quickly faded, leaving only the hollow ache of regret.

"I should have done something," he whispered.

Dhrishtadyumna's gaze softened, but his voice remained steady. "You did what you could, Bhaginipati. You spoke. You raged. But it wasn't enough. And you've punished yourself for it ever since."

Bhima looked up, his eyes meeting Dhrishtadyumna's for the first time in years. There was no hatred in the latter's face, no judgment. But there was something else—something that made Bhima's heart tighten.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Bhima asked, his voice thick with emotion. "Why didn't you come to me? All these years... your silence has been worse than anything."

Dhrishtadyumna's expression darkened, his brows knitting together. "What was I supposed to say, Bhaginipati? That I was angry? That I was disappointed? I couldn't find the words... not after what happened. Every time I looked at you, I saw her pain. And I didn't know how to reconcile that with the man I called my best friend."

The words cut deep. Bhima's heart clenched, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. Dhrishtadyumna's pain had been as real as his own, but in their silence, they had allowed it to fester, to grow into something too large to confront. Now, it sat between them like a living thing, heavy and cold.

"I thought I lost you, Dhrishtadyumna," Bhima admitted, his voice barely audible. "After that day... I thought you blamed me. And I couldn't bear it."

Dhrishtadyumna shook his head slowly, his features softening. "I blamed everything, Bhaginipati. I blamed fate, I blamed the Kauravas... I even blamed myself for a time. But I never blamed you. Not truly. How could I? You're my friend. My best friend , the only friend I knew I could trust with life."

A long, quiet moment passed between them. The coldness that had settled over the years began to thaw, if only slightly. The fire crackled softly, the last embers glowing faintly in the dark. Bhima through the corner of his eyes saw Dhristadyumna's eyes fill with tears and his eyes brimmed up too. 

"You know," Dhrishtadyumna continued, his voice more gentle now, "I've missed this. Missed... us. The way we used to talk, the way we used to laugh. You were more than my brother-in-law, Bhaginipati. You were my closest friend. The one person who understood my fire, my love for my family and my raw honesty. And I... I thought maybe you didn't care anymore."

Bhima's throat tightened, his chest constricting with the weight of emotion. "I care, Dhrishtadyumna. I always cared. But after what happened... I thought you couldn't forgive me."

Dhrishtadyumna looked at him, his gaze searching Bhima's face for the truth of his words. And then, for the first time in years, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"I never stopped being your friend, Bhaginipati. Even when the silence came between us. Even when I didn't know how to reach out. The bond we shared—it never really broke."

Bhima's heart swelled, his breath catching in his throat. He looked down at his hands, large and calloused, hands that had fought and killed for his family, but hands that had also failed to protect the one who mattered most. And yet, here was Dhrishtadyumna, offering something that Bhima had thought lost—his friendship, his understanding.

"I've been carrying this guilt for so long," Bhima said softly, his voice barely a whisper. "But knowing you're still here... it helps."

Dhrishtadyumna's smile grew, and he reached out, placing a firm hand on Bhima's shoulder. "You're not alone, Bhaginipati. You never were. We've both made mistakes at some point of our life. We've both carried burdens. But we're still here, still fighting. And as long as we have that, we still have each other."

Bhima's eyes met his, and for the first time in years, there was peace in his gaze. The cold that had lingered between them was gone, replaced by the warmth of something deeper—something that had survived the years of silence and pain.

"Thank you," Bhima murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

Dhrishtadyumna nodded, his grip on Bhima's shoulder tightening in silent reassurance. "We'll get through this, Bhaginipati. Together."

The fire flickered one last time before dying out, but the warmth between them remained. And in the quiet of the night, they sat side by side, two warriors, two friends—no longer divided by silence, but united by the friendship that had never truly left.

The end ! 

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