#bheema

[hum-suffer]

It's A Farce

It's a farce, Sahdev thinks, as Yuddhishthir smiles at him and tells him that he's fine, it's not a big deal. The wound on his eldest brother's bicep bleeds and curls, and for a moment all Sahdev can think is: I did this. I asked him to accompany me. I should have seen that uneven field. How could I let any animal near my brother? The skin on the inside of his mouth turns red as he keeps biting it, and Yuddhishthir laughs, throwing an arm around Sahdev and the curve of his elbow matches the curve of his wound.

It's a farce, Sahdev thinks, as Bheem tells him about a grey coloured flower, about how it's the nature of the flower and not Sahdev's neglect of the tree and he feels the ache of a lifetime rush in his eyes as he stares at a flower, dead and cold, because he forgot to give it to Mata. Bheem puts the dead flower in his hair with pride, claiming Sahdev as a new botanist, and Sahdev swears that he will make something that will have Bheem's name echoed through the world, name a flower after him.

It's a farce, Sahdev thinks, as Arjun holds him close and tells him tales untrue about their father. Neither of the boys remember his voice, and Arjun holds him all the time when he realises that Sahdev doesn't even know that he has a maternal uncle— he barely remembers how his mother sounded like. Arjun tells him long tales, laughable pranks, and tales of victories. Sahdev falls asleep in his arms, and as his eyes close, he feels a tear that isn't his, rolling down his cheek.

It's a farce, Sahdev thinks, as Nakul pretends that he isn't hungry anymore and fights with Mata about eating the same sweet fruits and pushes all of his fruits in Sahdev's direction and stomps off to find some other fruits for himself. Sahdev waits for him, even as everyone else falls asleep, and even if he can't see that well in the dark of the night, he knows there are no residual fruit juices on Nakul's fingers. Sahdev sneakily wipes his dirty hands before Nakul can see and feeds his brother the fruits that he collected, even when Nakul says he's full. Nakul eats all of the fruits, even the too ripe ones, with a crooked proud smile.

It's a farce, Sahdev thinks, as Mata tells them they'll be safe with their cousins in the royal family. Cousin Suyodhan seems to take it as a personal insult whenever Sahdev and his brothers are more comfortable in their asharam, their years of experience in forest comes handy and Sahdev feels eyes burning into his hands as he starts a fire for the food. Sahdev burns his fingers that day, and Sushasan says he's sorry for accidentally bumping into Sahdev.

It's a farce, Sahdev thinks, as Mama Shakuni tells them about their stay in a palace built especially for them, which doesn't require fire to be illuminated because there are mirrors all over the palace that reflect the moonlight. The palace is drenched in silver light, and Sahdev takes a deep breath as he appreciates the beauty of it and it is then that he smells the wax and turns around, just in time to see Yuddhishthir's hand almost slip from the wall he is leaning on.

It's a farce, Sahdev thinks, as Vasudev tells them that they may go home and live a happy life after being married to Krishnaa. She doesn't talk to anyone for days on end, but he sometimes catches her whimpering in the night, and he can't help but run a hand down her hair when she pretends to sleep on the hay. It's his first time comforting someone, and his hand is trembling and unsteady, he worries it'll be too heavy to rest on her head and hovers awkwardly. Her eyes don't open until morning, but the next night onwards, she sleeps beside him and doesn't open her eyes until dawn.

It's a farce, Sahdev thinks, as their land is divided and everyone seems so pained but no one will say anything to cousin Duryodhan and uncle Dhritrashtra and Sahdev feels the burn marks on his fingers go tighter and Mata knows him too well because she sends him a look and he keeps his words in his throat, burning again.

It's a farce, Sahdev thinks, as they receive an invitation. It's a farce. It's a farce. It's a farce. It's a farce.

No one looks at him to ask what is wrong as he kneels and chokes on air that night in his room. There's no arm around his shoulders, no flower in his hands, no stories in his ears, no fingers that pinch his cheeks, no comforting presence beside him, and no wise words.

It's a farce, Sahdev thinks, as he sees his own nephew burn in a pyre. He wishes he was burning instead. Fire kissed, the heirs of Pandu. Scorched. Yuddhishthir's burnt hands, Bheem's burning eyes, Arjun's scorching words, Nakul's furious sword, Sahdev's burnt fingers and— Abhimanyu's burnt body.

It's a farce, Sahdev thinks, as he kneels and holds his sosn to his chest, telling them that the war will end soon and they'll go home and it will all be fine and they're doing the right thing. He presses kisses to his sons and nephews, telling them all that they just need to pass this time, it's a whirlpool of death and they just need to hold steady and it'll all be fine.

It's a farce. It's a farce. It's a farce. It's a farce. It's a farce. It's a farce. It's a farce.

The day his children die, Sahdev uses his dagger to scrape off two birthmarks that he had passed onto his sons. Shrutsena, his wise child, had a dark blotch of a birthmark that Sahdev had passed on. Shrutsena wore it with pride on his neck and Sahdev scrapes off his own birthmark that rests on his clavicle. Suhotra had an almost half moon shaped birthmark passed onto him, he touched it whenever he was angry. The skin around his mark on his elbow was always red, just because of his temperament and the consequential habit. Sahdev scrapes off the same mark from his left calf.

The blood feels like a farce.

Does blood really matter, these days?

[incorrectmahabharatquotes]

Duryodhan: How do you just eat when there's a dead guy laying there?

Bheem: What, is that rude? Am I supposed to share?

[friend-shaped-but]

[misscalming]

[h0bg0blin-meat]

Duryodhan: Get on my level!

Bheem: Unfortunately, to "get on your level" I'd need a boat trip to the Mariana Trench and a pair of cinderblock shoes.

[blackknight-100]

MAHABHARAT THEATER!AU FIC

Chapter 7 is up!

Excerpt:

[Arjuna] catches up to Karna at the landing and together, they make their way down the hallway. The smoke is somehow worse this time around, and every step feels like the last. There’s no sniping – neither of them have the breath to spare, but they keep throwing dirty glances at each other. The fire, instead of dying down, has grown even bigger, and little flakes of ash and wood float about in the air.  Karna peers into one of the rooms on the left, and Arjuna hears him wince. The door has collapsed, and a bar of wood burns diagonally across, making it impossible to get inside. Arjuna pokes his head behind Karna’s shoulder, waits for his stinging eyes to adjust. Through the pall of smoke, he makes out a prone figure sprawled on the ground, clad in white.

[meerability]

Today I bring Bheema and Draupadi. Tommorow, who knows?

[krishna-premi]

how i imagine draupadi's relationship was with her husbands

Draupadi Yudhishthir: They both would spend hours reading together. Draupadi was a curious soul and Yudhisthir was more than happy to suggest and talk about books with his beloved wife. They both would spend time next to each other in a comfortable, peaceful silence. They would sometimes meditate together too. Yudhisthir would leave books around her with small letters inside.

Draupadi Bheema: Draupadi quickly realised the easiest way to Bheema's heart was through cooking for him and that's what she did. Bheema would help her cook a lot. Bheema would often bring fruits and leave them around her as gifts. Bheema would always be around to protect her no matter what. I also believe Draupadi caressed his cheeks a lot idk why I think that but I do.

Draupadi Arjuna: We all know she was in love with him the most. She would sneak glances at him from time to time. Arjuna too looked at her when she wasn't looking. He would accompany her to the temple a lot and would put gajra in her hair. Because he was a shy soul he found it difficult to hold a conversation but you would always find them glancing when the other isn't looking and giving each small smiles across the room.

Draupadi Nakula: They both talked only sometimes, small conversations, little pranams when they saw each other. Nakula would sometimes trach her basic medicines and herbs too. One thing they did was take a stroll in the garden together. They would walk next to each other but still having distance in between and would admire the flowers around them. Nakula too would bring her gajras but he was too shy to pin them in her hair so he would just keep it next to her hoping she'd understand.

Draupadi Sahadev: Being the youngest among the five brothers, Sahadev got the most love by his brothers but also a lot of trying to be as good as them. He would joke around Draupadi a lot and they had a playful relationship with each other. Draupadi laughed most openly around Sahadev and he cherished these private moments of happiness with his wife. Draupadi would also help Sahadev to be more confident as he often felt that he lacked strength and skills as compared to his brothers.

This is my personal interpretation of their relationships. I feel like sometimes they would all hangout together and all five of them would being gifts for Draupadi. Idk this is so fulfilling to me.

[shadowqueenjude]

“Eight years ago, he amassed our wealth on three ships to sail to Bharat for invaluable spices and cloth.” The naga were sprung from a nightmare. Covered in dark scales and nothing more, they were a horrendous combination of serpentine features and male humanoid bodies whose powerful arms ended in polished black, flesh-shredding talons.

People like pointing out stuff by SJM which was inspired by other stories so here's mine: Bharat is another name for India, and India is the king of spices and cloth, so that's obviously the inspiration here. Two, the naga are inspired by creatures in Hindu-lore. In the story of the Mahabharata, the Naga are snake people who live beneath the human world. One of the main characters in that story, Bheema, encounters the Naga who nearly kill him but then end up gifting him with the strength of thousands of elephants (long story). Clearly not original either, Sarah.

[musingsonthemahabharata]

check out this stunning futuristic Mahābhārata art by Vamchi Vams!

the tendency with modern Mbh-inspired artwork is for it to still adhere to 'traditional' / historic conventions and for these to be seen as more 'accurate' renderings, but, especially with the war books (parvas), i'd maintain that one needs only to skim-read to see that the futuristic artwork most likely is a more 'accurate' representation of how the war is said to be fought. it would not be an exaggeration to claim that the astras (supranatural weapons imbued with mantras) used by warriors such as Arjuna, Karṇa & Aśvatthāmā functioned like nuclear weapons. i personally adore futuristic Mbh artwork because in my opinion it enlivens the epic & grounds it in our present as a timeless dynamic work and not as an ancient lifeless poem.

i do wonder if it is the inescapable archaic tone of 99% of the Mbh translations from sanskrit (which my dear friend Avi Sato pointed to me once & now i can't unsee!) that which contributes to this overall impression that traditional renditions * must * be more accurate. perhaps. i for one would love to see a truly futuristic translation and interpretation of the Mbh (both in literature & in film / TV) that also follows the narrative thread faithfully. might take it upon myself.

[hum-suffer]

Headcanons on Niramitra please? (Mahabharata)

(I had to search the name because i forgot who he is lol)

Niramitra literally befriends anyone. From a serving maid to a squirrel. Nakul finds this endlessly amusing, but Karenumati is tired of finding feathers on her son's bedroom floor

He wears a nose ring. It irritated his skin when he first got it pierced and he threw a monumental tantrum, but now he has a collection of nose rings.

His first word, to everyone's confusion, was "cow!"

He wears too much white, Nakul mourns that his son has no taste.

Bheem taught him how to break locks. He uses the technique to prank Shrutkarma.

He has the same curls as Arjun and Arjun claims that Niramitra will one day surpass all his family in looks.

He has a deep scar on his shoulder from when he was practicing horse riding. He uses that excuse to get out of mace training.

Though, to be truthful, the scar actually hurts him worse in lower temperatures. He will choke before he admits it, though.

He loves embroidery. He has his parents' names embroidered in a ridiculously bright green thread on a blue cloth and gifted that to his parents on their wedding anniversary. Nakul and Karenumati started wearing more green and blue shades for the week.

He loves sweets. You will find him on a sugar high once almost every two days.

He has his mother's slender figure and it's very easy to mistake him for Karenumati if you only see the back of his head or his silhouette.

Nakul often steals his wrist bands. He pretends he hates the stealing but definitely leaves the best of his collection out in the open deliberately— where he can find them.

Yudhisthir was pleasantly surprised over how much of a menace Niramitra can be. More often than not, the two can be seen together, with Yudhishthir bribing Niramitra to play pranks on his brothers and extract revenge for any teasing remarks made by his brothers on him. Arjun and Bheem suddenly find their wardrobe rearranged. Sahadev has all his white clothes dyed yellow. Nakul's food tastes of mint everyday for a week, no matter when or how or where he eats.

He has too much energy and sometimes can't sleep at night because of this. Has huge, huge, eyebags and dark circles.

Draupadi oils his hair every week. He tells her all the gossip he has on his uncles and father.

The servants tell him all the gossip about all the lords.

This makes him a surprisingly good manipulator, in case needed.

Yudhisthir loves to have him in court.

[heyifinallyhaveablog]

The Defeated

So-

I've been away for the longest time, and well, so far, it seems as if it has been ages since I'd written something here, and @demonkidpliz 's writing kind of prompted me to throw it out here. Not that anyone asked for it.

Goodness, it has been so SO LONG! Just tagging people here for a slight knock. I just, love you all so so much, that I'll probably find my way in here eventually! :D

@demonkidpliz @vidhurvrika @bleedinknight @chaanv @alwaysthesideofwonder @raat-jaaga-paakhi @carminavulcana @pratigyakrishnaki @phandomoftheowl @kalpansh

And anyone else here. Heaven knows I've forgotten such a lot.

----------------------------------------------

Fandom: Mahabharat/StarPlus Mahabharat

Pairings: Bheema/Draupadi

Warnings: Mentions of War | PTSD | Trauma | Bloodshed

Summary: The Second Pandava deals with ghosts of the War. Alone.

Disclaimer: This is entirely a work of fiction, based on an idea I had while reading C. Rajagopalachari's version of the Mahabharata. But I do have to say this, this has a lot to offer that is different from the Mahabharata that is actually popular. I just hope that this resonates with the readers, and you read this, and find this worth your time and your feedback. Please leave a short comment or a like, whatever you may deem fit. And as always!

THANK YOU!

----------------------------------------------

Chapter 1:

The Shadows:

“My Lord,” an earnest call beckoned to him in the midst of a dimly-lit Kridangan. The voice doesn’t serve as an intrusion or an offence, since, his pursuit of the arena is more habitual than practical these days. Yet, a phantom lightness in his being bids him to ignore it.

“He might not have heard us, Mother,” another voice caresses his ear, this time from a boy, probably no older than Abhiman-

Vrikodara closes his eyes, in a desparate attempt to stop himself from recalling the name. 

The resignation in the older woman’s conduct seems to register with him.

“Pardon me, Mother,” he says, hoping they had heard him before they left.

Hoping it would stop them.

—----

“I have no use for sparrers, Mother,” he says, much to the chagrin of the widow who had brought her son along for employment in the Palace of the Kurus. The boy’s Father, he was told, was a soldier in the cavalry of Hastinapura. 

“If My Prince may spare us some consideration,” the lady kept her eyes lowered, much to Bhimasena’s relief, “my late husband, once served as a sparrer for the princes and kings in the castle, as did his father before that,”

“The Younger Queen Mother, was kind enough to refer us to you, My Lord,” she continued, breaking the Second Pandava with every word she spoke.

“Mother,” Bheema managed to speak, “I shall be obliged, if you would be kind enough to speak to The Queen,” he turned his eyes towards the boy, “I’m certain, he shall find employment elsewhere herein,”

He left, with folded hands, and his gaze lowered, before the knot in his chest tightened further.

—----

He had bid the lights to remain extinguished in their chamber. His senses do not let him recall the times when he wanted his chamber to be lit brilliantly as day after the evening prayers. 

Another breath mingles with his, just as familiar to him as his own, just as forlorn to him as his own. He affords himself a momentary reprieve of letting his exhalations synchronise with hers. Her shapely silhouette offers him with some semblance of solace. It behooved him to receive her sobriety. After all, he had always known her to receive his thoughts even before they could make their way to his lips.

—----

“There has been no correspondence from Ekachakra, yet again,” she almost whispers.

Bheema’s hands clasp the edge of the bed, brushing close to that of his wife for that year.

Panchaali lets her right hand rest on his left, hoping to partake her husband’s discomfort. Yet, she doubted if an iota of his grief had been assuaged by any measure.

“Hidimba,” Bheema breathes the name, akin to a prayer, as if expecting his firstborn to walk in through the doors, smiling warmly from ear to ear, unscathed, unblemished, probably an older likeness of the boy he had seen earlier today.

“She’s meteing a punishment that befits the sin I have accrued, it seems,” Panchaali’s breath cuts through the air with its characteristic lotus fragrance. She doesn’t strain a tear either.

Crying would make it easier, she chides herself. 

Crying would lessen my penance, her resolve affirms.

“Hidimba has never been unfair, Panchaali,” he tells her impassively, as she feels the tremor in his voice. 

Another confabulation of silences followed.

[friend-shaped-but]

Hidimba: it's called aggressive handholding Bheem: Ooh, how does it work?? Hidimba: We arm-wrestle as an excuse to hold hands

[tulunadu1909]

Hanuman and Bheems first encounter

[blackknight-100]

Hello there anon, and thank you for the prompt! I got so excited with this I accidentally posted your ask without answering it (I'm so sorry😭😭) so I'm afraid I have to use a screenshot. I hope you like reading this!

Character Swap - Arjuna and Karna

1.

Phalguna comes to Kuntidesha as it always does, but this year the air is colder, and the soil is wet with rain. The ponds are full and even rivers flow swifter, for Indra turns his eye upon them.

Princess Pritha bears the last few weeks of her womanly toil with ill grace; she is yet sixteen, face perpetually wrinkled in agony. The King of Gods has promised her maidenhood, Pritha thinks she would have given that up to be rid of this soreness.

When her time comes one cloudy eve, her trusted maid kneels by her screaming self, and snips the cord off a divine child.

The babe is soft and beautiful, with her looks and her smile and her curled hair; he yawns in restless sleep like a little dark moon. Pritha’s head is bent in prayer, her still-young heart is numb. She is a princess of two noble Kings, a star in the darkness of Āryavarta. Few women have her fortune, even lesser have her power, and yet she is just another girl, at the mercy of sages and gods, and the thought makes Pritha's head bow lower.

She stands by the raging Aswa as her maid gently sets the basket afloat, for foolish she may be, but cruelty comes only through her orders, and never by her hand, and the sky shatters with thunder and rain. Of all the recipients of Indra’s wrath, there has never been one more tragic.

His father from his heavenly throne names the child Arjuna, swears to guide and lead and bestow divine counsel, but as songs later let us know: he is ever known by his mothers’ names, for he is Rādha and Pritha's son.

2.

Karna is born the last of Kunti’s sons, and the third of Pāndu’s scions. He comes into the world like a shining light, with her face and her smile and her curls in his hair. For the first few weeks, Kunti cannot bear to look at the babe, and nurses him with her eyes to the sky. The sun shines upon them, bright and reprimanding, and Kunti wills Surya to chastise his own brother.

To Mādri she says, and to a concerned Pāndu, that the birth tired her, to the child she murmurs tales of a long-lost brother.

“He looked just like you,” Kunti tells him, as Karna swings in his cradle. It is a rickety thing, old as Yudhisthira, and worn with Bheema’s fervour, but it is a cradle still, and Kunti wonders if her other son ever knew one.

“I think you would have loved him,” Kunti says, wistfully, weaving dreams out of her yearning. “He would have been your big brother.”

The boy in the cradle coos at her, toothless smile lighting up the world, and for a moment his face is dark, and outside it rains, and the babe in her arms is Indra’s child.

3.

“You are terrible,” Arjuna scowls at Duryodhana, even though his father has taken great pains to counsel him otherwise. “He is just having fun.”

Duryodhana turns an interesting shade of purple. “His fun involves beating up my brothers and acting innocent when Pitāmaha asks him about it.”

Arjuna has no reason to defend this new prince, one whom he has never seen nor met, but his mouth betrays him once more. “That is not a good enough reason to kill him. You are merely jealous.”

“Kill whom?” says a voice, and Arjuna nigh jumps out of his skin as a boy swings down from the mango tree.

“Karna,” Duryodhana sighs. “Are you troubling the squirrels again?”

“No,” the boy says, shoving his fist behind his back. He is barely five and... light; his eyes are light and honey-brown, his hair is the light of sunshine on tree-barks, and his face glows like day. “You’re going to kill my brother,” he repeats stubbornly.

Arjuna blinks; his father would not forgive him for this.

Duryodhana sighs once more. “Your brother is beating mine up.”

“I will tell him not to,” Karna promises, and Arjuna is a little sorry for the boy – all wobbling lips and earnest eyes. “I will tell Mother if he does. Please don’t kill him.”

Arjuna expects Duryodhana to say something like ‘Run along, child’ or ‘Do not eavesdrop on your elders’, but the prince has an indulgent, almost fond look on his face.

“Give me that,” he says, pointing at the hand Karna has behind his back. Arjuna thinks it a cruel thing to ask, then the boy reluctantly brings out a bursting handful of areca nuts, and Arjuna has to laugh.

Duryodhana smiles as well, plucks one of the six in his hand. Karna drops two others, and as he bends to retrieve his fallen treasures, Duryodhana ruffles his hair.

“Run along now, little scamp,” the Kaurava prince says.

“Are you going to kill him?” Karna asks, eyes wide and worried.

“No,” Duryodhana assures him, “but remember what we agreed, yes?”

Karna beams at them, one after the other. “I will! See you.”

With that, he is gone.

Duryodhana cracks the nut and hands half of it to Arjuna – sinfully possessive one moment, impossibly generous the next.

Arjuna gapes at him. “Are you really not going to kill Bheem?”

Duryodhana glowers at him. “Go lay an egg,” he says, rudely, and stalks off. Arjuna stares at his retreating back, confused.

But no news comes that day, or the next, or any of the weeks after, and slowly, Arjuna learns to breathe easier.

4.

“Who is that?” Krishna asks.

Karna starts, he has not been paying attention. Krishna is the scion of faraway Dwārika, and not much of an acquaintance in any manner of the term, although the dark haired prince claims he has hardly ever been outside Vrindāvan, and never to the city by the sea.

“Pardon me,” Karna says, contrite, “whom do you speak of?”

“That boy,” says Krishna, and points towards a lone figure lurking by the stables.

“That is Arjuna. His father is Pitāmaha's charioteer.”

“May I speak to him?”

“Excuse me,” Karna hails the older boy, “can you spare a moment?”

Arjuna appears at his side, all muddy fringes and stiff bows. “Greetings, princes.”

“Greetings,” Karna nods. “This is Krishna, my cousin. Krishna, Arjuna.”

Krishna is tall and dark, his young face beams with pleasure. “How do you do, Pārtha?”

Arjuna blinks. “Uh... I am not called that. My mother’s name is Rādha.”

Krishna gives him a secret smile, and waves at someone above his head. Karna, distracted by a squirrel, nearly misses it.

“Duryodhana?” he says, delighted, when he notices the other boy on the balcony. “Come down, come down.”

Krishna shakes his arm. “Perhaps, the four of us can go to the garden?”

Sometime later, the four of them are seated around a bush, shears in hand. The rose shrub is not big enough to make a topiary out of, but Queen Gandhari has arranged tables around it with the hopes of giving the boys a more fruitful pastime to channel their excitement into.

“And what should I do?”

Arjuna is seated beside Krishna, facing the others. Duryodhana picks up his shears and snips a stray leaf. “We have to make this appear smooth and shapely.”

“Why?”

Karna stares at him. “Because Aunt Gandhari says so, of course.”

Krishna pulls his legs up on the bench, lifts a fist to the air. “Let’s dooo it!”

For the next couple of hours they work diligently, or at least pretend to, for Duryodhana starts kicking Karna under the bench, and Karna kicks him back, and it is an entertaining game; Krishna, meanwhile, shows Arjuna how and where to snip – he has clever eyes, and his hands are dexterous.

When they finally leave, one side of the bush poorer than the other, Krishna swings his hands around his new friend’s shoulders and lags behind the two princes. “You were saying Guru Drona does not want to teach you?”

Arjuna flushes. “That is true. It is er... his choice, of course, no disrespect intended.”

Krishna’s eyes twinkle. “Dau and I are going to study with Guru Sāndīpani. Do you wish to come with?”

Arjuna chances a glance at Karna, barely jealous, but there still. “I think I would like that.”

5.

“Can we not do this here?” Arjuna hisses. His father looks over from the garden where he and Rādha Mā are talking to Lord Bhishma, and Arjuna is afraid.

“Come now,” Duryodhana groans. “We are settling it man to man, just as Pitāmaha wanted. What is wrong now?”

Arjuna glances at the Pāndava brothers, aching with the weight of Anga’s crown and the knowledge of the Jatugrīha. “Why am I a part of this conversation?”

Yudhisthira coughs politely, as he is wont to. It gets on Arjuna's nerves like nothing else. “If you will excuse me,” he says, “we must greet our mother.”

The Pāndavas glance up as one, and Arjuna notices Dowager Empress Kunti hurrying down the steps.

“Mother,” Karna and Sahadeva exclaim excitably and there is a flurry of motion as they settle down to accept their blessings. To his surprise, Duryodhana follows, and he is compelled to join in the flock.

“There you are, darling,” Kunti says, pulling him up, then freezes.

Something old and forgotten stirs within Arjuna – a shadow of a memory, a wisp of a dream, a woman still as a flame with a child in her arms. Mother, he nearly says, ancient words soaring to his mouth, the shapes of them lingering on his tongue. Mother, look what we have brought home.

Then the Grandfather joins them and the moment is gone.

His father throws him a disapproving glance, and Arjuna shrinks from the princes. His mother, though, is staring at Karna.

“Vāsu...?” she whispers, as if to a ghost, and Karna turns.

“Yes, Mā?”

“His name is Karna,” Bheema declares loudly, and glares at them. The prince has not yet forgiven Arjuna’s stunt at the Graduation, even if Karna claims he would have done the same.

Radha Mā looks flustered, and Karna shifts in discomfort, as if put on a stage for a part he does not know how to play. Adhiratha grabs Arjuna and wraps an arm around his wife.

“Please forgive her, Prince,” he says, and starts pulling them away. “By your leave...”

Arjuna supposes they have embarrassed his father enough. His mother walks as if in a trance. “Vāsu?” she murmurs under her breath. “Vāsusena... child, where are you gone?”

Arjuna, alarmed, turns one last time. Karna is miserable and bewildered, staring after Rādha like a lost child, and Kunti's eyes, seeking him, are wet with tears.

+1

Arjuna sits silent and still, horror trembling beneath his skin like a fluttering bird.

“Duryodhana, please...” Arjuna whispers, unsure of what he begs, and fearful of the prince's wrath.

“I bet my brother, Karna,” Yudhisthira says, drunk on dharma and shivering with repentance. “If I win, I shall have him and all that is on the board; if you do, then he is yours.”

Karna looks up, stunned. There is betrayal on his face, and Arjuna’s heart stings. Even Duryodhana frowns, for Karna alone of all his cousins he names a friend.

“As you say,” Shakuni shrugs, and rolls his dice. “Lo! I win!”

Karna rises from his seat without being asked, walks over to kneel beside his brothers. His mien is smooth and calm now, all torment shielded behind a mask, but Bheema leaps up, enraged.

“Brother!” he tells Yudhisthira, “Hear me! Cease this madness before you lose all else.”

“I cannot leave them to this fate, Bheema,” Yudhisthira says, and picks the dice again. “I stake Bheema.”

“No, wait,” Duryodhana says, brows furrowed. “Māmāshree, do not bet now.”

The two players look up.

“No more?” Yudhisthira repeats slowly, as if he thought this game would go on forever, till the last brother was staked, and perhaps his wife and mother as well.

“Are you sure, my dear?” Shakuni asks.

Duryodhana ignores both of them, strides over to Karna. “Come with me.”

“I shall split your head open,” Bheema roars from beside Yudhisthira. “Leave him alone.”

“I won him,” Duryodhana reminds him coldly, “and I would that he comes with me.”

Karna rises with a grace that startles Arjuna, no longer the clumsy middle prince who dropped things, just like he is no longer a charioteer's dutiful son.

“I will go,” he says, and Yudhisthira turns to the court at large. “Please forgive my brother’s outburst.”

Arjuna wants to slap him.

Duryodhana wraps an arm around Karna's shoulders, and steers him to the doors. For a moment it appears that Bheema would follow, but then the Kaurava prince dismisses the guards, and they step just outside, far enough so no one can overhear whispers, but near enough that they are seen, and a fuming Bheema sits back down.

Arjuna sits and waits for a long time, like all others at court, even the blind Emperor, who can never walk without his son, and thinks miserably of how much Krishna would disapprove.

He is about to join them, either to pacify or to add fuel to the fire, when Karna speaks, loud and sarcastic enough to be heard all over the court. “I loved it. I loved it so much I am going to write a play about it, and have actors sent to perform it all over Āryavarta. Why, I should- ”

Duryodhana catches his flailing hands, shushes him. They whisper once more. The blind Emperor swivels his head in apparent confusion. Arjuna gets up to intervene.

Then Duryodhana walks in, a furious Karna in tow.

Arjuna seizes him by the arm. “Let them go, Duryodhana,” he pleads. “Do not do this.”

His patron and friend...? looks at him quietly for a long time, so long that Arjuna very nearly reaches for his bow.

Dhritarashtra, for once in his life, takes the cue. “Court is dismissed,” he calls, and the ordeal is over.

“You have counselled me wisely,” Duryodhana says at last. “Now, and before. It is a shame that I heeded you not.” Then he raises his head and says aloud, without preamble or explanation, “Let all be returned and restored to the Pāndava princes. Thank you, noble ones, for joining us in this game. We shall retire soon for lunch.”

Two years later, when the knowledge of the game is a rumour, and the incident at Indraprastha's lake is forgotten, Karna comes alone to Hastinapura. Krishna, who is visiting, gives Arjuna one of his secret smiles.

At the gates, Duryodhana meets him stiffly, for things have never been the same between the two sets of cousins. They bow ceremoniously, Dhritarashtra speaks a few half-hearted greetings, and Gandhari fusses over him.

Karna and Duryodhana stare at each other, and then Karna wraps him in a fierce hug.

“You’re not forgiven,” the Pandava prince says, voice muffled, but Arjuna notes Karna's trembling hands and thinks he knows otherwise.

Then, to his surprise, Karna turns to him. Krishna smiles at him again and whispers, “Prepare yourself, Angarāja.”

Before Arjuna can ask him what he means, Karna bows to him and says, “Greetings, brother.”

[that-disabled-princess]

In light of my new hyperfixation, here is the video that got me into RRR