A single lamp glowed on a desk in Dhritarashtra's private chamber, its flickering light spilling across scattered scrolls, their edges curling in the night air. The Ganga's roar rumbled faintly through thick stone walls, muffled but persistent, and shadows pooled in the corners, shifting with every gust that slipped past the heavy curtains. Dhritarashtra sat at the desk, his dark tunic stiff across his broad shoulders, his staff propped beside him, its tip resting on the floor. His blind eyes twitched beneath heavy brows, and his fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the wood, the sound sharp in the quiet. The chamber felt small, closed in, the air thick with the weight of unsaid things.
Kunti burst through the door, her crimson sari sweeping the floor, its faded hem snapping with her stride. Her dark hair spilled loose, framing her sharp face, and her voice cut through the stillness, fierce and unyielding as she planted herself before him. "Your boy poisoned Bhima—don't deny it! I saw him at the feast, skulking with his sly hands!" She gestured fiercely, her hands slicing the air, and her dark eyes blazed, her anger a fire lighting the shadows.
Dhritarashtra's fingers paused, his staff tapping once as he leaned back, his voice grumbling, gruff and low, his blind face turning slightly. "Boys play, Kunti. Nothing more—pranks and nonsense. You see shadows where there's light." He waved a hand, his fingers stiff, and his staff tapped again, its rhythm uneven, his tone dismissive as he avoided her gaze.
Kunti's hands dropped, her voice fierce and sharp as she stepped closer, her sari swaying. "Shadows? Powder in his food's no prank, Dhritarashtra! Bhima's stomach gurgled—I saw Duryodhana smirk! You'll let this slide?" She leaned forward, her dark hair falling over her shoulder, and her knuckles whitened as she gripped her own arms, her anger burning brighter.
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped faster, his voice gruff and strained as he shifted in his seat, his blind eyes twitching. "Slide? He's fine, isn't he? Big oaf—eating like always. Boys tease, Kunti—my hundred do it daily. No harm done." He waved her off again, his fingers drumming harder, and his lips pressed tight, his unease coiling beneath the words.
Vidura entered silently, his plain tunic dusty from the day, his sandals soft against the stone as he leaned against the doorframe. His dark eyes traced the exchange, his hands clasped behind his back, and he stepped forward, his voice low and stern, cutting through the tension. "No harm? Play with poison's no game, brother. I heard the hall—Bhima's belch didn't hide that taste. This rift'll widen if you blink at it." He tilted his head, his tunic settling, and his warning hung heavy, his concern sharpening into foresight.
Kunti's gaze flicked to Vidura, her voice hissing, low and fierce as she turned back to Dhritarashtra, her sari snapping. "Widen it will—if you let it. Your son's malice isn't play—it's a blade, dull now but sharpening. Rein him in!" She crossed her arms, her dark eyes narrowing, and her resolve stood firm, a wall against his deflection.
Dhritarashtra's staff stilled, his voice gruff and grumbling as he leaned forward, his blind face twitching. "Rein? He's a boy—hot-headed, like his brothers. You've got five—don't they squabble? This is nothing—feast talk, overblown." He tapped the desk, his fingers slow now, and his tone hardened, his guilt masked by the dismissal.
Vidura's voice rose, stern and steady as he stepped closer, his hands unclasping. "Overblown? Powder's not squabble, brother. Duryodhana's temper's brewing—I see it, even if you won't. Worse comes if you let it fester." He glanced at Kunti, his dark eyes steady, and his words planted doubt, the lamp's glow catching his frown.
Kunti's voice sharpened, fierce and low as she uncrossed her arms, her sari swaying. "Fester? It's rotting already—your son's smirk proves it! Bhima's strong, yes—thank the gods—but next time? You'll sit blind while my boys bleed?" She gestured again, her hands fierce, and her anger flared, the chamber a crucible of her burning resolve.
Dhritarashtra's fingers curled, his voice gruff and loud as he slapped the desk, his staff tipping slightly. "Bleed? Enough, Kunti! You storm in, accusing—my sons aren't killers! Feast pranks—nothing more! Go shout at shadows elsewhere!" He waved her off, his blind eyes twitching faster, and his unease twisted, his deflection a shield cracking under her words.
Vidura's voice dropped, stern and quiet as he stepped beside Kunti, his tunic brushing the floor. "Shadows? They're real, brother—Duryodhana's hands moved at that feast. I saw the servant falter, the dish change. Deny it, but it's there. Worse waits if you ignore this." He clasped his hands again, his dark eyes piercing, and his warning settled, a weight in the air.
Kunti's voice hissed, fierce and final as she stepped back, her sari snapping. "Ignore? You'll choke on that denial, Dhritarashtra. My sons won't wait for worse—I'll guard them myself." She spun, her dark hair whipping, and stormed toward the door, her anger a storm leaving the chamber tense.
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped once, his voice gruff and low as he leaned back, his blind face still. "Guard them, then. My boys are mine—pranks won't kill. Leave me be." He waved a hand, his fingers stiff, and his silence grew, his unease festering beneath the grumble.
Vidura lingered, his voice stern and steady as he faced Dhritarashtra, his tunic dusty in the lamp's glow. "Leave? She's right—pranks with poison aren't boyhood. This rift's deep, brother—Duryodhana's spite, your hundred's noise. Worse comes if you don't see it." He stepped back, his dark eyes tracing the king, and his warning hung, heavy and unresolved.
Dhritarashtra's fingers drummed again, his voice gruff and faint as he turned his blind face away, his staff still. "Worse? Always worse with you, Vidura. They're boys—let it pass. I've heard enough." He waved a hand, his tone dismissive, and the lamp flickered, its light dimming on the scrolls.
Vidura's lips pressed thin, his voice low and firm as he turned to the door, his sandals soft. "Pass? It won't—mark me, brother. This grows." He stepped out, his plain tunic vanishing into the hall, and the chamber fell silent, the Ganga's roar a distant pulse.
Kunti's footsteps echoed down the corridor, her sari a crimson blur, her anger burning steady as she left, unresolved. Dhritarashtra sat alone, his staff tapping faintly, his blind eyes twitching, his deflection a fragile wall against the rift's shadow. Vidura's warning lingered, the threat of worse a specter in the flickering light, the chamber thick with their fraying ties.