Sunlight filtered through cracked shutters in a modest wing of the palace, its early morning glow spilling across a stone floor worn smooth by years of footsteps. Wooden beds creaked under new weight, their frames sturdy but plain, and a small shelf stood against one wall, its edges chipped but clean. Below, a courtyard buzzed with servants' chatter, their voices tangling with the clatter of buckets and the swish of brooms sweeping tiles. Kunti stood near the shelf, unpacking a small bundle, her crimson sari tied neatly as she folded tunics with brisk, practiced hands. Her dark hair hung loose, brushing her shoulders, and her movements carried a quiet purpose, steadying the room.
Nakula darted past her, his fair curls bouncing as he chased Sahadeva around a bed, their laughter bright and quick. Sahadeva ducked under a table, his small hands gripping its edge, his dark eyes glinting with mischief as he giggled. Yudhishthira sat by the window, a stick in his hand, carving notches into it with a small knife, his patched tunic swaying slightly as he worked. His gaze drifted outside, distant and thoughtful, the sunlight catching his dark hair. Bhima sprawled on a bed near the door, testing its strength with a bounce, his broad frame making the wood groan as he grinned, his dark curls damp from the morning's wash. Arjuna perched on a stool by the shelf, polishing his bow with a cloth, humming softly, his sharp eyes tracing the wood's curve, his tunic flapping as he shifted.
Kunti glanced over her shoulder, her voice steady and warm as she set a tunic down, her sari swaying. "Settle quick, boys—this is ours now. Make it home." She turned back, her hands folding another cloth, and her determination anchored the room, a quiet thread through their noise.
Bhima bounced again, his voice loud and cheerful as he slapped the bed, his grin wide. "Bed's tough—good enough! Holds me—barely!" He laughed, a big, rumbling sound, and the wood creaked louder, his broad shoulders shaking as he stretched out.
Arjuna's hum paused, his voice sharp and bright as he rubbed the bow harder, his small hands quick. "Bow's ready—court'll see. I'll shoot circles 'round 'em here!" He grinned, his bow glinting in the light, and he mimed an arrow flying, his tunic settling as he leaned back.
Nakula popped up from behind the bed, his voice soft and lively as he tugged Sahadeva's arm, his fair curls bouncing. "Circles? We'll run 'em! This place's big—lots to see!" He darted forward, his small feet pattering, and Sahadeva followed, his quieter laugh trailing.
Yudhishthira's knife paused, his voice calm and steady as he glanced at them, his stick notched evenly. "See it, yes—but quiet now. We're here to stay, not chase. Rest a bit." He turned back to the window, his dark eyes tracing the courtyard below, and his focus steadied their bustle.
Below, Duryodhana paced the courtyard, his dark tunic rumpled, his small boots kicking a stone that skittered across the tiles with a sharp clack. His dark curls bounced as he moved, his scowl deep and fixed, his hands restless at his sides. Duhshasana slouched beside him, his fair hair tangled, muttering as he watched the wing's open shutters, his small frame tense. Servants darted around them, their buckets splashing faintly, their chatter dipping as they glanced at the brooding prince.
Duryodhana's voice growled, low and fierce as he kicked the stone again, his eyes locked on the shutters. "They're worms in my house—I'll crush 'em. Laughing up there, like they own it!" He crossed his arms, his small fists clenching, and his envy coiled, dark and tight.
Duhshasana nodded, his voice shrill and quick as he hopped beside him, his fair hair falling into his eyes. "Crush 'em! Worms don't belong—smash that big oaf first!" He kicked at the air, his small tunic flapping, and a servant nearby flinched, her broom pausing.
Kunti set the last tunic on the shelf, her voice steady and firm as she turned to the twins, her sari settling. "Nakula, Sahadeva—enough running. Sit, unpack your things. This wing's ours—make it so." She pointed to a small bundle, her dark eyes warm, and her hands rested on her hips, her determination a quiet command.
Nakula skidded to a stop, his voice soft and bright as he grabbed the bundle, his fair curls bouncing. "Ours! I'll take this bed—near the window!" He flopped onto it, his small hands tugging at the cloth, and Sahadeva joined, his quieter voice adding, "Me too—close to you."
Bhima sat up, his voice loud and gruff as he grinned at them, the bed creaking. "Close? Good—more room for me! This place'll hold us—strong walls!" He bounced once more, his broad frame testing the frame, and his ease filled the room, his laugh rolling out.
Arjuna slung his bow over his shoulder, his voice sharp and teasing as he stood, his cloth dropping. "Strong? Better be—Bhima'll break it otherwise! I'm set—ready for anything here." He stretched, his small frame buzzing, and the sunlight caught his grin, his readiness sharp.
Yudhishthira's knife flicked once more, his voice calm and thoughtful as he set the stick down, his tunic swaying. "Ready, yes. But careful too—this palace watches us. We're home, but not alone." He glanced out the window again, his dark eyes catching Duryodhana's pacing, and his focus deepened, a quiet weight settling.
Duryodhana's stone skittered again, his voice fierce and low as he glared up, his small fists tight. "Home? Their hole's a thorn—sticking in my side! I'll rip it out—watch me!" He kicked harder, the stone bouncing off a servant's bucket, and his hatred twisted, festering into resolve.
Duhshasana's voice rose, shrill and wild as he pointed at the shutters, his fair hair bouncing. "Rip it! Big oaf, bow-boy—all of 'em! Smash 'em good, brother!" He clapped his hands, his small frame trembling, and the servants' chatter hushed, their eyes darting up.
Kunti stepped to the window, her voice steady and low as she peered down, her sari taut. "Smash? Let him try—my boys'll stand. This wing's ours, Yudhishthira—hold it." She turned, her dark eyes meeting his, and her determination glowed, a shield around them.
Bhima laughed, his voice loud and bold as he sprawled back, his grin wide. "Hold it? I'll hold anything—little prince can kick stones all day! We're staying!" He slapped the bed, the wood groaning, and his ease surged, rooting them deeper.
Arjuna grinned, his voice sharp and bright as he joined Kunti at the window, his bow tapping his shoulder. "Staying? We'll shine here—let 'em squirm! My arrows'll keep 'em honest!" He leaned out, his small hands quick, and his hum resumed, light and sure.
Nakula tugged a tunic from the bundle, his voice soft and lively as he glanced at Sahadeva, his fair curls bouncing. "Shine? We'll run this place—fast and free!" Sahadeva nodded, his quieter voice adding, "Free, yes—our spot now." Their laughter rang, bright and clear, filling the wing.
Yudhishthira stood, his voice calm and steady as he stepped beside Kunti, his stick in hand. "Our spot, true. We'll grow here—quietly, for now. They'll feel it." He glanced down at Duryodhana, his dark eyes steady, and his purpose settled, a quiet threat in their presence.
Duryodhana's stone skittered one last time, his voice fierce and bitter as he spun away, his dark tunic rumpled. "Feel it? They'll choke on it—I'll see to that. My palace, my rules!" He stormed off, his small frame tense, and Duhshasana followed, his nods fierce, their brooding a shadow below.
The servants' chatter resumed, their buckets clanking as they swept, and the wing hummed with the Pandavas' laughter, their purpose seeping into Hastinapura's pulse. Kunti's hands rested on the shelf, her sari steady, her sons' ease growing roots in the modest space. Duryodhana's envy festered, his resolve darkening, the quiet threat of their arrival sinking deep, the fragile peace atop a brewing storm.