Chapter 68: Echoes After the Storm

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The Kalapradarshan had ended—though not in celebration or triumph, but in dread. Rudra's Bhairav form, the curses he cast, and his haunting disappearance left behind a fractured silence that no conch could pierce.

No feast was prepared that night. No garlands were offered. The flowers on the palace floors wilted, and the lamps that lit the corridors of Hastinapur flickered with unrest.

The Kuru court had descended into tension and guilt. The Pandavas, once the pride of the kingdom, now sat like accused criminals. Bheem, writhing in the pain of Rudra's curse, had to be supported by his brothers. His tongue, riddled with burning ulcers, made even breathing an ordeal. Every grimace, every muffled groan from him made the silence in the palace more unbearable.

Dronacharya, now blind, did not flinch as he stood tall—but inside, he was shaken. His other senses sharpened to compensate, yet his mind wandered between guilt, betrayal, and the death of his vision—both literal and metaphorical.

The Mahishmati delegation, who had arrived in splendor, now left without a word. No farewells. No eye contact. Their silence was not due to humiliation, but because of their pride—unchallenged, undiminished. They had no need to speak. Their aura had spoken for them.

In the Raj Sabha of Hastinapur, everyone had gathered.

Dhritarashtra sat on his throne, his fingers nervously clutching the arms. He cleared his throat. "Let the court come to order. Let us speak of what must be spoken."

Vidur sat cross-legged, unusually quiet. His eyes remained closed, not in meditation but in weary reflection.

Bhishma stood near the dais, his arms crossed tightly, expression grim.

Yudhishthir kept his gaze low, as if weighed down by the crown he almost wore.

Shakuni, of course, found the silence fertile.

"Maharaj," he said, voice serpentine and smooth, "I believe the contest for the Yuvraj's crown has reached its conclusion. Today, the Pandavas have proven their disqualification."

Gasps broke from a few nobles.

"Tell me," Shakuni continued, pacing slowly, "if the eldest brother cannot control the tongue and temper of his younger brother, how can he ever hope to rule an empire?"

All eyes turned to Yudhishthir, who clenched his jaw but said nothing.

Bheem's head dropped. Even in his pain, the weight of guilt pressed harder. His heavy hands trembled.

"He... he was only trying to protect me," Bheem whispered.

Shakuni smirked. "Intentions do not absolve incompetence."

Kunti sat nearby, her sari pale, her expression haunted. She had not uttered a single word since being revealed as Karna's mother. Her heart thudded with regret.

Then, in a chilling voice, Bhishma stepped forward.

"We will discuss the crown later. First, I must say something I should have said long ago."

He did not look at her. His voice trembled with suppressed fury.

"Kunti. I move that you be stripped of the title Rajmata. You no longer deserve the honor."

Shock swept the court.

Kunti finally raised her face. "Pitamah...?"

"A mother who throws her firstborn into a river like a secret sin, a stain to be washed away—cannot be called Mata."

His voice cracked, but he didn't pause.

"Had you shown courage... Had you told your husband—Pandu — then the Kuru throne would have had its rightful heir. That boy you abandoned... he is Surya Veer Karna, the lion of Mahishmati. An embodiment of Dharma far purer than many born in palaces."

Kunti closed her eyes, tears spilling silently.

"Forgive me…" she whispered. "I feared the world. I feared my family."

"And in doing so," Bhishma continued, "you denied Hastinapur its true prince. The crown that should have sat on Karna's head was cast away with him."

Dhritarashtra nodded gravely.

"Henceforth, Kunti is relieved of the title of Rajmata. She shall retain her quarters as the mother of Pandavas—but no more shall her words bear weight in the court of Hastinapur."

A sob broke from Kunti in the women's gallery. The silence among the elders was deafening.

"Now," Dhritarashtra continued, his voice growing heavier, "on the matter of succession... Yudhishthir, you have always been the light of Dharma. But after today, even the gods frown upon your silence. You could not restrain your brother. The results could have been catastrophic. I am forced to—"

"Ruk jaiye, Maharaj!"

All heads turned.

A hand, raised in dignity, trembled.

It was Dronacharya.

"I have yet to receive my Guru Dakshina."

His voice, though low, carried through the chamber.

Dhritarashtra tilted his head. "Speak, Gurudev. What do you ask?"

Drona stepped forward slowly, guided by Ashwathama.

"I ask that my students defeat the King of Panchala—Drupad—and bring him to me, humbled."

A murmur spread through the court. Shock. Confusion.

Bhishma's eyes narrowed.

"Drona! You wish to settle an old grudge? Using the princes as pawns in your vendetta?"

"You gave half-training to most," Bhishma roared. "Only Arjun received your full instruction. And now you command them to defeat a kingdom? Have you lost your reason?"

Drona remained unmoved.

"It is my Guru Dakshina. I do not ask. I claim."

Dhritarashtra frowned. "This is too heavy a burden for the young princes, Gurudev. Choose something else."

Suddenly, Bheem stood. Despite the pain, despite the curse.

"Let me do it," he growled. "Let me atone. I still have strength. I can win."

But before anyone could respond, Yudhishthir turned sharply toward him.

"No, Bheem!" he said sternly. "This is not the moment to prove your strength. Because of your foolish words, our family stands humiliated. Our mother cast down. And now you want to fight a war as repentance? Sit down."

Even Bhishma glared. "Today's shame began with your tongue. Let it not end with your pride."

Bheem sat back, silenced.

Duryodhan, who had been silent all this time, stepped forward.

"Gurudev, you were never our true Guru."

The words hit like arrows.

"You trained us in illusions. Fed us half-truths. Hid knowledge behind favoritism. You loved Arjun. You trained him like a son. But us? You gave crumbs."

Drona stiffened.

"By dharma, we owe you nothing. If anyone must repay you, it is Arjun."

From behind, Ashwathama exploded in rage.

"Enough! Father, these people used you. And now they deny you. We are leaving this court."

Ashwathama guided his father away, but Drona stopped.

"No," he said. "I will say my last."

He turned his head—toward Arjun.

"I gave you everything, Arjun. Every mantra. Every vidya. You are more than a student. You are my blood."

"But today, your silence... your silence has wounded me deeper than any sword."

Arjun looked up, stricken.

"Gurudev, I—"

Drona held up a hand.

"If you do not fulfill the Guru Dakshina, I will ask from you alone, then hear my words clearly."

"I shall curse you. You shall forget every teaching I gave you. Your bow shall feel alien in your hands. The astras will no longer heed your call."

He stepped forward.

"So listen closely, Arjun. As your Guru, I demand…"

Chapter Ends:-