Chapter 70: The One Who Must Be Invited

Chapter 70: The One Who Must Be Invited

Days passed, but the echo of Rudra's thunderous wrath and Dhronacharya's Betrayal and Arjun's Sacrifice still lingered in every corridor of Hastinapur. The fires of his fury had been extinguished, but the scorch marks remained—on stone, in hearts, and upon the fractured pride of the Kuru dynasty.

No music played in the city. No garlands decorated the palace gates. No drums of celebration echoed after Kalapradarshan.

Instead, silence hung like a sword above the throne.

The sabha gathered once more, but it felt hollow. There were no feasts, no speeches, no honors.

Arjun—once the darling of Hastinapur—sat with eyes that no longer saw. Blind not only in sight but in spirit, overwhelmed by guilt and betrayal. His shoulders remained upright, but the glint of confidence that once burned in him had faded. His inner world was a whirlwind—his mother's secret, his guru's deception, his duel with Karna, and above all… Rudra's words.

Yudhishthir, torn between duty and emotion, sat quietly. Duryodhan, unexpectedly matured by experience, wore a contemplative expression. And Bheem—who once stood proud and loud—was now visibly restless. The ulcer in his tongue from Rudra's curse was not merely physical; it was a constant reminder of his own folly.

Kunti was not present. Not because she was forbidden. But because shame had eclipsed her dignity.

Vidur, ever the wisest voice, now stood quietly near the throne. And then Bhishma rose.

The Pitamah's voice was low but carried thunder.

"This Sabha cannot walk blindly into tomorrow. We have fallen. And when kings fall, they must rise with knowledge—not just power."

His eyes turned to Dhritarashtra.

"There is only one who can guide us now."

Dhritarashtra nodded, as if reading Bhishma's mind.

"Let it be done."

And so Vidur was sent. To the forests, to the rivers, to the winds.

To seek the man who saw all. Who knew all. Who had written the very verses of Dharma.

—

When he returned… the air itself trembled.

The sun dimmed. Birds ceased their songs. And as a golden mist rolled over the palace gates, Maharishi Vyas arrived.

Draped in celestial ochre robes, his hair flowed like threads of time itself. His feet did not press the earth—they caressed it, as if the world bent forward to meet him.

People fell to their knees. Priests wept. Warriors bowed. He was not merely a sage. He was Vyasa, the knower of past, present, and future.

The Sabha stood. Bhishma touched his forehead to the floor. Kripacharya whispered a silent mantra. Dhritarashtra—blind, but never faithless—folded his hands.

"Maharishi," Bhishma spoke, "the heart of Hastinapur is wounded. We need your wisdom."

Vyasa's gaze moved slowly, seeing more than what the eye could ever see.

"A kingdom where power grows faster than purpose… always leads to ruin."

He listened. As the tale of Kalapradarshan unfolded—the cursed, the broken, the betrayed—he absorbed it in silence.

And when the last word was spoken, Vyasa finally rose.

"You have trained soldiers, not seekers. Taught technique, not truth. Given weapons, not wisdom. This is not their failure—it is yours."

Gasps rippled. Some felt anger. Some, shame. But none could deny the truth.

Vyasa walked toward the princes. Each one straightened in his seat, sensing what was to come.

"Your path cannot continue as it has. Each prince must now walk their own journey. You must choose your Guru—not one assigned by royalty, but one called by your soul."

The princes looked at each other. Whispers broke out.

Yudhishthir, composed as ever, stood.

"And what of Arjun?He is Blind now, what sould he do Rishivar"

Vyasa looked toward the blind warrior. Arjun sat, quiet as a sculpture, but alert.

"He must seek his destiny," Vyasa said. "But not by the order of birth… rather by the truth of it."

A long silence followed. Everyone knew what it meant.

Karna.

"He and you all must be guided by the one born before you. The one abandoned, but not broken. The one denied, but not defeated."

Even without eyes, Arjun's head dipped. He had accepted it.

Yudhishthir and Sahdev also remained silent accepting the guidance of revered one.

Then, to everyone's surprise, it was Duryodhan who stepped forward. His voice held clarity, not arrogance.

"I have chosen."

All turned.

"I wish to be trained by Suresh Pratap, War God of Mahishmati, the former King, Maharathi of the Gada, and the sole disciple of Lord Hanuman. If I am to lead—not by force, but by strength—I must be shaped by one who has walked the fire and emerged gold."

The Sabha murmured. This was no longer the same Duryodhan.

Bhishma nodded, pride in his eyes.

"Then you have taken your first step toward true kingship."

One by one, others stood: Vikarna, Dushasan, Shatrunjay, Lauhavas, and more. (all kauravas)

"We go with Jeshtha Bhrata. Let destiny decide our worth."

Yudhishthir smiled faintly and blessed them

"Return not just as warriors, but as a King Hastinapur needs."

Excitement stirred. A new chapter had begun.

But not all had risen.

Bheem sat motionless. His jaw clenched. His nails bit into his palms.

He was not thinking of Dharma. He was hearing whispers.

Voices. Murmurs. Temptations.

They had begun the day Rudra cursed him. And each night since, they returned.

"You were strong. They made you weak." "Take back what is yours." "There are other paths… darker, but true."

He never spoke of it. Not even to Yudhishthir.

But it stirred inside him.

Nakul was no different.

He had smiled with his brothers. He had nodded during the court.

But inside—inside, he burned.

He remembered Ishita. The way she wielded power like thunder. The way Rudra made the earth shake.

And here he stood… One of the most beautiful warriors of the age. But never feared. Never revered.

"You deserve more," the whisper told him. "Rudra was gifted. You must take it."

He didn't share this. He didn't need to.

For across the Sabha, someone else heard the same whisper.

In his heart, a seed had sprouted.

And as he looked toward Bheem and Nakul, he smiled faintly.

"It has begun."

Chapter Ends.