Tragedy

In the thriving capital of Magadha, the palace bustled with activity, its halls alive with the fruits of Bahubali's reforms—merchants trading silks and spices, scholars debating Vedic truths, and children laughing in newly built schools.

A year had passed since the Kuru princes' war with Panchala, and Magadha flourished, its borders now encompassing Anga, where Karna ruled as Angaraj, his reign marked by justice and prosperity. Bahubali, seated in his marble court, received a messenger from Hastinapur, bearing news that stirred the tranquil air: Yudhishthira had been crowned yuvraj of the Kuru kingdom.

The court murmured, ministers exchanging glances, but Bahubali's face remained serene. he addressed the messenger, his voice calm yet resonant. "The news of Yudhishthira's coronation as yuvraj is momentous, a testament to Hastinapur's commitment to dharma, for his wisdom is renowned. Return my congratulations to Maharaj Dhritarashtra and the Kuru elders. Magadha rejoices in our ally's stability." 

The messenger bowed, departing with Bahubali's words. Alone in his chambers later, Bahubali penned a message to Duryodhana, his quill moving with purpose across the parchment. "Pranipat, Mitra Duryodhana, Prince of Hastinapur. News of Yudhishthira's coronation as yuvraj has reached Magadha, and I know your heart may weigh heavy, for your valor in felling Drupad was unmatched. Yet, I urge you, stay steadfast on the path of dharma. Let your actions shine brighter than any crown, for righteousness is the true throne of a Kshatriya. You have my friendship, as I promised, and my word: walk the path of truth, and your dues will come, whether in this life or beyond. Magadha stands with you, as does Mahadev's grace. Your mitra, Bahubali, Magadha Naresh."

The message, sealed with Magadha's trident emblem, was dispatched by a swift rider. Days later, in Hastinapur's opulent palace, Duryodhana received it in his private chambers, his brothers Dushasana and Vikarna at his side, their faces reflecting his own turmoil.

Breaking the seal, he read Bahubali's words, his jaw tightening, then softening as the message sank in. "Listen, brothers," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and resolve. "Magadha Naresh Bahubali writes to me, not with pity, but with faith. He says, 'Stay in the path of dharma, mitra, and you will get your dues—this is my word.' He believes in me, unlike the elders who crowned Yudhishthira despite my triumph over Drupad. Bhishma, Vidura, Kripacharya—they see only the Pandavas' virtues, blind to my strength. But Bahubali… he sees me as a warrior, a friend. What say you, Dushasana? Shall I heed his counsel, or let this injustice fuel my anger?"

Dushasana, ever loyal, leaned forward, his voice fierce. "Bhaiya, Yudhishthira's crown is a slight to you, to all Kauravas! You crushed Drupad, gave Dronacharya his dakshina, yet they choose that sanctimonious Pandava? But Bahubali's words ring true—your deeds outshine their titles. Be patient, as he urges, and let your mace carve your path. His friendship, and Angaraj Karna's, is worth more than Hastinapur's fickle favor."

Vikarna, more measured, nodded. "Bhaiya, Magadha Naresh is wise, his vision rooted in dharma. He slew Jarasandha, uplifted Anga, and humbled our court with reason, not pride. If he bids you stay righteous, it's because he sees your potential to rise above this setback. For now, let your work speak, as he says. The throne may yet be yours."

Duryodhana clutched the parchment, his eyes narrowing, then softening. "You're right, both of you. Bahubali's faith is a rare gift, one I'll not squander. For now, I'll do as my mitra advises—I'll let my work speak for itself. I'll govern my duties, strengthen our alliances, and prove I'm worthy of Hastinapur's crown, not through schemes, but through valor and dharma. Let Yudhishthira wear his title; I'll forge my own legacy."

A year passed, and fate took a dramatic turn. The Pandavas, accompanied by Mata Kunti, had journeyed to Varanavat for a grand Shiva festival, their hearts lifted by Yudhishthira's new title.

But tragedy struck when their palace, a grand structure caught fire one night, flames devouring its halls. Rumors swirled of foul play, but the Pandavas and Kunti escaped, choosing to vanish into exile rather than return to Hastinapur. They disguised themselves as wandering brahmins, their whereabouts unknown, their survival whispered only in shadows.

When the news reached Magadha, carried by a breathless merchant, the court fell silent. Bahubali, seated on his throne, listened intently, his face unreadable. And he thought. Fate has its own corrections. Even if Duryodhana stays on Dharma's path, as I urged, the Pandavas' exile was destined, a chapter in their saga we cannot yet read.

Later, in the palace gardens by the Ganga, he found Karna, now Angaraj, staring at the river, his face etched with devastation. "Bahu," Karna said, his voice breaking, "the Pandavas… my brothers, and Mata Kunti… gone? Burned in Varanavat's flames. I knew them as rivals, mocked by them as a suta, yet they're my blood, as you revealed. How could fate be so cruel?"

Bahubali placed a hand on Karna's shoulder, his voice steady, "Karna, my brother, grieve not yet, for the Pandavas and Mata Kunti live—I feel it in my heart. The fire was an accident, but their escape was their choice. They've gone into exile, perhaps to protect themselves or to seek a higher purpose, Karna. You'll see them again, in time, when their path reveals itself. For now, trust in their strength and focus on Anga, where your people need their king."

Karna's tears fell, but his resolve hardened, his voice steadying. "You're right, Bahu. If they live, as you say, I'll wait for their return, guarding them from afar as I vowed. But this pain… knowing my mother abandoned me, and now my brothers wander in exile—it cuts deep, but I'll not let this sorrow weaken my duty. I'll make Anga a beacon of dharma, as you've made Magadha. Tell me, what is your sense of Hastinapur now? Will Duryodhana rise to this moment, or fall to his old jealousies?"

Bahubali's gaze turned to the horizon, his voice thoughtful. "Duryodhana's heart is a battlefield, Karna. I sent him a message about this tragedy, assuring him the Pandavas live, to temper his ambitions with truth. If he heeds my call to dharma, he may rise as a leader. But Hastinapur's court is a web of desires—Shakuni's cunning, Dhritarashtra's favoritism, Bhishma's duty. We must watch, and guide where we can. For now, let's strengthen Magadha and Anga, preparing for the day Aryavrat's tides turn."

In Hastinapur, the palace was shrouded in grief. A week after the Varanavat fire, with no word from the Pandavas or Kunti, the Kuru elders gathered in the sabha, their faces heavy. Dhritarashtra, leaning on Sanjay, spoke, his voice trembling. "Pranipat, noble sabha, Bhishma, Vidura, Kripacharya, my sons. The loss of Yudhishthira, our yuvraj, and his brothers, along with Kunti, is a wound to Hastinapur's heart. We mourn, yet our kingdom needs a leader. After counsel, I name Duryodhana, my eldest, as yuvraj, to guide us through this dark time. His valor against Drupad proved his strength, and I trust he'll uphold our legacy."

The sabha murmured, some nodding, others hesitant. Duryodhana rose, his armor gleaming, but his heart conflicted. Before the announcement, a message from Bahubali had arrived, its words stark: *"Mitra Duryodhana, the Pandavas and Mata Kunti live, hidden in exile. Trust in dharma, and let this truth guide you. Your friend, Bahubali."*

Now, as the crown of yuvraj was placed on his head, Duryodhana stood before the court, his voice steady but layered with turmoil. "Pranipat, Maharaj, elders, and sabha. I accept this honor, not for glory, but to serve Hastinapur in its hour of need. I mourn my cousins, yet my duty is clear. I'll lead with strength, unite our people, and honor our traditions. But know this—I've received word from Magadha Naresh Bahubali, a friend who speaks truth. He believes the Pandavas live, in exile, by their choice. I'll govern as yuvraj, but I'll not rejoice in their absence, nor act against dharma, as my mitra urges."

Bhishma's eyes narrowed, impressed yet wary, while Vidura nodded subtly, sensing Bahubali's influence. Shakuni, in the shadows, frowned, his schemes disrupted by Duryodhana's restraint. Dushasana clapped, his voice loud, "Bhaiya, you're the rightful yuvraj! Let the Pandavas wander—we'll make Hastinapur greater than ever!" Vikarna and Yuyutsu, however, exchanged glances, their brother's words about the Pandavas' survival stirring hope and unease.

Duryodhana turned to them, his voice low. "Brothers, Bahubali's message weighs on me. If the Pandavas live, as he claims, I'm neither happy nor sad. Happy, for their death would stain our house; sad, for their return may challenge my crown. Yet he bids me stay on dharma's path, and I will. I'll rule as yuvraj, prove my worth through deeds, not plots. If they return, I'll face them as a Kshatriya, not a schemer. For now, let's strengthen Hastinapur, and trust Magadha's friendship to guide us."