The envoys from Hastinapur returned to Rajagriha under a sky heavy with monsoon clouds. Their arrival was quiet, but the anticipation in the palace was unmistakable. Jarasandha awaited them in the council chamber, flanked by Padmavati and his senior ministers. Arya entered first, her face composed, but her eyes sharp with the weight of what she had witnessed.
Arya bowed deeply. "Maharaj, the tournament was a spectacle—and a battleground of ambition. The Pandavas shone brightest, especially Arjuna, whose archery left the assembly awestruck. But it was Bhima and Duryodhana's rivalry that drew the most attention. Their contest was fierce, nearly spilling into violence."
She paused, glancing at her notes. "Krishna of Dwaraka was present, a silent force. He aligned himself openly with the Pandavas, which did not go unnoticed by the Kauravas or their allies. The princes of Panchala, Chedi, and others circled the arena like hawks, watching for openings."
Jarasandha listened, his expression unreadable. "And the Kurus themselves?"
Arya replied, "Divided, but outwardly courteous. Bhishma and Drona maintained order, but the tension was like a drawn bow. Many believe the peace will not last."
As Arya's report concluded, the council erupted in discussion. Some saw opportunity in the Pandavas' rise, others warned that the Kauravas' pride would not suffer defeat quietly. Padmavati's voice cut through the noise.
"We must not be drawn into their quarrels. Our alliance is with Hastinapur as a whole, not with one faction."
Jarasandha nodded. "We will maintain our course. Let our envoys continue to observe, but we will not take sides unless the interests of Magadha demand it."
A senior minister added, "There are rumors that Drupada of Panchala is seeking new alliances. He may approach us."
Jarasandha's eyes narrowed. "If he does, we will listen. Every offer is a chance to strengthen Magadha's position."
That afternoon, Vasumati of Avanti requested another audience. She brought with her a small casket of rare jewels and a letter bearing Avanti's royal seal.
"Maharaj," she said, "my lord is pleased by your wisdom and restraint. He proposes a formal alliance—one that may be sealed by a marriage, should you find it agreeable."
The council exchanged glances. Padmavati's face was calm, but her eyes searched Jarasandha's for a reaction.
Jarasandha accepted the letter, his tone measured. "I will consider Avanti's proposal with the seriousness it deserves. Magadha's alliances must be built on trust and mutual benefit."
Vasumati bowed, her expression unreadable. "Avanti is patient, Maharaj. We await your answer."
That evening, Jarasandha walked the palace corridors with Sumana and Asti. The rain drummed softly on the tiled roofs.
Sumana asked, "Will you marry again, father?"
He smiled gently. "If it serves Magadha, and if the alliance is honorable. But I will not be rushed. Every bond must be weighed with care."
Asti squeezed his hand. "We trust you."
Their faith warmed him more than any political victory.
Alone in his study, Jarasandha unrolled the Veda Sutra. The words shimmered in the lamplight:
The wise king does not rush to bind his fate.
He listens to the wind,
He watches the water,
And when the time is right,
He casts his net.
Jarasandha closed his eyes, letting the wisdom settle. The world was changing, and he would change with it—but always on his own terms.