Four months had passed since Prince Rudra's arrival in Hastinapur, a time of growth and discovery for the young warrior under the Kuru court's tutelage. At sixteen, Rudra had immersed himself in the palace's rhythms, his days a blend of learning, training, and family bonds.
Mornings began with Gandhari in her private shrine, where she joined him for pooja, offering bilva leaves to the Shiva Lingam. Rudra chants "Om Namah Shivaya" with her, his rudraksha mala clicking softly.
Under Mahamantri Vidur's guidance, Rudra delved into politics, sitting in the sabha's shadows, observing debates on trade and justice. Vidura, his voice measured, explained, "Rudra, a king's word is his sword—sharp but fair. Listen to the people's needs, not the nobles' greed."
Rudra absorbed it all, asking, "Tatshree, how do you balance mercy and law?"
Vidura replied, "With dharma's scale, putra—tilt it toward the weak, and the strong will follow."
Afternoons were for training with the Kauravas and Lakshmana, Duryodhana's son, in the palace grounds. Rudra sparred with mace and sword, his skills matching the Kauravas' vigor. "Rudra, your strikes are like Bahubali's!" Dushasana boomed, clashing maces.
Rudra laughed, "Bhaiya, you taught me half of them! But watch this:" He dodged, countering with a sweep that sent Dushasana stumbling.
Vikarna chuckled, "You're a demon, bhanje!" Evenings, Rudra toured the kingdom with them, visiting villages where Duryodhana's reforms—schools and granaries—thrived.
"Mamashree, your people love you," Rudra said, watching children recite shlokas.
Duryodhana smiled, "Like yours love Bahu. We learn from each other, Rudra."
Rudra's letters to Magadha were regular, detailing his days: "Maa, Dadi Gandhari's poojas remind me of home. Tatshree Vidura's lessons sharpen my mind. Lakshman and I spar like brothers—Hastinapur feels like a second Magadha."
One morning in the sabha, as ministers debated border patrols, Duryodhana rose, his voice confident. "Maharaj, honored elders, to improve ties with Indraprastha, I propose inviting the Pandavas for a dyut sabha. It's a chance for brothers to reunite, share stories, and strengthen our divided kingdoms. What say you?"
Dhritarashtra, leaning on Sanjay, smiled. "Suyodhana, a fine idea. The Pandavas are our kin—let Dyut bridge the gap. Vidura, you'll carry the invitation to Indraprastha."
Bhishma, Kripacharya, and Vidura suspected a conspiracy, but didn't voice it.
Vidura spoke in his measured voice, "I will leave as soon as possible, Maharaj."
Vidura departed for Indraprastha, his chariot rolling swiftly. In the gleaming Mayasabha, Yudhishthira received him warmly. "Pranipat, Kakashri Vidura. What brings you from Hastinapur? Is all well with Pitamaha and Mata?"
Vidura bowed, his voice urgent. "Pranipat, Samrat Yudhisthir. All is well, but I come with an invitation from Maharaj Dhritarashtra. He proposes a dyut sabha to foster unity between our houses—brothers reuniting over a game of dice. He hopes it will mend the division since Khandav Vanam."
Yudhishthira's eyes gleamed with interest, his voice enthusiastic. "A dyut? How thoughtful! Dharma bids a king accept any challenge, be it in battle or board. We'll come, Kakashri—let's honor our kin and bridge the gap. When is it set?"
Vidura's face tightened, his tone pleading. "Dharmaraja, heed me—dyut is treacherous. Shakuni's dice are famed for deceit, and Duryodhana's pride may turn them to malice. The sabha is in a month, but I urge you to refuse or play with utmost caution. The Kauravas seek reconciliation, but their methods… they risk discord, as in the past."
Yudhishthira placed a hand on Vidura's shoulder, his voice firm yet kind. "Kakaji, your concern touches me deeply, as always. But a Kshatriya's honor demands acceptance—be it war or game. I'll play with dharma in my heart, letting truth guide my throws. No deceit will sway me, and my brothers will stand by me. Prepare for our arrival; we'll set out in a month to Hastinapur."
Vidura sighed, bowing. "As you wish, Dharmaraja. May Mahadev guide your dice and protect your house. I'll return with your acceptance." He departed, his heart heavy, as the Pandavas prepared.
Bhima, laughing, "A game? I'll crush their pride with my luck, Dharmaraja!"
Arjuna nodded, "Gandiva waits, but dice will do for now. We'll win hearts and board alike."
Nakula added, "It's time to show the Kauravas we're stronger than ever."
Sahadeva, thoughtful, said, "Let's play wisely—Shakuni's cunning is no jest."
A month later, the Pandavas, along with Draupadi, arrived in Hastinapur, their chariots rolling through cheering crowds that lined the streets with garlands and flags. At the palace gates, the Kuru family awaited—Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, Bhishma, Vidura, Kripacharya, Dronacharya, Ashwatthama, Duryodhana, Bhanumati, Shakuni, and the Kauravas—their faces a mix of warmth and underlying tension.
The Pandavas and Draupadi dismounted, Yudhishthira leading, touching Dhritarashtra's feet. "Pranipat, Bade kakashri. We come as sons, to honor your invitation and mend our family's bonds."
Dhritarashtra embraced him, his voice thick with emotion. "Smarat Yudhishthira, welcome home! May this dyut sabha bring the unity we've longed for. Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula, Sahadeva—Hastinapur rejoices at your return."
Gandhari, veiled, stepped forward, her hands raised in blessing. "Live a long life, putron aur putri."
The Pandavas, their faces a mix of joy and caution, entered the palace, unaware of the shadows lurking in the dyut sabha, where fate's dice would roll, testing the bonds of dharma and brotherhood.