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The lazy afternoon sun bathed Indraprastha in a golden haze, softening the grandeur of its marble walls and gilded domes. The city hummed with the vibrant energy of preparations for the Rajasuya Yagya, every street alive with activity. Yet, here on the palace balcony, time seemed to slow, cocooned in an air of tranquil detachment. For the younger ones—Vaishnavi and the Upapandavas—the stillness was a double-edged sword. While the adults thrived in the calm before the storm, the children grew restless, their lively spirits yearning for mischief.

Apparently, Bheem's suggestion that they pass the time indulging in the endless array of delicacies, or Sahadev's proposal to simply sleep through the lazy afternoons until the Yagya began seemed to not hold any appeal to the heirs of Bharatvarsh. Instead, they chose to exploit the chaos of the preparations, reveling in mischief without a consequence.

And at this moment, the balcony was their haven. Plush diwans were scattered haphazardly, strewn with silken cushions embroidered in gold and crimson. The faint fragrance of blooming jasmine mingled with the cool, earthy scent of the marble beneath their feet. Despite the opulence, boredom loomed over them like a persistent cloud that one of the kids ought to break by bringing up something interesting.

"No, but truly," Shatanik began, breaking the lull as he lounged dramatically against a pile of cushions. "When was the last time we all spent this much time together? All of us?"

Vaishnavi, perched cross-legged on the swing, tilted her head thoughtfully. "Hmm... I can't recall, Bhrata Shatanik. You were in Dwarka for so long, I almost forgot you were supposed to be a guest there." Her lips curled into a teasing smile before she continued, her tone softening. "But yes, I understand what you mean. Who knows when we'll get such a chance again? We should make the most of this—play more, talk more, eat mor—"

"More?" Shrutakarma cut her off, his brows rising in mock disbelief. "You two already spend all eight prahars stuffing your faces and running into every corner of this place. What more could you possibly want?" He shot an exaggerated look of exasperation at Prativindhya, who chuckled and shrugged.

Shatanik rolled his eyes, pushing himself up from the cushions with theatrical flair. "You lot have no sense of adventure. None of you truly understand the importance of cherishing time with family."

"Ah yes, cherishing time with family," Prativindhya echoed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what you call it when you drag Vaishnavi into your harebrained schemes because you're too scared to go alone?"

Vaishnavi stifled a laugh, shaking her head to agree. Shatanik brushed off the remark with a dramatic wave, a spark of mischief gleaming in his eyes. Leaning forward as if to share a grand secret, he began, "Speaking of plans, I was thinking... why not explore the magical forests today? In broad daylight, of course. A harmless little adventure." 

"I'm out," Sutasom interjected immediately, raising his hands in mock surrender. 

Prativindhya, already halfway to standing, added, "I have Yuvraj duties, you know. Important, royal matters to attend to." 

Shrutakirti leaned conspiratorially toward Shrutakarma, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Did Pitashree call for us earlier? I could swear he needed help." 

"Oh, absolutely," Shrutakarma chimed in with a perfectly serious nod. "Very urgent. Something only we can handle." 

Shatanik groaned, throwing up his hands in frustration. "You're all impossible!"

Turning to Vaishnavi, his voice took on a honeyed tone. "Vaishu—" 

"No," Vaishnavi cut him off sharply, her playful swinging abruptly halting. Her smile faded, replaced by a stern look. "My dear Vaishu," Shatanik began again, undeterred, "as sweet as the first blossoms of spring, as radiant as the moonlight on a tranquil—" 

"Bharata Shatanik," Vaishnavi interrupted, arms crossing firmly over her chest, "flattery will get you nowhere." 

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" Shatanik exclaimed, clutching his chest as if deeply wounded. 

"I know enough to say no." Her tone left no room for argument. Shatanik sighed dramatically, clasping his hands together as if pleading. "Vaishu, you wound me. This could be the greatest adventure of our lives!"

Vaishnavi's arms crossed over her chest. "Greatest? Well then I seem to be not enough worthy of such greatness."

Shatanik's demeanor shifted, his eyes narrowing with playful menace. "Hmm, in that case, perhaps Bua would like to hear about a certain princess sneaking out to the beaches of Dwarka at night. I'm sure she'd be fascinated to know how her daughter defied her strict orders about going near the waters at night."

Vaishnavi's composure shattered instantly. Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped in a mixture of shock and betrayal. "Bhratashree! You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I most certainly would," Shatanik replied smoothly, leaning back with a triumphant smirk. "I'm only thinking of Bua's peace of mind. Surely she deserves to know the truth."

"You promised to keep that a secret!" Vaishnavi hissed, her cheeks flushing with indignation.

"And you promised to be a supportive sister," Shatanik shot back, grinning. "So, what will it be, dear Vaishu? The forest or a little chat with Bua?"

Vaishnavi groaned, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "You're insufferable," she muttered. Then, with a long, exaggerated sigh, she threw up her hands. "Fine. I'll come with you. But if we get caught, I'm blaming everything on you."

"Of course," Shatanik replied with mock solemnity, though his grin betrayed his delight.

"Liar," Vaishnavi muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

The other cousins burst into laughter, their earlier boredom forgotten as the promise of adventure filled the air. The golden sunlight spilled across the balcony, casting long shadows on the marble floor, as if blessing the mischief that was about to unfold.

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The sacred garden stretched like a world apart, hidden behind high palace walls. It was an oasis of calm and best preserved for the royals. At the edge of the lotus pond, Dhriti knelt, her fingers deftly plucking petals from marigolds and jasmine, the golden hues of her saree shimmering under the soft glow of the midday sun. Her movements were deliberate, almost meditative, as she strung the flowers into a garland. A small smile curved her lips, though her eyes carried the weight of someone who rarely allowed herself moments of peace.

The sound of anklets broke the stillness. Dhriti's fingers paused, a small smile tugging the end of her full lips, but she didn't turn. "I wondered how long it would take you to find me, dear Karenumati."

Karenumati's precious vlaugh was as familiar as it was warm. "You make it sound like a treasure hunt, dear sister." She approached slowly, her pale blue lehenga swishing gently against the stone path.

"Oh prehaps it is," Dhriti replied, turning with the unfinished garland in hand. She faces the younger princess, motioning her to sit beside her and while her expression unreadable, they tinged with fondness. "It has been months..."

Karenumati inclined her head, offering a slight bow. "Too many, I admit. But you know my situation... and my father's watchful eyes."

Dhriti's lips thinned at the mention of Shishupal. "Yes, the great King of Chedi. How is he faring these days?" She rolled her eyes, going back to her work, as if already knowing the answer to such an infamous question.

Karenumati's gaze flickered with unease. "He remains as he has always been—angry, prideful, and blind to everything but his hatred for Krishna." She sighed, then added, "I envy your strength, Bhabi. You would never let anyone silence you the way he does me."

Dhriti placed a hand on her shoulder, her touch firm but reassuring. "You are stronger than you believe, Karenumati. I've seen it in that letter. It saved my kingdom." On that fateful night, Karenumati had absolutely no business in taking a life jeopardising risk and revealing her father's infernal plans to her through a letter that could've easily be intercepted and led to something even more apocalyptic.

Karenumati smiled faintly but said nothing. Nakul had asked her to do it and at that moment, her love and admiration to these two had as if make her conscience stout-hearted to the vile consequences of getting caught. Her gaze drifted back to the garland in Dhriti's hands. "You're making one for your hair, aren't you? I remember Rajkumar Nakul saying you used to do that before battle."

A mention of Nakul surely did catch Dhriti off guard and for the first time, she had no idea how to react to the mention of her dear brother. "Oh, he did?" Dhriti asked in unexplained surprise. Karenumati nodded immediately, "He tells a lot about you. I love hearing that from him. It reflects his deep admiration for his incredible sister. You're amazing I had known even before meeting you!"

A rare softness entered Dhriti's voice. "That's great and I wouldn't act surprised. Nakul's admiration is...unfathomable indeed. Too odd for a brother not teasing his sister at every possible ocassion. But Bhrata Arjun takes care of that teasing." She ended the little monotone with a smile, not realising how many months it has been since she last talked about such fond memories of her siblings. It did bring peace, sure; but it was the hurt that she didn't yet want to acknowledge.

Karenumati smiled earnestly in return, hesitating  before speaking again. "Speaking of battles... I heard about Viranth."

The mention of the name froze Dhriti mid-motion, in a way she wasn't amused but worried for the innocents who might become his victims. Her fingers tightened around the thread of the garland. "Did he do something again? Where is he?"

"I don't where or what he might be doing right now but," Karenumati stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You spared him, Dhriti. Mercy... mercy doesn't always breed change." Dhriti's expression darkened; the one who begs for mercy, rightfully deserves it. But humans, oh humans; do they really deserve an act so pious?

Karenumati's voice grew somber, almost trembling. "He's left a trail of devastation in the past. Avanti, Tirgata, Matsya, even the borders of Madra... but the worst was Kashi."

"What happened in Kashi?"

Karenumati's words came slowly, heavy with grief. "He wanted their throne, of course. But when he failed to take it by force, he turned to something more insidious. He poisoned their Queen."

Dhriti's breath caught, her face hardening. "Their Queen? So that is how Maharani Suryayani passed away?"

Karenumati nodded, her expression grim. "They say she suffered for days, her body wasting away as the poison coursed through her veins. Her attendants could do nothing but watch. The court physicians tried everything, but Viranth's poison was unlike anything they had seen. It burned her from the inside, turning her skin dark as ash. By the end, she could barely speak, but her cries..."
She paused, swallowing hard, her voice breaking. "Her cries haunted the palace. They say her children were dragged from her bedside by the king himself because he couldn't bear to let them see her like that. When she finally died, the king ordered the palace shrouded in black for months. The people of Kashi... they still mourn her."

Dhriti's knuckles turned white as she clenched the garland. "And Viranth? Did they do nothing about him?"

"He vanished before they could catch him," Karenumati said bitterly. "He always does. He leaves ruin behind him and disappears like a shadow. But this time, his shadow was on a chokehold, so he put up a pretense for mercy. He should've been killed this time."

The two women stood in silence, the garden's tranquility now feeling like a cruel contrast to the horrors Karenumati had described.

At last, Dhriti spoke, her voice low but resolute. "I should have killed him..." Karenumati didn't respond, but the look in her eyes spoke of agreement. Perhaps death does not come easily for those so steeped in wickedness. For they, like their deeds, deserve a slow, agonizing end—one that lingers and stares into their very soul for days before finally claiming them. A death that tallies each sin, each act of malfeasance, whispering their wrongs in the silence of the night. And when mercy can no longer find its place, when compassion has long abandoned them, the inevitable embrace of death is a long, cruel reckoning—one that makes them face the weight of every misdeed before it claims them entirely.

After a moment that mourned for Kashi and Suryayani, Karenumati shifted the conversation, her tone softening. "And Vaishnavi? She must've grown up so much, I feel a little sorrowed and nostalgic when sweet little kids grow up," the princess laughed in a little embarrassment.

Dhriti blinked, as though yanked out from her dark thoughts. "Vaishu..." Her eyes flicked toward the palace. "I haven't seen her since morning, you know?" She spoke in mere amusement.

Karenumati's lips quirked into a knowing smile. "She stepped out of her kingdom for the first time ever, I'm sure she must be exploring with the other kids."

"Perhaps," Dhriti murmured, though a faint unease crept into her voice. She set the garland down on the bench, her movements brisk. "But I'll go find her."

Karenumati inclined her head. "Of course. We'll speak again soon." The garden fell silent once more, the lotus pond reflecting the fading light of the sun, as though mourning the tales it had just borne witness to.

Dhriti nodded curtly and strode toward the palace, her maroon saree trailing behind her like a warrior's banner. The weight of Karenumati's words lingered, mingling with her growing worry for Vaishnavi. Amidst the soft rustling leaves and gentle tap of sandals on stone; a voice, low and teasing, unmistakably reached Dhriti's ears.

"Looking for someone, my Queen?"

"Our daughter, Kanha. As you can see, I am a little worried about her being out of my sight for an entire day!" A quick playful glance covered up Dhriti's face, watching Kanha lean up against a pillar. Always at the right place at the right time.

"If you keep worrying about every single happenstance, I'm afraid I might be scapegoated to the tantrums for something that's not even my fault." Kanha's eyes twinkled with a weight of divinity in his gaze.

"Everything that happens in this universe is your fault. Boon to some, bane to others." Dhriti looked back, not sure why she said it but confident enough to know it was right.

Krishna crossed his arms with a frown sharp enough to bend steel, "Our daughter is out there roaming somewhere and that's my fault?"

"Oh yes, since you know what's going to happen and all that stuff," Dhriti kept sprinting faster, while Kanha followed the lead, "Kanha, must be dull to know the end before thr beginning. Where's the thrill, where's the longing for hope?"

"Adventure you say?" His smile was slow, almost wistful, with a gaze lingering in the distance. "Perhaps, the real thrill is in the knowing and unravelling of what is already written. As for hope, it is a luxury for those who don't see the entire picture. Like you! You can hope for the good times; I shall sit in a quiet corner enjoying Makhan."

"You..." Dhriti sneered, "Now you're calling me delusional?"

"What? I called you optimistic, my dear."

"Chhaliya!"

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One thing about Indraprastha was that Krishna wasn't the only Chhaliya here. This entire kingdom was full of life blown inanimate objects manipulating the line of reality. And while the sun filtered gold through the dense canopy on the moss laden forest ground, Vaishnavi tread lightly, her anklets barely making a sound and her eyes drawn to a peculiar bloom nestled among the roots of an ancient tree. The flower, unlike anything she had ever seen, shimmered faintly, its petals a silvery hue that seemed to shift with the light.

"Bhrata, look at this!" she called softly to Shatanik, as if almost trying to not wake up those intricately hanging petals. Shatanik though, he turned, brushing aside a low-hanging branch in what was nothing but gentle. "I'm amazed you thought that would interest me."

Vaishnavi ignored his remark and crouched closer to the flower, her fingers hovering just above its delicate petals. As her hand neared, the shimmer dimmed, and before her fingertips could graze it, the flower wilted—its petals curling inward, the glow extinguished in an instant.

She pulled her hand back, startled. "It... it just died."

Shatanik stepped closer, now in real intrigue, frowning at the withered remains. "Strange," He said, "Perhaps it was its time, or maybe time for us...to go back."

Vaishnavi shook her head, unease creeping into her voice. "Why?," She asked guilt ridden.

Shatanik knew he had to get into the role of the big brother he was, "This flower was called Kaalratri," He said wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her to walk back towards the palace. "It only blooms when the forest is at its peace; a single touch, a single disruption can make it fade into nothingness. Don't worry about it, mistakes happen. It shall bloom again."

"Bharatashree," Vaishnavi mumbled, the air growing thicker in confusion and a sense of intrigue that no one would be fond of. "I-I did not touch the Kaalratri; neither its petals nor the leaves."

Shatanik stopped for a moment, grasping what his cousin mentioned, slightly opening his mouth to comment but suddenly, a faint sob broke the tension, sharp and desperate. Vaishnavi's head too, snapped at the sound, her pulse quickening. She exchanged a glance with Shatanik before they both got moving, following the source of the noise. The sobs grew louder, tinged with fear and despair. Finally, they reached a small clearing where a boy sat huddled against the base of a tree.

He was young—no older than eight or nine—with disheveled hair matted with dirt. His face was streaked with tears, his small frame trembling as he hugged his knees to his chest. His clothes, now battered and caked with mud, hung loosely on him, torn in places. Vaishnavi stopped abruptly, her breath catching in her throat. Shatanik, a step behind her, froze as well, his expression darkening with concern.

"You?," Shatanik pointed, panting, "Vaishu, I've seen him somewhere."

"What?" She asked bewildered, "You were in Dwarka for months, and he looks like a commoner." Vaishnavi continued taking a cautious step forward.

The boy flinched, shrinking further into himself. His tear-streaked face looked right at them, wide eyes filled with a mixture of fear and mistrust. His trembling lips parted as if to speak, but he quickly closed them, his eyes darting between the two strangers who were perplexed and he wasn't very fond of any interaction that might happen.

"Do not come near me." The kid feigned in a calm shriek that paled the faces of the two royals in plain confusion, perhaps more than the suspicion that lingered underneath.

In the silence that followed, the mystical forest seemed to hold its breath; as if something ancient and novel had converged; leaving no soul certain of what would awaken in their wake.

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Cliffhanger, I know! But only because had I continued further, the chapter would've been 4000+ words long and I don't like dumping so much in one chapter.

What do you think about the new sus guy? I swear I have been planning this for more than a year and this is just the start ;)

Some parts of the chapter, are mind boggling personally, especially Kashi and Viranth; others are plain i agree but i promise it only keeps getting traumatic :))

Anyways,
Hope you liked it,
If you do, don't forget to vote & comment,
Thanks,
xx.