"My dear friend, King Druapd."
In the majestic chambers of Panchal's court, a poignant interlude in the grand saga was about to unfold, The threaded destiny by the tapestry of time, The great Niyati.
Drona stood forth in the middle of the Royal Court of Pamchal like an embodiment of both history's embrace and its erosion, his words an invocation of a shared past.
There was nostalgia seeing his old childhood friend, The one he used to see running and playing in mud right now adored in the royal attire with golds all over adding to his majesty.
"King Drupada,"
He declared once again, His voice resonating with the timbre of memory and desire that he came here with, The one he confident that his friend will surely fulfil.
