Recalling Jayadratha's memories, I can vividly imagine the depth of her suffering. Even to this day, after the passage of 13 long years, not a single member of her family—neither her parents nor any of her 100 brothers—has extended a hand to her. This princess, once the beloved center of admiration throughout the Kuru dynasty, now carries the burden of her solitude.
She fixed her gaze upon me, and the turmoil within her was palpable in her obsidian-like eyes. Her normally cold and aloof countenance softened ever so briefly. 'No,' she replied, her voice barely audible. Then, in an abrupt motion, as if realizing her momentary lapse, she snapped back into her icy demeanor.
Although I had been the one to pose the question, a perplexing silence enveloped me, leaving me uncertain about how to respond or navigate the conversation further. My verbal repertoire seemed limited to a mere, "Is that so?" She turned her gaze back to the night sky, lost in thought.
As I watched her, her strikingly beautiful visage held my attention. When she seemed to have reached some inner resolution, she turned towards me, offering a subtle nod and a wish for a pleasant night. She started to withdraw, but I stopped her in her tracks with a commanding, "Wait."
Curiosity danced in her eyes as she questioned, "Yes?"
"Come with me," I directed, and then began to stride towards my chambers, her quiet footsteps in tow. Upon our arrival, I took a moment to scrutinize her. She appeared empty, her eyes serving as windows to her helplessness and sorrow, as though she had long since surrendered to her fate.
I settled onto the bed and extended an inviting hand, silently beckoning her to sit beside me. With a grace that matched her regal bearing, she complied, taking her place beside me.
The situation was incredibly awkward, as awkward as it could possibly be. After all, I had virtually no experience in conversing with a lady. Even Jayadratha's memories couldn't assist me in this situation; after all, he didn't need to rely on conversation to achieve his desires. All I could think of was, "How is Suratha?" She turned her gaze toward me, almost as if silently conveying, 'Oh, you still remember him.' Nevertheless, she responded, "He is doing well in his studies and strategy classes, making significant progress in his combat training," her voice carrying a hint of pride.
I fell into a brief silence, then resumed my inquiry, "Why do you suppose your brother is paying us a visit?" She turned toward me, clearly not anticipating this question.
She fell silent momentarily before speaking again, "Brother might be coming to seek the assistance of the Sindhu Kingdom in tracking any traces of the hidden Pandavas and investigating the possibility of their presence in our territory." She paused briefly, and I could tell she had more to say, so I encouraged her to continue with a nod.
She hesitated for a moment, as if trying to convince herself that it was a possibility. "Brother might also request the support of the Sindhu Kingdom in case a war were to erupt," she said softly.
Curious, I probed further, "In your opinion, who do you think would emerge victorious if such a conflict were to occur?"
She struggled to answer, and after some time had passed, all she could muster was, "I don't know."
"I see," I replied, still intrigued. I yearned to understand her current desires. She had already endured more than a decade of suffering, but I couldn't simply approach her, ask for forgiveness, and offer a comforting embrace while promising a brighter future. Such scenarios, I realized, were the stuff of novels, where a broken female character invariably falls for someone who consoles her during their first encounter.
Presently, my offering to her was confined to ensuring the safety of both her and her child, with my uncertainty about whether I could truly thwart the impending storm of events that lay ahead. With a heavy heart, I bid her a reluctant farewell and succumbed to the depths of contemplation, gradually drifting into the realm of sleep.
The dawn marked the commencement of my new daily routine, commencing with a regimen of light exercises and meditation to center my thoughts. Following this, I immersed myself in the art of bow training, where my skill was showing steady and promising improvement. The final leg of my training regimen involved rigorous swordsmanship practice. As per the accounts within the Mahabharata, Nakula, the fourth Pandava, stood as the unrivaled master of the blade during the Mahabharata era. He possessed not only the distinction of being one of the most handsome men in all of Aryavrata but also a legendary reputation as a swordsman on the battlefield, boasting an array of awe-inspiring feats.
On the battlefield, Nakula exhibited unwavering courage as he dispatched Sindhu soldiers with his swordsmanship prowess. One vivid memory was of Nakula stepping down from his chariot, his sword in hand, as he swiftly decapitated those guarding the rear. Even in the face of formidable elephant-mounted adversaries from Trigarta, Nakula remained resolute and unflinching. He boldly descended from his chariot, equipped with a sword and shield, steadfastly holding his ground, as immovable as a mountain. The king of Trigarta, intent on vanquishing Nakula, sent forth his mightiest elephant, charging with its trunk raised menacingly. Yet, Nakula approached the raging behemoth and skillfully severed its trunk and tusks at their very roots with his masterful swordplay. The adorned elephant lowered its head, releasing a thunderous roar before succumbing to the earth, crushing its riders beneath it.
Additional tales recounted his enthralling duel with Chitrasena, the valiant son of Anga Raj Karna, further underscoring Nakula's unparalleled skills with the sword.
Emerging from my reverie, it became evident that if I were to harbor any hopes of making a meaningful impact and perhaps thwarting the impending war, I needed to cultivate strength equal to, if not surpassing, Nakula's. In this era, not only one's position but also their physical prowess bore considerable weight in terms of their influence and the gravity of their words. For my current strategy to mediate with key figures in the forthcoming Kurukshetra War, such as the indomitable Mahamahi Bhisma, the venerable Guru Dronacharya, and the formidable Maharathi Karna, it was imperative that I bolstered my own worth to the greatest extent possible.
As I contemplated my current plan, a pang of frustration gnawed at me. It was frustrating to confront my own limitations despite the extensive planning undertaken during the period of transmigration. I couldn't help but contrast my modest strategies with the brilliantly orchestrated and highly effective plans often depicted in novels. Even with the divine blessing of the Goddess of Knowledge, these were the best ideas I could muster. I couldn't shake the lingering doubt about why Lord Brahma had chosen to dispatch me to this particular juncture in history, where the pivotal moments for preventing the war had already come and gone. Sigh...
At this juncture, my only recourse was to employ covert tactics to prevent the war, as the bitter feud between the Pandavas and Kauravas appeared to be on a path of no return, destined to conclude with the extinction of one of the factions. Time continued to pass, and I found myself growing in strength, perhaps even surpassing the previous Jayadratha.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the sprawling royal palace, anticipation hung heavy in the air. For weeks, the palace had been a whirlwind of activity, all in preparation for the arrival of some of the most illustrious guests ever to grace its opulent halls.
Once the arrival of distinguished guests is confirmed, the palace authorities are informed well in advance. This provides ample time for meticulous planning and execution.
In the royal courtyard, a team of skilled artisans worked tirelessly to create an enchanting atmosphere. Ornate arches were adorned with fragrant jasmine and marigold garlands, while torches and lanterns were strategically placed to cast a soft, ethereal light upon the scene. The gentle breeze carried the scent of freshly bloomed roses, mingling with the faint notes of sandalwood incense.
As the distinguished guests' carriages approached the palace, the massive, intricately carved doors swung open, revealing a breathtaking sight. The marble floors of the entryway were immaculately polished, reflecting the flickering glow of countless candles that lined the grand staircase. A red carpet, as soft as a cloud, stretched out before them, leading the way to the heart of the palace.
In some cultures and historical periods, it was customary for monarchs and rulers to personally greet important guests at the palace gates. This was seen as a gesture of hospitality, respect, and honor. It allowed the ruler to demonstrate their appreciation for the guest's visit and establish a personal connection.
Hence, I, along with a retinue of esteemed elders and ministers, found myself in attendance to extend a gracious welcome to our distinguished guest. This particular visitor held a position far from ordinary; he was none other than the current heir to the throne of the most formidable dynasty in all of Aryavarta.
As the carriage doors swung open, three figures of significance alighted from within and proceeded along the crimson carpet, greeted by a resplendent reception. To my astonishment, amidst the anticipated guests, an unexpected and noteworthy presence caught my eye.