The grand court of Hastinapur was shrouded in a heavy silence as Bhishma Pitamah, the revered patriarch of the Kuru dynasty, entered with a solemn expression. His silver hair and flowing white robes gave him an aura of authority and wisdom that commanded respect from all who were present. As he approached the throne, his gaze fell upon Dhritarashtra, who sat uneasily, fidgeting with his cane. The court, usually a place of animated discussions, was now frozen in anticipation of the confrontation that was about to unfold.
Bhishma's voice, though calm, carried the weight of his disappointment. "Maharaj Dhritarashtra, it has been days since the grievous incident involving Bheem. Yet, I find no signs of justice being served, no efforts made to uncover the truth or hold the guilty accountable."
Dhritarashtra flinched at Bhishma's words. He knew exactly what Bhishma referred to—the poisoning of Bheem, an act that was as cowardly as it was treacherous. The blind king's face was a mask of indecision and sorrow. He tried to muster the courage to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
"Pitamah," Dhritarashtra finally said, his voice trembling, "Duryodhan is my son, my firstborn. He is young, impressionable. Can a father not have compassion for his own child, who may have been led astray?"
Bhishma's eyes narrowed, and his voice grew firmer. "Compassion, Maharaj, must not blind one to the truth. Duryodhan is not a mere child; he is a prince, the future of this kingdom. His actions, if left unchecked, will bring ruin not only to him but to the entire Kuru dynasty."
Dhritarashtra's grip tightened around his cane, his knuckles white. "But Pitamah, he is all I have. How can I condemn him when my heart aches with a father's love? Can you not forgive him, even if just this once?"
The court was silent, the tension palpable. Bhishma took a deep breath, his expression softening, but only slightly. "Maharaj, the duties of a king and a father often conflict. Your love for Duryodhan cannot overshadow your responsibility to the throne. If you cannot bring yourself to act, then at least do not stand in the way of justice."
Dhritarashtra's face contorted with grief. "Pitamah, I beg of you, do not be so harsh. I promise you, when the time comes to choose the rightful heir, I will not interfere. I will let the kingdom decide who among the princes is fit to rule."
Bhishma's eyes flashed with a mixture of sorrow and resolve. "Dhritarashtra, you must distance yourself from Duryodhan. The Pandavas have no father to guide or protect them, while your sons have you, blinded by affection. If you cannot discipline Duryodhan, then you must allow others to do so."
The blind king felt the sting of Bhishma's words deep within his heart. He bowed his head, unable to meet Bhishma's gaze. "You ask of me something I do not know if I can do, Pitamah. But for the sake of this kingdom, for the sake of the Kuru lineage, I will try."
Bhishma nodded, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this was only the beginning of the trials to come. "Remember, Maharaj, a kingdom that does not uphold justice will crumble from within. I will stand by you, but only if you stand by righteousness."
As Bhishma turned to leave, Dhritarashtra slumped back on his throne, a man torn between his love for his son and his duty as king. The court remained silent, aware that this moment would shape the future of Hastinapur.
The weight of Bhishma's words hung in the air long after he left, leaving Dhritarashtra alone with his thoughts—caught in a struggle between a father's love and a king's duty.