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In the grand palace of Kalinga, nestled deep within the beautiful gardens, Bhanumati sat with an air of grace and confidence. Her sharp features were being carefully groomed by her maids, who adorned her in the finest jewelry and fabrics. Her raven-black hair cascaded down her back, and her skin gleamed in the sunlight. Every inch of her presence exuded elegance and power. She knew she was beautiful—her beauty was her weapon, and she wielded it without hesitation.

As she admired her reflection in the mirror, the doors to her chamber opened, and her father, the mighty King of Kalinga, entered. His voice, deep and authoritative, broke the peaceful silence.

“My beautiful daughter, Bhanumati,” he began, his face solemn. “I’ve received a letter. It concerns your future marriage.”

Bhanumati’s sharp eyes flickered with curiosity as she turned towards him. “Marriage?” she repeated, her tone calm but laced with intrigue.

The King nodded. “Yes, a proposal has come from Hastinapur, regarding a union with Prince Duryodhan.”

Bhanumati's perfectly arched brows furrowed. “But, father,” she said, her voice steady, “Isn’t he already married to a princess from Dwarka? And besides, I’ve always wanted to marry Yudhishthir, the eldest of the Pandavas. He’s the rightful heir to Indraprastha. I would become a queen, a true ruler of a powerful kingdom.”

Her voice carried ambition, the kind that had always driven her to aim for the highest prize. To be queen, not just of any kingdom, but of Indraprastha—the city of power and prosperity.

The King sighed, his weathered face showing signs of disappointment. “My daughter, it’s not as simple as you think. All the Pandavas are already married, and not to just any women. Yudhishthir shares a common wife with his brothers—Draupadi, the princess of Panchal, fireborn, and the Queen of Hastinapur. In her presence, no other woman can rise to claim a higher position. She is powerful, beloved by all, and holds great influence.”

He paused for a moment, observing the growing tension on his daughter’s face. “And besides, Indraprastha is not independent. It remains under the rule of Hastinapur, and Yudhishthir himself follows Duryodhan’s lead. You may never truly rule there.”

Bhanumati’s expression darkened, but she remained silent, considering her father’s words. Her desire for power hadn’t changed, but the path to it seemed less clear now.

King Kalinga leaned closer, his voice dropping to a more persuasive tone. “Duryodhan, on the other hand, is the future king of Hastinapur. His throne is secure. While it’s true that he is married, his wife is not of royal birth. She’s an adopted princess of Dwarka, with no bloodline to threaten your position. If you marry Duryodhan, you could easily surpass her and take your place as queen.”

Bhanumati’s dark eyes narrowed as she pondered her father’s words. Her mind raced with possibilities, weighing the benefits. Becoming queen of Hastinapur was indeed a powerful position, and she had heard of Duryodhan’s strength and ambition. She knew of his ruthless nature, but that did not deter her. In fact, it intrigued her. A man of power deserved a woman of equal strength.

She looked up at her father, her decision forming. “But father, I’ve heard that Duryodhan is deeply in love with his wife. It’s said he wouldn’t even entertain the thought of another woman.”

The King gave a wry smile. “That may be true, but Duryodhan is still a man. And there is no man who could refuse you, Bhanumati. You are beautiful, intelligent, and far superior to any adopted princess. If anyone can sway him, it is you.”

Bhanumati smirked, her confidence returning. “Yes, no one can reject me,” she declared, her voice filled with conviction. “I will go to Hastinapur, father. I will meet Prince Duryodhan, and once he sees me, I am certain he will change his mind. He will write to you himself, asking for my hand.”

King Kalinga’s eyes gleamed with pride. “That’s my daughter,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Go to Hastinapur. Show Duryodhan that you are the only queen worthy of ruling beside him.”

Bhanumati rose from her chair, her sharp features set with determination. She walked over to the large windows, gazing out at the vast lands before her. A plan was already forming in her mind.

“I will go,” she said, her voice resolute. “And I will not return until Duryodhan is mine. No matter what it takes, I will claim the throne of Hastinapur.”

Her father watched her, nodding in approval. He knew that once Bhanumati set her mind to something, nothing could stop her. And with Duryodhan by her side, the kingdom of Kalinga would rise to even greater heights.

As she stood there, the future queen of Hastinapur began to envision her victory. She would make Duryodhan fall for her—no, she would make him beg for her hand.

----

In the grand palace of Hastinapur, Anya was gradually but steadily becoming a vibrant part of the family, especially with Duryodhan’s brothers. Duryodhan’s younger siblings — Dusshasan, Vikarna, and the twins Chitrasen and Durmashan — had grown incredibly fond of their new bhabhi. Her lively, unpredictable personality was a refreshing change, and despite her often chaotic behavior, she had a unique way of keeping everyone entertained.

Her daily activities always brought some laughter to the palace, whether it was her attempts at cooking, her humorous comments, or her curious nature. Anya, in all her chaotic energy, never failed to make the brothers chuckle.

One lazy afternoon, Anya was lounging in the palace garden with Dusshasan, Vikarna, Chitrasen, and Durmashan. They were gathered under the shade of a large tree, with a soft breeze passing through. Anya had just taken a short break from her chaotic kitchen training, finally escaping the flour clouds and spices she had been fighting with earlier.

“Bhabhi, I heard from the servants you’re preparing some grand feast soon,” Dusshasan said, raising an eyebrow, a mischievous smile curling on his lips. “You’re going to feed us, right? We’ve been hearing all sorts of… interesting things from the kitchen.”

Vikarna nodded, his smile mirroring Dusshasan's. “Yeah, everyone’s talking about your cooking skills. We’re all excited for this ‘masterpiece’ you’ve been working on.”

Anya, never one to back down, waved them off confidently, crossing her legs as she leaned back against the tree. “Oh, please. I’ve got everything under control,” she said, pretending to sound nonchalant. “I’ve been learning from the best, you know. I’m practically a master chef now.”

Chitrasen raised an eyebrow, sharing a skeptical glance with Durmashan. “Really? We heard about the… incident with the halwa last week.”

Anya rolled her eyes dramatically. “Pfft, bluffing? Me? Who do you think you’re talking to?” She sat up straight, crossing her arms in mock indignation. “I made Duryodhan eat my food twice and he survived. That’s practically a miracle. He said it was... memorable.”

The brothers burst into laughter, fully aware of Duryodhan’s silent suffering when it came to Anya’s experimental cooking. “Poor brother Duryodhan,” Vikarna chuckled. “You’re really putting him through his paces, aren’t you?”

Chitrasen snorted, “I think I’ll pass on this feast, just to be safe.”

Anya gave them all a sly grin. “Hey, you should be honored to try my culinary masterpieces. If Duryodhan can survive it, so can you. You don’t want to offend your beloved bhabhi, do you?”

Anya’s daily routine was nothing short of chaotic, yet it had a certain charm to it. She woke up early each morning, often before Duryodhan, who, by now, had gotten used to her slipping out of bed to start her day. Her first task, which had become a daily battle, was mastering the art of cooking. Clad in her apron, tied haphazardly, she would march into the kitchen with the determination of a warrior ready to face a battlefield.

Her cooking lessons were… eventful, to say the least. The patient palace cooks stood by, always ready to swoop in and prevent disasters. One day, Anya stared at a complicated recipe, muttering, “Why is this so complicated? Who needs all these spices?”

As the morning wore on, the sounds of utensils clanging, flour spilling, and the occasional yelp from Anya filled the palace. She wasn’t one to give up easily, but the palace staff had grown accustomed to the scent of burnt pots.

By midday, Anya would take a break to join Duryodhan’s brothers for lunch. As much as they teased her about her cooking, they adored her fiery personality. She would regale them with tales of her kitchen adventures, often adding dramatic flair. Her brothers-in-law, while hesitant, always obliged to try the latest “creations” she presented them with. Their reactions were a mix of apprehension and forced politeness, as they tried not to hurt her feelings.

In the evenings, Anya would spend time with Duryodhan or join Gandhari in family gatherings, often participating in the many festivals or celebrations that occurred in the grand halls of Hastinapur. Her days were always busy, but her genuine effort to immerse herself into palace life won the hearts of everyone around her.

---

One afternoon, while lounging with the brothers, Chitrasen, the most mischievous of the group, decided to poke some fun at Anya.

“Bhabhi,” he said, leaning forward with a grin, “what would you do if brother Duryodhan married another princess?”

The question hung in the air, and the other brothers leaned in, eager to see how Anya would react. Dusshasan smirked, waiting for the inevitable chaos.

Anya went silent for a moment, her usually lively face suddenly serious. Her brothers-in-law exchanged worried glances, wondering if they’d crossed a line.

But then, without warning, Anya’s expression turned mischievous. She leaned forward, her voice low and dramatic. “If Duryodhan even thinks about marrying another princess…” She paused for effect, letting the tension build.

“What?” Vikarna asked, his curiosity piqued.

Anya grinned wickedly, her eyes glinting with humor. “I’ll make sure she leaves with something she didn’t come with.”

Durmashan blinked, confused. “What does that mean?”

Anya leaned in closer, her grin widening. “I’ll make her bald.”

The brothers stared at her, dumbfounded.

“Bald?” Dusshasan repeated, wide-eyed.

“Bald,” Anya confirmed, crossing her arms smugly. “Not a single strand of hair left. Let’s see how many people are interested in a bald princess.”

There was a beat of silence before the brothers burst into laughter, falling back onto the cushions. “Bhabhi, you’re terrifying!” Vikarna exclaimed between gasps for breath. “Brother Duryodhan is in serious trouble if he ever crosses you.”

Chitrasen clutched his stomach, barely able to breathe from laughing so hard. “I can already picture it — poor Duryodhan explaining why his second wife is bald!”

Anya leaned back, satisfied with her response. “That’s right. No one messes with me. I’m the only princess this palace needs.”

Durmashan, wiping tears from his eyes, added, “We’ll be sure to warn brother Duryodhan. Though I think he already knows better than to test you.”

Anya grinned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “He knows. Besides, who else is going to give him such... unforgettable meals?”

The brothers were in fits of laughter, completely entertained by Anya’s unique mix of charm, wit, and terrifying promises. Their bond with her grew stronger every day, and despite all the teasing, they adored their fearless, hilarious bhabhi.