Abhijishya felt small, like a misplaced speck in a world too vast and elaborate for her. Before she could fully process it,
Arjun and Nakul led her inside, their steps sure and steady. She, on the other hand, felt as if she were walking on the edge of a dream she could not wake up from.

They approached their mother—Kunti, the matriarch of the Pandavas.

"Pranipaat, Mata," Arjun and Sahadev greeted her with joined hands.

Abhijishya hesitated before bowing slightly. “Pranam, Mata Kunti,” she said, unsure if she was using the right words.

Kunti smiled gently. "Kalyan ho, putri."

Before she could react, Kunti took her hand and guided her toward a man seated at the far end of the hall. His presence was commanding—white hair, a long beard, and eyes that held the weight of centuries. Bhishma.

Abhijishya’s heart nearly stopped.

This was Bhishma Pitamah. The man who lived by unbreakable oaths. The man who upheld dharma with unwavering discipline. The man who—according to every story she had ever read—would probably hate everything about her existence.

She stiffened as they neared him, unsure of what to do. Was she supposed to touch his feet? Just bow? What if doing the wrong thing offended him?

Arjun and Nakul stepped forward and greeted him. "Pranipaat, Pitamah."

Bhishma acknowledged them before turning his sharp gaze toward her.

"Who is this kanya with you, Kunti?" His voice was deep, measured.

Kunti answered smoothly, "Mahamahim, she is Abhijishya, whom Nakul and Arjun found in the forest."

Bhishma studied her, and then—to her absolute horror—he stood.

Kunti looked at her expectantly.

Panic flared inside her. Be respectful. More is better than less.

Forcing herself to move, Abhijishya bent down and touched his feet. Please don’t smite me, sir.

A large hand rested lightly on her head. Bhishma’s voice, though firm, was not unkind. "Kalyan ho, putri."

When she straightened, she could see the faint glint of approval in his eyes. Kunti, too, seemed pleased.

Then Bhishma spoke again.

"Where do you hail from, putri?"

And just like that, everything fell apart.

Because she had no idea what he had just said.

Abhijishya’s mind went blank. She glanced sideways, only to realize—those traitors were gone. Nakul and Arjun had conveniently disappeared.

She had no choice but to admit the truth. “I… I am sorry, but I don’t understand.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the court.

Bhishma’s brows furrowed slightly. Kunti, ever the diplomat, quickly interjected. "Mahamahim, putri Abhijishya does not speak our tongue."

The murmurs grew louder.

Bhishma exhaled. "Then, we are in a fix. Her family must be worried about her. It is our duty to inform them she is safe."

Kunti smiled and placed a reassuring hand on Abhijishya’s shoulder. "My sons and I shall take her under our care until she can return home."

The words sounded so absolute, so final. Abhijishya should have felt relieved—but instead, she felt something dangerously close to trapped.

Before she could dwell on it, the hall doors opened. Maharaj Dhritarashtra entered, accompanied by Maharani Gandhari and their attendants.

Abhijishya, still disoriented from meeting Bhisma-Grandsire of the Kuru Clan-Son of Ganga-Bhisma, she thought hysterically. Not to forget she just saw Maharaj Dhritarashtra enter with Maharani Gandhari. So she blindly followed Kunti's lead else she do something impulsive like scream at the heavens for this bizarre prank.

When they reached the seating area, Kunti gestured toward a spot beside Sahadev.

She sat down.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Abhijishya blinked. What?

The tension in the air was thick. She could feel the weight of stares pressing down on her.

Then—whispers.

"She sat with us?"

"Does she even belong from a respectful lineage?"

"What insolence—"

A sneering voice cut through the murmurs. "So now an unknown woman sits among us, and we are expected to accept it?"

Another voice followed. "She has insulted us. Women do not dine with men much less take a seat before the royals have taken theirs."

The words meant nothing to her, but the hostility in their tone was unmistakable.

Before she could react, Bheem’s deep voice boomed across the hall. "Mind your words, Dushkarna!"

The conversation exploded into arguments. The Pandavas looked uncomfortable, while the Kauravas were clearly enraged.

Abhijishya, already exhausted from the day’s chaos, just… gave up.

Instead of trying to decipher the situation, she simply reached forward, took three puris, scooped some curry, and began eating.

Ignorance is bliss, she thought.

The food was delicious. Spiced to perfection, rich, and flavorful. And was that—paneer? Wonderful.

As she contentedly ate, she failed to notice the way the Kauravas stared at her, scandalized.

Bhishma, however, chuckled. His voice rang out. "Enough."

The hall fell silent again.

Abhijishya paused mid-bite, cheeks puffed with food. She slowly chewed. The pappad made an audible crunch.

Bhishma’s gaze flicked to her. For a brief second, there was amusement in his eyes.

And then it was gone.

"Putra Dushkarna, Durdhara, and Suyodhana," he said, his voice firm, "Putri Abhijishya is our guest. And a guest is equivalent to God. If she wishes to dine with us, we shall honor her wish."

The Kauravas grumbled, but the matter was settled.

Kunti added, "Putri Abhijishya does not know our language or customs. She did not mean disrespect."

Abhijishya didn’t know what was said, but when the tension finally eased, she exhaled.

The meal resumed.

She tried to engage with the Pandavas, but the language barrier remained a frustrating wall. Eventually, she gave up and focused on dessert. Rasmalai. Soft, sweet, utterly divine.

When dinner ended, Bhishma stood to leave.

On instinct, Abhijishya rose as well, joined her hands, and bowed. "Subh ratri, Mahamahim."

Bhishma hesitated. Then, his brows lifted in surprise.

"But Kunti, you said she does not speak our tongue?"

Abhijishya sighed. “I… once again don’t understand.”

Arjun answered for her. "She seems to know only a few words, Pitamah."

Bhishma nodded. "Then she may learn. It would be wise for her to understand our ways if she stays among us."

Abhijishya barely heard him. Exhaustion weighed heavy on her. She needed to write a letter. She needed to reach Krishna. She needed to fix this. But for now—she needed rest.

As everyone began to disperse, the murmurs from dinner still lingered in the air. Abhijishya exhaled slowly, relieved that she had survived the evening without drawing any more ire than she already had. She had managed to make it through without being exiled—or worse, executed for some unknown breach of etiquette.

She reached for a cup of water when the movement of someone stepping into her line of sight made her pause. Her eyes darted to the figure standing before her, a woman dressed in rich blue and gold, her long, dark hair braided with intricate pearls. She had the poised grace of someone raised in a palace, but her dark eyes held something else—curiosity.

Dushaala.

The only princess of Hastinapur.

The sister of the Kauravas.

Abhijishya straightened slightly as Dushaala studied her, lips pressing together in thought. Then, with a graceful tilt of her head, she spoke.

"Who are you?"

Abhijishya blinked.

Great. Another person talking to her in a language she didn’t understand.

She hesitated, glancing at Kunti for help, but the older woman merely observed, allowing the exchange to unfold.

Dushaala tried again, gesturing slightly at Abhijishya’s attire. "From where do you hail?"

Abhijishya groaned internally.

“I… have no idea what you just said.”

A quiet chuckle came from nearby. She turned to see Nakul, arms crossed, leaning against one of the carved pillars. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked between her and Dushaala with mild amusement.

Dushaala frowned, then tilted her head in consideration. Slowly, she pointed to herself. "Dushaala."

Ah. An introduction.

Abhijishya nodded. "Abhijishya."

Dushaala’s lips curved into a small smile. Then, seemingly satisfied, she reached out and plucked a stray flower petal from Abhijishya’s hair before stepping back.

The moment was brief, but something in Dushaala’s expression softened.

Abhijishya caught Nakul watching. His gaze wasn’t unfriendly, but there was something else there—an unspoken assessment, like he was taking mental notes on her every move.

Then, with a final glance, Dushaala turned and disappeared down the corridor, her attendants following.

Abhijishya let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

Okay. That… wasn’t so bad.

Nakul pushed off the pillar, walking past her with an unreadable look. He paused just long enough to meet her gaze and said something in a tone that was neutral but almost... knowing.

But before Abhijishya could respond—or even try to figure out what exactly he said—he was already gone, leaving her to piece together his words in the silence. For the last time, why couldn't anyone understand that she didn't know their language.

------------ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ------------

The corridors of the palace stretched endlessly, their polished stone floors cool beneath her bare feet. Kunti walked ahead, her pace unhurried, while Abhijishya followed in silence, the weight of the evening pressing down on her shoulders.

As they entered the queen-mother’s chambers, a sense of quiet settled over her. The space was grand yet comforting, lit by the soft glow of oil lamps. The scent of sandalwood hung in the air, blending with the faintest trace of jasmine.

Abhijishya sank onto a divan, rubbing her temples.

The evening had been… exhausting.

The silent scrutiny of the court, Bhishma’s piercing gaze, the near-disaster at dinner, and now Dushaala’s unexpected conversation—each moment had chipped away at her already fragile composure.

But one thought burned brighter than all the rest.

She needed to contact Krishna.

Lifting her head, she turned to Kunti, who had settled into a chair, calmly embroidering a fine shawl.

"Mata Kunti?" Her voice was hesitant.

Kunti glanced up with a gentle smile. "Putri, you seem troubled. Speak freely."

Abhijishya swallowed. "Krishna. I need Krishna."

Kunti’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before she set aside her embroidery. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, studied Abhijishya carefully. "Vaasudev Krishna?"

Abhijishya nodded, relieved that she understood. "Yes! Shri Krishna!"

Kunti was silent for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Krishna is in Dwarka. We have not received word of his arrival in Hastinapur. If he comes, I shall inform you."

Abhijishya’s stomach twisted.

Dwarka. That was far.

She had hoped—naively, perhaps—that Krishna was somewhere close. That she could find him, tell him everything, and somehow, this nightmare would be over.

But if he wasn’t here…

A sudden wave of panic gripped her.

No. No, no, no. She could not be stuck here indefinitely.

She took a sharp breath, forcing herself to think.

Writing. That was her best bet. If she couldn’t reach Krishna, she could send a message.

"Letter," she blurted out. "I need to write a letter to Krishna."

Kunti’s brows furrowed. "You wish to send a patra?"

Abhijishya nodded vigorously. "Yes, a letter. I—" She mimed writing.

Understanding flickered in Kunti’s eyes. "Ah, you wish to write to him. That is wise."

Relief flooded her. "Yes! Please, I just need—"

"Tomorrow," Kunti interrupted gently. "It is late, putri. You are weary. Rest first."

"No, I—"

Kunti took her hand, pressing it warmly. "Tomorrow," she repeated. Her tone left no room for argument.

Abhijishya swallowed down her frustration.

Tomorrow. Fine.

It was going to be a long night.