Wooden beams creaked under a thatched roof in a small open pavilion near the granary, their groan soft but steady as a warm early afternoon breeze slipped through. Sacks of barley towered along the walls, their coarse weave bulging, a few grains spilling where seams had frayed. The stone floor glittered with scattered barley, catching the sunlight that streamed past the open sides, and the air carried the dry, earthy scent of grain mixed with a hint of dust. Two farmers stood in the center, their voices bouncing off the beams, sharp and loud, as they faced each other over a torn sack lying limp between them.
Yudhishthira sat on a low stool near the pavilion's edge, his hands resting on his knees, his patched tunic swaying slightly as he tilted his head. His dark hair was tied back, loose strands brushing his shoulders, and his steady gaze moved between the farmers, calm and unhurried. One farmer, tall and wiry with a sunburned face, shook the ripped sack, its contents spilling onto the stone as he waved it. The other, shorter and broad, clutched a clay tablet, his thick fingers smudging the tallies scratched into it, his boots scuffing as he shifted. Duryodhana leaned against a beam near the sacks, his dark tunic smudged with dirt from the archery field, his small hands tossing a barley grain up and catching it, his jaw tight. Duhshasana slouched beside him, his fair hair tangled, kicking at a stray sack with restless feet.
The tall farmer's voice snapped, rough and quick as he shook the sack again, barley pattering down. "He tore it! My grain, all over the floor! I hauled it fair, and he ruins it!" He jabbed a finger at the shorter man, his sunburned face creasing, and his sleeve flapped, patched and worn.
The shorter farmer's voice rose, loud and gruff as he waved the tablet, his broad shoulders hunching. "Your fault! Bad stitching on that sack! I just moved it, and it split. You owe me now!" He stomped a boot, dust puffing up, and his thick fingers gripped the clay tighter, his glare hot.
Yudhishthira raised a hand, his voice steady and even as he leaned forward, his tunic settling. "Hold on, both of you. One at a time. Who handled it last?" He tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, and the pavilion hushed, the farmers' shouts fading as they turned to him.
The tall farmer lowered the sack, his voice rough but slower as he pointed again, his sunburned hand trembling. "He did! Took it off the cart yesterday. I saw him tug it hard, and now look!" He kicked at the spilled barley, his sleeve flapping, and his breath huffed out, sharp and quick.
The shorter farmer's tablet waved, his voice loud and stubborn as he stepped closer, his boots scuffing. "Tug? I lifted it proper! Your sack's old, falling apart. Been at it years, and you blame me?" He slapped the tablet against his palm, the sound sharp, and his broad face reddened, his glare steady.
Yudhishthira's hands folded, his voice calm and clear as he sat back, his nod slow. "Lifted it, yes. And it's old, true. Who checked it before the cart?" He glanced between them, his dark hair catching the light, and his quiet authority settled over the pavilion, the creaking beams punctuating the pause.
The tall farmer scratched his neck, his voice rough and low as he shifted, the sack drooping. "Me, I suppose. Looked fine then. Held up till he got it!" He jerked his head at the shorter man, his sunburned fingers flexing, and his grumble softened, uncertain.
The shorter farmer's tablet dropped to his side, his voice gruff but quieter as he kicked at the stone, his broad shoulders slumping. "Held up? Barely! I felt it give when I grabbed it. Should've fixed it first!" He glanced at Yudhishthira, his thick hands still, and his glare eased, his huff trailing off.
Duryodhana tossed the barley grain higher, his voice fierce and sharp as he caught it, his dark tunic creasing. "Fix it? Waste of breath. One's a fool, the other's a cheat. Pick a side, Yudhishthira!" He leaned off the beam, his small frame tense, and his jaw clenched, his eyes glinting with scorn.
Yudhishthira's gaze flicked to Duryodhana, his voice steady and warm as he unfolded his hands, his tunic swaying. "A side? Truth's not a side. Both mend your care. Split the loss, share the cost. Fair's fair." He nodded at the farmers, his dark eyes unwavering, and his ruling hung clear in the air.
Duhshasana's foot stopped kicking, his voice shrill and quick as he jumped up, his fair hair bouncing. "Fair? Give it all to one! Smash the other! That's how you settle it!" He punched the air, his small tunic flapping, and he grinned, wild and wide, his giggle cutting through.
The tall farmer's sack dropped fully, his voice rough and slow as he dusted his hands, his sunburned face softening. "Split it? Half's better than none, I reckon. Fine, I'll take it." He bent to scoop the spilled barley, his sleeve brushing the stone, and his grumble faded, his nod reluctant.
The shorter farmer set the tablet down, his voice gruff and steady as he rubbed his neck, his broad hands slow. "Half's fair enough. I'll patch my cart too. Done then." He kicked the torn sack aside, his boots scuffing, and his glare softened, his huff a quiet echo.
Yudhishthira stood, his voice calm and firm as he stepped forward, his tunic settling. "Done, yes. Mend it and work on. No more rows over this." He glanced between them, his dark hair swaying, and his quiet respect lingered, the pavilion's dust settling with his words.
Duryodhana's barley grain hit the floor, his voice fierce and loud as he straightened, his dark tunic tight. "Mend? Split? Weak! I'd take it all and leave 'em nothing! I'll rule better than this, wait and see!" He tossed his head, his small fists clenching, and he stalked toward the sacks, his vow ringing out, bitter and sharp.
Duhshasana hopped after him, his voice shrill and wild as he clapped his hands, his fair hair falling into his eyes. "Better! Smash 'em, brother! No splitting—take it! Show him!" He kicked a sack, its grains spilling, and his giggle rose, high and fierce, as he trailed Duryodhana.
Yudhishthira watched them go, his voice steady and low as he turned back to the farmers, his hands folding again. "Show him? Fairness shows itself. Take your shares and go on." He nodded, his dark eyes thoughtful, and he stepped aside, his calm unshaken as the farmers bent to their work.
The tall farmer scooped more barley, his voice rough and warm as he glanced up, his sunburned hands steady. "Fair's right. Thanks for that, lord. Keeps the peace." He tucked the sack under his arm, his sleeve flapping, and he shuffled toward the granary, his steps slow.
The shorter farmer grabbed his tablet, his voice gruff and quick as he nodded, his broad frame turning. "Peace, yeah. I'll fix my bit. Good call." He dusted his hands, his boots thudding, and he followed the tall man, their grumbles gone, the pavilion quieting.
Duryodhana's footsteps echoed sharp on the stone path beyond the sacks, his voice fierce and low as he muttered, his dark tunic vanishing. "Good call? Soft fool. I'll rule my way. They'll choke on it." He kicked at the ground, dust puffing, and Duhshasana's wild laugh trailed behind, fading into the afternoon.
Yudhishthira sat back on the stool, his voice soft and steady as he picked up a stray barley grain, his tunic settling. "Choke? Truth doesn't choke. It holds." He rolled the grain between his fingers, his dark eyes distant, and the pavilion stood still, its beams creaking faintly, a fleeting peace under Duryodhana's growing shadow.