Wooden railings worn smooth by years of hands lined a broad gallery overlooking the Ganga, their grain gleaming faintly under late afternoon light. Courtiers clustered in knots along the edges, their tunics a mix of bright silks and faded cloth, their murmurs low and tight as river mist curled up from below, threading through the open sides. The Ganga's rush hummed steady, its gray waters glinting where the sun dipped low, and the air hung cool and damp, the mist's chill brushing skin. Dhritarashtra's chair creaked under him near the far railing, its carved arms dark with age, his staff tapping unevenly as he shifted, his blind face creased and restless.
Vidura stood at the gallery's center, his plain tunic damp from the mist, his dark hair loose over his shoulders, his boots scuffing the wooden floor as he planted them wide. His voice rose firm and clear, his hand gesturing sharp as he pointed to the cousins gathered before him. Yudhishthira stood near a pillar, his patched tunic swaying, his dark eyes steady as he folded his hands. Bhima loomed beside him, his broad frame filling the space, his vest muddy, his dark curls tangled from the wagon feat. Arjuna leaned against the railing, his bow slung over his shoulder, his tunic rippling as he crossed his arms, his dark gaze flicking over the group. Duryodhana slouched near a bench, his dark tunic tight, his small foot tapping, the blade's hilt hidden beneath the fabric as he smirked, his dark curls bouncing faintly.
Vidura's voice cut through the murmurs, stern and loud as he raised both hands, his tunic settling. "Stop this now! No more traps, no more fights. Swear peace here, all of you!" He pointed at Yudhishthira, then Duryodhana, his dark eyes blazing, and his strain stretched tight, a rope holding back the feud's tide.
Yudhishthira stepped forward, his voice calm and steady as he opened a hand, his patched tunic swaying. "Peace I'll hold, Vidura. True and fair, I swear it." He nodded, his dark hair catching the light, and his quiet resolve settled over the gallery, his righteousness a steady pulse.
Bhima's grunt rumbled, his voice gruff and bold as he cracked his knuckles, his broad shoulders shifting. "Peace? Fine, if they keep it! I swear, sure!" He grinned, quick and wide, and his dark curls bounced, his loyalty a wall beside Yudhishthira's calm.
Arjuna's arms unfolded, his voice crisp and sharp as he straightened, his bow tapping the railing. "Swear it, yes. I'll hold too. Let's see them try!" He tilted his head, his dark eyes glinting, and his tunic fluttered, his assent a keen edge in the mist.
Duryodhana's foot tapped faster, his voice sneering, low and fierce as he leaned forward, his small frame buzzing. "Peace? Till I say, maybe. That's my swear!" He smirked, his dark tunic creasing, and his hand brushed the blade's hilt, his contempt simmering, a crack in the truce's frame.
Dhritarashtra's staff twisted, his voice muttering, gruff and weak as he leaned in his chair, his blind face twitching. "Say less, son. Hold it, though. Peace, yes?" He waved a hand, his dark robe rustling, and his breath huffed out, his waver feeding the tension, his indecision a fog over the railings.
Vidura's hands dropped, his voice stern and steady as he pointed at Duryodhana, his dark hair swaying. "Till you say? No, now! Swear it proper, boy, or this court sees worse!" He stepped closer, his plain tunic damp and clinging, and his strain battled hope, his authority a thin dam against the rift.
Yudhishthira's voice stayed calm, his hand still open as he glanced at Duryodhana, his dark eyes thoughtful. "Worse? No need, Vidura. I've sworn. He can too." He tilted his head, his patched tunic settling, and his quiet plea hung, a thread of trust in the mist.
Bhima's laugh barked, his voice loud and gruff as he crossed his arms, his broad frame towering. "Can he? Little prince'll twist it! Sworn, though, I'm here!" He slapped his chest, his dark curls shaking, and his grin faded, his strength a challenge in his stance.
Arjuna's voice followed, sharp and quick as he stepped beside Bhima, his small hands resting on his bow. "Twist it? Let him try under this. I've sworn, Vidura!" He nodded, his dark eyes steady, and his tunic rippled, his vigilance a shield in the gallery's hush.
Duryodhana's smirk widened, his voice low and bitter as he straightened, his small foot stilling. "Try? I'll do more than try. Peace, fine, for now!" He clasped his hands, quick and tight, and his dark tunic hid the blade's bulge, his contempt a simmer beneath the words.
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped weakly, his voice soft and faltering as he slumped back, his blind face creasing. "Now, good. Hold that, all of you. No trouble." He rubbed his brow, his dark robe sagging, and his mutter trailed off, his conflict a tangle in the air, his chair creaking louder.
Vidura's voice rose, firm and loud as he gestured to them all, his plain tunic taut. "Clasp hands, then! Seal it here, before this court!" He pointed at the floor, his dark eyes narrowing, and his strain tightened, his hope a flicker in the mist as courtiers leaned closer, their murmurs low and tight.
Yudhishthira's hand extended, his voice steady and warm as he stepped to Duryodhana, his patched tunic swaying. "Seal it, yes. Take it, cousin. Peace holds us." He waited, his dark hair loose, and his calm offered a bridge, his righteousness a quiet call.
Bhima's hand followed, his voice gruff and bold as he thrust it out, his broad frame looming. "Holds us? If he grabs it! Here, little prince!" He grinned, his dark curls bouncing, and his strength hovered, his loyalty a rock in the fragile clasp.
Arjuna's hand joined, his voice crisp and sure as he stepped up, his small frame steady. "Grabs it? Better do, Duryodhana. Sworn and done!" He tilted his head, his dark eyes glinting, and his bow tapped the railing, his assent a sharp note in the tension.
Duryodhana's hand hesitated, his voice low and fierce as he clasped theirs, his small grip tight. "Done? For now, fools. Take it!" He squeezed, quick and hard, and his dark tunic shifted, the blade's hilt pressing faintly, his smirk a crack in the truce's hold.
The clasp broke fast, their hands dropping, and the courtiers' murmurs swelled, their voices a hum along the railings. Vidura's voice came stern and low, his plain tunic settling as he nodded. "Sworn, then. Break it, and this court knows. Watch yourselves!" He stepped back, his dark eyes flicking between them, and his effort hung, a thin dam braced against the feud.
Yudhishthira's voice softened, his hands folding as he turned, his dark hair swaying. "Knows, yes. Peace stands, Vidura. We'll keep it." He glanced at his brothers, his patched tunic still, and his resolve steadied, a light in the gallery's haze.
Bhima's voice rumbled, gruff and loud as he dusted his hands, his broad frame shifting. "Keep it? Long as he does! I'm watching, little prince!" He grinned again, his dark curls shaking, and his strength lingered, a promise in the mist.
Arjuna's voice followed, sharp and bright as he slung his bow, his small hands quick. "Watching, always. Peace or not, I'm ready!" He stepped to the railing, his dark eyes steady, and his tunic fluttered, his vigilance a blade in the tension.
Duryodhana's foot tapped once, his voice sneering, low and bitter as he turned, his small frame buzzing. "Ready? Good. Won't be long!" He smirked, his dark tunic tight, and his hand brushed the blade, his contempt a silent threat as he strode to the gallery's edge.
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped slower, his voice weak and gruff as he waved, his blind face twitching. "Long? No, short. Hold it, boys. Enough now." He slumped, his dark robe pooling, and his faltering words faded, his indecision a shroud over the truce.
The gallery held its breath, the river mist curling thicker, and the courtiers braced, their unease a hum beneath the railings. Vidura's voice came soft and stern, his dark eyes distant as he watched Duryodhana go. "Enough? Barely. This holds till it snaps." He turned, his plain tunic damp, and the truce stood fragile, the blade's hover a shadow over their clash.