Experience Tumblr Like Never Before
It was a calm evening in Indraprastha. Golden light spilled across the stone floors as the five brothers gathered in the courtyard, taking a rare break from war councils and weapons training.
Yudhishthira had decided it was the perfect moment to read aloud a philosophical letter from a wise sage, because of course he had.
Bhima was lying on his back with a fig in his mouth, with Nakula braiding his hair without trying to hide how bored he looked. Arjuna leaned on one elbow, absently toying with a piece of grass, and Sahadeva sat upright like a curious owl.
Yudhishthira cleared his throat with great ceremony. “The sage writes: ‘Speech, dear sons, is the true mirror of the soul. One should always weigh each udderance with care—’”
A beat of silence.
Arjuna slowly tilted his head. “…Udderance?”
Bhima sat up very straight. “UDDERANCE?” Nakula’s voice cracked.
Yudhishthira blinked, frowning at the scroll. “Yes. Udderance. The sage writes-”
Sahadeva had his hand over his mouth, already trembling. Arjuna squinted at the scroll. “Bhrata I think the sage meant utterance.”
“Udderance is… much so cow related, I though, even I don’t know if such words really exist” Sahadeva offered helpfully.
Bhima choked. “He’s asking us to weigh our cow-speech with care?”
Nakula fell over. “We must milk our wisdom before speaking, brothers-!”
Yudhishthira’s face had gone scarlet. “That’s not what I- Clearly a mistake on my-”
Bhima doubled over, wheezing. “The next time you give a speech, shall I bring a bucket, O Noble Cow-King?”
Even Arjuna, trying very hard to be respectful, was shaking. “We must moo with meaning, not mutter mindlessly.”
Nakula, barely breathing: “You udderly misread that scroll.”
Yudhishthira dropped the letter and covered his face with both hands. “I’m going to disown all four of you.”
Bhima collapsed sideways into Nakula, giggling like a boy again. “Moo-st you, brother? Moo-st you?”
“Stop it,” Yudhishthira groaned. “Stop right now.”
But no one did. Not even Draupadi, when she passed by moments later and asked what was going on.
And that night, someone (Sahadeva) secretly added a small cow doodle to Yudhishthira’s ceremonial speech scroll.
He noticed it two days later and said nothing.
But he knew.
The temple was almost ready. Almost… The garlands were strung up, the lamps were lit, and the rangoli- somehow, miraculously- had survived Krishna’s meddling (that was debatable). Balarama had managed to keep his sanity intact, and Arjuna had been dragged into much chaos, but for once, it seemed like everything was going smoothly.
That was all, until Krishna suddenly stopped in the middle of the courtyard, looking deeply troubled.
“I swear I left it here…” he muttered, scanning the area. Arjuna, who had just collapsed onto the temple steps after hours of work, groaned. “Madhav, I don’t like that tone. What did you do?”
Krishna tilted his head. “It’s not what I did, Parth. It’s what the universe has done to us.” His sakha turned to him, genuinely distressed, “The coconut is missing.”
A long, painful silence.
Arjuna questioned slowly, “What?”
“The sacred coconut for the puja!” Krishna flailed his hands. “It was right here, and now it’s gone!”
The coconut was precious. Oh, the coconut was previous…
The one that was specifically brought, by Vasudeva himself, from the Southern kingdom, that coconut was missing.
Arjuna stared at him, unblinking. Then, slowly, he inhaled. “Madhav,” he began, his voice calm, measured, dangerous. “You had one job.”
Balarama, passing by, immediately turned back around sensing chaos. “I don’t have the patience for this.”
Arjuna, however, was done. He sat up so fast his back cracked.
“The coconut did not have legs to walk away.” His hands flew to his head. “Where is it!? You were told to keep it with you all the time. It was the reason why I was doing all your work. YOU. JUST HAD. TO. KEEP. IT. Where is it Madhav???”
Krishna smiled at him. That infuriating, infuriating smile.
“That, dear Arjuna, is the mystery.”
“It's not a mystery! Keshava, It’s a disaster!”
Krishna, meanwhile, was suspiciously unbothered. Arjuna turned to him sharply. “Did you… Did you eat it?”
Krishna gasped, deeply offended. “Parth! How could you suspect me of such a thing? I did not! I just left it here, right behind th--”
Then, from behind them, came a soft crunching sound.
The duo turned slowly.
There was Subhadra. Munching.
She just blinked at them.
Krishna was the first to speak. “Bhadre,” he began with forced calm, “do you have any idea what you have done?”
Subhadra, mid-chew, looked at them blankly. “I was hungry.”
Arjuna made a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a scream.
“Hungry!?” He threw his arms up. “HUNGRY!? it took weeks to get that coconut from the south! WEEKS, MADHAV! WEEKS! not to mention Vasudeva-ji himself got it!”
Krishna stroked his chin. “It did, didn’t it?”
Arjuna whirled on him. “You knew this, and you left it out in the open!?”
“Technically,” Krishna mused, “it was the universe that left it there.”
“I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND.”
Balarama, who had just returned from checking on the priests, stopped mid-step when he saw Arjuna pacing in a panic, Krishna looking suspiciously thoughtful, and Subhadra chewing.
He stared at them. Then at the half-eaten coconut. Then back to them.
“…I don’t want to know,” he said, turning away.
“YOU HAVE TO KNOW!” Arjuna ran up to him, grabbing his shoulders. “SHE ATE THE PUJA COCONUT!”
Balarama closed his eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out. Then he turned to Krishna.
“Fix this,” he ordered.
Krishna’s eyes sparkled. “Of course, dear brother. We will retrieve another coconut.”
Balarama crossed his arms. “Good. You have half an hour.”
Arjuna froze. “What?”
“The puja starts in half an hour.” Balarama’s expression was deadly serious. “I suggest you run.”
Arjuna bolted from the temple, dragging Krishna with him.
“Do you know where to find another sacred southern coconut, Madhav?”
Krishna, despite being yanked at terrifying speed, smiled serenely. “No, but I enjoy a challenge.” Arjuna nearly threw him off the road they were running on.
The first stop was a bustling market stall.
"Do you have a coconut?" Arjuna demanded, breathless. The merchant blinked. "Of course my prince, we have plenty-"
"FROM THE SOUTH!?"Arjuna added wildly. The merchant frowned. "That’s… oddly specific."
Arjuna slammed a bag of gold on the counter. "DO YOU HAVE IT OR NOT?"
"…No?" Arjuna turned to Krishna. "Madhav, what now?"
Krishna picked up a random coconut, inspected it, and shook his head. "The energy is all wrong."
Arjuna threw his hands up. "The energy? IT’S A COCONUT! Govind, your brother is gonna have our head."
The merchant stared at them, utterly confused.
Again the chase restarted, they ran down the street, only to find Satyaki standing with a group of traders.
“Satyaki!” Arjuna gasped for breath. “Please tell me you have a coconut from the South.”
Satyaki raised a brow. “Why?”
Arjuna looked at Krishna. Krishna looked at the sky.
Krishna, smiling: “Let’s just say, the puja is in danger.”
Satyaki narrowed his eyes. “What did you two do?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Arjuna snapped. “Subhadra ate the coconut.” Satyaki gasped. Then laughed so hard he had to lean on a cart for support.
Arjuna grabbed him. “DO YOU HAVE ONE OR NOT?”
“Why would I—AH!” Satyaki ducked as Arjuna nearly tackled him. “Alright, alright! Maybe I know a trader who has imported coconuts—”
“WHERE!?”
Satyaki pointed down the street. Arjuna was already running while dragging his Madhav along him.
By the time they reached the trader, they were out of breath.
“Co-Coconut…” Arjuna panted. “From the South.”
The trader frowned. “I don’t sell them these days, but I think my grandmother has one-”
"WHERE IS SHE?"
A bit shocked at the usually composed Gandhivdhari, the trader replied, taken aback, "She’s taking a nap at our house. It’s the one behind the Banyan tree."
With a quick Thank you, Arjun was back at it- dragging Krishna towards the house.
Arjuna grabbed Krishna. Both princes looked hassled and disheveled. "Madhav, you’re good with elders- people in general- FIX THIS."
Krishna knocked politely and, in the softest, sweetest voice, convinced the grandmother to part with her precious coconut.
Arjuna could have cried. He grabbed the coconut, his Sakha, bowed, and RAN. With only minutes left, they stormed back into the temple.
The temple courtyard was a whirlwind of activity, priests bustling around with offerings and flowers, the scent of sandalwood and incense heavy in the air. Devotees whispered their prayers, oblivious to the chaos that had just unfolded outside.
And then- Arjuna crashed in.
Barefoot, wild-haired, clothes disheveled, Krishna’s arm clenched in one hand, and absolutely breathless, but victorious.
He lifted the coconut above his head like a war prize. “WE HAVE IT!”
The head priest turned, completely unfazed. He took the coconut without a word, inspecting it with a casual nod before handing it off to an assistant. As if Arjuna had not just been on the verge of divine ruin.
Arjuna stared. “…That’s it?”
Krishna, as pristine as ever, smoothed his sash and beamed. “Ah, Parth, what a delightful adventure this was.”
Balarama, who had been watching this unfold from the side, sighed deeply. He had long given up trying to make sense of his younger siblings’ antics but today had been particularly exhausting.
He shook his head. “I don’t even want to know what happened.”
Arjuna ran a hand through his wild curly hair. “Good. Because I don’t want to relive it.”
And then, from the temple steps, a quiet crunch.
The three of them turned slowly.
There sat Subhadra. Casually popping another piece of the old coconut into her mouth.
She blinked up at them. “Well, that was fun.” She tilted her head, looking genuinely amused. Then, without a word, she reached behind her and casually tossed something at Balarama.
A perfect, untouched coconut.
The real one.
The one Vasudeva had gone through great pains to acquire.
Silence.
Balarama caught it instinctively and stared at it like it was an illusion. Krishna’s eye widened in realization, and he smiled. Arjuna froze.
Subhadra brushed her hands off, looking smug. “I never said I ate the puja coconut. This one was just from the kitchen.”
She turned to glare at Krishna, “This is what you get for ruining my Rangoli, my loving Bhratashree” Then, she bounced back to the temple to help the elders with the puja as if nothing ever happened.
More silence.
Krishna chuckled. “Well, well, Parth, it seems we went on an adventure for nothing.”
Arjuna felt his soul leave his body as, beside him, Balarama rubbed his temples. “I have no words.”
The streets of Dwarka were alive with color. At the heart of it all was a chase: a glorious, chaotic chase that had the entire city stopping to watch.
Pride of the Kurus, the mighty Arjuna ran.
He darted through the palace courtyard, his once-pristine white garments a casualty of the festival’s wrath.
Arjuna, draped in his usual pristine white, had been an easy target from the start. It had taken only moments for the Yadavas- led by none other than Krishna himself- to turn him into a masterpiece of colors. His, once immaculate angavastram now bore splashes of deep crimson, streaks of gold, and bursts of bright blue and green. A particularly enthusiastic handful of pink dust had settled in his curls, softening the sharp angles of his face, giving him a boyish charm that was almost at odds with his warrior’s presence.
Yet, Arjuna still looked striking, perhaps even more so now, with his usual regal bearing exchanged for the infectious laughter that lit up his face.
Behind him, Krishna pursued, a wicked grin stretching across his already color-streaked face, his hands overflowing with more vibrant powder. The midnight glowing skin of his was almost indistinguishable beneath layers of color, yet it failed in hiding that other worldly beauty.
His eyes gleamed with unbridled mischief, and his hands were filled with yet more powder- deep blue in one, a bright golden hue in the other. He moved effortlessly, leaping over fallen water buckets, sidestepping laughing Yadavas, his grin widening as he closed in on his prey.
"Parth!" Krishna called, laughter spilling from his lips. "You cannot outrun me forever!"
"You underestimate a desperate man!" Arjuna shot back, weaving through a group of revelers. "I have survived wars! I can survive this!"
The gathered Yadavas roared with laughter, cheering for both the hunter and the hunted. Some had even started taking bets, while others, like Satyaki and Pradyumna, shouted helpful (or not-so-helpful) advice.
"Arjuna, surrender with dignity!" Satyaki called out, shaking his head in mock pity.
"Or keep running! I have money on you lasting a few more minutes!" Pradyumna added.
"Parth!" Krishna called, laughing as he almost tripped over a toppled pot of water. "Why do you flee? Come, accept your fate!"
"You are my fate!" Arjuna shot back, twisting around a pillar to dodge Krishna’s reach. "BUT today you are my doom!"
The gathered Yadavas: Satyaki, Pradyumna specifically howled with laughter.
Arjuna, nimble as ever, made a sharp turn, only to skid to a stop when he found himself cornered. The steps to the temple loomed ahead, and blocking his escape was none other than Subhadra, arms crossed, grinning as if she had been waiting for this exact moment. Her golden complexion glowed more with the Kumkum smear on her cheeks.
"Swami...." she called sweetly. "Going somewhere?"
"Yes…" Arjuna said, eyes darting between her and the approaching storm that was Krishna. "Away!"
"Not today," Subhadra said, stepping aside just enough to leave him no option but surrender.
Before Arjuna could react, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind.
"Got you!" Krishna whispered, laughter laced in his voice.
Arjuna let out a half-laugh, half-yelp as he felt himself yanked backward against Krishna’s chest, trapped. He tried to twist free, but Krishna’s hold was firm, his hands pressing against Arjuna’s waist in a way that sent a burst of color from both of their stained garments into the air.
"No, no—Krishna, wait—!"
But Krishna had no mercy.
He smeared the powder directly into Arjuna’s cheeks, his fingers pressing streaks of blue and gold into his skin. Then, with gleeful abandon, he ran his hands through Arjuna’s already ruined curls, making sure no part of his dear Parth was left untouched by color.
The Yadavas erupted into laughter and cheered as Arjuna squirmed in protest, sputtering through the onslaught.
"M-Madhav- you absolute menace!" Arjuna managed between gasps of laughter.
By the time Krishna was done, Arjuna was unrecognizable, his entire being transformed into a walking celebration of color.
The watching onlookers erupted into cheers, some pounding their fists on the ground in mirth. Even Balarama, who had initially stayed dignified, let out a hearty chuckle.
Arjuna, wiping his face and spitting out some of the powder that had managed to get into his mouth, glared at Krishna. "You planned this."
Krishna grinned, leaning lazily against a pillar. "Oh, Parth, I merely ensured you enjoyed the festival to its fullest."
"You attacked me!"
"I included you."
Arjuna groaned, running a hand through his thoroughly ruined hair, which only resulted in more color streaking down his face. But despite his grumbling, there was laughter in his eyes, and the boyish smile that broke across his lips only made him look even more endearing.
He turned to Subhadra, who was doubled over laughing, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.
"You enjoyed that far too much," Arjuna accused, looking at her with his loving smile.
Subhadra beamed at him, utterly unapologetic. "Watching my husband be defeated by my brother? Arya, How could I not!"
Krishna clapped a hand on Arjuna’s shoulder, his own fingers leaving fresh streaks of orange behind. "Come, Parth. We are one color now. Let’s celebrate properly."
And with that, he dragged Arjuna back into the revelry, as Dwarka cheered for their favorite mischief-makers.
It was a bright afternoon in Dwarka, the sun hanging lazily in the sky, mirroring the way Krishna and Arjuna lounged on the shaded steps overlooking the field. A group of Yadavas lounged under the shade of a marble pavilion, their laughter echoing as they watched what had now become a familiar sight: Satyaki challenging Arjuna- a weekly occurrence
Krishna, reclining against a pillar, plucked at a blade of grass. Arjuna, sitting beside him with one knee drawn up, absentmindedly twirled a training arrow between his fingers.
"You do realize, Parth, that they won't stop until one of them beats you?" Krishna said, amusement dancing in his voice.
Arjuna let out a small chuckle. "And when has that ever happened?"
Krishna laughed, shaking his head. Below them, Satyaki was stretching his arms, rolling his shoulders with exaggerated confidence. Pradyumna and Samba stood on either side of him, whispering among themselves. The younger Yadavas: brothers, cousins, and warriors-in-training- all gathered around, eager to watch.
“They’re plotting,” Krishna remarked, watching the trio below with a knowing glint in his eyes.
Arjuna sighed, shaking his head. "They always do."
Krishna grinned. “And yet, you continue to indulge them.”
Arjuna turned to him, his expression softening just a little. "Let them dream, Madhav. They are young. It is good for them to believe, even for a moment, that they stand a chance."
Krishna hummed in agreement, a smile tugging at his lips. "And do you ever let them win?"
Arjuna smirked. "Nope."
Before Krishna could reply, below them, Satyaki called out, “Come on, Parth! Let’s see if you can still keep up with me.”
A chorus of cheers and laughter rose from the assembled warriors, all eager for the spectacle. Pradyumna and Samba stood just behind him, pretending not to be involved but clearly far too eager.
Arjuna sighed dramatically and rose to his feet. " Very well, Yuyudhana. Let’s not keep your admirers waiting.”
He rose, stretching with elegance that made even something as simple as standing up look like an art. Krishna followed lazily, clearly in no rush to interfere.
The younger Yadavas whispered among themselves. “Satyaki might actually win this time,” one said.
“He’s faster now,” another added.
Krishna stifled a laugh. "They have so much faith in Satyaki, don't they?" Arjuna shook his head in mild exasperation before stepping forward. "Come then, my friend. Show me what you've learned."
The wrestling match had barely begun when Satyaki, brimming with confidence, lunged at Arjuna.
It might have worked… if Arjuna weren’t Arjuna.
Satyaki lunged, fast and strong- but against Arjuna, fast and strong were never enough.
With an almost casual movement, Arjuna sidestepped at the last moment, caught Satyaki’s arm, and redirected his force mid-air.
THUD…
Satyaki landed flat on his back, staring up at the sky, the breath knocked out of him. The watching onlookers winced.
From the steps, Krishna called out, “That looked graceful, Satyaki. Do you need a moment?”
Satyaki groaned. “I-I'm fine.”
Pradyumna folded his arms. "That looked painful."
Samba grinned. "Not as painful as what we’re about to do."
Before Arjuna could even turn around, the two young Yadava princes pounced.
Samba went for his legs while Pradyumna leapt for his shoulders. A sound strategy, against anyone else that is.
Arjuna, without so much as a frown, shifted his weight at the perfect moment. He caught Pradyumna mid-air with one arm and smoothly stepped aside- causing Samba to charge forward into thin air.
Samba, unable to stop in time, crashed straight into Satyaki.
“Off! Get off me, you little menace!” Satyaki groaned.
Arjuna, meanwhile, glanced down at Pradyumna, still held securely in his grip, like a father humoring an impatient son. “You seem troubled, Yuvraj,” Arjuna mused, his voice smooth as silk.
Pradyumna glared, red-faced, struggled in his grip. "Put me down, uncle!"
Arjuna smiled. "Oh? But you seemed eager to climb me a moment ago."
Samba, tangled with Satyaki, cackled. “He got you there.”
Pradyumna, refusing to lose face, latched onto Arjuna’s arm and refused to let go. Samba, never one to miss an opportunity, grabbed onto his other side.
Satyaki, deciding that this was the perfect time for revenge, lunged at Arjuna’s back.
It was three against one.
For anyone else, this would have been a fight.
For Arjuna? With a single, almost lazy shift of movement, he broke Samba and Pradyumna’s grip, twisted, and let Satyaki’s own momentum carry him forward- straight into the dirt. The three Yadavas collapsed in a heap, groaning. Dust flew everywhere.
Arjuna dusted off his sleeves, completely unruffled. He turned to Krishna, who was watching with clear amusement.
"Was that entertaining enough for you, Govind?"
Krishna chuckled. "It was brief but enjoyable. I did warn them."
Satyaki, still sprawled on the ground, glared up at Arjuna. "I will win one day."
Arjuna smiled fondly. "I admire your optimism, Yuyudhana."
Pradyumna, patting away all the dust from his being, muttered defeatly, “I hate him.”
Arjuna turned to him with genuine warmth in his eyes. "I know you don’t, Pradyumna. But do tell me when you’re ready to train again, I will teach you how to be better."
Pradyumna, despite himself, looked away, the irritation in his expression replaced by something almost begrudgingly respectful.
Samba, still grinning, clapped Arjuna on the back. “You’re annoying, but I like you.”
Arjuna let out a soft laugh and mussed Samba’s hair like an elder brother. "Likewise, little prince."
Krishna, watching the exchange, smiled knowingly. "You see, Parth? They admire you more than they admit."
Arjuna sighed, shaking his head with a fond smile. "They will be the end of me one day, Madhav."
Krishna laughed. "Then you’ll have to stay undefeated, won’t you?"
And with that, the three bruised, exhausted Yadavas stood once more- ready, even in their defeat, to challenge Arjuna again another day.
The first thud was loud enough to make Arjuna pause mid-sentence. The second thud had Nakula looking up from his polished sword. The third thud made Sahadeva slowly, carefully, close the scroll he was reading. The fourth thud- accompanied by the ominous clinking of golden rings being stripped off thick fingers- had all three of them turning toward the source. Bhima. He was smiling. That was a problem. "You know," Bhima said pleasantly, as he slipped off his armlets and tossed them onto the growing pile of discarded ornaments. "I usually let things go." No, he did not. "I mean, I am a reasonable person." He unfastened his necklace, an impressive piece of gold that clattered onto the table. "Patient, even." Yudhishthira, who had been pretending not to be involved in this mess, shut his eyes. He knew where this was going. He had long accepted that he was doomed to suffer through his younger brothers' antics for as long as he lived. "Bhima," he tried, rubbing his temples, "please." Bhima ignored him. He held up a single finger, dangerously cheerful, as he removed his last ring and set it down with a delicate tap. Then, very deliberately, he cracked his knuckles. "Which one of you," he said, still smiling, "said I wouldn’t be able to carry all three of you at once anymore?" There was silence. Then... "It was Nakula," Arjuna said immediately, shifting slightly behind Sahadeva. "Excuse me?" Nakula turned, scandalized. "It was not! It was you, Bhrata Arjun!" Sahadeva, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat. "It was actually both of you. And technically, I believe I agreed." "Traitor," Nakula hissed. Bhima exhaled through his nose, looking far too delighted for anyone’s comfort. "So that’s how it is, huh?" A beat. Then three things happened at once: Arjuna bolted. Nakula lunged for the door. Sahadeva tried to take the high road and stay put, but immediately regretted it when Bhima lunged. Somewhere in the chaos, Arjuna yelled, "HE CAN STILL DO IT! HE CAN STILL DO IT!" as Bhima caught all three of them in an unbreakable grip. Nakula screeched in outrage, Sahadeva resigned himself to his fate, and Yudhishthira pressed his forehead to the table, done with all of them. And across the room-lounging on a divan, eating grapes: Krishna was laughing so hard he almost fell over. "Oh, this is delightful," Krishna wheezed, wiping at his eyes. "Do it again, Bhima, I wasn't watching properly the first time." Bhima did do it again. Just for Krishna. By the end of it, all three younger brothers were thrown onto a pile of cushions, Bhima stood victorious, and Yudhishthira wondered, not for the first time, why he had been born the eldest. Krishna, still grinning, leaned toward Yudhishthira and whispered, "At least they are affectionate." Yudhishthira stared blankly at him. Then, with the last shred of dignity he had, he got up and left the room. He needed a break. Perhaps a lifetime-long one.
Later that evening, after the chaos had settled and Yudhishthira had successfully escaped the madness (for now), Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva sat nursing their bruised egos and sore limbs.
Bhima, still smug, was polishing off the last of his sweets while Krishna watched with open amusement.
Nakula, who had finally tamed his hair again, crossed his arms. "I still want to know who told Bhima about this in the first place."
Arjuna frowned, rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah, I mean… we said that days ago. When did he find out?"
There was silence as the three of them thought back. Then, slowly, all eyes turned to Krishna.
Krishna smiled.
"You didn’t," Arjuna groaned.
Krishna popped a grape into his mouth. "I may have."
Sahadeva blinked. "Why?"
"Because it was funny," Krishna admitted, with absolutely no shame. "You three, gossiping like little parrots, questioning Bhima’s strength? How could I not tell him?"
Bhima laughed, slapping his knee. "See? Even Krishna agrees! I had to remind you all who the strongest is!"
Nakula gaped at him. "You threw us across the room!"
"And yet," Bhima grinned, "I could have thrown you further."
Arjuna slumped back dramatically. "We are doomed. We have been betrayed."
Sahadeva, ever practical, exhaled. "To be fair, we did doubt him."
Krishna pointed at him. "See? At least one of you has some wisdom."
Bhima patted Sahadeva on the head. "Good little brother. You, I like."
Sahadeva swatted his hand away. "You like throwing me into furniture!"
"That too."
Arjuna leaned toward Krishna. "You are the problem," he accused.
Krishna rested his chin on his hand, eyes twinkling. "Oh, Parth, my dear, my dearest, I am always the problem. You should know this by now."
Arjuna groaned again and let himself fall back onto the cushions.
The halls of Hastinapura had seen countless battles, both in the court and on the training grounds. They had witnessed the thunderous steps of warriors, the hushed whispers of conspiracies, and the resounding laughter of carefree princes. But on this particular afternoon, the halls bore witness to something truly unforgettable-something that would go unspoken in formal gatherings but live on in the hearts (and suppressed laughter) of the Kuru princes for years to come.
It all started, as many disasters did, with Bhima.
The young Pandava, already a force of nature at his age, had just been dismissed from his lessons along with his brothers and cousins. The elders-Bhishma, Guru Drona, and Shakuni-were leading the way down the long, grand staircase that connected the higher halls to the central court. It was a staircase worthy of its royal residents: steep, wide, and polished to a near-miraculous shine by the tireless palace attendants.
And, as it turned out, far too polished.
Bhima, unwilling to walk like a normal human being, decided to sprint up the last few steps. Why? No one knew. Perhaps he was racing an imaginary opponent. Perhaps he had just remembered that lunch was being served soon. Perhaps he was simply Bhima.
Regardless of his reasons, the results were catastrophic.
The moment Bhima reached the top, his sandal betrayed him. It slipped-a treacherous, traitorous little movement that sent his foot skidding out from under him. The great warrior-to-be flailed, arms windmilling, desperately grasping for anything to steady himself.
Fate, ever the mischievous force, provided him with something.
Shakuni’s cloak.
For a brief, glorious second, Shakuni was not a man.
He was a spectacle.
One moment, he had been walking with his usual air of practiced elegance, his fine robes flowing behind him as he engaged Bhishma in conversation. The next moment-he was airborne.
His feet lifted clean off the ground, his arms flailed, and his mouth opened-but no words came out, only a stunned, undignified gasp. His turban, that ever-present symbol of his regal composure, tilted precariously to one side.
And then, gravity remembered him.
Shakuni descended.
Not gracefully. Not heroically. Not with the composed dignity of a statesman. No, he rolled.
His long cloak, the very thing that had betrayed him, tangled around his legs, turning what might have been a simple fall into a grand, tragic performance. His staff, once held with the poise of a master strategist, clattered ahead of him, announcing his descent like a herald announcing a king’s arrival-except this king was tumbling helplessly down a flight of stairs.
First, he lurched forward. Then, he twisted midair. Then-thump, thump, thump-down he went, step by step, his arms flapping wildly in a last, desperate attempt to regain control of his fate.
The grand staircase of Hastinapura had never seen such an event before.
And it would never, ever see one like it again.
At the top of the stairs, the young Kuru princes froze.
This was a moment of great crisis.
Not because Shakuni might be injured-no, that was secondary. The real crisis was not laughing.
Duryodhana and Arjuna made the fatal mistake of looking at each other. Their expressions, which had started as carefully composed masks of concern, cracked immediately.
Nakula and Sahadeva stood as still as statues, the effort of holding back their laughter written all over their faces. Sahadeva was biting his tongue. Nakula’s shoulders were trembling.
And Yudhishthira-oh, poor Yudhishthira-looked as though he was suffering the torments of the gods themselves. His hands were clenched into fists, pressed against his mouth as he struggled desperately to maintain some semblance of dignity. His eyes were wide, pleading with the heavens for strength.
And Bhima?
Bhima, the root cause of this disaster, was trying to be the responsible one. He stepped forward, schooling his expression into what he probably thought was a look of deep concern.
“Shakuni Mama,” he said, in a voice that was just a little too strained, “are you well?”
It was a valiant attempt.
Unfortunately, his voice cracked halfway through.
The effort to suppress their laughter reached its breaking point. Duryodhana’s lips twitched. Arjuna coughed violently. Nakula turned away, pretending to examine a very interesting section of the wall.
The entire hall was silent.
The ministers, the soldiers, the attendants-everyone was holding their breath.
Bhishma, ever the composed patriarch, stroked his beard and nodded thoughtfully, as though he had just witnessed a fascinating philosophical lesson unfold before him. Guru Drona, to his credit, maintained his usual impassive expression, though his fingers twitched ever so slightly.
And then-Shakuni rose.
The fallen prince of Gandhara stood, slowly and shakily.
With the precision of a man who refused to acknowledge what had just happened, he adjusted his turban, straightened his robes, and calmly dusted off his shoulders.
Then, in a voice so controlled it could have been carved from stone, he declared:
“I am perfectly fine, mere bachche”
He paused.
Then, with a pointed look at the offending staircase, he added, “The stairs, however, are treacherous.”
Silence.
And then, Bhishma, in his infinite wisdom, gave a sage nod.
“Indeed,” he said gravely. “The stairs are quite polished.”
The princes lost their battle.
Yudhishthira turned away, his entire body shaking. Duryodhana let out a strangled noise that could have been a cough-or a suppressed howl of laughter. Nakula buried his face in his sleeve. Sahadeva looked like he had physically left his body to avoid the disgrace.
And Bhima?
Bhima covered his mouth, his shoulders heaving.
Shakuni, either unwilling or unable to acknowledge the suffering of his audience, simply gathered what was left of his pride and walked away.
He did not stalk off in anger. He did not rage or scowl. He merely left, as if nothing had happened, as if his descent down the grand staircase of Hastinapura had been a deliberate choice-an elegant, calculated maneuver.
But from that day on, the young Kuru princes knew.
And every time Shakuni passed by, if Bhima happened to look at him for just a little too long-
Bhima would cough.
And immediately pretend to be deeply, deeply interested in something else.