Arjun's POV:
"Jyesth, I know this might sound strange, but you have to trust me," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the storm inside me. "There's someone… someone important. Our elder brother. And we—"
A sudden chill passed through the room.
It wasn't the wind.
It was something older. Deeper. Like the air itself had stopped to listen.
And then it happened.
"Come to the riverbank, child."
The voice echoed in my ears, but no one else heard it. I knew that because Yudhishthir didn't flinch—his expression hadn't changed. But for me, the words were loud, commanding, and oddly… familiar.
I stood up immediately.
"Parth?" Yudhishthir frowned.
"I'll be back," I whispered, already turning toward the corridor.
Somehow, my feet knew the way even before my mind caught up.
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Third Person's POV:
The riverbank outside Hastinapur shimmered beneath the moonlight. The sacred Ganga flowed calmly, reflecting stars in her ripples.
And standing at the edge, draped in soft blue robes, was a woman most thought long dead.
Satyavati.
But not as a queen. Not as the consort of Shantanu.
She was radiant in a way that no mortal woman could ever be. Her eyes held the weariness of centuries, yet the clarity of divinity.
Arjun approached, cautious but not afraid.
"Grandma?" he asked—half Parth, half Arjun.
She turned to him, and the locket with the 'ॐ' symbol at her throat pulsed once with light.
"I am not just your grandmother in this birth," she said. "I am Satyavati. Daughter of a fisherman, bearer of the scent of a divine flower, chosen by destiny and cursed by fate."
Arjun inhaled sharply. Somehow, he had always felt it. The power. The silence behind her eyes. The pain.
"I have watched the wheel of dharma spin for far too long," she continued. "Watched my sons fall. Watched this kingdom bleed. And now, the thread of karma has tied you—Parth—to its center."
"Why me?" he asked.
"Because you remember," she said simply. "And you question."
She stepped closer.
"It is time you understood something important. The soul you're about to meet—our brother, the one you call Karna—he must be accepted. Or this war will come, and it will burn everything."
Arjun clenched his fists. "I was about to tell Jyesth, but—"
"I stopped you," she said, not unkindly. "Because some truths must not be spoken in palaces. Some truths belong to the river."
She lifted a palm, and for a moment, the ripples of the Ganga stilled.
"Listen carefully, Parth. You are not the only piece the gods have moved into place. Far from here, in the kingdom of Panchala, another soul has descended."
Arjun's breath caught.
"Draupadi," she said, her voice nearly reverent. "Born of fire. A blessing, and a curse. She is the most beautiful woman of Aryavarta—not just in form, but in spirit. Even the apsaras of Indra's court bow to her radiance."
Arjun felt his heart stir in a way that confused him.
"She and her brother, Drishtadyumna, were born of a yajna—a fire ritual," Satyavati continued. "Their father, King Drupad, desired vengeance. He wished for a warrior who could slay Dronacharya. And he wished for a daughter of unmatched beauty and fate."
"The gods answered both."
"And now," she said, stepping back, "her path is entwined with yours. With all five of you."
Arjun's eyes widened. "You mean—?"
"She will be your wife," Satyavati said, voice heavy with inevitability. "The wife of all five Pandavas. As destined."
Silence fell between them, broken only by the murmur of the Ganga.
Arjun stared into the water, his reflection fractured by the current. One face. Two lives.
"So what do I do now?" he asked softly.
Satyavati smiled sadly. "Now, you return to your brothers. But speak gently. Let their hearts be ready. Because soon, Draupadi will step into your lives… and nothing will ever be the same again."
"And about Karna...?"
"Not yet."
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