The kingdom of Hastinapur gleamed beneath the sun — proud, vast, and peaceful in sight… yet beneath its marble walls, whispers of envy and ambition grew louder than prayer.
The five sons of Pandu had become the jewels of the realm.
Under Bhishma's guidance, they ruled provinces, won hearts, and shone like the dawn.
But every ray of their glory cast a darker shadow behind Duryodhana's throne.
The courtiers sang Arjuna's name.
The soldiers looked to Bhima for courage.
Even the common people prayed for Yudhishthira — the son of Dharma, pure and just.
Each word of praise was a thorn in Duryodhana's heart.
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The Council of Deceit
In the royal court, the murmur of conches faded as Duryodhana approached his father, King Dhritarashtra.
Beside him stood the cunning Shakuni — Gandhari's brother, whose eyes burned with a gambler's fire and a serpent's smile.
> "Father," Duryodhana began smoothly, "the sons of Pandu have grown too mighty. The people's love for them eclipses the throne itself."
Dhritarashtra frowned, troubled.
> "They are your kin, my son. Your brothers in name and blood."
But Shakuni interjected, his voice like silk dipped in venom.
> "Blood is a fragile bond, O King. Thrones are not shared — they are seized.
Do you not see? The sons of Pandu will rise, and your son will serve beneath them."
The blind king hesitated — his heart torn between justice and affection.
But love for Duryodhana clouded his reason.
> "Do as you must," he said softly. "But see that no sin stains our name."
Shakuni smiled thinly.
> "No sin, my king — only fire cleansed by destiny."
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The Plot
That very night, in chambers dimly lit by flickering lamps, Duryodhana and Shakuni drew their plan.
> "We shall build a palace," Shakuni whispered, "a gift for your cousins — grander than any in Bharat.
Its walls shall gleam with gold, its floors with gems… and its heart shall be filled with wax and ghee."
Duryodhana's eyes gleamed with malice.
> "A palace of fire."
> "A palace of destiny," Shakuni corrected, smirking.
"One spark, and the Pandavas shall be ash — their legacy, smoke."
The plan was set.
A grand envoy was sent to Yudhishthira, inviting the Pandavas to a festival in the distant city of Varnavrat, where the new palace — Lakshagraha, the House of Wax — awaited their stay.
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Departure from Hastinapur
The people wept as the five brothers and their mother, Kunti, prepared to leave.
Bhishma's heart grew heavy with unease.
> "A gift from Duryodhana is like honey over poison," he thought, but his duty bound him to silence.
Vidura, the wise, sensed the deceit.
As the Pandavas mounted their chariots, he approached Yudhishthira privately and spoke in riddles:
> "When fire surrounds you, remember — the forest has paths unseen by men.
The wise man digs his way to safety before the flames rise."
Yudhishthira bowed, understanding the hidden warning.
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The Palace of Wax
When they reached Varnavrat, they were astonished.
The palace shimmered in the sunlight — its golden walls fragrant with resin and sandalwood.
Every pillar, every beam was soaked in oil, polished to perfection.
A marvel to the eye — a deathtrap to the wise.
Yudhishthira's suspicions deepened.
That night, he called Bhima and said:
> "Our cousin's love burns too brightly.
And wax, though fair to look upon, melts easily in flame.
Let us not sleep too soundly under such a roof."
Bhima grinned, his mighty hands flexing.
> "Let them light their fire, brother. I shall tear down the heavens before I let it touch you."
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The Hidden Passage
Vidura's warning echoed in Yudhishthira's mind.
Quietly, he summoned a loyal servant sent by Vidura, who revealed a tunnel beneath the palace — a secret escape that led deep into the forest.
Each night, as the others slept, Bhima and the servant dug —
carving the earth inch by inch, until a narrow tunnel yawned like the mouth of salvation.
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The Night of Fire
The night came when the stars hid behind clouds, and the wind carried the scent of doom.
Duryodhana's agents — hidden in the shadows — waited until the Pandavas lay still.
Then, they lit the torches.
Flames burst to life.
The walls melted like butter, and the air turned to smoke and screams.
But the Pandavas were gone — vanished through the tunnel, like ghosts into the forest.
Only ashes remained when dawn broke.
Among them, two charred bodies — a woman and her five sons, servants who had lived nearby — lay unrecognizable.
News reached Hastinapur:
> "The Pandavas are dead."
Duryodhana smiled.
Shakuni threw the dice of fate upon the floor and laughed.
But far away, deep in the woods by the Ganga, six shadows moved through the mist —
five princes and their mother, alive, silent, and burning with the fire of vengeance.
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The Whisper of Fate
That night, as Kunti watched her sons sleep beneath the stars, she whispered a prayer:
> "O Dharma, O destiny — if my sons are born of your light, let their path lead not to ashes, but to glory."
And somewhere beyond mortal sight, the gods watched and waited.
For the Pandavas were not dead —
they were being reborn.
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