I am Syamantaka, the gem that has witnessed the ebbs and flows of empires, and the storms of human hearts. Born in the heart of the Earth, forged in the intense heat and pressure of ancient volcanoes, I've been passed from hand to hand, coveted by kings and warriors, and I've watched as humans fought and died over me. I was born of the sun — a spark of Surya hardened into radiance. Kings have called me a blessing. Enemies have called me a curse. Both are right. And wrong. My story begins with Satrajit, a Yadava noble who loved the idea of everyone staring at him. He received me as a gift from the Sun God Surya, who was pleased with his devotion. I could summon gold, heal lands, and turn scarcity into abundance. But anything that radiant draws envy faster than truth. And with a treasure like me, fortune can flip into danger in a heartbeat. I still remember the first time I entered Dwaraka. People shaded their eyes. Some gasped. Such was my brilliance. Satrajit glowed ...

I faint in the arena, not from weakness but from the shock of seeing my past walk into my present — alive, grown, strong, claimed by another woman and another world. When I wake, I say nothing. The truth inside me tightens like a knot pulled too hard. ******** After the tournament, life moves on as if nothing has changed. Duryodhana stands beside Karna with a pride that only deepens with time; their bond grows quickly, two young men hungry for recognition and fiercely loyal to each other. I watch them from afar, always with the same quiet dread. I know what it means for a boy to be lifted from obscurity and given a place. I know what such gratitude can become. I know the same ache Karna carries : the hunger to belong, the desperation to prove oneself worthy. And that is when I realise I cannot reveal the truth now. He is no longer a child in a basket — he is a man with pride, anger, and wounds I cannot predict. And he stands beside the one person who trusts him completely. If I spe...

I am Kunti. I was Pritha once, but I grew into Kunti — shaped by the homes I entered, the vows I kept, and the secrets I carried. Though young, I vividly remember the moment when everything familiar is taken away from me. One day I am in my father Surasena’s palace — the footsteps I know, the voices I recognize, the comfort of routines that never change. And the next day, I am being sent to Kuntibhoja’s kingdom, because my father must keep a promise given to his childless cousin. A child understands no promise. A child only knows the fear of being uprooted. My new mother — the mother of this new house — welcomes me kindly, holds my hand, even hugs me. But her touch is not my mother’s, and my mother does not seem to miss me the way I miss her. So, I try to be careful. I try not to offend. I try to belong. Some days I feel accepted. Other days I feel like I must prove myself again. Slowly, the new rhythms become familiar, but the insecurity settles quietly inside me — not lou...

(Continued from Part 1 : While Kuntī and I waited for the thirteen years to end, my sons plotted to find the Pāṇḍavas during their concealment in Virāṭa’s kingdom — so that exile might begin anew.) Meanwhile, whispers reached Hastinapura — Keechaka, the mighty general of Virāṭa, had been slain. I needed no further sign. Only Bhīma’s hand could have struck so. My heart trembled — if they were discovered before their time, the wheel of sin would turn once more, and no redemption would follow. Restlessness seized Duryodhana. Convinced that the sons of Pāṇḍu were hiding in Virāṭa’s court, he led a raid upon its cattle, eager to draw them out. Soon I learnt that Prince Uttara had gone to face our armies, taking with him his charioteer — a dancer from the women’s quarters. That charioteer turned the tide, scattering seasoned generals and humbling our might. I needed no confirmation — only Arjuna could have stood thus. The Paṇḍavas’ disguise had served its purpose; what was meant to be h...

I remember the scent of sandalwood that morning in Gandhara — faint, deliberate, the fragrance our women used before dawn prayers. Outside, the court murmured with talk of Bhishma’s arrival from Hastināpura. In those days, Gandhāra was a small border kingdom — between the Kurus of the plains and the western realms of Madra, Bāhlika, Sindhu, and Kamboja — a frontier that often bent before power but preserved its pride in wisdom and diplomacy. My father, King Subala, had ruled long enough to know that pride alone cannot guard borders. Bhishma’s proposal — that I be wed to the blind prince Dhritarashtra — carried the weight of a command more than a request. Shakuni, my brother, raged. His love for me was fierce, and his sense of insult fiercer. But he, too, saw the truth in our father’s silence. To refuse would invite ruin; to accept, at least, preserved Gandhāra. When the decision was made, I felt no anger. Only a stillness, as if my life had suddenly stepped out of its own light. Tha...

Draupadi’s Reflection They played the game. And lost. Gold. Livestock. Brothers. The self. And then — me. I was not in the sabha when the dice fell. A messenger came and said I had been lost. I asked, “Did Yudhishthira lose himself before he lost me?” There was no answer. I refused to move. Another messenger came. Still, no answer. Then came Dushasana. Leering. Gloating. Smirking. He came not to speak, but to seize. He was Duryodhana’s hand — exultant, vicious, unrestrained. His face gleamed with triumph. He dragged me by the hair — This was not duty but desire — a moment long awaited, to drag me, to break me, to show me where I belonged.

The hall had fallen silent. The scent of jasmine and camphor drifted through the air. On the stage sat under the soft light the storyteller wearing a spotless white dhoti, his forehead marked with stripes of vibhuti. He adjusted the microphone, cleared his throat once, and spoke in that calm, resonant tone that balances the weight of wisdom with the ease of banter — the way only a seasoned upanyāsakar can. He looked around the hall, his gaze sweeping slowly and deliberately over the audience — as if to say, “Listen well... what follows is not just a story...” “Karma, my dear listeners, is like a shadow that refuses to fade. You may walk in sunlight, hide in a cave, or sink into the sea — it follows, unseen, waiting for the next dawn. No act is ever lost. It moves — from father to son, from serpent to sage, from forest to flame. Only with the touch of grace — only when the Divine decides — can that chain be broken. And today, we speak of one such karma — born in fire, car...

Storytime : 1 The sun had risen and set over Kurukshetra eight times. Each day, blood was spilled. Each night, hopes dimmed. And now, on the ninth day, the war dragged on — without resolution, without momentum. Victory for the Pandavas? It felt distant. Fading. The tide refused to turn. Bhishma stood like a mountain, unshaken. His arrows tore through the Pandava ranks with merciless precision. Arjuna, the hero of many battles, stood irresolute. Where was his prowess in archery gone? His heart was caught between reverence and duty. How could he aim at Bhishma — his grandsire, his mentor? And yet, how could he not? Krishna watched with a frown. His silence was heavy. He had vowed not to fight. But vows mean little when dharma itself is bleeding. Bhishma’s fury grew. Duryodhana’s harsh words — “You are partial to the Pandavas” — had sealed the last cracks in his kind heart. The love he once held for Arjuna had receded, buried beneath duty and wounded pride. The Pandava army was crum...

Recap of Previous Episode : Gandhari blesses with dharma, not victory. Krishna reveals the six forces that doomed Karna. Shakuni mocks fate and plays dice with Krishna. Krishna warns the Pandavas about Shalya and assigns Yudhishtra to face him the next day. Gandhari Attempts to Save Her Son Gandhari resolves to protect Duryodhana with the spiritual power earned through unwavering pativrata dharma . She asks him to bathe and come before her unclothed, so that the divine radiance from her eyes may harden his body like diamond. Krishna learns of her plan. In disguise as Dushala, He warns Duryodhana that appearing naked before his mother is shameful and advises him to cover his loins with a banana leaf. Gandhari, who has kept her eyes blindfolded since marriage, opens them at last, and her fiery gaze strengthens every part of Duryodhana’s body — until she sees the covered area. Horrified, she realizes Krishna has intervened. Duryodhana shrugs it off, believing he is still safe: ...

Recap of Previous Episode : Karna’s chariot wheel sinks and his curses come true. Krishna urges Arjuna to strike, and Karna fails to wield Brahmastra. Krishna removes Karna’s protective punya by appearing as a Brahmin. Arjuna kills Karna. Kunti reveals Karna as her son, devastating everyone. Duryodhana vows to honor Karna’s funeral alone, while Yudhishtra curses his mother in anguish. Gandhari’s Blessings and Duryodhana’s Despair Shakuni urges Gandhari to bless Duryodhana with victory, insisting that her divine aura can change destiny. Gandhari can only utter: “Dharma will be victorious.” Duryodhana pleads that unseen dharma cannot matter more than her living son standing before her. Gandhari reassures him that the same dharma will protect him always — but Duryodhana walks away shattered. Shakuni praises her righteousness, yet warns her that excessive idealism may destroy her own child. Pandavas React to Karna’s Death Krishna wonders why the Pandavas are calm compared to Dur...