Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

(A/N):

Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.

Guys I hope You guys liked the Chapters... And it might seems like I am dragging on the Chapters. But no Actually it was due to first war is about to begin.

And I felt Shiva and Sati story needed to be told. Here... I just got that feeling. So I did it.

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Seeing the smirk on the face of Kamsa the scout become very nervous.

That alone—Was more terrifying than anger to any who witnessed it.

"And others scouts?"

The scout swallowed hearing his question.

-Gulp!

"...Captured."

A pause choosing his words carefully.

"And..."

He hesitated for a second.

A mistake.

Kamsa’s gaze lifted looking at the scout releasing the killing intent.

"Finish."

"...They are under the protection of a prince."

Silence deepened.

"...."

"...."

"...."

"Devara... of Hastinapura."

The name settled.

"The same prince..."

The scout added quickly,

"...who is to marry the princess of Gandhara."

Stillness for a second Kamsa’s face showed no emotion for a second.

Then—A laugh. Soft. Low. Then to louder.

"-Hahahahaha!!!"

"So..."

Kamsa leaned forward slightly.

"They ran ...into a wedding."

The irony pleased him.

Since now he knew their location then he was confidence he could bring them back.

Then—His expression shifted.

Not rage. Calculation as he muttered the kingdoms which were involved in.

"Hastinapura."

He repeated their names.

"And Gandhara."

Two kingdoms. One is problematic but other is easy to deal with once the natural defence terrain is breached.

Two shields which were standing before his sister.

"And this prince..."

His eyes narrowed.

"Interferes with something do with him."

The word tasted bitter.

But not impossible.

The sound of metal echoed faintly as his mace rested beside the throne.

Kamsa stood from his throne, the echo of his step louder than any drum.

"Send them."

Guards snapped to attention.

"A unit of assassins,"

He continued, voice cold and precise,

"not soldiers... shadows."

A pause.

"And gather the army."

The words shifted the air.

"We march."

The guard hesitated just a fraction—

"Your Majesty... Gandhara is hosting—A wedding?"

Kamsa smiled. Not amused. As he looked at the gaurd with annoyance

"Then they will be too busy celebrating... to notice death entering through the door."

His hand wrapped around his mace.

The metal groaned slightly.

"No matter who stands before me..."

His voice dropped.

"I will crush them."

A step forward.

"I have broken kings. I have defeated Indra himself."

A faint, dangerous pride flickered.

"He swore never to interfere in my affairs again."

A quiet laugh.

-Hehe!

"So tell me..."

His gaze swept across the hall.

"Who exactly is going to stop me now?"

No one answered.

Because no one dared.

And thus—The order was given.

Assassins would move first.

Silent. Unseen. Try to acknowledge their task before war begans.

If they succeed there is no need for the war. But if they don’t...

And behind them—War would follow.

Gandhara Kingdom...

The palace shimmered like a jewel under nightfall.

Music rose in the palace.

Laughter flowed through all the guests.

The Sangeet ceremony had taken full form.

At the center—Gandhari sat, her hands adorned with intricate mehendi, each curve and pattern telling a story yet to unfold.

Beside her—Her family. Warm. Proud.

Alive with celebration.

Opposite—Devara’s side.

Led by Rajmata Satyavati, along with Ambika and Ambalika, and Madri.

Two families were sitting opposite each other.

One celebration which lighten the mood on each side and helps them to bond well.

Dancers moved like flowing flame.

Anklets rang. Along Hands clapped in rhythm.

Even Shakuni laughed freely, momentarily abandoning schemes for music.

-Haha!!!

Ashwatthama stood slightly apart—Watching everything unfold with a smile.

The music softened.

Not stopped—softened.

As if the night itself leaned closer.

A gentle hush spread across the courtyard.

The dancers stepped back.

The drums quieted.

And then—Princess Gandhari rose.

For a heartbeat—Even the lamps seemed to steady their flames.

"...."

"...."

"...."

She stepped into the center.

Hands still adorned with fresh mehendi, intricate patterns glowing softly under the light... like stories waiting to be lived.

Her eyes lifted and looked at a particular direction.

Just once. Toward Devara who was looking back at her with a smile.

"...."

And then—She began to sing. The first note was soft.

But it carried through her emotion. Not loud. Not showy.

But... true.

Her voice flowed like a quiet river—gentle, steady, yet impossible to ignore.

Each word painted something unseen.

Each line carried a feeling she had not spoken aloud before.

Not just admiration. Not just respect.

Something deeper. Something that had grown quietly—Between glances.

Between silences.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Between moments no one else noticed.

Across from her—Devara sat. Still. Listening to her song mesmerised.

At first—Calm. Then—Not quite.

Because the song...

Was about him.

Not directly. Not openly.

But unmistakably everyone knew it was about him.

His strength. His calm. His presence.

And somewhere between the verses—His name did not need to be spoken.

Everyone’s eyes turned to look at him.

Shakuni leaned slightly toward Ashwatthama, whispering,

"...Well, this is new. My sister can sing this well."

Ashwatthama didn’t respond.

"...."

But even he—Was watching.

Devara shifted slightly. Just enough to betray it.

Embarrassment? Yes. A little.

Because being praised in battle was one thing.

But this? This was different.

This was... personal.

And yet—His heartbeat betrayed him.

Faster and Heavier.

-lub-dub! -lub-dub!

Because there was no deception in her voice.

No performance. Just... feeling.

The final note lingered as she finished the song.

Soft. Fading into silence.

"...."

"...."

"...."

For a breath—No one moved around.

Then—Claps!!!

Devara. The first. Unhesitating. Broke the silence.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

But sincere in it.

And that—Broke the spell.

The entire courtyard followed. Applause rising like a wave.

Warm. Joyful. Everyone liked the song sang by Princess Gandhari.

Gandhari lowered her gaze slightly.

A faint blush touched her cheeks.

"...."

Not from the crowd.

But from one pair of eyes—She had felt the entire time.

And across from her—Devara’s expression had softened.

Just slightly. But enough.

The music had faded, the laughter tucked away like a folded silk.

With that the day ended.

Next day...

Morning arrived softer. Quieter.

As if Gandhara itself decided to breathe gently for once.

Near a small pond within the palace gardens—The world slowed.

White swans drifted across the water, their movement unhurried, almost poetic.

Lotus leaves swayed slightly.

Sunlight traced soft patterns over the surface.

And there—Sat Devara and Gandhari.

No crowd to bother them. No music to listen.

No expectation from the bride and groom.

Just... quiet. Between them which was comforting for them.

Gandhari glanced at him.

A faint smile already playing at her lips.

"You have to do two things for me."

Devara raised an eyebrow slightly. Not surprised. Just... curious.

"Oh?"

He leaned back just a little.

"And I’ve already agreed, it seems."

She smiled wider.

"You have."

A pause.

"So tell me."

Gandhari tapped her chin lightly, pretending to think—Though clearly, she had already decided.

"Hm..."

Then—Her eyes brightened.

"First—"

She turned toward him fully now.

"You need to bring me ten flowers."

Devara nodded slowly confused with the request.

-Nod!

"Ten?"

"Ten. Different colors. And they must be beautiful."

Devara exhaled lightly through his nose. A faint smile forming.

"That sounds manageable."

Gandhari shook her head slightly.

"No. It’s not just about bringing them."

She leaned in just a fraction.

"You have to choose them."

That—Changed it. Changed the whole perceptive of the request she had put forward.

Devara noticed it too.

Then—She continued with her second request with a grin.

-Grin!

"Second..."

A pause.

This time... real. Her fingers tapped her chin again.

"...You need to give me something."

Devara tilted his head slightly.

"What kind of something?"

Gandhari looked at him—Not playful now.Not teasing.

But thoughtful as if she was judging him for his grave sin he had commited.

"...Something that is unique."

A small breath.

"Something that belongs only to me."

The pond remained still not even a single ripple..

The swans drifted.

And for a moment—The world seemed to wait for his answer.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Devara didn’t respond immediately.

Because the first task—Was simple.

The second—Was not. Unique. Not rare.

Not expensive. But hers.

A faint smile touched his lips.

"...That one will take more thought."

Gandhari smiled again. Satisfied. Hearing him accept her requests

"That’s why I asked."

A quiet breeze passed between them.

And somewhere beneath the simplicity of her request—There was meaning.

Because this wasn’t about flowers.

And it wasn’t about a gift.

It was about understanding.

And Devara—Had just been given a question without an easy answer.

The kind that stays with you.

Gandhari didn’t wait for an answer.

Of course she didn’t.

With a playful glint in her eyes, she dipped her fingers into the pond—And flicked a splash of cool water straight at Devara.

-Splash!

"Consider that a reminder,"

She laughed, already stepping back.

-Hehe!!!

"I’ll be waiting."

Before he could react—She turned and ran.

Light. Quick.

Her laughter trailing behind her like a ribbon caught in the breeze.

Devara blinked once, water still clinging to his face.

-Blink!

Then a faint smirk formed.

-Smirk!

"...We’ll see how long you can run."

He took a step forward—Then stopped.

Because the moment had already passed.

She was gone.

"...."

"...."

"...."

The garden returned to quiet.

Only the pond remained.

Still rippling where her fingers had touched it.

Devara looked at it.

Not idly. Not absentmindedly.

But with a strange stillness.

As if something within him... aligned.

He stepped closer. His hand lifted.

Palm facing the water surface.

Slowly—He lowered it.

Not like one touches water.

Like one approaches... something solid.

A boundary.

His fingers met the surface.

But there was no splash. No disturbance.

It was as if the water... recognized him.

Accepted him.

For a brief moment—Time seemed to pause around that contact.

Then—He withdrew his hand.

No reaction. No second glance.

He simply turned. And walked away.

Leaving the pond behind.

But the pond—Did not remain the same.

The ripples stilled as if someone pressed a pause button.

Then—Clarity.

The water shifted from soft murk to crystal purity.

Fish that were once shadows... Now glided in plain sight.

Rocks beneath shimmered softly.

Fresh vegetation blossomed from below—Green. Alive. Vibrant.

As if the pond had just... remembered what it was meant to be.

No one saw it happen. No one noticed the change.

Except the wind—Which passed over the surface with a quiet hush.

The celebration outside still shimmered with music and color.

But inside one quiet chamber—Thought had taken the throne.

Guest Chamber...

Madri sat quietly, her posture composed... but her mind far from still.

The earlier conversation replayed in her thoughts.

Rajmata Satyavati, Queen mothers Ambika and Ambalika

Their excitement had been unmistakable.

Almost... decided.

"Devara should be the Crown Prince of Hastinapura."

Madri’s fingers traced lightly over the edge of her veil.

Not in anxiety. But in thought.

"...."

Because unlike many—She did not hear just the praise.

She heard the consequence of becoming the heir to the throne of Hastinapur.

Her gaze shifted slightly.

To Dhritarashtra. Her husband. Who was looking outside standing in the balcony enjoying the view of the nature.

He was the eldest. The one who, by right...

Should stand first in line.

And yet—Again—The conversation moved past him.

Not with malice. Not even intentionally.

But that made it more dangerous.

Because neglect rarely announces itself.

It simply... happens.

Madri exhaled softly.

-Sigh!

’Devara is worthy.’

There was no denying that.

His strength. His clarity. His presence where ever he was at.

Even she had seen it.

But worthiness alone did not settle succession.

Because kingdoms were not governed by merit alone.

They were held together by balance.

And balance—Was fragile. Her thoughts deepened.

’If he is crowned... What becomes of her husband?’

Not publicly. Not immediately. But inside?

A shadow formed in her thoughts.

Not yet resentment. Not yet anger.

But the seed of it.

And seeds—Given time—Grow into things no one can easily cut down.

Madri closed her eyes briefly.

This was not about choosing sides. This was about preventing fractures.

Because once a royal family cracks—Kingdoms follow.

Her gaze opened again. Steady now.

"Decisions like this..."

She murmured softly and resolute,

"...should not be made in excitement."

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(Author note:)

I hope you guys give me your opinion and idea’s.

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