Three days had passed since the incident in the royal gardens, and the calm of the palace finally shattered.
The grand court of Hastinapur was fully crowded with people
Every minister, noble, and vassal king sat in tight, tense rows.
On the main dais sat King Dhritarashtra, his face filled with anxiety.
Beside him, Grandfather Bhishma sat tall, his hands resting on his golden mace, while Prime Minister Vidura held a scroll containing the empire’s administrative records.
The air was heavy with anticipation.
Today was the day the court would debate the most critical question facing the empire: Who would be crowned the Yuvaraja—the Crown Prince of Hastinapur?
“People’s and ministers of the Kuru dynasty,” Vidura’s voice rang out, clear and authoritative.
“The time has come to secure the future of our throne.
Prince Yudhishthira, being the eldest among his generation, possesses the legal birthright and has demonstrated adherence to dharma.
Prince Duryodhana, the eldest son of our reigning King, has demonstrated immense strength and martial command.
We open the floor for counsel.”
Instantly, the court divided into two vocal factions.
“Yudhishthira is the rightful heir!” a senior minister declared, standing up.
“He is loved by the citizens, he is just, and the laws of succession clearly favor the eldest son of King Pandu!”
“The kingdom belongs to the lineage of Dhritarashtra!” Another minister shouted from his seat, slamming his fist on the table.
“The crown belongs to Duryodhana!”
Duryodhana sat with his arms crossed, his eyes darting toward the Pandavas who sat across the walkway
Yudhishthira remained calm, while Bheema and Arjuna watched their cousins like hawks.
Karna sat quietly next to Duryodhana, observing the chaos with a detached mind
He knew exactly how this script was supposed to play out, and he was waiting for the catalyst to strike.
Before the debate could escalate into a shouting match, a commanding, severe voice silenced the room.
“Silence!
All of you!”
Guru Drona stood up from his elevated seat of honor,his sharp eyes sweeping across the assembly, instantly bringing a silence over the bickering ministers.
Drona turned fully toward King Dhritarashtra.
“Great King, this debate is premature.
You speak of crowning a Yuvaraja, yet you forget the ancient laws of our traditions.
For twelve long years, I have poured my knowledge, my secrets, and my life into training these princes.
They left your kingdom as boys, and they returned as master warriors.”
Drona’s voice grew colder, his gaze shifting toward the far western borders of his memory. Get faster updates on g.com.
“According to the sacred traditions of Aryavarta, no student can claim his inheritance, his crown, or his royal title until he has paid his Guru Dakshina.
the final, unconditional fee to his master.
Until my dakshina is paid, no prince can legally become the Yuvaraja.”
Dhritarashtra leaned forward.
“Respected Acharya, you speak the truth.
Name your fee.
Whatever wealth, gold, cattle, or lands you desire from the Kuru treasury, it shall be granted immediately.”
Drona let out a harsh, bitter laugh.
“I do not care for your gold or cattle, king Dhritarashtra.
My dakshina cannot be bought with coins.
I demand a military campaign.
I demand that the combined forces of the Kuru princes march directly to the kingdom of Panchala, defeat King Drupada, drag him into this court in chains, and lay his crown at my feet!”
A collective gasp echoed through the court.
The ministers looked at each other in utter shock.
King Dhritarashtra’s face drained of color.
His hands began to tremble on the armrests.
He knew very well the catastrophic scale of what Drona was asking.
Panchala was not a small, defenseless territory.
It was a massive, fiercely proud military superpower directly bordering Hastinapur.
King Drupada commanded Akshauhinis of elite archers and battle-hardened infantry.
A war with Panchala would not be a swift victory; it would be bloodbath that could drain Hastinapur’s treasury and weaken their borders against eastern predators like Magadha.
“Acharya Drona…” Dhritarashtra faltered, his voice heavy with hesitation.
“A total war against Panchala?
Drupada is a powerful king, and our prince have only just returned from training.
A conflict of this scale will bring immense bloodshed.
Surely…
surely we can find a compromise?
”
“Compromise?!” Drona’s eyes flashed with a terrifying, vengeful fire.
He slammed his staff against the marble floor.
“Drupada insulted my poverty! This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
He tore down my dignity and told me that friendship can only exist between equals!,There will be no compromise!
King!
If your sons want the king title, they must fight for it.
That is my final word!”
Duryodhana smirked, his eyes gleaming at the prospect of war,
while Yudhishthira looked deeply concerned about the sudden escalation of violence.
Seeing the King hesitate, Duryodhana eagerly stood up, looking to seize the opportunity to prove his dominance.
“Father!
If the Pandavas are too afraid to fight, the Kauravas will gladly pay the Acharya’s fee!
My brother Karna and I will take our forces, crush Panchala, and bring Drupada to his knees!”
Karna internally sighed, shaking his head slightly at Duryodhana’s predictable, hot-headed behavior.
Guru Drona turned his gaze slowly toward Duryodhana, his eyes landing on Karna.
A cold, arrogant sneer twisted the Acharya’s lips.
He had never accepted Karna’s presence, viewing him as an arrogant upstart who dared to challenge his prized pupil, Arjuna.
“Sit down, Duryodhana,” Drona said, his tone dripping with open condescension.
“And take your ‘King of Anga’ with you.
This is a sacred test for my royal pupils.
This is a battle of true Kuru Kshatriyas of noble blood.
A Suta-putra, regardless of whatever charity crown he wears, has no right to participate in a war meant to pay a Brahmin’s dakshina.
I reject Karna from this campaign.”
The court fell into a suffocating, tense silence.
Duryodhana’s face turned bright red with fury.
He reached for his sword, ready to roar back at his own teacher to defend his friend.
The old Karna would have exploded in bitter, venomous rage, swearing a vow of vengeance against the biased guru.
But the awakened Karna simply sat back, relaxed smile touching his lips.
He gently placed a hand on Duryodhana’s forearm, pulling the furious prince back down to his seat.
“Let it be, Duryodhana,” Karna murmured, his tone light, amused, and completely unfazed by the insult.
“The Acharya wants his students to fight his personal battles.
Let them have their glory.”