Jarasandha woke to the sound of laughter—a rare, bright thing in the palace these days. He followed it to the garden, where his daughters were seated beneath a flowering kadamba tree, weaving garlands and teasing each other. Padmavati sat nearby, embroidering a length of silk, her eyes flicking up every so often to watch her girls. For a moment, the scene felt timeless, untouched by grief or politics.
He paused, watching from the shade of a pillar. The old Jarasandha might have announced himself with a command or a cough. Abhijith, still learning the art of being king, simply watched—letting himself feel the warmth of the family he'd inherited.
Sumana, the elder daughter, noticed him first. She rose and bowed, her sister Asti following. "Father," she said, her voice soft but steady.
He smiled, waving away the formality. "If you keep bowing, I'll have to start handing out gold coins every morning. And I'm running out of gold."
Padmavati's lips twitched. "That would be a change. The king, outwitted by his own daughters."
Jarasandha grinned, settling beside them. "I'd rather be outwitted by family than by my enemies."
The girls exchanged glances, a flicker of sadness passing between them. The shadow of Kamsa's death still lingered, and Jarasandha felt the weight of it—both for their sake and for the kingdom's.
He reached for a garland, pretending to inspect the weaving. "You know, when I was your age, I could barely tie a knot. I once tried to make a garland for my mother and ended up with a pile of broken flowers and a very patient teacher."
Asti giggled. "What did you do?"
"I bribed the gardener to make one for me. I told everyone I'd made it myself. My mother knew, of course. She always knew."
Sumana smiled, the tension easing. "We miss him, Father. Kamsa. Even when he was difficult."
Jarasandha nodded, his expression turning serious. "Loss is a wound that takes time to heal. But you have each other. And you have me. I promise, no harm will come to you in Magadha."
Padmavati set aside her embroidery and reached for his hand. "We're stronger together. That's what matters."
He squeezed her hand, grateful for her steadiness. In that moment, he resolved to be the kind of king—and father—they needed, not just the one history expected.
A servant approached, bowing low. "Maharaja, the council awaits. There is news from Mathura. And the envoys from Kashi have arrived."
Jarasandha sighed, rising. "Duty calls. I'll see you all at the midday meal."
As he walked toward the council chamber, Padmavati caught up to him. "You're changing," she whispered. "For the better."
He glanced at her, surprised. "You think so?"
She smiled, her eyes warm. "I know so. Just don't let the council see too much softness. They're not ready for it."
He winked. "Don't worry. I have a reputation to maintain."
The council chamber was buzzing with tension. Veerabhadra stood by the map table, Arya beside him, her expression unreadable. The envoys from Kashi waited, resplendent in silk and gold, their faces carefully neutral.
Veerabhadra cleared his throat. "Maharaja, the Kashi prince seeks an alliance. He wishes to wed one of your daughters."
A ripple of surprise ran through the chamber. Jarasandha glanced at Arya, who gave a tiny, amused nod.
He turned to the envoys. "The daughters of Magadha are not prizes to be bartered. If your prince wishes to court them, he may do so—with their consent."
The Kashi envoy bowed. "Of course, Maharaja. We seek only to honor your house."
Jarasandha smiled, but there was steel beneath it. "See that you do."
As the envoys departed, Arya lingered. "You handled that well. Most kings would've seized the opportunity for power."
He shrugged. "Power is only useful if you can sleep at night. I'd rather have loyal daughters than resentful pawns."
Arya studied him, a new respect in her eyes. "You're not what I expected."
He grinned. "I get that a lot."
Veerabhadra approached, lowering his voice. "There's more. News from Mathura. Krishna has sent word—an invitation to parley. He claims he wants peace."
Jarasandha's smile faded. "Krishna wants many things. Peace is rarely one of them."
Arya interjected, "He's clever. He'll test you, try to read your intentions."
Jarasandha nodded, his mind already racing. "Then I'll give him a show. Prepare a reply—gracious, but guarded. And double the watch on the city gates."
The council dispersed, leaving Jarasandha alone with Arya. She leaned in, her voice low. "You're walking a dangerous path, Maharaja. Krishna is not to be underestimated."
He met her gaze, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "Neither am I."
She laughed, the sound lightening the room. "I look forward to seeing who outsmarts whom."
Later that day, at the midday meal, Jarasandha joined his family in the private dining hall. The girls were more relaxed, their laughter genuine. Padmavati served him herself, a small gesture of affection that did not go unnoticed by the servants.
As they ate, Jarasandha told stories—some from his own memories, some borrowed from the old Jarasandha, and a few invented on the spot. He watched as Sumana and Asti relaxed, their grief momentarily forgotten.
After the meal, he walked with Padmavati through the palace gardens. She rested her head on his shoulder, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply be—a husband, a father, a man.
But as the sun dipped low, the weight of kingship returned. He knew the days ahead would be filled with challenges: alliances, betrayals, and the looming shadow of Krishna. But for now, he drew strength from his family, determined to protect them—and Magadha—at any cost.
That night, as he lay in his chamber, the golden thread of the Veda Sutra shimmered at the edge of his vision. New quests appeared—forge alliances, outwit rivals, safeguard your legacy. He smiled, ready for whatever tomorrow would bring.
He was Jarasandha, King of Magadha. But he was also Abhijith—clever, unpredictable, and determined to write his own legend.
And the game was only just beginning.