The halls of Indraprastha echoed with the march of messengers. Scrolls sealed in gold arrived daily—tributes from the kings of the east, offerings from the desert kings of the west, tokens from the islands of the south, and arms from the northern steppes. The whole of Bharatavarsha had begun to turn its gaze toward Yudhishthira.
He had not asked to be crowned. But now the world asked him to ascend.
Preparations for the Rajasuya Yajna began. It was no simple ceremony. The rites were ancient, exact, and absolute. It required the submission or conquest of all other kings, the liberation of captives, and the invitation of sages, gods, and royals alike.
And above all, it required purity of soul.
The city transformed into a sacred machine. Priests chanted from dusk to dawn. Altars were raised. Fires were lit that would not be allowed to die. Rivers of ghee flowed into the sacred flames. Brahmanas arrived from every corner of Aryavarta. Citizens prepared offerings. Soldiers guarded the gates, not with suspicion—but pride.
Every throne in the known world had sent its witness.
Bhishma came, calm and eternal.
Kripa, with his sharp eyes and ageless poise.
Drona, his silence heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Vidura stood behind Yudhishthira like a shadow made of wisdom.
Even Dhritarashtra had come, blind and trembling, guided by his son Duryodhana, who masked his hatred beneath a smile.
Karna stood beside him. Silent. Watching. The memory of the burning hall, of Arjuna's return, of Draupadi's eyes—none of it had faded.
Then, Krishna entered.
No fanfare announced him. But when he walked through the gate, the conches fell silent, and even the fires seemed to lean in his direction.
He embraced Yudhishthira. "The time has come. Now the world will know what dharma looks like when it wears a crown."
The yajna began.
Sages poured libations. Arrows were laid beside firewood. Mantras were whispered that had not been heard in generations. The gods were invoked. Ancestors were honored. And Yudhishthira—his forehead marked with ash and sandalwood—rose to take his place as Chakravartin: Emperor.
But as is tradition, the new emperor had one final rite to perform.
He had to choose the greatest among those assembled—the guest of honor, who would receive the arghya, the first offering of the sacred water.
Yudhishthira turned to Bhishma.
"Who deserves the first offering?"
And Bhishma, without pause, said:
"Krishna of Dwaraka.
There is none greater. Not in this hall, not in any hall.
He is the soul of this world, hidden in plain sight."
The hall shifted.
Some smiled. Some bowed.
But Shishupala, king of Chedi—rose in fury.
He laughed aloud, mocking. "A cowherd? A prince born in prison? You call him greatest?"
Yudhishthira tried to calm him.
Krishna said nothing.
But Shishupala would not stop. He insulted Krishna once, then again, and again. He mocked his birth. His deeds. His very existence.
Everyone froze.
Bhishma rose. "He has passed the limit," he warned.
But Krishna's voice cut through the air like a blade:
"I have promised his mother that I would forgive a hundred of his offenses.
He has just spoken his last."
And in the next breath, the Sudarshana Chakra whirled through the air—silent, radiant.
Shishupala's head fell from his body.
His voice, full of venom, ceased forever.
His soul, purified through rage and death, rose upward—absorbed into Krishna's light.
The court sat frozen in awe. No one spoke.
Then Krishna turned to Yudhishthira and smiled gently.
"Now… your yajna is complete."
And from that day, the world called Yudhishthira the king of dharma.
But not all hearts rejoiced.
Duryodhana returned to Hastinapura with fire behind his eyes. He had seen Indraprastha's glory, its illusions, its wealth, its power.
He had seen Draupadi laugh when he stumbled on Maya's trick flooring.
And he had heard the people cheer for Arjuna more than any Kaurava ever would be cheered.
His fists clenched. His smile vanished.
He turned to Shakuni and whispered:
"This will not end here. Let them wear their crowns.
Soon, we'll bring them to their knees—with dice, not swords."
And far above, the wheel of fate turned once more.