The halls of Hastinapura were filled with the quiet rustle of silks and schemes. Duryodhana sat in his chamber, but his thoughts were still trapped within the jeweled walls of Indraprastha. He had seen riches that made Hastinapura feel like a servant's quarters. He had seen Arjuna praised, Bhima feared, and Draupadi—queen of queens—smile at his humiliation as he slipped on Maya's illusion.
The burn of envy had turned to obsession.
He stood before his father and said, "They have taken half the kingdom and turned it into heaven. I will not wait for them to take the rest. Let us act now—while they still believe we are their brothers."
Dhritarashtra hesitated. "What would you have me do?"
"Invite them," Duryodhana said. "Call them here. Not for war. For a game. A simple game of dice."
Behind the throne, Shakuni emerged like a shadow. "Let them play," he said softly. "Let them gamble what they value most. I will throw the dice. You will see… dharma can be broken with silk threads, not swords."
Vidura protested. "Do not do this. Dice is the weapon of cowards. They are your kin—your blood."
But Dhritarashtra, as always, feared his son more than his conscience.
The messengers were sent.
At Indraprastha, Yudhishthira sat in his court, the weight of empire upon him. When the invitation came, he read it twice. Then a third time.
A friendly match of dice, held in Hastinapura.
Bhima snarled. "Why should we play with snakes?"
Arjuna said, "They do not invite us in peace."
But Yudhishthira looked toward the flame and whispered, "It is my duty to accept. A Kshatriya does not refuse a royal invitation. And I… have nothing to hide."
None of them could stop him.
He packed no army. Only his brothers. And Draupadi.
The great sabha of Hastinapura glittered like a trap. Pillars carved in ivory. Floors of polished obsidian. The scent of sandalwood couldn't hide the rot of ambition underneath.
On one side, the Pandavas. Calm. Resolute.
On the other, the Kauravas, Shakuni seated beside Duryodhana, holding his personal dice—carved from the bones of his father. Dice that obeyed his will.
Yudhishthira greeted all with courtesy. He bowed to elders. He showed no suspicion.
Shakuni smiled and said, "Shall we begin?"
The first wager was small. Jewels. Gold. Horses.
Yudhishthira lost.
Then elephants. Armies. Lands.
He lost again.
Arjuna leaned forward. "Brother, stop."
But Yudhishthira's face was still. "Dharma must see itself through."
Shakuni's hand never faltered. The dice danced and landed where he willed.
Yudhishthira wagered more.
Indraprastha. Its palaces. Its treasury.
He lost.
The crowd began to whisper.
He wagered his brothers—one by one.
Nakula. Lost.
Sahadeva. Lost.
Arjuna. Lost.
Bhima… lost.
The court no longer whispered. It stared, breath held.
Yudhishthira stood alone.
Shakuni said softly, "What else will you offer?"
Yudhishthira's hand trembled now. He looked toward the door where she stood, veiled, unarmed, and unaware.
"I wager… Draupadi."
The dice rolled.
And the gods looked away.
He lost.
Silence fell like death.
Duryodhana leaned back in his seat. He turned to a guard.
"Fetch her."
Vidura stood. "This is an outrage! She was never part of the game!"
But Duryodhana waved him down. "She is the wife of a man who made her his stake. She belongs to us now."
And so, before the court of Hastinapura—before sages, kings, and gods—Draupadi was summoned.
Not as queen. Not as a wife.
But as property.
And the fall of dharma… had begun.