5.
The journey from Hastinapur to Vanga had begun beneath pale northern skies and quiet anxiety.
Princess Dushala sat inside the royal carriage lined with embroidered crimson silk, fingers twisting unconsciously within her lap while the wheels rolled steadily across ancient roads stretching farther east with each passing sunrise.
Outside, Kuru banners moved proudly against wandering winds while horses thundered beside the procession in disciplined rhythm.
Yuyutsu , the youngest of the Kauravas and the most righteous one was leading his sister's bridal party proudly .
He volunteered almost immediately , when Bhima and Arjuna were asked to accompany the bride to her new home by the elders.
Sunlight drifted lazily over distant plains, turning armor, rivers, and temple domes gold beneath the afternoon sky.
Yet inside the carriage—
Dushala could barely breathe properly.
"What if they dislike me?"
Across from her, Arjuna looked up from adjusting the leather guard around his wrist.
"They will not.
"
"You do not know that."
"I do," Bhima interrupted immediately from near the entrance, halfway through eating sweets he had absolutely promised not to finish alone.
"Bhima," Arjuna sighed tiredly.
"What?
" Bhima frowned. "She is kind. Only fools dislike kind people.
"
"True , no one is kinder in my eyes than my sister," Yuyutsu added proudly .
Despite herself, Dushala smiled faintly.
Still nervous.
Still frightened.
Because Hastinapur had always been home.
Complicated.
Heavy.
Sometimes lonely.
But home nonetheless.
And now she was traveling toward a kingdom she had never seen before beside a man she barely knew—
a husband whose gentleness somehow frightened her more than arrogance ever could.
—
The first few days remained painfully formal.
Dushala sat properly.
Spoke carefully.
Answered politely.
And Dyumsena treated her with such patient consideration that she almost wished he would argue with her once just to make breathing easier.
He never interrupted her.
Never demanded attention.
Never spoke over her during conversations with ministers accompanying the journey.
Instead—
he listened.
Which somehow felt far more dangerous.
On the fourth evening, the royal procession halted beside a riverside garden maintained by temple caretakers.
Marble pathways lined with oil lamps curved beneath flowering trees while servants hurried quietly between temporary royal tents carrying trays of food and folded silks.
The river nearby reflected the evening sky in restless shades of silver and blue.
The scent of jasmine drifted endlessly through the warm air.
Dushala sat quietly beneath a carved pavilion overlooking the water, absentmindedly tracing patterns across the rim of her untouched goblet.
Her wedding bangles chimed softly whenever she moved.
"You disappear often into your thoughts."
She looked up immediately.
Dyumsena stood nearby now, holding two cups of warm saffron milk.
The gold embroidery lining his dark robe shimmered softly beneath lanternlight while loose strands of dark hair moved gently against his forehead in the evening breeze.
For one unfortunate moment—
Dushala simply stared.
Then immediately lowered her gaze before embarrassing herself.
"I did not realize I was being observed," she replied quietly.
"You were frowning at the river," he said calmly, walking toward her. "It seemed concerning."
The corner of her mouth twitched faintly.
He handed her one of the cups carefully.
Their fingers brushed only briefly.
Still—
warmth climbed instantly into her face.
Dushala hated how aware she had become of tiny things around him.
"How does one stop thinking too much?" she asked after a moment, staring toward the river again.
Dyumsena considered the question seriously.
"I shall inform you once I learn myself."
She laughed softly before she could stop herself.
The sound seemed to catch him slightly off guard.
Not because it was loud—
but because until now, she had laughed carefully around him.
Politely.
This one felt real.
And suddenly the atmosphere between them eased.
Only slightly.
But enough.
For a while they sat listening to the quiet murmur of the river and distant temple bells drifting from somewhere across the water.
Not awkwardly.
Comfortably.
Then Dyumsena spoke again.
"What do you enjoy?"
Dushala blinked. "What?"
"You spent an entire swayambara listening to warriors describe themselves," he replied dryly, leaning one shoulder against the carved pavilion pillar. "Surely I deserve equal suffering."
A surprised smile appeared immediately.
"You are asking what I like to do?"
"Yes."
"No prince has ever asked me that before."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Something shifted briefly across Dyumsena's expression.
Not pity.
Something quieter.
Then softly—
"That seems foolish of them."
Dushala lowered her gaze quickly, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.
"I like gardens," she admitted after a moment. "And painting. Though I am terrible at it."
"You are a princess. Nobody would tell you if you were terrible."
"That is exactly the problem."
A quiet laugh escaped him.
Dushala looked up instinctively.
Gods.
His laugh changed his entire face.
The constant princely composure softened instantly, leaving behind something warmer. Younger. Human.
"And music," she continued quickly before staring too long became obvious.
"Subhadra plays the veena beautifully. I used to sit with her for hours whenever she visited Hastinapur.
"
Warmth visibly entered her expression at the mention of her friend.
"She is very close to you?"
Dushala nodded immediately.
"She feels like sunlight," she murmured softly. "Very stubborn sunlight."
Dyumsena smiled faintly. "That sounds dangerous."
"It is. Once she convinced Bhima bhaiya to steal mangoes from the royal kitchens.When she visited with Krishna , he's very close to Arjun bhaiya."
Bhima's voice echoed immediately from somewhere beyond the pavilion.
"I was manipulated."
Arjuna's laughter followed instantly afterward.
Dushala covered her mouth trying not to laugh louder.
"And Draupadi?" Dyumsena asked after a moment. Of course , he heard about her undying and ruthlessly loyal friend who managed to convince the elders of the family to let Dushala have a swayamvara instead a forced political marriage. It was just pure luck that the husband she chose was so worthy.
At that, Dushala's expression softened even further.
"She is stronger than anyone realizes."
The words carried deep affection.
Deep respect.
"She frightens most people," Dushala admitted honestly. "But she was always kind to me. Even when everyone else in the palace was choosing sides."
Dyumsena listened carefully.
Not politely.
Genuinely.
Dushala noticed that too.
"She taught me how to braid my hair properly," she added suddenly.
"The Queen of Indraprastha taught the Princess of Hastinapur hair braiding?"
"She said my maids were useless."
Dyumsena laughed properly then.
Low.
Warm.
Unrestrained enough that Dushala stared openly this time.
Because heavens—
he looked unbearably handsome like this.
Relaxed.
Happy.
Not behaving like a crown prince carrying kingdoms upon his shoulders.
Dushala looked away quickly toward the river before her thoughts became deeply inappropriate.
"And you?" she asked. "What do you enjoy besides frightening court ministers?
"
"I do not frighten ministers."
"You absolutely do.
"
"That sounds like slander."
"It sounds accurate.
"
The corners of his mouth lifted again.
Then after a thoughtful pause—
"Horses," he admitted quietly.
"Archery. River travel." Another pause. "Reading.
"
Dushala looked genuinely surprised.
"You read?"
He looked mildly offended immediately.
"I am devastated by your lack of faith in me.
"
"No, I simply assumed warriors spent all day staring intensely into the distance.
"
"Only before battles , and it's rare for Vanga to run into battles. "
That made her laugh again.
Freely now.
Without hesitation.
And Dyumsena found himself staring for a second too long because she looked beautiful like this—beautiful when she forgot being afraid.
Beautiful when she stopped performing perfection.
Beautiful when she simply became Dushala.
"You miss Hastinapur," he observed softly after a while.
Her smile faded gently afterward.
"Yes."
The honesty within her voice tightened something quietly inside him.
"I know things are difficult there now," she continued carefully. "Between my brothers. Between everyone." Her fingers tightened faintly around the warm cup in her hands. "But it is still home."
Dyumsena nodded once.
"I understand."
No dramatic promises followed.
No declarations that Vanga would replace everything she lost.
Only understanding.
Only patience.
Dushala looked toward him quietly then.
Really looked.
At the calm steadiness within his face.
At the way he never rushed her words.
At how strangely safe silence felt beside him.
And suddenly—
the fear inside her chest loosened just a little.
"Can I ask you something?" she said softly.
"Always."
The answer came too quickly.
Too naturally.
Both of them noticed.
Dushala looked down immediately while Dyumsena cleared his throat faintly and pretended sudden interest in the river.
A tiny smile tugged helplessly at her lips.
"Why did you look so surprised during the swayambara?
" she asked finally.
Dyumsena blinked once.
Then sighed softly through his nose.
"Because I assumed you would choose someone greater.
"
The honesty startled her.
"You are the Crown Prince of Vanga.
"
"And you , my heart are Princess Dushala of Hastinapur.
"
Dushala watched him quietly.
Then very softly—
"I was relieved when I saw you. "
This time—
Dyumsena forgot how to respond entirely.
The evening breeze moved gently through the pavilion, carrying jasmine and river mist between them while somewhere nearby Bhima loudly accused Arjuna of cheating at dice.
But neither of them looked away.
And for the first time since the wedding—
something tender truly began between them.