Arjun
The sun hung fierce over Hastinapur, pouring molten light across the arena. White stone shimmered in the heat; crimson and gold banners snapped like voices in the wind. The stands were a moving sea—kings with heavy crowns, merchants glittering with jewels, villagers in rough cotton pressed forward for a better view. This was no mere crowd. It was a tide, and soon we, the princes of Hastinapur, would stand at its center.
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