The wedding festivities in Rajagriha stretched on for days, drawing not just the nobility of Magadha and Avanti, but envoys, merchants, and wandering bards from distant lands. The city's streets glowed with lanterns and laughter, yet beneath the surface, Aryavarta's old rivalries simmered.
On the third night, the palace hosted a grand dance—an evening where politics and art entwined. Dancers from Avanti and Magadha performed in the great hall, their movements telling stories of ancient battles and hard-won peace. The guests watched, entranced, but for the rulers and ministers, every gesture was a negotiation.
King Vrihadratha, Vasumati's brother, spent much of the evening in quiet conversation with Jarasandha. Between sips of spiced wine, he spoke of Avanti's ambitions:
"We are kin now, but the world will test us. Malwa's king has sent word—he wishes to 'renew friendship,' but his messengers carry more questions than gifts. And Vatsa grows restless, fearing encirclement."
Jarasandha nodded. "We will answer strength with strength, and friendship with friendship. But let no one mistake our patience for weakness."
Padmavati, ever observant, moved among the guests, listening for rumors. She caught a whisper from a Vatsa noble: "Magadha grows fat with alliances. But too many ties can strangle a king." She filed the words away, a reminder that every gain came with new risks.
Arya, blending into the shadows, kept her network busy. Her agents reported on the movements of foreign envoys, the mood in the city's markets, and the behavior of Magadha's nobles. She noted a pattern—small groups of courtiers meeting late into the night, their conversations too hushed, their laughter too forced.
She brought her findings to Jarasandha and the queens.
"There is talk of a new league forming in the west. Malwa, Vatsa, and even some in Kosala are uneasy about our alliance. They fear a Magadha-Avanti axis will dominate the Ganga plain."
Vasumati's brow furrowed. "My brother warned me of this. Malwa's king is proud, but he is not reckless. If he moves, it will be through proxies and whispers, not open war."
Jarasandha considered. "Let them whisper. We will keep our ears open and our swords sharp. Arya, double the watch on our borders. Padmavati, see that our guests are treated well—sometimes a soft word does more than a sharp blade."
Sumana and Asti found themselves drawn into the swirl of festivities. They befriended Avanti's youngest prince, a clever boy named Udayan, who spoke of his love for riddles and chariot races. The three explored the palace gardens, their laughter a bright counterpoint to the adults' careful maneuvering.
One afternoon, Arya found them debating the rules of a game. She smiled, remembering her own childhood—simpler, perhaps, but no less shaped by the tides of power.
"Remember," she told them gently, "friendship is a treasure, but even treasures must be guarded. Trust, but do not forget to watch."
Sumana, ever wise, nodded. "We will, Arya. We want Magadha and Avanti to be friends forever."
As the celebrations drew to a close, a messenger from Panchala arrived with a sealed letter. Jarasandha read it in private, his expression unreadable. He summoned Arya and Padmavati.
"Drupada congratulates us, but his words are careful. He hints at trouble brewing in the north—something about the Pandavas' growing popularity, and Duryodhana's resentment."
Padmavati said, "Hastinapur's storm will touch us all, sooner or later."
Arya added, "We should send gifts to Panchala, and perhaps an offer of friendship. If war comes to Hastinapur, we must not be caught unprepared or isolated."
Jarasandha agreed. "Let us move with care. The world is watching, and every gesture matters."
The last night of the celebration ended not with fireworks, but with a quiet dinner in the royal apartments. Jarasandha, Padmavati, Vasumati, Sumana, Asti, and Arya shared a simple meal, their laughter honest and their worries set aside, if only for a moment.
Outside, the city's lanterns flickered in the monsoon breeze. Within the palace, the bonds of family and alliance felt strong, yet everyone sensed that the peace of this moment was a gift, not a guarantee.