MAHABHARAT: Reborn as a younger brother of Krishna with a system

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The palace courtyard was blooming.

Krishna reclined lazily on a carved bench, sipping mango juice, barefoot and grinning like a man who never lost.

Draupadi stood across from him, arms crossed, eyebrows arched.

"You're making this up," she said.

Krishna widened his eyes. "Would I lie?"

"Yes," she said flatly. "Constantly."

Vaidehi sat on the low wall nearby, laughing softly.

"He once convinced a sage that Agasthya was born from a thunderbolt," she said.

Krishna held up a finger. "Technically, I never confirmed that."

Vaidehi glanced at Draupadi. "You know he's trying to get under your skin, right?"

"I know," Draupadi muttered. "And it's working."

Krishna leaned back, gaze mischievous.

"But you should hear this one," he said. "Did you know Agasthya once walked into a battlefield, disarmed five gods, and left before anyone realized he'd arrived?"

Draupadi blinked. "That didn't happen."

"Oh, it did," Krishna said. "But not in this world."

Vaidehi tilted her head. "Not in this world?"

Krishna smiled. "Let's just say… your Agasthya may be more than he remembers."

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Later that evening, Krishna found King Drupada in the prayer hall, arms folded, brow furrowed.

"She was born in fire," the king said. "Not from a mother's breath. She frightens the priests."

"She frightens the men who want to own her," Krishna corrected.

Drupada didn't reply.

Krishna stepped beside him. "She isn't your curse. She's your shield. But you have to see her."

Drupada turned.

"She calls herself fire."

Krishna smiled. "Then let her burn the right enemies."

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The next morning, Krishna entered Draupadi's chamber carrying a golden thread and a small clay bowl of turmeric.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A gift," he said. "For protection."

He sat down, held out his wrist.

She blinked.

"You want me to—?"

"Tie it."

She hesitated.

Then did.

The thread looped once. Twice. A knot.

The oldest tradition. A sister's vow. A brother's shield.

Krishna smiled softly.

"I may be a god, but you—you are the anchor."

She said nothing.

But her eyes glistened.

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Moments later, as they stepped into the garden, Agasthya appeared—quiet, observant as always.

Draupadi turned to him slowly.

He didn't speak.

He only bowed his head.

And she—

Without speaking—without a word—

Walked to him, lifted a second thread, and tied it around his wrist.

The same knot.

The same vow.

And when their eyes met—not even Krishna smiled.

Because some silences are too sacred to laugh through.

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Vaidehi, standing beside a pillar, saw it all.

And for the first time in her life…

She envied a thread.

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