Shakuni Explains His Revenge

The dice clicked in Shakuni's fingers. Always clicking. Always turning.

Duryodhana: "Uncle, why do you help me so much? What do you gain from my victory?"

Shakuni's smile never reached his eyes.

Shakuni: "Why do you ask?"

Duryodhana: "Because everyone wants something. Even family. Especially family. And you—you've given me everything. Your counsel, your schemes, your magical dice. What do you want in return?"

Shakuni: "Perhaps I simply love my sister."

Duryodhana: "You barely speak to my mother."

Shakuni laughed.

Shakuni: "Clever boy. You're right. I don't care much for Gandhari. I care even less for you."

Duryodhana's hand moved toward his sword.

Shakuni: "Hear me out before you do something foolish. I'm going to tell you a story. And when I'm done, you'll understand everything."

Duryodhana: "Tell me."

Shakuni: "When your grandfather Bhishma came to Gandhara to arrange your mother's marriage, he came with an army. Not because we resisted—because he wanted to remind us who was stronger. He took Gandhari like a prize, blindfolded and weeping."

Duryodhana: "That's not—"

Shakuni: "That's not what you were told. No. But here's what else they didn't tell you. After the wedding, when your father proved... difficult, Bhishma decided Gandhara was a threat. He imprisoned my entire family—my father, my brothers, everyone. And he gave us one bowl of rice a day. One bowl. For a hundred people."

Duryodhana's face paled.

Shakuni: "My father, decreed that only one of us should eat. That one should survive to avenge the rest. They chose me—the youngest, the cleverest, the one most likely to find a way."

Duryodhana: "I didn't know—"

Shakuni: "You didn't know that I watched my family starve to death one by one? That my father's last words were 'destroy the Kuru line'? That these dice— —are made from my father's bones?"

Duryodhana stared at the dice in horror.

Shakuni: "Every game I've ever won has been with the remains of my father. And every victory brings me closer to what he asked for—the complete destruction of Hastinapura."

Duryodhana: "But I'm Hastinapura! You've been helping me!"

Shakuni: "I've been helping you start a war you cannot survive. The Pandavas will win. They must win—they have Krishna. But before they win, you'll kill each other. Kauravas and Pandavas, both. The Kuru line will end. My father will have his vengeance."

Duryodhana: "You've used me."

Shakuni: "Obviously. Did you think you were smart enough to come up with these schemes yourself? But here's the beauty of it, nephew. You can't stop now. The war is inevitable. You've insulted the Pandavas too deeply, taken too much, gone too far. Even if you wanted peace, they wouldn't trust it."

Duryodhana: "I'll tell everyone—"

Shakuni: "Tell them what? That your uncle has been manipulating you? That you're a puppet? Go ahead. Destroy what little respect your soldiers have for you. Or you can keep my secret, fight your war, and hope—against all odds—that you actually win."

Duryodhana seethed. But he said nothing.

Shakuni: "Good boy. Now, let's discuss strategy. The war starts in three months. And we have so much more destruction to plan."

The dice clicked. Always clicking. Always turning.

Made from the bones of the dead.

Rolling toward an ending that had been set in motion long before any of them were born.