Bhima and Keechak - Before the Killing

The dance hall was dark. Keechak had arranged the meeting—lamps extinguished, guards dismissed. He expected a woman, trembling and finally compliant.

He found Bhima.

Keechak: "Where is she?"

Keechak's hand went to his sword, then hesitated. Something was wrong. The figure in the darkness was too large, too still.

Bhima: "She sent me instead. She thought you might prefer company that can fight back."

Keechak: "You're the cook. Vallabha."

Bhima: "I'm the cook. Also a few other things."

Keechak drew his sword.

Keechak: "I could call the guards. Have you arrested. Executed."

Bhima: "You could try. But then everyone would know you came here to assault a servant woman. The guards would talk. Your sister would hear. Your reputation—the mighty general, the unconquerable warrior—would be stained."

Keechak: "So you're here to protect her honor?"

Bhima: "I'm here to destroy you. Her honor is a bonus."

Keechak laughed—nervously, but still trying to project confidence.

Keechak: "I've killed a hundred men in combat. A cook doesn't frighten me."

Bhima: "Good. Fear would make this less satisfying."

Bhima moved. In the darkness, without the bulk of his disguise fully visible, he was just a shape—but a shape that moved faster than any cook should move.

Keechak's sword arm was caught. Twisted. The sword clattered away.

Keechak: "Let go—"

Bhima: "No."

Bhima's grip tightened. Bone cracked.

Keechak: "Do you know what she said? The woman you've been stalking? She said you make her feel like prey. Like meat. Like something to be consumed."

Bhima: "She's a servant—"

Another crack. This time the shoulder.

Keechak: "She's a queen. And you're about to learn what happens to men who touch what isn't theirs."

Bhima: "I'll pay! Whatever you want—gold, position—"

Keechak: "I want you to stop talking and start dying."

The next moments were not quick. Bhima had spent years waiting. He had learned patience, yes—but patience didn't mean he had forgotten how to enjoy violence.

Keechak's screams were muffled by his own broken jaw.

His famous strength proved useless against someone truly strong.

And when it was done—when the body was unrecognizable, when the mighty general was just meat—Bhima stood in the darkness, breathing hard, feeling something he hadn't felt in years.

Satisfaction.

Bhima: "She said to give you a message, She said to remember her face in whatever hell you go to. She'll be smiling when she hears you're dead."

He left the body where it would be found. Let them wonder what monster had done this. Let them fear the darkness, the servants, the quiet people they thought they could abuse without consequence.

Draupadi would braid her hair tonight for the first time in months. The disguise required it—a maid's simple style.

But the satisfaction in her eyes when he told her?

That was the real reward.