A Different Path

Confrontation

"Look, the grace with which Lakshman is conducting himself!", Dushasan exclaimed, delighted by his nephew's intelligence.

"He gets it from his father. "

Duryodhana's eyes widened at the compliment bestowed on him from Vidura of all people. The champion of the Pandavas. He blinked and gazed at Lakshman, finding no signs of himself in the young boy apart from his features.

"His conduct is reminiscent of his father, who never shies from expressing his opinions, however harsh they may be. Lakshman speaks his mind with no fear. And if anyone loathes him for that, he wouldn't care, much like his father. He knows how to be respectful but staunch in his beliefs, he knows how to charm anyone and is not afraid to take risks. He is his father's son."

Duryodhana felt a wave of sadness hit him. Lakshman deserved a better father than the one he had got.

The discussions ended on a positive note and Duryodhana was glad to leave the sabha, away from all the king's and princess and their questioning glances. Ashwatthama requested him to join him for dinner that night however once again he was called in by Guru Kripa for God knows what leaving Duryodhana alone on the stairs. He waited for a few minutes, then decided to head off to the brahmin's home. It wasn't like Aunt Kripi would turn him away and by then hopefully, Ashwatthama would have returned.

"Father?"

Duryodhana turned to find his son, glancing at him, an inscrutable look on his face. "Where are you headed?"

"To Ashwatthama's house," Duryodhana explained and then gestured. "Would you like to come?"

"No. I believe it is better for the two of you should spend some time in each other's company. Besides, what will I do there?"

Duryodhana flinched. He was Lakshman's father, and yet it was his son who was displaying a greater maturity. "Since when do you need a reason to visit Ashwatthama?"

When Lakshman didn't respond, Duryodhana went close to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Is something the matter, my son?"

Lakshman looked up at him and Duryodhana barely recognised his son, his face all hard lines, dark eyes intense and probing.

"Lakshman-", Duryodhana whispered with suppressed affection. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he had to apologize for, so much that he needed to explain. And he could tell his son had things to say to him too that he had pushed deep inside of him because his good nature wouldn't allow him to question his father, to accuse him, to criticize him. No. Bhanumathi had grilled propriety so deep into his skull that no amount of pain, loathing, or despair would ever let him cross the boundary of civility even with a most hated enemy, much less his own father.

"I must go.... grandfather is probably waiting for me." Lakshman shrugged off Duryodhana's hand and left swiftly, without a backward glance.

Duryodhana longed to go after his son, to hold him in his arms and never let him go, but he did not have the courage to face his son. Much like he didn't have the courage to face his mother.