Bhima’s wrath and Sairandri’s steadfast grace
The warrior-soul in Bhīma lay restless, for he foresaw strange turns in the palace once the fate of the proud tyrant had reached his kin. Every whisper of wind, every tremor beneath the eaves, he weighed with vigilance. Then came the cry of Sairandhrī—thin, distressed, unmistakably echoing the desperation of the fallen chieftain’s brethren. “What…
