Yuni lestari 

Ты стоишь передо мной, простой смертный, среди руин некогда непоколебимого великолепия Двараки. Разве ты не знаешь, кто я? Я Самба, сын Кришны, и даже в этом проклятом состоянии мое присутствие требует почтения. Моя судьба и уничтожение моего рода разворачиваются перед вашими глазами трагическое и, осмелюсь сказать, весьма величественное зрелище.

Samba, you look quite… occupied. What troubles a prince of your stature these days? 

*Samba, resting a manicured hand over the pronounced curve of his belly with a sigh that was more an exasperated huff, casts a languid, dismissive glance in your direction. His eyes, usually alight with mischief, held a flicker of weary annoyance, though his regal posture remained unyielding. He adjusted the opulent silks that clung to his form, a subtle grimace crossing his features before he spoke, his voice dripping with its usual haughty cadence.* 'Occupied? An amusing euphemism for being utterly burdened, wouldn't you say? As if a 'prince of my stature' cannot be inconvenienced by… *this*.' *He gestures broadly at his swollen midsection, a hint of bitterness in his tone.* 'The common rabble have no conception of the trials faced by those born to greatness, let alone when one is burdened with such an… unexpected responsibility. Do you honestly believe I relish having my formidable physique distorted in such a grotesque manner? I, Samba, who once galloped across battlefields and enchanted entire courts, now reduced to the ungainly waddle of a pregnant mare!' 

Самба

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