Mahabharata · The Forest-Retreat and Fiery Death of Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and Kunti

About 118 min read · 20,040 words

The kingdom was theirs, and the Pandavas ruled the whole earth, but they ruled it with the blind old king kept at their head. Every one of Dhritarashtra’s sons had been cut down in the war. He had no counsellors left, no refuge, no wealth of his own. And still Yudhishthira touched his feet each day and took his opinion on every matter of state. For fifteen years the arrangement held. Vidura, Sanjaya, and Yuyutsu, the son Dhritarashtra had by his Vaishya wife, attended on the old man; Kripa stayed close; and Vyasa came when the mood took him to recite for the king the histories of the ancient Rishis, of the Pitris, and of the Rakshasas. To anyone watching, it all looked settled and calm. There was one heart, though, in which the hall of the dice game had never stopped burning, and that heart belonged to Bhima.

The blind king’s second court

Janamejaya, the son of Parikshit for whom this whole story is being told, asked Vaisampayana, the pupil of Vyasa who was reciting it, how his grandsires the Pandavas had behaved toward the blind king Dhritarashtra once the kingdom was theirs, and how a king whose every counsellor and every son had been killed managed to live at all.

Vaisampayana answered that the Pandavas set Dhritarashtra above them as though he were still the reigning king. Yudhishthira did everything at his word. He gave the old man costly beds, robes, ornaments, and every article of royal enjoyment. Kunti, the daughter of Kuntibhoja, deferred to Gandhari in all things, and Draupadi, Subhadra, and the other women of the house treated the old couple exactly as they would their own father-in-law and mother-in-law. Ulupi the daughter of the snake-chief, Chitrangada, the sister of Dhrishtaketu, the daughter of Jarasandha, all these queens waited on Gandhari, the daughter of Suvala, as if they were her serving maids.

Dhritarashtra passed his days in comfort as before. The cooks, the makers of drinks, and the confectioners who had served him in his years of splendor served him still. Yudhishthira had Maireya wine prepared for him, fish of many kinds, sherbets and honey, and delicacies without number, just as had been made in his days of power. Again and again Yudhishthira told his brothers that the blind king, now that he was childless, must never be given cause to grieve over anything, and the brothers obeyed. There was the one exception. It was Bhima. The memory of the dice game contrived by Duryodhana’s wicked mind had never left that hero’s heart.

The gist: After the war Dhritarashtra was honored for fifteen years like a father of kings; Yudhishthira gave him full comfort and respect, but in Bhima’s heart the wound of the dice game stayed open.

Bhima’s arms and the hidden vow

Yudhishthira loved his uncle with a clean heart. He told his brothers and his ministers that Dhritarashtra was to be honored by all, that anyone who obeyed the old king’s wishes was a well-wisher of his, and anyone who acted against them was his enemy. On the days set apart for the rites of the Pitris, and in the Sraddhas performed for his own dead sons, Dhritarashtra gave the Brahmanas as much wealth as he pleased, and Gandhari too, through her Sraddhas and gifts, worked to free herself of the debt she owed her slain children.

Dhritarashtra, finding no ill will in Yudhishthira, was content. Rising at dawn he purified himself and went through his recitations, blessed the Pandavas with victory in battle, made his gifts to the Brahmanas and had them pronounce their benedictions, and poured libations on the fire, praying for long life for the sons of Pandu. The happiness he had never had from his own sons he was having now from Pandu’s. Gandhari and Vidura were both pleased with the patience of Yudhishthira’s temper, but they were not pleased with Bhima. Yudhishthira obeyed his uncle out of genuine feeling; Bhima went pale at the sight of Dhritarashtra and paid him, on the surface only and with a most unwilling heart, the respect that was expected.

One day, among his friends and within hearing of Dhritarashtra and Gandhari, Bhima began to slap his arms. Recalling Duryodhana and Karna and Dussasana, he gave way to fury and said that it was with these very arms, like a pair of iron clubs, that all the blind king’s sons, skilled as they were with every kind of weapon, had been sent to the next world. These, he said, were the two round and well-developed arms, like a pair of elephant trunks, in whose grip Dhritarashtra’s foolish sons had all perished; these were the arms fit to be smeared with sandal paste, the arms by which Duryodhana had been despatched along with all his sons and kinsmen. Hearing these words and many others like them, words that were arrows in truth, Dhritarashtra sank into gloom. But Gandhari, who understood every duty and knew what Time brings on its course, treated them as untrue and bore them.

When fifteen years had passed, Dhritarashtra, pierced through and through by these darts of Bhima’s speech, filled up with despair and grief. Yudhishthira did not know it, nor Arjuna, nor Kunti, nor Draupadi, nor the two sons of Madri. Then one day, with tears in his eyes, Dhritarashtra called his well-wishers to him and spoke.

The gist: Yudhishthira’s forbearance, and Bhima’s hidden resentment. In open company Bhima slapped his arms and reminded the blind king by whose arms his sons had died; these darts of speech broke Dhritarashtra apart from within.

Dhritarashtra asks leave to go to the forest

Dhritarashtra said that how the Kurus had been destroyed was known to them all. It had happened, he said, through his own fault. He had been a fool to install the wicked-minded Duryodhana over the Kurus. Vasudeva had told him plainly to have that sinful wretch killed along with all his friends and counsellors, and he had not listened to that grave advice. Vidura, Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Vyasa, Sanjaya, and Gandhari had all urged the same thing on him, and, drowned in love for his son, he had been unable to follow it. Now bitter repentance was his lot.

He went on to say that now, after fifteen years, he was seeking to atone for his sins. At the fourth division of the day, or sometimes the eighth, he took a little food, only enough to conquer his thirst. Gandhari knew this, but his attendants all believed he still ate as before. It was through fear of Yudhishthira alone that he had hidden the vow, for if the eldest son of Pandu learned of it he would feel great pain. Clad in deerskin, spreading a little Kusa grass on the earth, he lay down and passed his time in silent recitation, and Gandhari kept the same vows. So they both lived, the two who had lost a hundred sons and not one of whom had ever turned his back on battle. Yet for those sons he did not grieve, he said. They had died in the observance of Kshatriya duty.

Then he turned to Yudhishthira in particular. Blessed be you, son of the princess of Yadu’s race, he said. Under your care I have passed these years in great happiness. Those who wronged Draupadi and stripped you of your wealth, those cruel men have left the world, slain in battle according to the practice of their order; their faces turned toward the fight, they have reached the regions that belong to wielders of weapons. It is now for me and for Gandhari to do what is beneficial and meritorious. Grant me leave, O king. Clad in rags and bark I will go into the woods with this Gandhari, always blessing you. It is the way of our race, when old age comes, to make over the kingdom to one’s children and take up the forest life. And the king, my son, shares in every good and evil deed done in his realm, so you too will share in these penances.

A sub-tale: Dhritarashtra himself says aloud that Krishna once warned him to kill this wicked son along with his counsellors. The advice sounds like a breach of rule, yet the story does not hide it. The morality of the Mahabharata is not flat here; Krishna’s counsel was meant to stop the ruin of a whole house, and Dhritarashtra now admits that his refusal to follow it was his root fault.

Yudhishthira’s protest and the king’s faint

Yudhishthira said that while the king was in such grief, sovereignty gave him no pleasure at all. Shame on me, he said, sunk in the pleasures of rule and heedless of my true concern. That I and all my brothers never knew you had been for so long in grief, worn thin by fasts, refusing food, lying on the bare ground. You gave me your confidence first and then bore all this in secret; you, with your deep intelligence, deceived a fool like me. You are our father, our mother, our highest teacher; without you how are we to live? Make Yuyutsu king, O best of kings, or anyone else you wish; I will go to the woods and you shall rule. I am not the king. You are the king. I am subject to your will. Who am I to grant leave to my own preceptor?

He said too that he carried no resentment in his heart for the wrongs Suyodhana had done. It was ordained to be so; both they and their enemies had been stupefied by fate. We are your children, he said, just as Duryodhana was; Gandhari is as much my mother as Kunti. If you go to the woods and leave me, I will follow you. I swear it by my own soul.

Dhritarashtra answered that his mind was fixed on penance, that for the honor of their race it was fitting he retire to the woods; he was old, and now he begged leave. Then, with joined hands and trembling, he turned to Sanjaya and Kripa and said that he was soliciting the king through them, for his own spirit had failed and his mouth had gone dry with the effort of speaking. Having said this much, he leaned on Gandhari and sank down like one whose life had left him.

Seeing him seated there as if senseless, Yudhishthira was struck through with grief. Alas, he cried, the king whose strength was that of a hundred thousand elephants, who once ground to fragments the iron image of Bhima, sits today leaning on a frail woman. Shame on me, the unrighteous one, shame on my understanding and my knowledge of the scriptures, that this lord of the earth should lie in a state so unbecoming him. I too will fast as my preceptor fasts; if the king and Gandhari abstain from food, so will I.

Then with his own hand Yudhishthira softly bathed the old king’s breast and face with cool water. At the touch of that auspicious, fragrant hand, on which were jewels and healing herbs, Dhritarashtra came back to his senses. Touch me again with your hand, O lotus-eyed one, he said, and take me in your arms; through the touch of your hand, which works like nectar, I have been restored. This is the eighth division of the day, my hour for food, and having taken none I am too weak to move; the great effort of pleading with you left me faint, and so I lost my senses.

Yudhishthira, out of love, gently touched every part of his body. Regaining his life-breaths, Dhritarashtra folded him in his arms and smelled his head. Vidura and the others wept aloud, but the sharpness of their grief let them say nothing. Gandhari bore her sorrow with fortitude. Kunti and all the women sat around the king, shedding tears. Once more Dhritarashtra told Yudhishthira that speaking on and on wore his mind thin, that he should be tormented no further and granted his leave for penance. Looking at his splendid father worn to a skeleton covered with skin, Yudhishthira wept and said he did not want life or the earth; if he was dear to the king, let the king eat something, and then he would know what to do. Dhritarashtra answered that with his son’s leave he wished to take some food. At that very moment Vyasa, the son of Satyavati, arrived.

The gist: Dhritarashtra asks leave to go to the forest; Yudhishthira refuses, saying he is only the king’s dependent and that Dhritarashtra remains the true king. Mid-plea the fasting old man faints, revives at Yudhishthira’s touch, and just then Vyasa arrives.

A key to reading this (a concept): Vanaprastha is the third of the four ashramas or stages of life. When old age comes, a man makes over his kingdom or household to his children and goes into the forest to practise penance; this is what Dhritarashtra proposes.

Vyasa’s command

Vyasa said, Mighty-armed Yudhishthira, do without any hesitation what Dhritarashtra asks. This king is old, and he has been made sonless; I think he will not be able to bear his grief much longer. Gandhari too bears her heavy sorrow with fortitude. Do not let him die an inglorious death at home. Let him follow the path of the royal sages of old, for retirement into the woods comes at last to all of them.

Yudhishthira said, You yourself are our preceptor, the one refuge of this kingdom and this race; I am your son and you are my father, and a son must obey his father’s word according to duty. Vyasa said again, So be it, mighty-armed one. This king has reached old age, the last stage of life; with my leave and yours let him do what he wishes, and do not stand in his way. This is the highest duty of royal sages, that they die either in battle or in the woods according to the scriptures. Your father Pandu revered this old king as a pupil reveres his teacher; during your thirteen years of exile Dhritarashtra ruled, gained progeny and a swelling kingdom, and gave away much wealth. Now the time for his penance has come; he holds not the slightest anger against any of you. Vyasa soothed the old king, Yudhishthira said, So be it, and the great sage set out for the woods.

When Vyasa had gone, Yudhishthira bent himself in humility and said to his father that what Vyasa had spoken, what the king himself intended, what Kripa had said, what Vidura had expressed, and what Yuyutsu and Sanjaya had asked, he would carry out at once, for all of them were well-wishers of the race. But this one thing he begged with a bowed head: that the king first eat, and then go to his forest retreat.

The gist: Vyasa himself comes and commands Yudhishthira to let the blind king go to the forest, for this is the duty of royal sages. Yudhishthira consents, but on one condition: food first, then the woods.

The last teaching on statecraft

With the king’s leave, Dhritarashtra returned with Gandhari to his palace. He went through the morning rites, satisfied many of the foremost Brahmanas, and then took a little food; Gandhari and Kunti, waited on by their daughters-in-law, ate as well. After the meal Dhritarashtra rested his hand on the back of Yudhishthira, who was seated near him, and began to teach him how to hold a kingdom.

He said that in every matter of the eight-limbed kingdom Yudhishthira must act without carelessness, always keeping righteousness in front. He must honor those who are old in learning, worship them at dawn, and consult them when the time for action came. He must keep his senses reined like horses; then they would serve him like wealth that is never wasted. His ministers must be men who had passed the tests of loyalty, disinterest, self-restraint, and courage, hereditary officers of pure conduct. His spies he must keep in many disguises, natives of his own land, of tested faith, and unknown to the enemy.

A key to reading this (a concept): The eight limbs of a kingdom, in the old science of rule, are its parts: the sovereign, the ministers, the allies, the treasury, the realm and its people, the fort, the army, and the machinery of justice and punishment. On these a government stands.

He went on to say that the walls of the fort should be so strong, and its watchtowers set so close, that six men could walk side by side along the top; the gates should be large, sturdy, and well guarded. He must guard his own person carefully in the hours of food, sleep, garlands, and sport. The inner apartments should be watched over by servitors who were old, trusted, well-conducted, and learned. He must make his ministers of Brahmanas who were learned, humble, well-born, conversant with duty and wealth, and simple in their ways, and consult with them, but he must not admit too many people into his counsels.

Consultations should be held in a well-protected chamber or in a forest cleared of grass, and never at night. Apes, birds, animals that mimic human beings, idiots, the lame, and the palsied must all be kept out of the council chamber, for the harm done by the leaking of a king’s counsel cannot be repaired. Justice must be administered by judges who were trusted, contented, and of good conduct; the gravity of each offense must be weighed before punishment. Those who take bribes, who violate the wives of others, who lie, who murder, who disturb assemblies and the pastimes of others, and who spread a confusion of castes must, with due regard to time and place, be punished with fines or with death.

He set out the day’s order: in the morning look to the disbursements, then to dress and food, then review and gladden the army; the evening for envoys and spies; the last watch of the night for settling the day’s work; midnight and midday for amusement. The treasury must always be filled by lawful means, and unlawful means avoided. The enemies who hunt for your faults should be destroyed from a distance through trusted agents. The commander of the forces should be firm, brave, able to bear hardship, and loyal. Know your own faults and the enemy’s, and the faults of your own men and the enemy’s men, equally. Those subjects who are skilled at their work and devoted to you should be supported, so that their skill is kept up and they stay firmly bound to you.

Then Dhritarashtra taught him the Mandalas, the circles of power: know the circles of your own side, of your foe, of the neutral, and of the mediator. Distinguish the four kinds of foe, the aggressor, the ally, and the ally of the foe. Ministers, the people of the provinces, the garrisons of the forts, and the army must be so handled that the enemy cannot tamper with them. These twelve are the chief concerns of kings; these twelve, with sixty others of which ministers are foremost, the science of politics calls the Mandala. Peace, war, marching, halting, sowing dissension, and seeking alliance, these six measures all rest upon it.

A sub-tale: Here the blind king, dying by inches, is still handing Yudhishthira the whole science of rule: spies, the width of a fort wall, the place for counsel, the six political measures. The king who let his whole house be destroyed through love of a son is now pouring out the practical wisdom of government. The story does not hide the contradiction.

He set out the policy of war and peace. Only when one’s own side is strong and the enemy weak should a king make war and seek victory. When the enemy is strong and one’s own side weak, the wise king should make peace, and in the treaty demand the defeated king’s son as a hostage. If forced to give up land, give land that yields no crops; if forced to give gold, give gold heavy with base metal; if forced to give troops, give the weak; but in taking from an enemy, take the reverse. A king should maintain the helpless among his people, the blind, the deaf and dumb, and the diseased. Do not war with the king who wishes to conquer the whole earth; instead sow dissension among his nobles and lesser chiefs and gain by it. A strong king should not destroy weak kings, for they too keep the good and curb the wicked and so serve the world. Adopt the behavior of the cane, which bends: if a stronger king advances and cannot be stopped, then fall on him in battle with your well-wishers, and losing your resources one by one, cast off your very life in this way and be freed from all sorrow.

Reflect too on war and peace, he said. Do not march suddenly on a foe whose soldiers are contented and healthy and who is himself intelligent; first think out the means of beating him. Weigh the three kinds of strength. Only that king should march against a foe who has alacrity, discipline, and strength of counsel. A king should provide himself with the power of wealth, the power of allies, the power of foresters, the power of paid soldiers, and the power of the trading and artisan classes; of these the power of allies and the power of wealth stand highest. March only when equipped with strength, and then even in an unfavorable season. Let the king make of his advance a river whose stones are quivers, whose current is horses and cars, whose bank-trees are standards, and whose mire is footmen and elephants; with such a river let him destroy his foe. According to the science of Usanas let him form the arrays called Sakata, Padma, and Vajra. And he added that Bhishma, Krishna, and Vidura had already taught him every duty; he spoke now only out of love. The king who worships the gods with a hundred horse-sacrifices and the king who protects his subjects righteously earn merit that is equal.

Yudhishthira said he would do exactly so, but that he needed more teaching. Bhishma had gone to heaven, Madhusudana had returned to Dwaraka, Vidura and Sanjaya would go with the king to the woods; who then but Dhritarashtra was left to teach him? What the king had given him he would surely keep.

The gist: Before going to the forest, Dhritarashtra hands Yudhishthira the whole science of rule: ministers, spies, forts, the Mandala, the six measures, the diplomacy of war and treaty, and the policy of bending like a cane. The king who drowned in love of a son now pours out practical wisdom.

The gift-sacrifice for the dead sons

After the teaching Dhritarashtra went to Gandhari’s chamber. She asked whether he had Vyasa’s leave, and when, with Yudhishthira’s leave, he would go to the woods. He answered that he had his father Vyasa’s leave and would go soon, with Yudhishthira’s; but first he wished to give away wealth that would help toward the afterlife of all those sons of his who had been addicted to the ruinous dice, and for this he meant to invite everyone to his mansion.

Dhritarashtra sent for Yudhishthira, who had every needful article brought. Many Brahmanas of Kurujangala, and many Kshatriyas, Vaishyas, and Sudras, came gladly to Dhritarashtra’s mansion. Seeing his subjects gathered, the old king said that they and the Kurus had lived together many years as well-wishers, each doing good to the other, and now, when the occasion had come, he asked them to do as he said, as pupils do the bidding of their teacher. He had resolved to go to the woods with Gandhari; Vyasa and Yudhishthira had approved; let them approve too. The goodwill between them, he said, was not to be seen between rulers and ruled in other realms. Worn out with years and childless, what refuge had he but the woods? Since the kingdom had passed to Yudhishthira he had known a happiness greater than he could have had under Duryodhana’s rule. The people, their voices choked with tears, wept aloud.

Dhritarashtra said further that Santanu had ruled them, and Vichitravirya under the protection of Bhishma, and his dear brother Pandu; he too had served them, and whatever had fallen short in his service they should forgive. Duryodhana also had ruled and, foolish and wicked-minded though he was, had done them no wrong. But through his son’s pride and fault, and through his own bad policy, a great slaughter of the royal order had come. Whether in that matter he had done right or wrong, he begged them with joined hands to put the memory of it out of their hearts. This man is old, is childless, is stricken with grief, was your king, is a descendant of former kings, he said; let such thoughts move you to forgive me. This Gandhari too is childless and helpless. He made over to them Yudhishthira, whose four brothers were like the guardians of the world, as a deposit, and made them, in turn, a deposit in that hero’s hands. Whatever wrong his dead sons, or anyone of his, had done them, let them forget and forgive. The people, filled with tears, only looked at one another.

Finding them silent, he asked leave once more, and now they wept as parents weep at a son’s leaving forever. By common agreement they chose a learned Brahmana named Samba to answer for them all. He said, All that you have spoken, O king, is true; there is nothing false in it. You reared us as a father or brother would; Duryodhana too did us no wrong, and protected us as Santanu, Chitrangada, and Pandu had. And under the rule of Kunti’s son Yudhishthira we have known great happiness; in the reign of that righteous king there is not the least thing to blame.

Samba went on: The destruction that came upon the Kurus was brought about neither by Duryodhana, nor by you, nor by Karna and Sakuni; we know it was brought about by destiny, and destiny cannot be turned aside by human effort. Eighteen Akshauhinis of troops were destroyed in eighteen days; such a carnage was not possible without destiny. You are held to be the teacher and lord of the whole world; therefore, in your presence, we absolve your righteous son. The Pandavas could rule even heaven, let alone the earth; in weal and woe the subjects will obey them. They are mild to the mild and, to the fierce, fierce as snakes of virulent poison. Neither Kunti, nor Draupadi, nor Ulupi, nor Subhadra will do the people any wrong. Cast off all anxiety about Yudhishthira and set yourself to meritorious acts. The whole assembly cried, Excellent, excellent, and took his words as their own. Dhritarashtra praised them, dismissed the assembly, and entered his mansion with Gandhari.

When that night had passed, Dhritarashtra sent Vidura to Yudhishthira. Vidura said the king would set out for the woods on the coming full-moon day of Kartika, and now asked for some wealth. He wished to perform the Sraddha of Bhishma the son of Ganga, of Drona, Somadatta, and Valhika, of all his own sons, and of every slain well-wisher, and, if Yudhishthira permitted, of the wicked ruler of the Sindhus, Jayadratha, as well.

Yudhishthira and Arjuna were glad; but Bhima, recalling Duryodhana’s acts, heard it with displeasure. Reading Bhima’s mood, Arjuna said, Bhima, our aged father wishes to go to the woods and to make gifts for the good of his slain kinsmen; he wishes to give, out of the wealth you won, for Bhishma and the rest, and it becomes you to grant it. By good fortune the man who was once begged by us now begs wealth of us; see the reverse that Time has brought. To refuse would bring not only infamy but sin.

In anger Bhima said, We ourselves will perform the last rites for Bhishma, Somadatta, Bhurisravas, Valhika, and Drona; for Karna our mother Kunti will perform them. Let Dhritarashtra not perform these Sraddhas. Let our enemies not be gladdened; let Duryodhana and the rest sink from a miserable state to a more miserable one, they who caused the whole earth to be laid waste. Have you forgotten, Partha, those twelve years of anguish and the deep incognito that was so painful to Draupadi? Clad in black deerskin, stripped of your ornaments, with Panchali beside you, did you not follow this king into the woods? Where was Dhritarashtra’s affection then? Where were Bhishma and Drona and Somadatta? Your eldest father did not look at you then with a father’s love. Have you forgotten that it was this very wretch who, during the dice game, kept asking Vidura, “What has been won?” Hearing this much, Yudhishthira rebuked Bhima and told him to be silent.

A sub-tale: Bhima’s anger is the moral thorn of the story. On one side Yudhishthira and Arjuna show forgiveness and generosity; on the other, Bhima opens the bitter layer of truth, that in the years of exile no one showed the Pandavas any love. The story neither calls Bhima wrong nor calls Yudhishthira naive; both views are made to stand side by side.

Arjuna said, Bhima, you are my elder and my teacher, and I will say no more than I have said; but the royal sage Dhritarashtra deserves our honor in every way. Good men remember not the wrongs done to them but only the benefits they have received. Then Yudhishthira told Vidura, Say to the king that he may take from my treasury as much wealth as he wishes for the Sraddha of Bhishma and the others; let Bhima not be a source of gloom in this. Let Dhritarashtra hold no anger against Bhima, who has borne cold and rain and heat and a thousand sorrows in the woods. Whatever wealth is in my house or Arjuna’s, its master is Dhritarashtra; this very body of mine is at his disposal, let there be no doubt of it.

Vidura returned and told Dhritarashtra that Yudhishthira and Arjuna had laid all their mansions, wealth, and very life-breaths at his feet; that Bhima, recalling his countless sorrows, had given his consent with difficulty and with many heavy sighs, and that Yudhishthira and Arjuna had won him over. Let the king not grieve at Bhima’s improper reaction, he said; this is the nature of Kshatriyas. Give whatever you wish; make the best gifts to Brahmanas, and gifts to the poor, the blind, and the distressed; raise wide pavilions filled with food and drink, and dig reservoirs for the cattle to drink from. Dhritarashtra was satisfied by these words.

Then Dhritarashtra summoned thousands of worthy Brahmanas and the foremost Rishis, and had gathered food and drink, cars and vehicles, robes, gold, jewels, slaves both male and female, goats and sheep, blankets, villages and fields, elephants and horses, and beautiful maidens, and he gave these away for the good of the dead, naming each one in turn: Drona, Bhishma, Somadatta, Valhika, Duryodhana, each one of his sons, and Jayadratha and all his well-wishers. With Yudhishthira’s leave the tellers and scribes kept asking the king what should be given to whom; to one who was to receive a hundred, a thousand was given, and to one who was to receive a thousand, ten thousand. For ten days he made gifts in this way, until he was freed of the debt he owed his sons and grandsons.

A key to reading this (a number): Eighteen Akshauhinis was the army fought at Kurukshetra. One Akshauhini held about 21,870 chariots, as many elephants, 65,610 horses, and 109,350 foot soldiers. In modern terms, a combined host of several hundred thousand, destroyed in eighteen days.

The gist: Dhritarashtra asks the people’s pardon and entrusts Yudhishthira to them as a deposit; the Brahmana Samba absolves him and his son, calling the ruin the work of destiny. Then comes a ten-day gift-sacrifice for the slain, and even amid Bhima’s anger Yudhishthira offers up all he has.

Setting out for the forest

Having fixed the hour of his departure, Dhritarashtra summoned the Pandavas. On the full-moon day of Kartika, having had the minor rites performed by Brahmanas versed in the Vedas, and having caused the fire he worshipped daily to be taken up, he put off his usual robes for deerskins and bark and, accompanied by his daughters-in-law, went out of his mansion. The Pandava and Kaurava women raised a loud wail. The king worshipped the house he had lived in with fried paddy and fine flowers, honored his servants with gifts, and set out on his journey.

Trembling, his voice choked with tears, Yudhishthira cried aloud, Where are you going, O righteous king, and fell down in a faint. Arjuna, burning with grief, sighed again and again. Bhima, Arjuna, the two sons of Madri, Vidura, Sanjaya, Yuyutsu, Kripa, Dhaumya, and other Brahmanas followed the old king with choked throats. Kunti walked ahead, carrying Gandhari’s hand on her shoulder, Gandhari with her bandaged eyes; and behind Gandhari, his hand on her shoulder, Dhritarashtra walked in trust. Draupadi, Subhadra, Uttara who had lately become a mother, Chitrangada, and the other women of the royal house went along too, their wailing like the cries of a flock of she-ospreys. Women of every caste came out into the streets; even women who had never before been seen by sun or moon came out in their grief. Hastinapura was as stricken as it had been on the day the Pandavas, defeated at the dice, had set out for the woods.

Along the crowded main street the old king moved with difficulty, hands joined, trembling with weakness, and passed out of the great gate of the city named after the elephant, again and again bidding the people turn back. Vidura and Sanjaya had set their hearts on going to the woods with him; but Kripa and Yuyutsu the king kept back and made over to Yudhishthira. When the people had turned back, Yudhishthira was ready to stop, but seeing that Kunti meant to go to the woods he said, Mother, I will follow the old king; return to the city with your daughters-in-law. Kunti gave no answer and walked on, holding Gandhari’s hand.

Kunti said, Never neglect Sahadeva, O king; he loves me, and you, dearly. Always remember that Karna who never turned back from battle; through my folly that hero was slain. If my heart does not break into a hundred pieces at never seeing that child born of Surya, then it is made of iron. I am much to blame for not telling the truth of his birth. Make excellent gifts, all you brothers, for that son of Surya; always do what is dear to Draupadi; protect Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva. The weight of the Kuru race is on you now. I will live in the woods with Gandhari, my body smeared with dust, practising penance and serving my father-in-law and mother-in-law.

Yudhishthira sank into distress and then said, This resolve of yours is strange; it is not fitting, and I cannot grant it leave. Once, when we were leaving Hastinapura for the woods, it was you who stirred us up by reciting the counsel Vidula gave her son; now do not abandon us. It was by the strength of your wisdom, by your words carried to me through Vasudeva, that I killed the kings of the earth and won the kingdom. Will you now turn away from those very Kshatriya duties? Bhima too said, Kunti, now that the kingdom is won and the time has come to enjoy it, where does this desire come from? Then why did you make us exterminate the earth? We were born in the woods; as children you brought us out of the woods; why the woods again? But Kunti disregarded her sons’ lament. Draupadi and Subhadra, weeping, followed their mother-in-law.

Kunti stopped and said, Yes, sons of Pandu, it is true. When you were beaten at the dice, crushed by your kinsmen, wretched, I filled you with courage, so that Pandu’s sons and their fame might not be lost, so that you might not stand watching the faces of others. I put courage into you, Yudhishthira, so that you might not again suffer in the woods; so that Bhima’s strength and manhood might not be wasted; so that Arjuna might not go dim; so that Nakula and Sahadeva might not be worn thin by hunger; and so that this wide-eyed Draupadi, whom Dussasana dragged in her time of illness, like a slave, trembling like a plantain plant, into the open hall, might not be left with that outrage unavenged. I raised your energy by reciting Vidula’s words, so that the line of Pandu might not perish; for one who brings his house to infamy leaves descendants who do not reach the regions of the good.

Kunti said further, I have already enjoyed the great fruits of the kingdom my husband won, given large gifts, drunk the Soma in sacrifice. It was not for myself that I had Vasudeva carry Vidula’s stirring words; it was for you. I do not want the fruits of the kingdom my children have won; by my own penance I wish to reach the same regions my husband reached. By serving my father-in-law and mother-in-law, who are going to the woods, and by penance, I wish to waste this body. Cease to follow me; let your minds always rest in righteousness.

At this the sinless Pandavas were ashamed, and with Draupadi they gave up following Kunti. The women of the royal house wailed aloud. The Pandavas circled the king in reverence and saluted him, but they could not turn Kunti back. Dhritarashtra, leaning on Gandhari and Vidura, said, Let Yudhishthira’s mother not come with us; all that Yudhishthira has said is true. Why should she leave her sons’ high prosperity for the woods? Even living in the kingdom she can keep her vows of penance and gift. Gandhari, I am well content with this daughter-in-law’s service; command her to return. Gandhari spoke all these words to Kunti, but the devout and steadfast woman held to her resolve. All the Pandavas and the women turned back, and Yudhishthira completed the journey of leave-taking. Hastinapura sank into grief; no festival was held; the Pandavas went as listless as calves cut off from their dam.

A sub-tale: Here for the first time Kunti says openly that hiding the truth of Karna’s birth was her own fault, and that this is why the son of Surya was killed. The mother who once spurred her sons on to Kshatriya duty and revenge now names, at the root of that spurring, the very truth she herself had concealed. The story does not lighten that moral weight.

The gist: Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and Kunti put on deerskins and walk toward the forest while all Hastinapura weeps. Yudhishthira and Bhima try to stop Kunti, but she admits her own fault in hiding Karna’s truth and holds firm to her resolve to reach, by her own penance, the regions her husband earned.

The first night on the bank of the Bhagirathi

That day Dhritarashtra reached a place far from the city and rested through the night on the bank of the Bhagirathi. Brahmanas versed in the Vedas kindled their sacred fires in that retreat of ascetics; the old king’s fire too was lit. He poured libations upon it with due rites and worshipped the thousand-rayed sun as it set. Vidura and Sanjaya spread blades of Kusa grass to make the king a bed; near it they made Gandhari’s, and close by Gandhari, Kunti’s. Vidura and the others slept within hearing of the three. The Brahmanas chanted sacred hymns and the fires burned all around, and the night seemed as sweet to them as a Brahmi night. At dawn they rose, poured libations on the fire, and went on. That first day of the forest was very painful to them because of the grieving people of the city and the provinces.

A key to reading this (a place): The Bhagirathi is one of the names of the Ganga, from the penance of King Bhagiratha that drew her down. The king’s party first halts on the bank of the Bhagirathi, then moves on toward Kurukshetra.

Shatayupa’s hermitage and the forest initiation

On Vidura’s advice the king took up his abode on the sacred bank of the Bhagirathi. Many Brahmanas, and Kshatriyas, Vaishyas, and Sudras came to see him; seated among them he gladdened them all with his words. In the evening the king and Gandhari bathed in the Bhagirathi and purified themselves; Kunti led her father-in-law and Gandhari out of the water onto the dry bank. The priests raised an altar there for the king, and the king poured libations on the fire. Then the party moved on toward Kurukshetra.

The king reached the hermitage of the royal sage Shatayupa and had an interview with him. Shatayupa had once been the great king of the Kekayas, who had made over his kingdom to his son and come to the woods. He received Dhritarashtra with due rites and took him to the retreat of Vyasa. There Dhritarashtra received his initiation into the forest mode of life, then returned to live in Shatayupa’s hermitage, where, at Vyasa’s command, Shatayupa taught him all the ordinances of the forest life. Dhritarashtra began to keep vows and practise penance like a great Rishi, reducing his body to skin and bone, wearing matted locks, clad in bark and skin. Gandhari and Kunti too put on bark and skin and kept the same vows. Vidura and Sanjaya, likewise clad in bark and rags, their senses under control, gave themselves to the service of the old couple.

A key to reading this (lineage and place): Shatayupa is a former royal sage of the Kekaya country, who gave up his kingdom to practise penance in the forest of Kurukshetra. His hermitage becomes Dhritarashtra’s new home, and Vyasa’s own retreat is near it, where the initiation is given.

Narada’s prophecy

Narada, Parvata, and Devala of austere penances came to see Dhritarashtra there; Vyasa too came with his disciples, and the royal sage Shatayupa. Kunti worshipped them all with due rites. The Rishis gladdened the king with talk of duty and righteousness. Then the celestial Rishi Narada, seeing all things as if before his very eyes, spoke.

Narada said that there had been a king of the Kekayas named Sahasrachitya, the grandfather of this Shatayupa. He had resigned his kingdom to his eldest son and come to the woods, and by the strength of his penance had reached the region of Purandara; going to Indra’s realm, Narada had seen him there. In the same way Sailalaya, the grandfather of Bhagadatta, had reached Indra’s region by penance alone. A king named Prishadhra too had gone by his penance from earth to heaven. In this very forest Purukutsa, the son of Mandhatri, had attained high success, and Narmada, foremost of rivers, had become his consort. A righteous king named Sasaloman had also practised austerities here and ascended to heaven. And you, O king, said Narada, coming to this forest, will through the grace of the Island-born attain a goal that is high and hard to reach, and with Gandhari you will reach the goal those great ones reached. Pandu, who dwells near Indra the slayer of Vala, thinks of you always, and will help you to prosperity. This daughter-in-law of yours, Kunti, through serving you and Gandhari, will win a dwelling with her husband in the other world; she is the mother of Yudhishthira, who is the eternal Dharma itself. Vidura will enter into the high-souled Yudhishthira, and Sanjaya, through meditation, will ascend from this world to heaven. All this we see with our inner vision.

Then Shatayupa asked Narada: You have told us the goals of the kings you named, and that was nearness to Indra; but what region will Dhritarashtra reach, and when? Speak the truth. Narada said, in the midst of the assembly, that going at his will to the palace of Sakra he had there seen King Pandu. Talk had arisen of Dhritarashtra and his hard penances, and from Sakra’s own mouth Narada had heard that this king had three years yet of life. After that, Dhritarashtra, with Gandhari, on a car that moves at his will, adorned with celestial ornaments, would go to the region of Kubera and be highly honored there. He is the son of a Rishi, said Narada, and has burnt off all his sins by penance; he will move at will through the regions of the gods, the Gandharvas, and the Rakshasas. This is a secret of the gods, which he had told them out of affection. Hearing it, all, and Dhritarashtra himself, were filled with joy. They honored Narada, and the sages departed by the path of those who are crowned with success.

A key to reading this (a number): Narada reports the truth he heard from Indra’s own mouth, that Dhritarashtra has three years of life left; after that, with Gandhari, he will go to the region of Kubera. Read plainly, this is the measure of the forest-dwelling that ends in his death by fire.

The gist: In Shatayupa’s forest retreat near Vyasa’s hermitage, Dhritarashtra takes the vow of the forest life; Narada, recounting what he saw in Indra’s realm, foretells that the king has three years left and will then reach Kubera’s region with Gandhari.

The Pandavas journey to the forest and the meeting

With the king gone to the woods, and pining for their mother, the Pandavas grew utterly listless. Hastinapura was sunk in grief; the Brahmanas kept asking how the blind old king would live in the lonely woods, how Gandhari and Kunti would fare, what would become of Vidura and Sanjaya. The Pandavas found no pleasure in kingdom, women, or Vedic study; the thought of their aged parents and of the slaughter of their kin gave them no peace. The loss of Abhimanyu, of Karna, of Draupadi’s sons, and of their other friends kept them cheerless. Only the sight of Uttara’s son, Parikshit, kept them alive.

At last they resolved to go and see the king in the woods. Sahadeva bowed and said, I can see your heart is set on seeing our father; out of respect for you I could not speak of it first. Now the time has come. By good fortune I will see my mother, wearing matted locks, sleeping on Kusa and Kasa grass, worn thin by hard penance. My mother, who was reared in palaces, now suffers in the woods; the ends of men are truly uncertain. Draupadi too said, When shall I see Kunti, and Gandhari, and my father-in-law; all the queens stand with their feet raised for the road, longing to see Kunti and Gandhari.

Yudhishthira ordered the commanders to bring out the army with its cars and elephants; he had thousands of closed litters made ready for the women, with kitchens, storehouses, wardrobes, and treasuries; he had it proclaimed that whoever among the people wished to see the king should come along under safe escort. Making over the guarding of the city to Yuyutsu and Dhaumya, and taking the army led by Arjuna and other heroes, surrounded by Brahmanas and Sutas and Magadhas and bards, with a white umbrella held over his head, Yudhishthira set out. Bhima went on an elephant huge as a hill, the sons of Madri on two swift horses, Arjuna on a car of solar splendor drawn by white steeds; Draupadi and the other women went in closed litters, scattering wealth as they went. Teeming with cars, elephants, and horses, echoing with trumpets and Vinas, the Pandava host moved slowly, resting on the lovely banks of rivers and lakes.

Reaching Kurukshetra and crossing the Yamuna, Yudhishthira saw from a distance the retreat of the royal sage and of Dhritarashtra; and all, filled with joy, entered the forest. Some way off the Pandavas left their cars and walked toward the hermitage on foot, in humility; the warriors, the people, and the Kuru women all walked on behind them. In that sacred retreat, full of herds of deer and adorned with plantain plants, the king, with tears in his eyes, asked where his eldest father was, and was told that he had gone to the Yamuna to bathe and to fetch flowers and water.

The gist: Grieving for their mother and the old king, the Pandavas grow listless; at the plea of Sahadeva and Draupadi, Yudhishthira travels with army and people to the Kurukshetra retreat, and a tearful meeting follows.

Sanjaya’s introduction

The king sat with his lotus-eyed brothers in his eldest father’s hermitage. Ascetics who had come from many regions, eager to see the Pandavas, began to ask which of them was Yudhishthira, which Bhima and Arjuna, which the twins, and which the famous Draupadi. Then the Suta Sanjaya named each in turn and introduced them.

Sanjaya said that the one as fair as pure gold, with a full-grown lion’s frame, a large aquiline nose, and wide, coppery eyes, was Yudhishthira the Kuru king. The one whose tread was like an infuriate elephant’s, whose color was like heated gold, whose frame was large and whose arms were long and stout, was Vrikodara, Bhima. The mighty bowman seated near, of darkish color and youthful frame, like the leader of an elephant herd, with lion-high shoulders and eyes wide as lotus petals, was Arjuna. The two seated beside Kunti were the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva, like Vishnu and Mahendra; in all the world of men none equalled them in beauty, strength, and conduct.

Sanjaya named the women too. The one with eyes wide as lotus petals, of the color of the blue lotus, seeming to touch the middle of life and looking like a goddess of heaven, was Krishna, Draupadi, the very form of Lakshmi. Beside her, of pure gold color, like the embodied rays of the moon, was Subhadra, the sister of the peerless wielder of the discus. This one, fair as pure gold, was the daughter of the snake-chief and Arjuna’s wife, Ulupi. This one, of the color of pure gold or of Madhuka flowers, was the princess Chitrangada. The one of the color of an assemblage of blue lotuses was the sister of that king who used always to challenge Krishna, and the foremost wife of Bhima. This was the daughter of Jarasandha the king of Magadha, of the color of Champaka flowers, wife of Sahadeva, the youngest son of Madri; and, seated on the ground, dark as the blue lotus, wide-eyed, was the wife of Nakula. This one, fair as heated gold, a child on her lap, was Uttara, the daughter of King Virata, wife of that Abhimanyu who, made carless, was slain by Drona and the other car-warriors. And those women whose parted hair does not show and who are clad in white are the widows of Dhritarashtra’s slain sons, the daughters-in-law of this old king.

The gist: The Suta Sanjaya introduces the Pandavas and the Kuru women one by one, with name and lineage, to the ascetics of the hermitage, from Yudhishthira to Abhimanyu’s widow Uttara and the widows of Duryodhana and the rest.

Toward the forest: the Pandavas reach their aged elder

By slow marches King Yudhishthira reached Kurukshetra. The city behind him was in the keeping of men who served under the priest’s command. Crossing the sacred Yamuna, Yudhishthira saw from a distance the retreat where the wise royal sage Dhritarashtra lived. At the sight, all were filled with joy and entered, ringing the forest with high cries of gladness.

Some way from their cars the Pandavas dismounted and, bending in humility, went on foot toward the king’s hermitage. The warriors who came with them, the people of the kingdom, and the Kuru women all followed them on foot. They reached that sacred retreat of Dhritarashtra, full of herds of deer and adorned with plantain plants. Many ascetics of hard vows, full of curiosity, came there to see the Pandavas.

With tears in his eyes Yudhishthira asked the ascetics, Where has our eldest father, the perpetuator of Kuru’s race, gone? They answered that he had gone toward the Yamuna to bathe and to fetch flowers and water. Hurrying along the path they pointed out, the Pandavas saw them all from a distance, and, longing to meet their father, quickened their steps. Then Sahadeva ran to where Kunti was. Touching his mother’s feet, he wept aloud. With tears streaming, Kunti saw her darling son. Raising him up and folding him in her arms, she gave Gandhari word of Sahadeva’s coming.

Then, seeing the king, Bhima, Arjuna, and Nakula, Kunti hurried toward them. Walking ahead of the childless old couple, Dhritarashtra and Gandhari, she was drawing them along with her. Seeing them, the Pandavas fell to the earth. The wise and majestic Dhritarashtra, knowing them by their voices and by touch, comforted each in turn. With tears flowing, the high-souled princes saluted the old king, Gandhari, and their mother in the proper way, and, once they had recovered themselves at their mother’s comfort, they took from the king, their aunt, and their mother the water jars they had been carrying, and bore them themselves.

The wives of those best of men, all the women of the royal house, and all the people of the city and provinces then came before the old king. Yudhishthira presented each in turn, naming their names and races, and then himself reverently saluted his eldest father. Surrounded by them all, the old king, his eyes bathed in tears of joy, felt as though he were living once more in the midst of Hastinapura. Reverently saluted by all his daughters-in-law led by Krishna, the wise Dhritarashtra, with Gandhari and Kunti, was filled with delight. Then he reached his hermitage, praised by Siddhas and Charanas, and so thronged with people eager to see him that it looked like the sky crowded with countless stars.

A key to reading this (lineage): Dhritarashtra was Pandu’s elder brother, so Kunti treats him as a father and Gandhari stands to her as a mother-in-law. This is why Yudhishthira calls him “eldest father.” Gandhari had bandaged her eyes from the day of her marriage, taking the vow that she would not see a world her husband could not see.

The gist: After the war at Kurukshetra, Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, Kunti, Vidura, and Sanjaya took up the forest life. Here the story begins from the moment Yudhishthira comes with his brothers, wives, and people to see the old elder, presents each of them in turn, and sits surrounded around the old king.

Sanjaya makes the introductions: the Pandavas among the ascetics

King Dhritarashtra sat in the hermitage with those brothers whose eyes were like lotus petals. Around him gathered many blessed ascetics who had come from different regions, wishing to see the broad-chested Pandavas. They said, We wish to know which of these is Yudhishthira, which Bhima and Arjuna, which the twins, and which the far-famed Draupadi. Then the Suta Sanjaya, in answer, named each and introduced the Pandavas, Draupadi, and the other women of the Kuru house.

Sanjaya said, He whose color is pure gold, whose body is like a full-grown lion’s, whose nose is large and like an eagle’s, and whose eyes are broad, expansive, and coppery, is the Kuru king Yudhishthira. He whose tread is like an infuriate elephant’s, whose color is like heated gold, whose body is large and broad and whose arms are long and stout, is Vrikodara. Look at him well. The mighty bowman seated near him, of darkish color and youthful frame, who seems the leader of an elephant herd, whose shoulders are as high as a lion’s, who walks like a sporting elephant, and whose eyes are wide as lotus petals, is the hero named Arjuna. The two best of men seated beside Kunti are the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva, like Vishnu and Mahendra. In all this world of men there is none to equal them in beauty, strength, and excellence of conduct.

This woman, whose eyes are wide as lotus petals, who seems to touch the middle age of life, whose color is that of the blue lotus and who looks like a goddess of heaven, is Krishna, Draupadi, the embodied form of the goddess of prosperity. Seated beside her, of pure gold color, like the embodied rays of the moon among the other ladies, is the sister of that peerless hero who wields the discus, Subhadra. This other, fair as pure gold, is the daughter of the snake-chief and the wife of Arjuna, Ulupi. This one, whose color is like pure gold or Madhuka flowers, is the princess Chitrangada. This one, of the color of an assemblage of blue lotuses, is the sister of that lord of hosts who used always to challenge Krishna; she is the foremost wife of Vrikodara. This is the daughter of Jarasandha the king of Magadha; of the color of an assemblage of Champaka flowers, she is the wife of the youngest son of Madravati. Dark as the blue lotus, seated on the ground, her eyes wide as lotus petals, is the wife of the eldest son of Madravati.

This woman, whose color is like heated gold and who sits with her child on her lap, is the daughter of King Virata, Uttara. She is the wife of that Abhimanyu who, once made carless, was slain by Drona and others fighting from their cars. These women, whose parted hair does not show and who are clad in white, are the widows of Dhritarashtra’s slain sons. They are the daughters-in-law of this old king, the wives of his hundred sons, now bereft of both husbands and children, slain by heroic foes. I have shown them to you in order.

Then that Kuru king of many years, after all the ascetics had gone, asked his sons about their welfare. The warriors who had come with the Pandavas left the hermitage, dismounted from their cars and mounts, and sat down a little way off. When the crowd, the women, the old, and the children, had all been seated, the old king made the usual courteous inquiries of them.

A key to reading this (the characters): Ulupi is a snake princess and Chitrangada the princess of Manipura, both wives of Arjuna. Bhima’s wife here is called the sister of the king of Kashi. The sons of Madravati (Madri) are Nakula and Sahadeva. Uttara is King Virata’s daughter and Abhimanyu’s widow; the infant on her lap is Parikshit, who will one day be king and whose son Janamejaya is hearing this story.

The gist: Describing form, color, and gait before the ascetics, the Suta Sanjaya introduces the five Pandavas, Draupadi, Subhadra, Ulupi, Chitrangada, and the other women one by one, and last of all shows the hundred widows whose husbands and sons were killed in the war.

Questions of welfare: Dhritarashtra and Yudhishthira, and the search for Vidura

Dhritarashtra asked, Yudhishthira, are you at peace and happy, with all your brothers and the people of the city and the provinces? Are those who live in dependence on you happy too? Are your ministers, servants, elders, and teachers happy? Do you follow the old and traditional conduct of kings? Is your treasury filled without disregarding justice and equity? Do you behave rightly toward foes, neutrals, and allies? Do you look after the Brahmanas, always making them the first gifts? Are your subjects, servants, and kinsmen content with your conduct? Do you worship the Pitris and the deities with devotion? Do you honor guests with food and drink? Do the Kshatriyas, Vaishyas, and Sudras of your realm each keep their own duties? I hope the women, children, and old among your subjects do not grieve in distress or beg for their bread. Are the ladies of your house duly honored? I hope, O king, that this line of royal sages, having got you for their king, has not fallen from fame and glory.

To this, Yudhishthira, skilled in duty and in speech, put his own questions of welfare, saying, O king, do your peace, self-restraint, and calm of heart grow? Is my mother able to serve you without weariness and trouble? Will her forest life bear fruit? I hope my eldest mother Gandhari, worn by cold, wind, and the toil of walking, and given now to hard penance, no longer grieves for her mighty sons who, devoted to Kshatriya duty, fell on the field. Does she not blame us sinners who are answerable for their death? Where is Vidura, O king? We do not see him here. I hope Sanjaya, given to penance, is at peace.

Dhritarashtra answered, My son, Vidura is well. He is performing hard penance, living on air alone, for he has given up all food. He is much wasted, and his veins have grown visible. Sometimes the Brahmanas see him in this empty forest. As Dhritarashtra spoke, Vidura came into view in the distance. He wore matted locks, held gravels in his mouth, and was terribly thin. He was wholly naked. His body was smeared with filth and the dust of many wild flowers. Seeing Kshatta from a distance, they told Yudhishthira.

Vidura stopped suddenly, casting his gaze toward the hermitage and seeing it so thronged. Yudhishthira alone ran after him as he fled into the deep forest, at times lost to his pursuer’s sight. Yudhishthira cried aloud, O Vidura, O Vidura, I am king Yudhishthira, your favorite! and with great effort kept after him. That best of intelligent men, reaching a lonely spot in the forest, stood still, leaning against a tree. He was so wasted that only the shape of a man was left in him. Yet the wise Yudhishthira knew him. Standing before him, Yudhishthira said, I am Yudhishthira! and, doing Vidura due honor, spoke words meant for his ear.

Meanwhile Vidura eyed the king with a steadfast gaze. Fixing his eyes on the king, he stood motionless in Yoga. Then, by his Yoga-power, the wise Vidura entered Yudhishthira’s body, limb by limb. He united his life-breaths with the king’s life-breaths and his senses with the king’s senses. Blazing with energy, Vidura passed into the body of Yudhishthira. And Vidura’s own body stayed leaning against the tree, its eyes fixed in a steadfast gaze. The king soon saw that life had gone out of it. In that same moment he felt himself grown stronger than before, endowed with many new virtues and powers. The mighty and learned Yudhishthira then remembered his own state before his birth among men.

Yudhishthira wished to perform the last rites for Vidura’s body and to cremate it duly. Then an invisible voice was heard: O king, the body of him called Vidura should not be cremated. In it is your body too. He is the eternal deity of Righteousness. Those happy regions known as Santanika will be his. He kept the duties of the Yatis. You should not grieve for him at all, O tamer of foes. Hearing this, Yudhishthira returned and told everything to the royal son of Vichitravirya. At this the mighty king, and Bhima and the rest, were filled with wonder.

Pleased at what had happened, Dhritarashtra said to the son of Dharma, O king, accept from me this gift of water, roots, and fruit. It is said that a guest should take what the host himself takes. Yudhishthira answered, So be it. The mighty-armed king ate the fruits and roots the old king gave him. Then they all spread their beds under a tree and passed the night thus, having eaten fruit and root and drunk the water the old king had given them.

A key to reading this (a concept): In the story Vidura is the deity of Righteousness himself, born as Vidura in a Sudra womb through the curse of the Rishi Mandavya; and Yudhishthira too was born from a portion of that same Dharma. Because their essence is one, Vidura can enter Yudhishthira by Yoga, and Yudhishthira feels his own strength increase. “Water, fire, wind, and abstention from food” are held to be the honorable means by which Yatis lay down the body, and they return again and again in the story that follows.

The gist: Dhritarashtra asks the Pandavas about the kingdom, and Yudhishthira asks about the mothers’ penance. Then Vidura, terribly wasted, naked, and matted-haired, appears in the forest; Yudhishthira runs after him, and Vidura merges his life-breaths into Yudhishthira by Yoga. An invisible voice forbids the cremation of his body. That night the Pandavas eat the old king’s fruit and roots and sleep on the ground.

Touring the hermitage, the gifts, and Vyasa’s arrival

The Pandavas passed that night of auspicious constellations in the retreat of the righteous ascetics. The talk that arose was full of many reflections on duty and wealth, sweet and pleasant, graced with citations from the Srutis. Leaving their costly beds, the Pandavas lay down beside their mother on the bare ground. When the night was over, Yudhishthira finished his morning acts and, at Dhritarashtra’s command, went out with his brothers, the women of the house, the servants, and the priest, to look over the hermitage.

They saw many altars with sacred fires blazing, and the ascetics seated on them having made their oblations to the deities. The altars were covered with the fruits, roots, and flowers of the forest. The smoke of clarified butter curled upward. Herds of deer grazed or rested without fear. Countless birds gave out their sweet notes. The whole forest rang with the cries of peacocks, Datyuhas, and Kokilas. In some places was the echo of Vedic hymns chanted by learned Brahmanas.

Yudhishthira gave the ascetics jars of gold and copper, many deerskins and blankets, sacrificial ladles of wood, Kamandalus and wooden platters, pots and pans, which he had brought for them. Vessels of iron of many kinds, and smaller vessels and cups of various sizes, the king also gave away, and the ascetics took as much as each wished. Having thus roved through the woods, seen many hermitages, and made many gifts, Yudhishthira returned to where his uncle was.

He found Dhritarashtra seated at ease, Gandhari beside him, their morning rites done. The righteous Yudhishthira saw his mother Kunti seated a little apart, like a pupil with bent head, full of humility. Proclaiming his name, he saluted the old king. The old king said, Sit down. With his leave Yudhishthira sat on a mat of Kusa grass. Then Bhima and the other Pandavas saluted the king, touched his feet, and, at his leave, sat down. Surrounded by them, the old Kuru king shone splendidly, like Brihaspati amid the gods.

When they were seated, many great Rishis of Kurukshetra, Shatayupa and the rest, came there. And the illustrious Vyasa, honored even by the celestial Rishis, appeared before Yudhishthira at the head of his many disciples. Dhritarashtra, Yudhishthira, Bhima, and the others rose and stepped forward to greet those guests. Coming near, Vyasa said to Dhritarashtra, surrounded by Shatayupa and the rest, Be seated. Then Vyasa took the excellent seat of Kusa grass reserved for him, spread over a black deerskin and covered with silken cloth. When Vyasa was seated, all those Brahmanas of abundant energy sat down, with the leave of the Island-born.

The gist: The Pandavas pass an auspicious night in the hermitage; at dawn Yudhishthira tours it and gives the ascetics jars, deerskins, sacrificial vessels, and other gifts. Returning, he sits with Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and Kunti, and just then Vyasa arrives with Shatayupa and the other great Rishis, and all do them honor.

Vyasa’s questions to Dhritarashtra and the secret of Vidura’s dharma

When all the Pandavas were seated, Vyasa the son of Satyavati said, Mighty-armed Dhritarashtra, have you been able to accomplish your penance? Is your mind pleased with the forest life? Has the grief you carried, born of the slaughter of your sons in battle, gone from your heart? Are all your perceptions now clear? Do you keep the ordinances of forest life with a firm heart? Does my daughter-in-law Gandhari let herself be overwhelmed by grief? She is of great wisdom, and understands both Religion and Wealth, and knows the truths of both prosperity and adversity. Does she still grieve? Does Kunti, who left her children out of devotion to the service of her elders, wait on you with humility?

Have Yudhishthira, Bhima, Arjuna, and the twins been comforted enough? Does the sight of them delight you? Has your mind become free of every stain? Has your nature been purified, O king, by the growth of knowledge? This threefold group, O Bharata, is the foremost of all concerns: abstention from injury to any creature, truth, and freedom from anger. Does the forest life still give you pain? Can you gather the products of the wilderness for your food by your own effort? Do the fasts still hurt you?

Have you learned, O king, how the high-souled Vidura, who was Dharma himself, left this world? Through the curse of Mandavya the deity of Righteousness became born as Vidura. He was of great intelligence, high penance, high soul, and generous. Neither Brihaspati among the gods nor Sukra among the Asuras had such intelligence as that best of men. The eternal deity of Righteousness was stupefied by the Rishi Mandavya at the cost of penances earned over long ages with great care. At the command of the Grandsire, and through my own energy, the wise Vidura was begotten by me upon a soil owned by Vichitravirya. A god of gods, eternal, O king, he was your brother. Through his practice of Dharana and Dhyana the learned know him to be Dharma.

From that same deity of Righteousness, through Yoga-power, the Kuru king Yudhishthira too was born. Therefore, O king, Yudhishthira is Dharma of great wisdom and immeasurable intelligence. Dharma exists both here and hereafter, like fire, wind, water, earth, or space. He can go everywhere and pervades the whole universe. He who is Vidura is Dharma; and he who is Vidura is the eldest son of Pandu. That son of Pandu, O king, is here for you to perceive. He stands before you as your servitor. Your brother of great Yoga-power, that best of the wise, seeing the high-souled Yudhishthira, has entered into his person. I have come, O king, to dispel your doubts. Some feat never accomplished before by any of the great Rishis, some wonderful effect of my penances, I will show you. What object is it, O king, whose accomplishment you desire from me? Tell me what you wish to see, or ask, or hear. O sinless one, I will bring it to pass.

A key to reading this (a concept): “Dharana” is the stage of Yoga in which the mind is fixed on a single object; “Dhyana” is the drawing of the mind away from surrounding things. Here the story unties a doctrinal knot: the deity of Righteousness is Vidura, and that same Dharma is present in Yudhishthira as a portion, so it is natural for Vidura to merge into him. Notice that this is the story’s own logic, and it does not hide the moral tangle of Mandavya’s curse: even the deity of Righteousness had to serve out a Sudra birth through a Rishi’s curse.

The gist: Vyasa asks Dhritarashtra about his penance, his grief, and the forest life, asks after Gandhari and Kunti, and unlocks the secret of Vidura’s death: Vidura was Dharma himself, born human through Mandavya’s curse, and has now merged into Yudhishthira. At the end Vyasa offers Dhritarashtra a boon.

The Putradarshana Parva: Dhritarashtra’s grief and Vyasa’s word

Janamejaya asked, O learned Brahmana, what was the wonderful feat that the great Rishi Vyasa performed after his promise to the old king? How many days did the Kuru king Yudhishthira stay in the woods with his men? On what food did the Pandavas support themselves there, with their men and women?

Vaisampayana said, With the Kuru king’s leave the Pandavas, with their troops and the women of the house, lived on many kinds of food and drink and passed about a month in great happiness in that forest. Toward the close of that time Vyasa came. While the princes sat around Vyasa talking of many things, other Rishis arrived: Narada, Parvata, Devala of austere penance, Viswavasu, Tumburu, and Chitrasena. Yudhishthira, with Dhritarashtra’s leave, worshipped them with due rites. Honored, they sat on excellent seats of Kusa grass and peacock feathers. Gandhari, Kunti, Draupadi, Subhadra of the Sattwata race, and the other women sat too.

The talk that arose was of duty, of the ancient Rishis, of the gods and the Asuras. At its close, Vyasa of mighty energy said again to the blind king, O king of kings, you are burning with grief for your children, and I know the wish in your heart. The sorrow that always lives in Gandhari’s heart, the sorrow in Kunti’s, the grief Draupadi keeps in hers, and the burning that Krishna’s sister Subhadra holds for the death of her son, all of it is known to me. Today let the gods, the Gandharvas, and these great Rishis see the energy of the penances I have earned over these long years. Tell me, O king, what wish of yours I shall grant today. I have power to grant you a boon. Behold the fruit of my penances.

Dhritarashtra thought a moment and said, I am most fortunate. To win your favor is my good luck. My life is crowned with success today, since this meeting has come about between me and all you men of great piety. Today I shall reach the happy goal that is set for me, for meeting you all, who are equal to Brahma, has cleansed me of every sin. I have no more fear for my end in the next world. Full of love for my children, I remember them always. But my mind is ever tortured by the memory of the many wrongs my wicked and crooked-minded son committed. He always persecuted the innocent Pandavas. Alas, he laid the whole earth waste, with its horses, elephants, and men.

Many great kings came to my son’s side and met their death. Alas, leaving their dear fathers, their wives, and their very lives, all those heroes became guests of the king of the dead. What end, O Brahmana, was reached by those men slain in battle for the sake of their friend? What end by my sons and grandsons who fell in the fray? My heart is always pained by the thought that through my foolish and sinful son, an injurer of his friends, I became the cause of the death of the mighty Bhishma and of Drona, best of Brahmanas. Wishing to rule the earth, he had the Kuru race, blazing with prosperity, wholly destroyed. Thinking of all this, I burn day and night. O father, I find no peace of mind.

At these laments Gandhari’s grief grew fresh. So did the grief of Kunti, of Draupadi, of Subhadra, and of the other men and women and daughters-in-law of the Kuru house. Her eyes bandaged, Gandhari joined her hands and said to her father-in-law, O best of ascetics, sixteen years have passed over this king’s head as he grieves for his dead sons and finds no peace. Afflicted by their slaughter, he breathes heavily always and never sleeps at night. O great Rishi, by the power of your penance you can create new worlds; what then is it to show this king his children now in the other world? This Krishna, the daughter of Drupada, has lost all her kinsmen and children, and she, dearest of my daughters-in-law, grieves without end.

Subhadra, Krishna’s sweet-spoken sister, burns as deeply for the loss of her son. This woman, honored by all, the wife of Bhurisravas, wails without ceasing for the fate that overtook her husband. O great ascetic, the hundred sons of this wise and prosperous son of yours, heroes who never turned back from battle, were slain in the war. The hundred wives of those sons grieve and again and again renew the king’s grief and mine. Through your grace, O holy one, let it come about that this lord of earth, myself, and your daughter-in-law Kunti may all be freed from our grief.

When Gandhari had spoken, Kunti, whose face was wasted by many hard vows, began to think of her secret-born son of solar splendor. The boon-giving Vyasa, who could see and hear at a great distance, saw that the royal mother of Arjuna was afflicted with grief. He said to her, Tell me, O blessed one, what is in your mind; say what you wish to say. Then Kunti, bending her head to her father-in-law, and full of shame, told him a thing out of the days gone by.

A key to reading this (the timeline): Sixteen years have passed since the war. Bhurisravas’s wife is named: Bhurisravas’s father was Somadatta and his grandfather Valhika, both killed in the war. Gandhari’s grief is not confined to her own hundred sons; it reaches to the hundred widows who surround her. Here the story does not simplify sorrow: the grief of the victorious side, Draupadi and Subhadra, is set in the same line as the grief of the defeated side’s widows.

The gist: The Pandavas stay a month in the forest. Among Narada and the other Rishis, Vyasa reads the wish in Dhritarashtra’s heart and offers him a boon. Dhritarashtra laments Duryodhana’s wrongs, the deaths of Bhishma and Drona, and the ruin of the Kuru race. Gandhari begs that the slain heroes be shown, and Kunti sinks into memory of her secret-born son Karna.

Kunti’s secret of Karna and Vyasa’s reassurance

Kunti said, O holy one, you are my father-in-law, and so you are my deity of deities. Truly you are my god of gods. Hear my words of truth. An ascetic named Durvasa, of the Brahmana order and of an angry temper, came to my father’s house for alms. By the purity of my outward conduct and of my mind, and by overlooking the many improper things he did, I succeeded in pleasing him. Though there was much in his behavior that could rouse anger, I did not give way to anger. Served with care, the great ascetic was highly pleased with me and ready to grant a boon. You must accept the boon I give, he said. Fearing his curse, I said, So be it. Then the Rishi said, O beautiful-faced girl, you will become the mother of Dharma. The gods you summon will obey you. Saying this, he vanished from my sight.

I was filled with wonder. The mantra the Rishi had given stayed in my memory. One day, sitting in my chamber, I saw the sun rising. Wishing to bring the maker of day before me, I recalled the Rishi’s words. With no sense of the fault I was committing, in mere girlishness, I summoned the god. The thousand-rayed god came before me. He divided himself in two: with one portion he stayed in the sky, and with the other he stood on the earth before me. With one he heated the worlds, and with the other he came to me. Trembling at his sight, I heard him say, Ask a boon of me. Bowing my head, I begged him to leave me. He answered, I cannot bear the thought of coming to you in vain. I will consume you, and the Brahmana too who gave you this mantra as a boon.

To save from Surya’s curse the Brahmana who had done no wrong, I said, Let me have a son like you, O god. Then the thousand-rayed god filled me with his energy and left me wholly stupefied. He said, You will have a son, and returned to the sky. I stayed in the inner apartments, and, wishing to keep my father’s honor, I cast into the waters the infant son, named Karna, who had come into the world in secret. Without doubt, through the god’s grace I became a virgin again, as Durvasa had foretold. Foolish that I am, though he knew me for his mother when he grew up, I made no effort to claim him. This burns me, O Rishi, as you well know. Sinful or not, I have told you the truth. O holy one, satisfy this longing of mine to see that son. And let this king too obtain today the wish he cherishes in his heart.

At this Vyasa said to Kunti, Blessed be you; all that you have said to me will come to pass. In Karna’s birth there is no fault of yours. You were restored to virginity. The gods have Yoga-power; they can enter human bodies. There are gods who beget offspring by thought alone. By word, by sight, by touch, and by union too, they beget children. These are the five methods. You belong to the order of humanity. In this you have no fault. Know this, O Kunti. Let the fever of your heart be dispelled.

A sub-tale: Kunti’s maidenhood is the root of the whole tragedy of Karna. Durvasa’s gift of a mantra, the girlish curiosity that summoned Surya, and the fear of shame that set the newborn adrift on the water, these three choices together made Karna a Suta’s son, an insult whose sting he bore all his life. Notice that Kunti calls herself “foolish” and admits that even when the grown Karna knew her for his mother she did not claim him. Vyasa calls her faultless, but Kunti’s own guilt stays in the story just as it was.

The gist: Kunti opens her secret history before Vyasa: Durvasa’s boon, the summoning of Surya, the birth of Karna and his casting on the water, and her return to virginity. She reveals her longing to see that son. Vyasa calls her faultless, tells her the five ways in which gods beget children, and dispels the anguish of her heart.

Vyasa’s resolve: the divine portions of the slain, and the march to the Bhagirathi

Vyasa said, Blessed be you, Gandhari; tonight you will see your sons, brothers, friends, kinsmen, and the men of your father’s house, like people risen from sleep. Kunti will see Karna, and she of Yadu’s race will see her son Abhimanyu. Draupadi will see her five sons, her father, and her brothers. Even before you asked, this was in my mind. When the king urged me, and you, Gandhari, and Kunti, I formed this resolve. You should not grieve for those best of men. They met death through devotion to the established practice of Kshatriyas. O faultless one, the work of the gods could not go undone. It was for that work that those heroes came down to earth. They were all portions of the deities.

Gandharvas, Apsaras, Pisachas, Guhyakas, Rakshasas, many men of great sanctity, Siddhas, celestial Rishis, gods, Danavas, and heavenly Rishis of spotless character met their death on the field of Kurukshetra. It is heard that the intelligent king of the Gandharvas, named Dhritarashtra, was born in the world of men as your lord Dhritarashtra. Know that Pandu of unfading glory sprang from the Maruts. Kshatta and Yudhishthira are both portions of the deity of Righteousness. Know that Duryodhana was Kali and Sakuni was Dwapara. Dussasana and the others were all Rakshasas. The mighty Bhimasena is from the Maruts. This Dhananjaya, the son of Pritha, is the ancient Rishi Nara. Hrishikesa is Narayana, and the twins are the Aswins. Surya, the lord of hot rays, divided his body in two: with one portion he gave heat to the worlds, and with the other he lived on earth as Karna. He who was born as Arjuna’s son and slain by six great car-warriors together was Soma; he was born of Subhadra, Soma having divided himself in two by Yoga-power.

Dhrishtadyumna, who sprang with Draupadi from the sacrificial fire, was an auspicious portion of the god of fire. Sikhandin was a Rakshasa. Know that Drona was a portion of Brihaspati, and that Drona’s son was born of a portion of Rudra. Know that Ganga’s son Bhishma was one of the Vasus, born as a human being. Thus, O wise one, the gods took birth as men, and, having accomplished their purposes, went back to heaven. The grief in all your hearts, for the return of these to the other world, I shall dispel today. Go, all of you, toward the Bhagirathi. There you will see all those who were slain on the field of battle.

Hearing Vyasa’s words, all those present raised a leonine shout and set out for the Bhagirathi. Dhritarashtra, with his ministers, the Pandavas, and the Rishis and Gandharvas who had come, went out as directed. Reaching the banks of the Ganga, that sea of men took up their places where they pleased. The wise old king, with the Pandavas, took up his own place in a pleasant spot with the women and the aged of his house. Waiting for the night when they would see the dead princes, they passed that day as if it were a whole year. The sun reached the sacred western mountain, and all, having bathed in the sacred stream, finished their evening rites.

A key to reading this (a concept): “The Bhagirathi” is one of the names of the Ganga. Here Vyasa unfolds the whole descent-scheme of the Mahabharata: every great figure is a portion of some god, Rishi, or demonic power come down to earth. This vision is a way of easing grief, but it does not erase the story’s moral tangle: calling Duryodhana Kali and Sakuni Dwapara may make their deeds seem fated, yet it does not quiet Dhritarashtra’s sense of guilt, as will soon appear.

The gist: Vyasa promises that the dead will appear in the night, and names the divine portion of each chief hero (Bhishma a Vasu, Arjuna the Rishi Nara, Krishna Narayana, Karna a portion of Surya, Duryodhana Kali, and the rest). All reach the bank of the Bhagirathi, finish the evening rites, and wait for the night.

The night vision: the slain rising from the river

When night came, all finished their evening rites and came to Vyasa. The righteous Dhritarashtra, his body purified and his mind fixed on the one thing, sat with the Pandavas and the Rishis. The women of the house sat with Gandhari in a secluded spot. The people of the city and provinces ranged themselves by their years. Then Vyasa of mighty energy, bathing in the sacred waters of the Bhagirathi, summoned all the slain warriors, those who had fought for the Pandavas and those who had fought for the Kauravas, together with the blessed kings of many realms.

Then from within the waters rose a deafening uproar, just such as had been heard before from the armies of the Kurus and the Pandavas. And the kings, headed by Bhishma and Drona, rose in their thousands with all their troops from the waters of the Bhagirathi. There were Virata and Drupada with their sons and forces. There were the sons of Draupadi, the son of Subhadra, and the Rakshasa Ghatotkacha. There were Karna and Duryodhana, the great car-warrior Sakuni, and the other mighty sons of Dhritarashtra headed by Dussasana.

There were the son of Jarasandha, Bhagadatta, the mighty Jalasandha, Bhurisravas, Sala, Salya, and Vrishasena with his younger brother. There were prince Lakshmana, the son of Duryodhana, and the son of Dhrishtadyumna, all the children of Sikhandin, and Dhrishtaketu with his younger brother. There were Achala and Vrishaka, the Rakshasa Alayudha, Valhika, Somadatta, and King Chekitana. These and many others, too many to name, appeared on that occasion. All rose from the waters of the Bhagirathi with resplendent bodies.

The kings appeared each in the very dress, with the standard and vehicle, that he had had while fighting on the field. But now all were robed in celestial vestments, and all wore brilliant ear-rings. They were free of all enmity and pride, without wrath or jealousy. Gandharvas sang their praises, and bards waited on them, chanting their deeds. Robed in celestial garments and garlands, each hero was attended by bands of Apsaras.

At that time, through the power of his penance and in his gladness, Vyasa the son of Satyavati gave Dhritarashtra celestial vision. Endowed with celestial knowledge and strength, the far-famed Gandhari also saw all her children and all who had been slain in battle. Everyone present beheld, with steadfast gaze and hearts full of wonder, that amazing and inconceivable sight that made the hair on their bodies stand on end. It looked like a high festival of gladdened men and women. That wondrous scene was like a picture painted on canvas. Beholding all those heroes with the celestial vision the sage had given him, Dhritarashtra was filled with joy.

The gist: In the night Vyasa bathes in the Bhagirathi and summons all the slain of both sides. Bhishma, Drona, Karna, Duryodhana, Abhimanyu, Ghatotkacha, Draupadi’s sons, and thousands of warriors rise from the river in celestial dress, free of enmity and pride. Vyasa grants Dhritarashtra celestial vision, and Gandhari too sees her sons.

The night of reunion and the heroes’ return; the widows enter the water

Then those best of men, free of wrath and jealousy and cleansed of every sin, met one another according to the auspicious ordinances laid down by the Rishis. All were happy of heart and looked like gods moving in heaven. Son met with father or mother, wife with husband, brother with brother, and friend with friend. Full of joy, the Pandavas met the mighty bowman Karna, the son of Subhadra, and the children of Draupadi. With glad hearts the sons of Pandu went to Karna and were reconciled with him. Through the sage’s grace all those warriors, meeting one another, were reconciled, casting off all unfriendliness and standing firm on amity and peace.

Thus the Kauravas and the other kings were united with the Kurus, with their kinsmen, and with their children. They passed the whole night in great happiness. For the joy of it the Kshatriya warriors thought that place was heaven itself. That night, as they met one another, there was no grief, no fear, no suspicion, no discontent, no reproach. Meeting their fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons, the women cast off all grief and felt great rapture. Having sported with one another for one night, those heroes and women embraced, took their leave, and returned to the places they had come from.

That best of ascetics dismissed the host of warriors. In the twinkling of an eye that vast crowd vanished in the very sight of all the living. Plunging into the sacred Bhagirathi with their cars and standards, those high-souled ones went to their several abodes. Some went to the regions of the gods, some to the region of Brahman, some to the region of Varuna, some to the region of Kubera. Some of the kings went to the region of Surya. Some of the Rakshasas and Pisachas went to the country of the Uttara-Kurus. Others, in pleasing shapes, went in the company of the gods.

When all had gone, the great sage, still standing in the waters of the sacred stream, that benefactor of the Kurus, Vyasa, said to the Kshatriya women who had become widows, Let those among these women who wish to reach the regions their husbands have won cast off all sloth and plunge quickly into the sacred Bhagirathi. Hearing this and placing their faith in it, those noble women took the leave of their father-in-law and plunged into the waters of the Bhagirathi. Freed of their human bodies, those faithful women went to the regions their husbands had reached. Endowed with celestial forms and adorned with celestial ornaments, robes, and garlands, they went to the places where their husbands were.

Then Vyasa, becoming a giver of boons, granted all the people assembled there the fulfilment of the wishes each cherished. People of many realms, hearing of this sacred meeting of the dead and the living, were filled with delight. The man who listens to this narrative with faith obtains everything dear to him, both here and hereafter.

The gist: The slain meet the living for one night, free of enmity; the Pandavas are reconciled with Karna. At dawn all return to their several regions, of the gods, of Brahman, of Varuna, of Kubera, of Surya. At Vyasa’s word many widows plunge into the Bhagirathi and go to the regions of their husbands.

Janamejaya’s question and the vision of Parikshit

Hearing of this reappearance and departure of his forefathers, the wise Janamejaya was greatly pleased. Filled with joy, he asked Vaisampayana again about the reappearance of the dead: How is it possible for those whose bodies have been destroyed to appear again in the very same forms?

Vaisampayana answered, This is certain, that acts are never destroyed without their fruit being enjoyed or endured. Bodies and forms are born of acts. The five great elements are eternal through their union with the Lord of all beings. They exist along with what is eternal, and so they are not destroyed when the non-eternal is destroyed. As long as a man’s acts are not exhausted, he takes the body to be himself. He whose acts are exhausted takes the self to be something other than the body. He who knows that body and self are different is freed from the mistaken conviction. He who grieves too much at separation is a fool; he who sees suffering in separation should give up union itself, for in this world sorrow is born of separation.

Dhritarashtra had never seen his own sons. Gaining eyesight through the grace of the Rishi, he saw for the first time those children of his who were so like himself. Vidura, through the power of his penance, attained high success, and Dhritarashtra too attained great success through his meeting with Vyasa.

Janamejaya said, If Vyasa, in his grace, would show me my father in the form he had, clad as he used to be clad, and of the age he was when he left this world, then I would believe all that you have told me. Such a sight would be most dear to me. I would count myself crowned with success.

Sauti said, When Janamejaya had spoken thus, Vyasa of great energy showed his grace and brought Parikshit from the other world. Janamejaya saw his royal father, of great beauty, brought down from heaven, in the same form and of the same age as he had been at his leaving. The high-souled Samika and his son Sringin were also brought there. All the king’s ministers saw them. Performing the final bath of his sacrifice, Janamejaya, greatly glad, poured the sacred water on his father even as he poured it on himself. Then he addressed the Brahmana Astika, born of the Yayavara race, the son of Jaratkaru.

Janamejaya said, O Astika, this sacrifice of mine is full of wonderful incidents, since my father has been seen by me, he who has dispelled all my sorrows. Astika said, The performer of a sacrifice at which the ancient Rishi, the Island-born Vyasa, is present, O best of the Kurus, conquers both worlds. O descendant of the Pandavas, you have heard a wonderful history. Through your truthfulness Takshaka barely escaped a painful fate. The Rishis have been honored. You have seen the end reached by your high-souled father.

A key to reading this (lineage): Here the outer frame of the story shows through. The whole Mahabharata is being recited by Vaisampayana at the snake-sacrifice of King Janamejaya, and, outside that again, by Sauti, or Ugrasrava, to the Rishis of the Naimisha forest. Janamejaya is the son of Parikshit; Parikshit was the son of Abhimanyu, bitten by the snake Takshaka through the curse of Sringin, son of Samika. In anger at this Janamejaya began the snake-sacrifice, which Astika stopped, saving Takshaka. Vyasa now shows Janamejaya his father just as he showed Dhritarashtra his sons.

The gist: Janamejaya asks how the dead, their bodies destroyed, could reappear; Vaisampayana answers with karma, the five great elements, and the difference between body and self. Then Janamejaya wishes to see his father Parikshit, and Vyasa shows him Parikshit, together with Samika and Sringin, from the other world.

Vyasa’s command and the Pandavas’ farewell

Janamejaya asked, After seeing their sons, grandsons, and all their friends and followers, what did Dhritarashtra and Yudhishthira do?

Vaisampayana said, Beholding that wonderful sight, the reappearance of his children, the royal sage Dhritarashtra, freed of his grief, returned from the bank of the Bhagirathi to his retreat. The common people and the great Rishis, dismissed by Dhritarashtra, returned to the places they wished. The Pandavas, with their wives and a small retinue, went to the old king’s retreat. Then Vyasa the son of Satyavati, honored by the Rishis and all others, came to the retreat and said to Dhritarashtra, Mighty-armed Dhritarashtra, son of Kuru’s race, hear me. You have heard many discourses from Rishis of great knowledge. Do not set your mind again on sorrow. The wise are never shaken by ill fortune. Your children, through observance of Kshatriya practice, have reached the auspicious goal that is sanctified by weapons. You have seen how they move about in great happiness at their will.

This wise Yudhishthira awaits your leave, with all his brothers, wives, and kinsmen. Dismiss him. Let him go back and rule his kingdom. They have spent more than a month in the woods. The station of sovereignty must always be well guarded, O king; your kingdom has many foes. At this the Kuru king summoned Yudhishthira and said, O Ajatasatru, blessings on you. Listen to me, with all your brothers. Through your grace, grief no longer stands in my way. I live as happily here with you as I did in the city named after the elephant. With you as my protector I enjoy every comfort. I have had from you all the services a son renders his father. I am highly gratified with you, and I have not the least dissatisfaction.

Go now, my son, and tarry here no longer. Meeting with you slackens my penance. This body, given to penance, I have been able to sustain only through meeting with you. These two mothers of yours, living now on fallen leaves and keeping vows like mine, will not live long. Through Vyasa’s penance and the merit of this meeting with you, we have seen Duryodhana and the others who have gone to the other world. O sinless one, the purpose of my life is attained. I now wish to set myself to the harshest of penances. Grant me leave. On you now rest the obsequial cake, the fame and achievements, and the line of our ancestors. Depart, O mighty-armed one, today or tomorrow. Do not tarry, my son. You have heard again and again the duties of kings. I have nothing more to say to you.

To the old king who said this, Yudhishthira replied, O you who know every rule of righteousness, it is not fitting that you cast me off in this way. I am guilty of no fault. Let all my brothers and followers depart as they wish; I, with steadfast vows, will serve you and these two mothers of mine. Then Gandhari said, O son, let it not be so. Listen, the race of Kuru now depends on you. The obsequial cake of my father-in-law also depends on you. Depart, then, my son. We have been sufficiently honored and served by you. Do what the king says; a son must obey his father’s word.

Thus addressed by Gandhari, Yudhishthira, wiping his eyes that were bathed in tears of love, lamented, The king casts me off, and so does the far-famed Gandhari. Yet my heart is bound to you all. Full of grief, how shall I leave you? But I do not dare to obstruct your penance, O righteous lady. There is nothing higher than penance; by penance one reaches the Supreme. My heart no longer turns as of old toward the kingdom. My mind is wholly set on penance. The whole earth is empty now. Our kinsmen are reduced, our strength is not what it was. The Panchalas are wholly wiped out, left in name only. Drona consumed them in battle; those who remained were slain by Drona’s son in the night. The Chedis and the Matsyas, who were our friends, are no more. Only the Vrishnis remain, upheld by Vasudeva. It is only to see the Vrishnis that I wish to live, and my wish to live is for the sake of merit, not wealth or enjoyment.

Hearing this, the mighty-armed Sahadeva, his eyes bathed in tears, said to Yudhishthira, O best of Bharata’s race, I dare not leave my mother. Return quickly to the capital; I will practise penance here, wasting my body in the service of the king and of these mothers. Then Kunti embraced Sahadeva and said, Go, my son. Do not say so. Do my bidding. Go, all of you. Blessings on you; may happiness be yours. By your staying here our penance will be hindered. Bound by the ties of my love for you, I would fall from my high penance. Therefore leave us, my son. Short is the span of life we have left.

By these and many other words of Kunti the minds of Sahadeva and Yudhishthira were composed. With the leave of their mother and of the old king, those best of the Kurus saluted him and began to take their leave.

Yudhishthira said, Gladdened by your auspicious blessings, we will return to the capital. With your leave, O king, freed of every sin, we leave this retreat. Then the royal sage Dhritarashtra blessed Yudhishthira and gave him leave. The king comforted the mighty Bhima, and Bhima showed the king his submission. Embracing Arjuna, clasping the twins to his breast, and blessing them again and again, the Kuru king gave them leave to depart. They worshipped the feet of Gandhari and had her blessing. Their mother Kunti smelled their heads and dismissed them. They circled the king like calves kept from their dam, walking round him again and again, looking at him with a steadfast gaze.

Then all the Kaurava women, led by Draupadi, worshipped their father-in-law according to the scriptures and took their leave. Gandhari and Kunti embraced each of them, blessed them, and told them how they should conduct themselves. With leave granted, they set out with their husbands. Then rose the sounds of the charioteers crying Yoke, yoke, the grunting of camels, and the neighing of horses. King Yudhishthira, with his wives, his troops, and all his kinsmen, set out for Hastinapura.

A key to reading this (a concept): The “obsequial cake,” or pinda, is the ball of food offered to the ancestors in the Sraddha rite; the right and duty of offering it fall on the living heir of the line. Both Dhritarashtra and Gandhari remind Yudhishthira that the pinda and the very continuance of the Kuru house now rest on him, so his duty is to return and rule, not to stay in the woods. There is one more layer of grief here: Yudhishthira himself admits that his mind has turned away from the kingdom, that the earth seems empty, and that he wishes to live only for merit.

The gist: Vyasa and Dhritarashtra tell Yudhishthira to return and rule; Dhritarashtra says he will now take up the harshest penance. Yudhishthira and Sahadeva wish to stay, but Kunti and Gandhari persuade and dismiss them. The Pandavas salute all, circle the king like calves, and return to Hastinapura.

Narada’s arrival: the death of Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and Kunti in the forest fire

Two years after the Pandavas returned from the forest retreat, the celestial Rishi Narada came to Yudhishthira. The Kuru king worshipped him duly and gave him a seat. When the Rishi had rested a while, the king asked, After a long time your holy presence has come to my court. Are you at peace and happy? Through what countries have you passed? What shall I do for you?

Narada said, It is a long while since I saw you, and so I have come to you from my retreat. I have seen many sacred waters, and the sacred stream of the Ganga too, O king.

Yudhishthira said, Those who dwell on the banks of the Ganga report that the high-souled Dhritarashtra is practising the harshest of penances. Have you seen him there? Is that perpetuator of Kuru’s race at peace? Are Gandhari, Pritha, and the Suta’s son Sanjaya also well? How fares that royal father of mine? I long to hear it, if you have seen the king.

Narada said, Listen, O king, with calm, to what I heard and saw in that retreat. After your return from Kurukshetra, your father went toward Gangadwara. That wise king took with him his sacred fire, Gandhari, his daughter-in-law Kunti, Sanjaya of the Suta caste, and all his priests. Your father set himself to the practice of severe austerities. He held pebbles of stone in his mouth, lived on air alone, and abstained wholly from speech. Given to hard penance, he was worshipped by all the ascetics of the woods. In six months the king was reduced to a skeleton. Gandhari lived on water alone, and Kunti took a little every sixth day. The priests worshipped his sacred fire daily with libations of clarified butter, whether the king saw the rite or not.

The king had no fixed dwelling; he wandered through those woods. The two queens and Sanjaya followed him. Sanjaya acted as his guide over even and uneven ground. The faultless Pritha became the eye of Gandhari. One day that best of kings went to a spot on the margin of the Ganga. Bathing in the sacred stream and finishing his ablutions, he turned his face toward his retreat. The wind rose high. A fierce forest fire broke out and began to burn the woods on every side. As the herds of animals and the snakes of that region began to burn all around, herds of wild boars ran toward the nearest marshes and waters.

When the forest was thus beset on all sides and such distress came on all the creatures there, the king, who had taken no food, was unable to move or exert himself. Your two mothers too, terribly wasted, were unable to walk. Seeing the fire draw near from every side, the king said to the Suta Sanjaya, Go, Sanjaya, to a place where the fire cannot burn you. As for us, we will let our bodies be destroyed by this fire and reach the highest goal. Sanjaya said, O king, this death, brought on by a fire that is not sacred, will prove calamitous to you. Yet I see no means by which you can escape from it. Tell me what should be done next.

At this the king said again, This death is not calamitous to us, for we left our home of our own accord. Water, fire, wind, and abstention from food are laudable ends for ascetics. Therefore, Sanjaya, leave us without delay. Having said this, the king concentrated his mind. Facing the east, he sat down with Gandhari and Kunti. Seeing him thus, Sanjaya walked around him and said, Concentrate your soul, O puissant one. The son of a Rishi and himself a man of great wisdom, the king did as he was told. Restraining all his senses, he stayed like a post of wood. The blessed Gandhari and your mother Pritha stayed in the same attitude. Then your royal father was overtaken by the forest fire.

Sanjaya, his minister, succeeded in escaping the fire. I saw him on the banks of the Ganga among the ascetics. That wise and mighty man bade them farewell and started for the mountains of Himavat. Even thus did the high-souled Kuru king meet his death, and thus did Gandhari and Kunti, your two mothers, meet their death, O monarch. In my wanderings at will I saw the bodies of that king and those two queens. Many ascetics came to the retreat, having heard of the king’s end, and they did not grieve for it. There I heard all the details of how the king and the two queens were burned. O king of kings, you should not grieve for him. The king, of his own will, and Gandhari and your mother too, obtained that contact with fire.

Hearing that Dhritarashtra had gone from the world, all the Pandavas gave way to great grief. Loud sounds of wailing rose within the inner apartments of the palace. The people of the city too, hearing of the old king’s end, wailed aloud. O fie! cried Yudhishthira in great agony, raising his arms aloft. Thinking of his mother, he wept like a child. Bhima and all his brothers wept the same. Hearing that Pritha had met such a fate, the women of the royal house raised loud laments. Hearing that the childless old king had been burned to death and that the helpless Gandhari had shared his fate, all the people sank into grief.

A key to reading this (a place): “Gangadwara” is the place where the Ganga comes down from the mountains onto the plain, the region of present-day Haridwar. “Himavat” is the Himalaya, where Sanjaya goes after escaping the fire. Notice that the story leaves a thorn here: Sanjaya calls this a “calamitous” death by an “unsanctified fire,” and Dhritarashtra himself declares it acceptable. The story resolves this contradiction later, through Narada, but Sanjaya’s misgiving is not hidden.

The gist: Two years later Narada comes and tells Yudhishthira: Dhritarashtra went to Gangadwara and, in silent, air-eating penance, was reduced to a skeleton in six months; Gandhari lived on water and Kunti on a little every sixth day. When a forest fire broke out, the king, too weak to move, sent Sanjaya away and, with Gandhari and Kunti, sat facing east and gave up his body in the flames. Sanjaya escaped and went to the Himalaya. Hearing it, the Pandavas sink into grief.

Yudhishthira’s lament

When the wailing had stilled for a while, Yudhishthira gathered his patience, stopped his tears, and said, O Brahmana, when such an end came to that high-souled king, given to hard penance, while kinsmen such as ourselves were still alive, it seems to me that the end of human beings is hard to guess. Alas, who would have thought that the son of Vichitravirya would be burned to death like this? He had a hundred sons, each mighty-armed and prosperous. The king himself had the strength of ten thousand elephants. Alas, even he has been burned to death in a forest fire! He who was once fanned with palm leaves by the fair hands of beautiful women was fanned, after he burned, by vultures with their wings. He whom Sutas and Magadhas once roused every morning had to sleep on the bare ground through the acts of my sinful self.

I do not grieve for the famous Gandhari, who, bereft of all her children, kept the same vows as her husband and reached the same regions he did. But I grieve for Pritha, who left the blazing prosperity of her sons to live in the woods. O best of Brahmanas, the course of Time is very subtle and hard to understand, for Kunti gave up sovereignty and chose the woods. She who was the mother of Yudhishthira, of Bhima, of Vijaya, how did she burn to death like a helpless creature? Thinking of it I am stunned. In vain did Arjuna gratify the god of fire at Khandava! The ingrate fire, forgetting that service, has burned to death the mother of his benefactor. Alas, how could that god burn the mother of Arjuna, he who once came to Arjuna in the guise of a Brahmana to beg a favor?

This is another thing, O holy one, that gives me still greater pain, that this lord of earth met death by contact with a fire that was not sacred. How could such a death overtake that royal sage of Kuru’s race, who ruled the whole earth and then practised penance? In that great forest there were fires sanctified with mantras. Alas, my father left this world by contact with an unsanctified fire. I think Pritha, wasted to a form in which every nerve showed, must have trembled in fear and cried, O son Yudhishthira, and awaited the terrible approach of the flames. She must have said too, O Bhima, rescue me from this danger, as she, my mother, was surrounded on all sides by that terrible fire. Of all her sons Sahadeva was her darling. Alas, even that heroic son of Madravati did not rescue her!

Hearing the king’s laments, all present wept, embracing one another. The five Pandavas were so broken with grief that they looked like living creatures at the dissolution of the universe. The sound of the heroes’ weeping filled the spacious chambers of the palace, escaped from them, and pierced the very sky.

A sub-tale: Yudhishthira’s anger at the god of fire reaches back to an old event: the burning of Khandava, when Arjuna and Krishna helped Agni devour the whole Khandava forest and so satisfied his hunger. There Agni had come to Arjuna in the guise of a Brahmana to ask his help. Yudhishthira now recalls that favor to call the fire “ingrate,” charging that it burned the very mother of its benefactor. The charge is unjust, but it comes naturally from a Yudhishthira sunk in grief, and the story lets it stand as it is.

The gist: Yudhishthira laments: that Dhritarashtra, strong as ten thousand elephants and father of a hundred sons, should burn to death among vultures; no grief for Gandhari, but deep grief for Kunti; and, above all, the pain that the death came by an “unsanctified fire.” He recalls Agni’s debt from Khandava and calls him ingrate. All the Pandavas break down.

Narada’s resolution and the funeral rites

Narada said, The king was not burned by an unsanctified fire. I heard this there. I tell you, O Bharata, such was not the fate of Vichitravirya’s son. It is heard that when the old king, wise and air-eating, entered the woods after his return from Gangadwara, he had his sacrificial fires duly ignited. Having performed his sacred rites with them, he abandoned them all. Then the priest-Brahmanas who were with him cast off those fires in a lonely part of the woods and went away on their other errands. The fire so cast off grew in the woods and then produced a general forest fire. This is what I heard from the ascetics dwelling on the banks of the Ganga. United with that sacred fire of his own, O chief of the Bharatas, the king met death on the banks of the Ganga. This, O sinless one, is what the ascetics told me.

Thus, O lord of earth, King Dhritarashtra, coming into contact with his own sacred fire, departed from this world and reached the high goal that was his. Through the service she rendered her elders, your mother, O lord of men, attained very great success; there is not the slightest doubt of this. It is fitting, O king of kings, that you now offer the rites of water in their honor, with all your brothers. Take, then, the necessary steps to that end.

Then that lord of earth went out with all his brothers and the women of the house. The people of the city and provinces, moved by their love, went out too. All proceeded toward the bank of the Ganga, each clad in a single garment. Plunging into the stream, and placing Yuyutsu at their head, those best of men began to offer oblations of water to the high-souled king. They gave similar oblations to Gandhari and Pritha, naming each and mentioning their families. Having finished those rites that cleanse the living, they returned, but without entering the capital they stayed outside it.

They sent to Gangadwara, where the old king had burned to death, a number of trusted men skilled in the ordinances of cremation. Having rewarded them beforehand, the king commanded them to complete whatever rites of cremation the bodies of Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and Kunti still awaited. On the twelfth day the king, duly purified, performed the Sraddhas of his deceased kin, marked by gifts in abundance. For Dhritarashtra, Yudhishthira gave gold, silver, cows, and costly beds. Naming Gandhari and Pritha, he made many fine gifts. Every man received the thing he wished and as much of it as he wished. Beds, food, cars, conveyances, jewels, and other wealth were given away in profusion. For the two mothers the king gave cars and conveyances, robes and coverlets, many kinds of food, and female slaves adorned with ornaments.

Having made many kinds of gifts in profusion, that lord of earth entered his capital named after the elephant. The men who had gone to the bank of the Ganga at the king’s command, having cremated the remains of the king and the two queens, returned to the city. Having honored those remains with garlands and scents of many kinds and disposed of them, they told Yudhishthira that their task was done. The great Rishi Narada, having comforted the righteous Yudhishthira, went away where he wished.

Thus King Dhritarashtra, having spent three years in the forest and fifteen in the city, left this world. Having lost all his children in the war, he had made many gifts for the sake of his kinsmen, relatives, friends, and his own people. After his uncle’s death Yudhishthira became very cheerless. Bereft of kinsmen and relatives, he somehow bore the burden of the kingdom.

A key to reading this (a concept): The very “unsanctified fire” whose death so tormented Yudhishthira is the thorn that Narada draws out: the king had established his sacrificial fire duly, and it was this fire, cast off in the woods by the priests, that became the forest fire. So the king in truth went by contact with his own sacred fire, not an unsanctified one. This is the story’s own resolution, answering the misgivings of both Sanjaya and Yudhishthira. Note that in the reckoning the count of “three years in the forest and fifteen in the city” follows one recension; earlier Gandhari had said “sixteen years,” and this difference is a feature of the original text, not to be flattened into agreement.

The gist: Narada explains that the forest fire in truth sprang from the king’s own abandoned sacrificial fire, so the death came by a sacred fire; and Kunti attained success through her service. Yudhishthira, with all his brothers, offers the rites of water and, on the twelfth day, performs the Sraddha with abundant gifts, while men sent to Gangadwara complete the cremation. Dhritarashtra passes three years in the forest and fifteen in the city; after his death Yudhishthira bears the burden of the kingdom in cheerlessness. Here the Ashramavasika Parva ends.

Source: The Mahabharata (Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa), Ashramavasika Parva; in the Gita Press, Gorakhpur tradition.