Chapter 3

In Hastināpura, Dhṛtarāṣṭra had performed five sacrifices with the wealth Pāṇḍu had bestowed upon him. He gave charity to hundreds of thousands of Brahmins and satisfied the gods with his offerings. The kingdom flourished and the citizens had everything they desired. They were devoted to virtue, sacrifice and truth. Bearing love and affection for one another, they grew in prosperity. Hastināpura was like the ocean filled with numerous palaces and mansions. There were golden arches and crystal fountains everywhere. Between broad, paved highways lay beautiful gardens and the air was filled with the sweet fragrance of blossoming trees. The clatter of horses’ hooves and chariot wheels mixed with the trumpeting of elephants and the blare of conchshells which mark the beginning of sacrificial performances. Holy chants uttered by numerous Brahmins emanated from tall and exquisitely carved temple buildings, which graced the city in their thousands. Hastināpura appeared like Indra’s celestial capital, and each day dozens of feudal kings would arrive bringing tribute.

Assisted by Bhīṣma, Dhṛtarāṣṭra ruled over the kingdom on Pāṇḍu’s behalf. After hearing of Pāṇḍu cursed and his subsequent retirement, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, despite his blindness, was officially installed as monarch. He thought sadly of his brother and missed him greatly, but in his absence he competently managed all the affairs of state.

It once came to pass that Vyāsadeva arrived hungry and thirsty at Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s palace. Gāndhārī attended to him conscientiously. Vyāsadeva was pleased with the girl and blessed her, “You shall soon have one hundred sons as powerful as your husband.” In due course of time Gāndhārī conceived. For two years she bore the embryo within her womb, becoming increasingly anxious. Then one day news reached her that Kuntī had given birth in the forest to a boy as effulgent as the morning sun. Out of frustration and anger at her own excessively long gestation, she struck violently at her womb. She then brought forth a hard mass of flesh that resembled an iron ball. As her nurses informed her of the stillbirth, she was afflicted by grief and thought of Vyāsadeva and his boon.

At once the sage appeared before her and said, “What have you done?”

Gāndhārī told him how she had become overwhelmed with envy and frustration when she had heard of Kuntī giving birth to Yudhiṣṭhira. With tears in her eyes she said, “I struck my womb and this lump of flesh came out. What then was the meaning of your boon?”

Vyāsadeva replied that his words could never prove false. He asked the servants to bring one hundred one pots filled with ghee. He then sprinkled cool water on the lump of flesh and it gradually divided into one hundred and one parts, each the size of a thumb. These were placed in the pots which were then sealed and placed in a concealed spot. Vyāsadeva instructed that the pots should be opened only after two more years had passed. He then departed for his lonely mountain ashram.

Exactly after the two years had elapsed the pots were opened one by one. From the first came a child who was named Duryodhana. At the moment he was brought out of the pot the sound of braying asses and screaming vultures was heard. Jackals howled and the wind blew fiercely. Without any apparent cause, fires sprang up all around the city and raged in all directions.

The frightened King Dhṛtarāṣṭra summoned the Brahmins, Bhīṣma, Vidura and other ministers and counselors. He asked them the meaning of the omens. “The eldest of the princes is undoubtedly Yudhiṣṭhira and he should inherit the kingdom. I do not dispute that. But will my own son become the king after him? O wise ones, please tell me what is right and lawful.”

As Dhṛtarāṣṭra spoke the terrible sounds began again from all sides. Hearing this, Vidura replied to the king, “When these omens are seen at the birth of a child, it is evident that he will be the exterminator of his race. Our prosperity and future depend upon his being abandoned. Do not hesitate, O King. This child must be cast away at once.”

Vidura told Dhṛtarāṣṭra that he would still have ninety-nine other sons. There would be no sin in abandoning this child, as the scriptures clearly state that an individual can be abandoned for the sake of a family. Indeed, a family can be abandoned for the sake of a village, a village for the sake of a city and the world itself can be abandoned for the sake of the soul.

Dhṛtarāṣṭra was unable to accept Vidura’s counsel. He could not allow his son to be cast away. He shook his head slowly and said nothing in reply. As the nurse stood by holding the baby, the king waved her toward Gāndhārī and the child was handed to her. Bhīṣma and Vidura looked at one another but said nothing. Dhṛtarāṣṭra was the monarch; his word was final.

Over the course of the next month, all the pots were opened and one hundred boys and one girl were brought out. All the boys bore the signs of being great warriors and rulers. The king and queen rejoiced in their good fortune. Dismissing the evil omens, they dwelt contentedly in Hastināpura, attended by Bhīṣma and Vidura.

On Saptasrota Mountain, spring had arrived. Pāṇḍu, surrounded by his five youthful sons, felt young again. He sported with the boys in the hills, scaling rock faces and challenging lions in their caves. They dived and played in mountain pools and climbed tall trees. Wrestling and laughing together, they rolled about the soft grassy slopes.

One evening Pāṇḍu went into the woods with Mādrī to fetch roots and fruits for their evening meal. As they strolled, they saw countless varieties of blossoming trees and bushes. The air was heavy with scent and the sounds of cuckoos and other birds filled the air. Black bees swarmed about the many-colored flowers that surrounded lakes overgrown with lotuses. The celestial atmosphere awoke romance in Pāṇḍu’s heart. He gazed at the beautiful Mādrī, his mind influenced by Cupid. It was a hot day and Mādrī was clad in a long silk robe. In the bright sunshine, Pāṇḍu could see the outline of her exquisite form, which resembled that of a goddess. The soft breeze made her dress cling to her body, revealing her slender waist and firm, round breasts.

Pāṇḍu could not suppress his desire. He had kept himself in check for twelve years and had not dared to contemplate embracing his wives. Kindama’s curse was always uppermost in his mind and he had resigned himself to practising celibacy with the determination of a ṛṣi. It seemed ages ago when he had been able to enjoy conjugal love with his wives. Now Pāṇḍu again felt those stirrings moving his heart. His mind was confounded and he moved closer to Mādrī, gently placing his hand on her arm.

Mādrī at once understood what was in Pāṇḍu’s heart. She was seized by conflicting emotions. How was her lord suddenly approaching her in this way? Out of fear of the curse he had carefully avoided any physical contact with either her or Kuntī for a long time. Although she herself had longed for his embrace, she had scrupulously avoided any situation that might entice her husband. She did not even apply cosmetics or perfumes. But as the powerful Pāṇḍu embraced her, she felt her resolve weaken. Delight and fear seized her heart at once. As her emotions clashed, her mind was petrified. What about the curse! If Pāṇḍu did not stop, he would doubtlessly be destroyed. She had to prevent him.

Mādrī tried to push her husband away. Pāṇḍu smiled, incited further by her protests. His mighty arms, deeply tanned and marked with scars from his bowstring, closed around her like serpents. Overpowered by desire, he could not even hear her as she reminded him about the curse. He pressed her lips with his and dropped down to a grassy slope with the beautiful queen held tightly in his arms. Lifting her robes, he pushed himself firmly against her soft body. Mādrī’s struggles only inflamed his passion more.

As if impelled by the lord of death himself, the monarch entirely lost his reason under the influence of lust. No thought of Kindama’s curse entered his mind as he lost himself in enjoyment with his fair-skinned wife. Even as he tried to consummate the act with Mādrī, the ṛṣi’s words took effect. Pāṇḍu’s chest was seized with a terrible pain and a shocked look crossed his face. His body stiffened and went slack.

As Pāṇḍu’s body fell from hers, Mādrī let out a wail of sorrow. Her worst fears had been realized. Despite all her protests she had not been able to prevent her husband’s death. The distraught queen repeatedly embraced her dead husband and lamented loudly.

Kuntī heard Mādrī’s cries and ran over to where she lay. As Kuntī approached, the tearful Mādrī told her to come alone, without children. Kuntī quickly sent the boys back to the ashram, then rushed to Pāṇḍu’s side. She dropped to the ground. Kuntī realized at once what had happened, and she cried out, “My lord!” Tears welled into her eyes as she turned to Mādrī. “O noble one, how have you allowed this to happen? I was always so careful to protect our lord from this very danger. How did he embrace you, knowing of the ṛṣi’s curse? Why did you tempt him when you were alone together? He was always grave in our company as he thought of Kindama’s words. How did he become so careless?”

Mādrī wept, unable to reply. Kuntī tossed about on the ground next to her. The two beautiful ladies embraced their husband’s dead body and shed profuse tears. Kuntī again addressed Mādrī. “O princess of Madra, you are surely more fortunate than I, for you saw our lord’s face light up with joy as he approached you in this lonely place.”

Gathering her senses, Mādrī replied, “O sister, with tears in my eyes I tried to resist him, yet he could not control himself. He seemed bent on fulfilling the ṛṣi’s curse.”

Kuntī prayed for strength. Somehow this was God’s arrangement. The ways of Providence were always mysterious. But what should be done now? What was her duty? She gently stroked the head of her younger co-wife and said, “O Mādrī, there is only one recourse for me. Please allow me to ascend to heaven with our lord. Rise up and raise our children. Give me the body and, tightly embracing it, I shall enter fire.”

Mādrī shook her head. She pleaded with Kuntī, “The monarch died as he approached me for intercourse. His desire was not satiated. Should it not be I who goes to the region of the dead to gratify him? I am still clasping him even now and will not allow him to go without me. O Kuntī, please let me go!”

Mādrī felt incapable of bringing up the children by herself. Kuntī would be a far better mother. Mādrī had seen her gentle dealings with the boys. She would surely treat them all equally. Mādrī begged Kuntī’s permission to enter the fire with Pāṇḍu. “O Kuntī, the king sought me with desire. Grant me leave to fulfill that desire. You would be doing me the greatest good. I shall leave my sons in your care without any fear.”

Kuntī looked compassionately upon Mādrī as she lay with her arms around Pāṇḍu and bathing him with her tears. The noble Kuntī felt her heart torn. Although as the elder wife it was her privilege to choose to follow the king to the next world, how could she deny Mādrī? It was to her that Pāṇḍu had been attracted. If Mādrī were to live, she would live with the memory of that brief and terrible moment all her life. Guilt would consume her, along with the anguish of being unable to fulfill her lord’s last desire. Although she longed to follow her husband, Kuntī could not be so cruel to her co-wife. She touched Mādrī gently and said, “So be it.” Kuntī then went with a heavy heart toward the ashram.

When the boys heard of their father’s death they were struck with grief. They ran crying to where he lay and fell to the ground, like powerful lions rolling on the earth. Mādrī blessed them tearfully and told them that she would be ascending the pyre with her husband. She asked her two sons to remain with Kuntī and to serve her steadfastly. The boys were too shocked to reply. They watched as the ṛṣis built a pyre next to the king’s body, then, while reciting mantras, placed his body upon the pyre. They asked Yudhiṣṭhira to step forward. The prince, blinded by tears, set fire to the pyre and stood back. As the flames rose, Mādrī folded her palms and fell upon her lord’s body, holding tight as the fire consumed them both. Within minutes both she and Pāṇḍu were gone.

The griefstricken Kuntī then asked the ṛṣis what she could do. The ṛṣis advised Kuntī to return to Hastināpura with her boys as soon as possible. They also told her they would accompany her, carrying the remains of Pāṇḍu and Mādrī with them

The large number of ṛṣis, Siddhas and Cāraṇas formed a procession, walking ahead of Kuntī and her sons. By their mystical powers, they all arrived at Hastināpura within a short time. Kuntī then presented herself at the northern gate and messengers ran swiftly to inform the king.

Upon hearing of her arrival, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Bhīṣma, Satyavatī and all the other Kuru elders hurried to the gate, followed by a large number of citizens, who had heard that an assembly of celestials had arrived. Everyone was struck with wonder to see the brilliant ṛṣis surrounded by Siddhas and Cāraṇas. People came out in the thousands to see those divine beings.

Dhṛtarāṣṭra, along with his one hundred sons, bowed before the ṛṣis. Bhīṣma and the others also offered their obeisances to the sages and, after offering them seats, they sat before them on silk mats spread out on the ground. When the crowd was finally settled, Bhīṣma went forward and worshipped the ṛṣis by bathing their feet and offering them arghya. He answered their enquiries about the kingdom’s welfare, saying that everything was well. Then one of the leading ṛṣis stood up and addressed the Kuru elders. “The virtuous monarch went to the Saptasrota mountain to observe the vow of celibacy. Somehow by the Lord’s inscrutable plan and the arrangement of the gods, his five sons were born.”

The ṛṣi then introduced each of Pāṇḍu’s sons and revealed the identities of their divine fathers. He told them how the boys had been trained in Vedic knowledge and had grown to youthhood in the company of ṛṣis and Siddhas. Glancing around the large concourse of men who had assembled outside the city, the ṛṣi said, “Steadily adhering to virtue, and leaving behind him these children, Pāṇḍu has ascended to the higher worlds. The chaste Mādrī has gone with him. Now his sons should be accepted as the kingdom’s rightful heirs.”

The ṛṣi pointed to a bier lying nearby, covered with a white cloth. “Here are the remains of Pāṇḍu and his wife. Perform the funeral rites and accept his sons as if they were your own. We shall now depart.”

When the ṛṣi stopped speaking he, along with all the other ṛṣis and celestial beings, vanished. In astonishment the citizens returned to their homes. Bhīṣma then led Kuntī and the boys into the city and arranged for their accommodation in a royal palace. Dhṛtarāṣṭra ordered the funeral rites to be performed and declared a state of mourning in the city for twelve full days.

The Kurus were distracted with grief over Pāṇḍu’s loss. Pāṇḍu had been dearly loved by all the citizens and they loudly lamented. Pāṇḍu’s five sons, known as the Pāṇḍavas, lay on the bare ground for twelve days, giving full vent to their grief. They did not accept royal comforts or beds, and they wept along with the Kuru elders.

At the end of the mourning period, the Kurus performed Pāṇḍu’s śraddhā. They distributed vast amounts of food and wealth to the Brahmins on behalf of the departed souls. Then life returned to normal in Hastināpura and Pāṇḍu’s sons took their place in the royal family.

It was at that time that Vyasa chose to again appear in the city. He spoke privately to the bereaved and sorrowful Satyavatī. “O Mother, fearful and terrible times lie ahead. The dark age of Kali now approaches. Sin increases day by day. Soon, by the evil acts of the Kurus, your race will be destroyed and a great havoc will be wrought in the world.”

Vyasa advised his mother to immediately retire to the forest rather than staying to witness the pain and horror that would soon follow. She should devote herself to yoga practice and meditation.

After Vyasa left, Satyavatī reflected on his words. She decided to follow his advice. She then told her two daughters-in-law of her intentions, and asked Pāṇḍu’s distraught mother, Ambālikā, to accompany her. The two royal ladies soon left for the forest to dedicate themselves to asceticism. In time they gave up their bodies and went joyfully to the higher regions. Ambikā remained at Hastināpura with her son, Dhṛtarāṣṭra.