Dhritarashtra, seeking to mask his own misgivings, spoke with gentle persuasion to the wise Vidura. “O friend, venerable to all,” said he, “when you, I, and the grandsire Bhishma stand together, what cause is there for enmity among brothers? By the grace of the gods no harm shall befall my sons. Therefore, O treasure of friendship, consent to this game of dice. Why suspect evil where none can arise?” With these smooth words he strove to win Vidura, revealing himself more as a doting father than a guardian of the realm.
But Vidura’s counsel fell to the ground unheeded. Sent to Indraprastha to summon Yudhishthira, he first sought out Bhishma and told him of the king’s design. “This scheme of dice-play,” he said, “is no righteous act. It will breed only enmity and ruin.” Then Dhritarashtra privately showed Bhishma the newly built hall of assembly, vast and glittering, and sought his approval. Yet Bhishma warned, “Why this gamble of dice? It will stir fierce hatred and bring untold harm to the kings of the earth. Rule as before, in mutual trust with the sons of Pandu. Why let the wealth of the Pandavas kindle jealousy? To rob another by deceit is sin beyond measure; the riches of the sinner soon perish. Your own treasures outshine theirs many times. Your charities, your sacrifices, surpass Yudhishthira’s. All kings bring you gifts of the highest worth. Why then this envy?”
But Duryodhana, consumed by spite, approached his father and said, “O King, let me challenge Yudhishthira to a game of dice. To me this is the highest sacrifice, the surest path to seize the wealth I covet. It is not that I lack possessions, but that my foes possess them. There is no cure for such a fire except to let the coming storm have its way.” He poured his bitterness into the king’s ears, recounting with a heart inflamed the splendours of the Mayasabha: “When you returned to Hastinapura after the great sacrifice, I lingered there to behold that wondrous hall. Never have I seen such marvels—its walls of pure crystal flashing with the light of gems like stars and moonbeams. On a floor of sapphires that seemed like rippling water, I raised my robes to pass dry, yet it was but solid stone; elsewhere, mistaking a pool for crystal, I drenched my garments, and Bhima mocked my stumbling. Yudhishthira sent me dry robes, and their laughter—Draupadi’s foremost—pierced me like a spear. Illusions of open doors that were shut, and closed doors that stood wide, made sport of me, till my heart burned with shame. That wound has not healed; it gnaws like a hidden thorn.”
His jealousy darkened to contempt: “The great are cast down, the base is lifted up. Where is the order of Brahma’s creation, when my enemies flourish in glory? When kings may seize their foe’s riches with ease, why should I endure the splendour of my rivals? The Creator himself seems partial. Did not Indra slay the demon Namuchi by guile? Even so must I strike before my enemies grow too strong. The ant-hill at the foot of a tree, if left to swell, will one day bury the tree itself. The Pandavas’ wealth must not be ignored; my burning heart will find peace only in their fall.”
Then Shakuni, master of cunning, said with a smile, “Why raise armies or spill blood? Let me cast the dice, and without sword or bow I shall win their riches for you. Grieve no more.”
Dhritarashtra wavered, saying, “For this game of dice I will follow Vidura’s counsel. He knows well the path of dharma and of adharma, of justice and injustice. Dice-play breed’s war. Better to shun war with the strong, and keep sorrow from our house.” But Duryodhana retorted, “Shall we act always by another’s will? Opinions will ever differ. Vidura favours the Pandavas and is no impartial guide. The game of dice is praised even in the Puranas; the gods themselves delight in such play. Grant Shakuni leaves to challenge Yudhishthira, and let our purpose be fulfilled.”
The blind king, after long brooding, yielded. Summoning Vidura, he said, “O scion of dharma, behold how this palace glitters with gems and gold. The pious Yudhishthira and his brothers will rejoice to see it. Go, bring him hither. He shall join in a friendly game of dice for pastime and delight.”
Vidura’s heart sank at this command. “This is a crooked game,” he warned, “best stopped for the good of all.” Yet knowing he could not turn the king from folly, he obeyed. His mind, as keen as that of Brihaspati himself, carried him to Indraprastha, where Yudhishthira shone like Indra among the gods, like the moon amid the stars. Honoured as a guest, Vidura told the cause of his coming.
“O holy Vidura,” said Yudhishthira, “the venerable Dhritarashtra, ever loving to his sons, has bidden me visit him. You have come to bless me. I will go to behold this wondrous hall. Yet tell me, is it fitting that I engage in a game of dice? Will it not be the seed of enmity?” But the word of the king was law, and Yudhishthira, scion of the lunar race, moved by the unseen hand of fate, consented to accompany Vidura. That journey to Hastinapura opened the most fateful chapter of the Bharata’s tale—a page of human passion and peril whose colours of pride, jealousy, and doom were to stain the history of kings forever.
