Then Spake Dharmaja unto Bhīma, “O mighty one, thy words are filled with the fragrance of righteousness. Thou hast pondered deeply before uttering them, and thy reasoning may indeed lead to the fulfilment of thy desires. Yet, it behoved me to weigh thy counsel and discern the truth within it, for as the wise declare, success born of effort is secured only through right understanding.” Though the eldest of the Pandavas accepted his brother’s words, he resolved to reveal the inner essence of virtue without causing him hurt. “In the august assembly of elders,” he said, “I have pledged to dwell in the forest for twelve years, and one year in concealment thereafter. Even a soul devoted to piety may fall into the snare of fleeting wealth and the darkness of intolerance, forsaking truth and righteousness. Tell me then, Bhīma, if I abandon my vow, how shall I stand before the noble-minded? I cannot repudiate truth; I cannot betray my word. Let us wait for a better time. Kingdoms, sons, and fame—none of these can outweigh truth.”
Then Bhīma, fierce as the storm, replied, “O King, the lord of death is ever but a step behind men. When life itself is uncertain, who shall say it is stable? Birth and death are twined like day and night—none can sever them. If a man dies without avenging the wrong done to him, his life is vain. The insult we suffered before those kings gnaws my heart like fire, day and night. Mother Kunti, Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva—each burn within with unspent wrath. Shall we let the enemy live proud and laughing while we pine away in this forest, bound by a virtue that mocketh our valor? Thy conduct, O Dharmaja, is fit for a Brāhmaṇa, but ill suits the code of a Kṣatriya. Thou knowest the royal laws laid down by Manu—that he who spareth his foes inviteth his own ruin. We may endure twelve years in the woods somehow, but that year of hiding is a snare impossible to survive. Hear me, O son of Dharma! Thou shinest among kings as the sun among the stars. Thy fame hath spread from the lips of elders to the songs of children, and thy brothers are as lions of the wild. Forest life may be borne with labour, but to pass a whole year unseen—how shall that be? Let one month be counted as a year; thus, thirteen months may stand for thirteen years. This, though a device, violateth no virtue, and is the sure path to success.”
Hearing this, Dharmaja sighed with a pale visage and said, “O Bhīmasena, thy intellect is sharp and thy courage great. Yet listen to me with a calm heart, free from passion. Works that are light may begin with boldness, but great undertakings demand deep reflection. Rashness in such matters leadeth to ruin. A task vast as ours must be weighed with patience; what is begun with care is upheld by the gods themselves. Therefore, think not with haste, but with matured wisdom. This moment is a turning of the world’s fate.”
Then he continued, “The sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra are valiant and fierce. They cannot be despised. Karṇa, Bhūriśravas, and Śalya are unconquerable; they stand as Duryodhana’s shadow. Those very kings whom we subdued during the Rājasūya sacrifice have now rallied around him, eager for vengeance. They are masters of arms and craft, their minds given to deceit and cruelty. Duryodhana’s counselors are steeped in wickedness—they plotted the burning of our house, the poisoning of our food, the plunder of wealth, and the violation of honour. Karṇa, proud of his might, girded with an impenetrable shield, maketh my nights restless. Bhiṣma, Droṇa, and Kṛpa—though just—will still fight by his side, bound by loyalty to the Kuru throne. They possess divine weapons and celestial blessings. Only after overcoming these giants may we reach Duryodhana himself.”
While Dharmaja thus spoke, the sage Vedavyāsa, the radiant guardian of the Pāṇḍavas, appeared among them. Having been duly worshipped, he said, “O sons of Pāṇḍu, valiant indeed are those whom ye must face—Bhiṣma, Droṇa, Kṛpa, and Karṇa. To slay such as these is no easy task; therefore, I have come to ease the burden of thy thoughts. There existeth a supreme knowledge, hidden from most kings, by which victory may be secured. Let Arjuna undertake this penance.”
Then Vyāsa took Dharmaja aside and imparted to him the secret doctrine of Pratismṛti. “By this,” said he, “Arjuna must perform austerities in honour of Indra, Varuṇa, Kubera, and Yama, and thereby obtain celestial weapons.”
The Pāṇḍavas, long abiding in one forest, found its fruits and roots grown scarce; hence they journeyed to the Kamyaka forest by the banks of the Sarasvatī. One day, Dharmaja said to Arjuna, “The Vedas rest in the Brāhmaṇas, but the Dhanurveda in its purest form abideth in Bhiṣma and Droṇa. They are masters of divine archery and now stand with Duryodhana. To vanquish them, thou must acquire the sacred science revealed by Vyāsa. Take this knowledge from me and go southward; perform thy penance to Indra. In ancient times, when the gods feared the demon Vṛtra, they surrendered their weapons and powers to Indra. By his grace, thou shalt obtain all that thou seekest. Through Indra’s blessing, seek also the favour of Mahādeva. Thus, commandeth Vyāsa. By discipline and righteousness alone shall thy path open.”
Receiving the Pratismṛti, Arjuna, pure in body and steadfast in mind, observed the ancient rules of yoga and sacrifice. His penance blazed like fire; his arms gleamed with the bow Gāṇḍīva, and his brilliance shook the very air around him. As he prepared to depart, Draupadī, unable to bear the weight of past humiliation, spoke with tears, “Born as I am in a Kṣatriya house, insulted by enemies, I curse my fate. Better were it to have been born among Brāhmaṇas, where endurance is a virtue. The world knoweth thy valour, O Arjuna—only thou canst lift us from this sea of disgrace. Go forth, for even the sun, moon, and the very directions shall bless thee.”
Her words became a sacred charm upon his heart as Arjuna journeyed northward. By the strength of Indra’s grace, he crossed the Gandhamādana peaks and approached the mighty Himalaya. Bearing Gāṇḍīva and shining with divine light, he came to Indrakīla Hill. There a sweet celestial voice that called, “O slayer of foes, stay thy step!” Showers of flowers rained from the heavens, and before him appeared an aged Brāhmaṇa radiant with austerity.
The sage said, “Whence comest thou, O sinless one, whose brilliance dimmeth the sun? This place is for sages alone—it is no field for warriors. Here dwell those who have transcended desire and anger. Lay down thy arms.”
But Arjuna stirred not. Then the illusion vanished, and Indra himself stood revealed, smiling. “Ask, O son,” said he, “and it shall be granted.” Arjuna bowed and answered, “O lord of the gods, I desire no heaven nor immortality—only thy celestial weapons, that I may avenge my kin and protect my brothers.”
Indra replied, “So be it. Yet to gain them thou must first propitiate Mahādeva. Perform deep penance, and he shall bestow upon thee weapons of infinite might.” Then the lord vanished.
Arjuna withdrew deeper into the Himalayas, to a grove of fruit trees and fragrant blossoms between two lotus-filled lakes alive with swans. There, with mind, word, and body purified, he stood in stern austerity—arms uplifted, living on air and water. His penance astonished even the sages, who set forth to Kailāsa to entreat Lord Śiva himself. Thus began a new and glorious chapter in the destiny of the Pāṇḍavas—the quest for divine grace and celestial arms.
