When the sage Dhoumya instructed the sons of Pandu, he spoke to them of conduct, regulation, courtly decorum, the straight path of righteousness, and, above all, the virtues of humility and endurance in the service of others—virtues unfamiliar to princes born and raised amid honour and privilege. This counsel, though seemingly simple, was the final and most delicate lesson required for the fulfilment of their vow of concealment. For though the world is filled with the intelligent, the wise never refrain from guiding even those who believe themselves beyond instruction; at the opportune moment, a gentle correction preserves both duty and destiny.
“You are born of the Kuru race,” he said, “nurtured in noble surroundings. To bend yourselves under the authority of ordinary men, to bear slight and humiliation while remaining humble—this will be hard for you. The weapons you wield blaze like perpetual fire, yet you must never forget the silent enmity of time. Should you lose restraint in a single moment of emotion, you will be swept into an ocean of hardship. Your vow must not be broken. Therefore, I teach you the ancient art of service, as laid down by the sages of old.
“When you enter the royal court, let your step be unremarkable and draw no undue attention. Choose a seat appropriate to the moment. Your appearance must be plain—no ornament beyond necessity. Your conduct must accord with time and place. Deal with all in a manner that becomes the dignity of the king whom you serve. If you walk closely beside him, exceed not the limits of propriety; for to disregard others is to undermine your own support. Imitate him not in gesture, garb, or manner of speech. Let no one feel, even for an instant, that you regard yourselves above him. Monarchs spare neither children, nor brothers, nor friends, nor even queens, should they transgress command; for the safety of their throne they may turn their own kin into foes.
“Do not obstruct one who is at work, even when you know a better way; he will think you seek to dominate him, and harm will follow. Your closeness to the king must not trouble those around you, nor may they believe that your nearness threatens their standing. Interference may bring momentary fame, but its end is ruin. Speak neither too much nor too little. When you converse in the king’s presence, let every word respect the moment. If duty calls, act without hesitation upon his command.
“In the court sit neither directly before him nor far behind, but stand at his side with visible humility. Observe none too closely, nor let your thoughts toward others be read in your face. Keep your gaze upon the king, ready for his bidding. Whatever you hear within private chambers must remain sealed in your heart. If a matter concerning the king reaches your ear, reflect first, discern its truth, and if it demands his attention, recount only its essence. Discretion is your shield.
“Avoid carrying unpleasant tales, and maintain no intimacy with the attendants of the inner quarters—hunchbacks, eunuchs, dwarfs, or idle servants—for such familiarity invites danger. Take only the seat assigned to you. Even if beloved by the king, occupy neither the high places nor the chariots reserved for lords of rank. Be not proud in honour, nor shaken in humiliation. The court flows smoothly only through balance.
“If the king makes secret decisions—whether to reward or punish—reveal nothing until the moment comes. Say not, ‘I knew this already,’ for such vanity breeds distrust. Heat and rain must both be endured. Think not of your own comforts—hunger, thirst, or sleep—when duty calls; your mind must rest wholly upon your charge.
“Though the king may trust you deeply, regard his treasures as one would regard the bones of a serpent: look upon them, enjoy their beauty, but touch them not. Yawn not before him; sneeze not; and never spit within the royal precincts. Let no emissary of enemies, no outcast, no law-breaker, no man of ill-conduct, become familiar with you. In the presence of the king, be as gentle toward the lowly as toward the mighty. Bear no enmity toward any, whatever their station. Though you prosper in his service, do not indulge in pleasures nor parade your wealth; let no jealousy kindle against you. In gatherings, conduct yourself with modesty, not display; keep your close ties close, but show them not with pride.”
Hearing these words spoken with a father’s tenderness, the sons of Pandu bowed and said, “Revered sir, you have instructed us as father, mother, and teacher in one. Your grace shall guard us from shame.” Dhoumya blessed them, saying, “Bear humility for a year; endure hardship; and safely reach the far shore of your vow.”
After offering obeisance, the Pandavas performed sacred rites, worshipping the divine Fire, the ancient witness of vows. Chanting hymns suited for journey and devotion, they circled the flame and prayed for unobstructed completion of their hidden sojourn. Then, guided by favourable omens, they set forth, traversing the northern borders of Dasarna, passing beneath the southern edges of Panchala, moving through the realms of Salva and Surasena, following the flow of the Yamuna southward and then westward. They sustained themselves on fruits and roots, watched a variety of beasts and birds, and breathed the fragrance of wild blossoms. They bathed in a lake strewn with drifting pollen, listened to the contesting songs of birds, and left Dhoumya at a serene hermitage while they pressed on through forests bright with creepers and ripe fruits.
But Draupadi, weary and parched, faltered. “My feet burn, my fingers bleed, and my strength fails,” she said. Having reached the outskirts of Matsya, Yudhishthira looked upon her with concern and said to Nakula, “Lift her upon your shoulder.” But Nakula, exhausted, hesitated; Sahadeva too was spent. Turning to Arjuna, Yudhishthira said, “The day is harsh, and she is as delicate as a tender vine. Carry her to safety.” Arjuna lifted her gently and bore her onward until the towers of the kingdom came into view.
Yudhishthira then spoke: “Our forms and our bows reveal who we are. Before we proceed, we must hide our weapons and change our attire.” All agreed. Arjuna laid Draupadi softly upon a rise. The brothers gazed upon the Gandiva and the other bows, whose brilliance would betray them at once. “This bow,” said Arjuna, “is like a great serpent; its splendour draws all eyes. We must conceal it, though my heart grieves to part from it.”
Searching the region, he spied beyond the burial ground a great Samika tree, its wide branches woven into a canopy so dense that sunlight could not pierce it. The air about it was heavy with the cries of crows and owls, mingled with the wild winds of the forest. Its shadowy form resembled a many-hooded serpent. No man ventured nearby. Here, Arjuna declared, was the place.
The weapons were wrapped in hide so that they seemed like the form of a corpse. Yudhishthira praised each bow for its past victories, honouring the weapons as warriors honour their comrades. Then he bound them all as one might bind a coiled serpent. Blessed by Yama, he climbed the tree fearlessly, invoked the guardians of the cosmos, and secured the bundle upon a hidden branch. Bowing to the presiding spirits, he prayed, “Reveal yourselves to none but me and Arjuna. And should Bheema’s wrath, fierce and uncontrollable, drive him here, protect him from peril and turn him gently aside.”
Descending, he circled the tree in reverence. Shepherds wandering nearby were told, with a voice firm enough to quell curiosity, that the brothers had laid their mother to rest according to ancient custom. Satisfied, the herdsmen withdrew.
Then Yudhishthira prayed to his divine father: “Protector, guard us as you once granted life to my brothers. Let your grace sustain us through this shadowed year.” As he spoke, he assumed the guise of an ascetic, clad in saffron, holding staff and water-pot. The others too donned the garments and ornaments befitting their chosen roles.
Thus began the great hidden journey of the sons of Pandu, guided by divine favour, toward the court of King Virata where the final test of their vow awaited.
