Slowly and with measured steps, the Dharmaraja advanced toward the court of Virata. By the grace of the Divine, the king beheld the approaching ascetic and, marvelling at his uncommon brilliance, said to his attendants, “This man bears a radiance not born of ordinary birth. There is a serenity upon him that belongs to the divine, and his bearing is that of a sage. Though his garments are changed, the glow upon his countenance and the majesty of his stride declare greatness. Traces of ornaments remain upon his hands and feet, as if some splendour has only just been set aside. His gait resembles that of a royal elephant, teasing bumblebees that hum about it for sport, and the aura above him seems like the shade of a sovereign’s parasol. Truly, he appears as a king. Surely, he must once have been anointed by vassal princes, his feet washed in sacred waters. Why then has he come to us? He is a great soul. I shall honour him with humility and grant him many times whatever he may ask. Should he deem himself worthy of the splendour of the Matsya throne, I shall reverently bestow it. I and my ministers, my retinue and my kin, shall serve him with devotion.”
Thus speaking, the entire court stood before Kaṅkabhattu with folded hands. Virata himself advanced, saluted him, and sought his blessing. With due honours, he escorted him within and in gentle tones, inquired, “Where is your birthplace? What is your lineage? What is your name, and what purpose has brought you here?”
The ascetic, discerning the king’s earnest desire to know his past, reflected a moment, for men speak of themselves as they wish to be known, and none can fully examine the truth of another’s tale. Smiling, he replied, “This body is but a union of the five elements; the mind is ever wavering. Who can establish absolute truth on such unstable grounds? Yet if I must speak plainly, hear this, O King: I am a twice-born, born in the lands of the Kurus, and a friend of Dharmaraja. I have now taken to the life of an ascetic. I am skilled in pleasing kings and well-versed in the art of dice. Through deceit, my wealth was stolen, and I was mocked and shamed; therefore, in weariness, I departed my own land. Yet I know the science of kingship and the ancient codes of royalty. I keep company only with the righteous. My name is Kanka. I do not serve mean-spirited men nor remain in their presence even for a moment. Hearing that you cherish the noble-minded, I have come to serve you. For one year I am bound by a vow; may it be fulfilled with your grace. In gratitude, I shall repay your kindness, and later, with renewed spirit, I shall return to conquer those who once defeated me.”
Virata replied, “Do as you desire. Your food, lodging, and every comfort shall equal my own. Should any servant insult you, I shall punish the offender. To me you are as Indra himself, and I offer you the honour of ruling the Matsya realm. My ministers and kin, together with myself, shall serve you with devotion.” Dharmaraja, smiling, answered, “O King, food sanctified for ritual is sufficient for me; the bare earth is my bed. I am bound by a vow; these honours are enough.” Virata bowed and said, “Live as pleases you, for you are elder in wisdom. Your comfort is my joy. Do what befits your vow.”
Three qualities endeared Kanka to the king: his innate love of dice, his righteous disposition, and his mastery of ancient royal conduct. All these shone naturally in the disguised Dharmaraja, and thus Virata revered him and eagerly sought his counsel.
Soon thereafter, Bhīma entered the court, bearing in his right hand a mighty ladle, a sickle resting upon his shoulder, and a sharp knife at his waist. Short but powerful tridents hung at his side, and his upper garment was the motley skin of a deer. His formidable form astonished the courtiers, for he walked like a mighty elephant. Virata, seeing him from afar, felt a sudden awe, wondering whether the being approaching him was Surya, or Indra, or the Moon itself in human guise. “Who is he? Of what clan? What name does he bear?” he thought, as Bhīma came near, saluted, and spoke with humility: “O King, I belong to the clan of Nalava. I seek to serve you. I know no craft except cooking; yet in that art, none surpasses me in any land. My name is Valala. Give me food, clothing, and shelter, and I shall prepare for you dishes of your choosing. I shall serve you with devotion.”
Virata replied, “How shall I believe you are of humble birth, when you appear capable of bearing the weight of the earth itself? I shall grant you a seat, a vehicle, and a royal parasol. I offer you high office; govern my elephants.” But Bhīma shook his head vehemently. “O King, I desire none of these. I shall cook food that pleases you, as my cooking once delighted Dharmaraja. You are a virtuous king; I shall serve you as I served him. I am strong; I can subdue wild bison, elephants, tigers, lions, and bears, and fell them in an instant. If you will grant me a place in your kitchen, I shall stay; otherwise, I shall go elsewhere.” Virata said, “Your pride of strength convinces me. Be here, then. I appoint you chief of the royal kitchen; the cooks and servants shall heed your command.” Bhīma accepted the post with satisfaction.
At that moment, Arjuna, disguised, entered the court. A sari veiled his legs, conch-shell bangles adorned his arms, a breast-plate concealed his chest, and ornaments and turmeric masked his features. Locks of hair hid his face, and he seemed as fire obscured by dust. Cursed to bear womanly form, he moved softly into the hall, and the courtiers marvelled. Virata said, “He seems a woman, yet his manner is of a man. Observe—regal brilliance shines forth. His bearing is noble and composed. Perhaps for sport he has adorned himself thus. Look well, for my mind is enlightened by these signs.” The courtiers remained silent in wonder as Arjuna approached, bowed, and said, “O King, I have come to serve you. I shall train the maidens of the inner chambers in dance and song. I am Bruhannalā, a eunuch.”
Virata gazed upon him and said, “His arms are long, his chest broad and sound, his eyes wide like lotus petals, and his countenance serene. His form rivals the beauty of the God of Love, even that of Indra. Such a one, by misfortune, has become a eunuch. I wish to honour him with bow, arrows, and shields, with ornaments and wealth, and to exalt him upon a throne.” But Arjuna answered, “Look closely: womanhood is not mine, yet manliness is veiled. By a cruel curse, I have been thus transformed. None can escape the fruits of past deeds. In this condition, I can do little, yet I know the entire art of dance. I can play all renowned instruments and understand every posture and rhythm. I can shape even novices into accomplished dancers, arranging their attire and ornaments with skill.”
The king, though pained by his fate, was pleased to grant him a position. Examining him carefully, he found no reason for doubt and appointed him instructor to his daughter. Uttara soon arrived—delicate yet strong, walking with the grace of a swan, youthful eyes shining. She sent her companions aside, bowed before her father, and filled him with joy. He looked upon Bruhannalā and asked whether she was worthy to learn from him. Receiving assurance, he presented Arjuna with betel leaf scented with musk and camphor, with fine garments and jewels, and said, “You are an expert; I need not instruct you in your duty. Yet my love for my daughter compels me. She is fond of play and knows no discipline. She is young; guide her gently from sport to art. Train her, protect her.” Placing Uttara’s hand in his as custom required, the king declared, “Bruhannalā is your teacher. Honour him as such. Provide him with all necessities. Your guru is your kin, your guardian, your companion. Show dignity in all that you do.” Bruhannalā was granted free passage within the private chambers, and Uttara was entrusted to his care.
Thus, Dharmarāja, Bhīma, and Arjuna secured the roles they desired. How the remaining Pāṇḍavas will enter shall be seen, but the grace and dignity of these first arrivals surpassed all expectations.
