Sairandhri paused for a moment at the turning to the queen’s chambers, her heart wavering with hesitation. She conveyed the king’s veiled request that she should leave the realm, and though the message was gently phrased, she perceived its hidden weight and consequences. Resolving to meet the matter with composure and quiet grace, she addressed the queen, saying that she wished to remain in those chambers for thirteen days only, as customary; thereafter, her lords would require the queen richly, and joy greater than any yet known would be hers.
Whoever has shown kindness to them, she said, is never forgotten; her husbands are bound by the sacred principle of aiding those who have aided them. Noble by nature, generous in spirit, they would repay in full measure whatever goodwill the royal house of Matsya had bestowed. Therefore, Sairandhri urged Sudheshna not to misread her words or actions from many angles, nor ponder why she had spoken so.
How, she asked, could the queen even imagine sending her away without the slightest concern, after having preserved her honour so respectfully until then? Was such a sudden dismissal just? Sudheshna replied that Sairandhri might remain until her appointed days were completed, free to perform her duties as she wished, and that she herself would provide whatever was necessary, if only the servant would keep safe the well-being of her son and husband.
Thus, the queen’s assurance resolved the delicate matter of Draupadi’s concealment, and the lady continued her household tasks as before. Yet at that time rumours stirred through the kingdom and its outskirts: the mighty brother-in-law of King Virata, the formidable warrior said to be unconquerable and feared by all foes, had met an extraordinary end. People wondered which universal hero had felled such a man. It was said that the lion-hearted warrior died at the hands of unseen Gandharvas for the sake of a woman, and that with his fall the proud clan of his kin was shattered; the king himself seemed weakened by the blow. The tale spread swiftly across many realms.
Hearing of these events, the malicious Duryodhana dispatched spies to discover whether the sons of Pandu had broken their vow of living unrecognized. The agents roamed everywhere but, having failed, assembled at the appointed place and returned to the capital. They reached the royal palace, whose entrance glowed with splendour, where noble tuskers stood like heavenly guardians.
Gems fallen from the hands of hurrying tributary kings shone like stars scattered upon the earth; silks and fragrant garlands carried by vassals lent the air a rare and wondrous scent. Approaching with humble bearing, the spies offered salutations to Duryodhana, who sat upon a radiant throne amidst Bheeshma, Drona, Kripa, and Susarma, presiding over a great assembly of vassal kings and warriors. Declaring victory to the king of kings, they reported their efforts: by his command, they had searched forests, thickets, caverns, plains, and every hidden place where men might conceal themselves; they had examined waters, followed wheel-tracks, and trailed chariots as far as Dwaraka, yet found nothing.
Dividing themselves into watchful bands, they had searched towns and villages without success. Now, they said, they wished to relate an unusual report gathered on their return: the brother-in-law of King Virata had been slain mysteriously by unseen spirits for the protection of a virtuous woman; no weapon had cut him, yet his limbs were crushed and folded into his own trunk until the body lay like a mass of flesh. His kinsmen, too had been destroyed in the same strange manner, and none of the king’s officers could determine how such killing was accomplished. Since Virata was an enemy of the Kuru prince, they thought it proper to bring the matter before him.
The spies awaited new orders to resume their search. Hearing this, Duryodhana pondered the occurrences in Matsya, then declared that the sons of Pandu should not be permitted to complete their year in obscurity; they must be forced to violate their vow and be driven once more into the wilderness for the remainder of their lives. Karna urged that a multitude of spies be dispatched in diverse disguises to locate them swiftly, but Dussasana scoffed, claiming the exiles had surely been devoured by beasts and lay forgotten beneath overgrown grasses, and that his brother might freely enjoy the kingdom without fear. The assembly smiled at his childish presumption.
Drona, calm and discerning, observed that the sons of Pandu were embodiments of true warriors, respectful to elders, luminous with innate virtue, and protected by their righteousness; no harm could befall such men. If Duryodhana wished to find them, he should test his own skill. Bheeshma, affirming this, stated that the princes possessed strength of limb, sharpness of mind, and the favour of higher powers; dangers do not approach such souls.
Both lines were equal in his eyes, yet since counsel was asked, he would share it impartially. Thus, in this tale, the wise appeal of Draupadi to Sudheshna, the prudent conduct of Virata pleasing both queen and people, the reluctant yet necessary concession of Sudheshna, and the subtle account given by Duryodhana’s spies stand as enduring lessons intact, intelligence, and timely counsel for all who act in challenging affairs.
