In the court of Hastinapura, Duryodhana, son of Dhritarashtra, sat upon his throne in full conceit of his strength and fortune. Around him stood Karna the son of a charioteer, the crafty Shakuni of Gandhara, his brother Dussasana, and a host of ministers who rejoiced in his arrogance. In that hour came Bhishma, the grandsire of the Kuru race, silent and solemn as a cloud without thunder. His countenance was grave, and his words feel heavy upon the assembly.
“O Duryodhana,” said he, “misguided prince, thou hast chosen thy path in counsel with men of crooked hearts. Thou hast seen with thine own eyes the fruit of thine evil venture. By the grace of Ajatasatru, the virtuous Yudhishthira, thy life was spared, else hadst thou been a captive of the Gandharva lord Chitrasena. Thou oldest high the words of this son of a suta—Karna—whose boasts thou hast believed. But when battle flamed, he fled and hid himself. Thy brothers, thy friends, thy companions—all were seized, and thy strength was laid low.
“Know, O king, the might of the Pandavas is beyond measure. They are fierce as fire, steadfast in virtue, unmatched in the fourteen worlds for skill of arms and knowledge of war. Their nobility is born of righteousness; their valor shines with the light of heritage. Desist, therefore, from enmity. Turn thy heart toward peace, seek friendship with the sons of Pandu, and preserve thy wealth and lineage. This is my counsel, born of affection for thee.”
But Duryodhana, his pride unbent, turned his gaze toward Karna. Shakuni laughed aloud, and the courtiers joined in his mockery. The assembly dispersed in discourtesy, leaving Bhishma stricken with shame. The aged warrior departed in silence, sorrowing for the ruin that awaited the house of Kuru.
Later, the confederates gathered again to plan their course. Duryodhana, restless in ambition, spoke: “How may we raise our glory yet higher?” Then Karna, ever flattering, replied, “O lord of men, rule unopposed as Indra among the gods. None can hinder thy pleasure.”
But Duryodhana, moved by another desire, said, “Karna, my friend, since Yudhishthira performed the Rajasuya sacrifice, my heart burns to accomplish one as grand. Thou shalt organize it for me.”
Karna answered proudly, “Why not, O mighty one? Thou hast greater treasures than any king. All rulers are thy vassals. Begin the sacrifice at once. Invite the monarchs, assemble the Brahmins, raise the altars, and perform the rite with a spirit free from desire, as Indra himself would do.”
Pleased by this counsel, Duryodhana summoned his royal priest and commanded him to prepare for the Rajasuya. But the learned Purohit, consulting the Vedic scholars, warned him: “O king, the Rajasuya is not fit for thee. It can be performed only by one who has conquered all enemies, near and far. Until the sons of Pandu are subdued, thou art not eligible. Yet there is another holy rite, the Vaishnava Yajna, once performed by Vasudeva himself. It brings merit and glory without obstacle. Choose that instead.”
Duryodhana agreed, and his companions rejoiced that his vanity had found a new path. Seeking blessings of his elders—Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, and Vidura—he selected a sacred site near Hastinapura. Magnificent pavilions rose; stores of food and treasure were gathered. On an auspicious day, with priests and scholars presiding, Duryodhana took his vow and was radiant with spiritual splendor.
At his command, Dussasana sent a messenger to the Pandavas dwelling in Dwaitavana. The envoy approached Yudhishthira and said, “O noble son of Dharma, King Duryodhana invites thee and the Brahmins to his Vaishnava sacrifice. Vast are the provisions, splendid the arrangements. Thou art specially summoned.”
The Pandavas listened gravely, understanding the hidden pride beneath the message. In ancient custom, a yajna was open to all; yet Duryodhana’s invitation bore the sting of ostentation. Yudhishthira, ever courteous, replied, “The work is righteous, and we are honored by the invitation. But until we complete our vow of exile, it is not meet for us to attend. Convey this to thy master.”
Then Bhimasena rose with fiery eyes and said, “Tell thy king this also: when our exile ends, we shall come uninvited, armed and resolute. The sons of Dhritarashtra shall then be the oblations in the fire of war.” The messenger trembled and departed.
When the tidings reached Hastinapura, Duryodhana proceeded undisturbed. The Vaishnava Yajna was performed with grandeur and flawless order. The Brahmins were fed and rewarded; kings and sages were honored. The rituals shone with perfect adherence to Vedic law. When the final ablution was done, Duryodhana, adorned with gold and jewels, received praises from all directions.
“Never has such a sacrifice been seen,” they said. “Not Harishchandra’s Rajasuya, nor even Yudhishthira’s, could equal its magnificence. Thou art indeed blessed among kings.” Yet within the hearts of the wise there stirred another thought—that this splendour was but the pride of wealth, not the light of virtue, and that the glory of Yudhishthira’s sacrifice, though humbler, was vast as heaven itself.
With triumph in his heart, Duryodhana returned to his palace. The streets rang with cries of victory; maidens showered flowers; singers and dancers filled the air with song. He bowed before his elders and took his place upon the golden throne. Then Karna approached and said, “O lord of earth, thy sacrifice is flawless. Now, conquer the sons of Pandu, and perform the Rajasuya in truth. I swear by my bow, I shall slay Arjuna, son of Indra, and clear thy path.”
Duryodhana embraced him and said, “While thou standest beside me, victory is certain.”
Far away in Dwaitavana, Yudhishthira, hearing of Karna’s oath, passed sleepless nights. For Karna’s celestial armor and ear-rings made him invincible, and his wrath was terrible. Meanwhile, the rule of Hastinapura began to drift into the hands of Karna and Shakuni, whose cunning counsel darkened the king’s reason.
Yet Duryodhana, outwardly gentle toward Brahmins and elders, shared his wealth lavishly and sought the favor of all.
In later days, as Sage Vaisampayana narrated these deeds before King Janamejaya during the Sarpa Yajna, the king inquired, “How fared the Pandavas after they released Duryodhana? For though human, their lives surpass the measure of men.”
And the sage continued: One night, while Yudhishthira slept in Dwaitavana, the spirits of the forest beasts came to him in a dream and pleaded, “O righteous one, through thy hunts our kind grows few. Grant us safety, that our race perishes not.” Moved by compassion, the son of Dharma promised to depart.
At dawn he said to his brothers, “We have dwelt here one year and eight months. Let us now remove to Kamyakavana, fair with flowers and lakes. There we shall live in the hermitage of Trinabindu.” His brothers assented, and they journeyed with Draupadi and the Brahmins to that blessed grove. Feeding upon roots and fruits, they lived in simplicity, enduring hardship with patience, bound by mutual love.
Eleven years of exile had passed. One day, the sage Vyasa, son of Parashara, visited their hermitage. Yudhishthira, seeing him from afar, rose with his brothers to welcome him and offered due homage. The sage beheld their emaciated forms, worn by toil and want, and was moved with pity.
“O Dharmaraja,” he said, “bear these trials without grief. Endurance is the crown of virtue. Penance is the root of all prosperity. Practice truth, self-control, compassion, equality, and patience. Give alms without desire of return, for charity and penance are the twin pillars of righteousness. Wealth given in purity, though little, brings infinite merit; but gifts born of evil gain bear no fruit. Thus, live steadfast, for the time shall come when destiny will unfold the greatness ordained for thee and thy brothers.”
So spoke Vyasa, preparing the sons of Pandu for the mighty course of fate that was to shape the history of the world.
