The Kuru grandsire Bhīṣma, firm in his wisdom and serene in judgment, resolved to offer counsel of the highest clarity, hoping that Duryodhana might be softened by his words and guided toward a course that could yet alter the destiny of the Kuru race. For he foresaw that this moment would become the seed of great events in the epic yet to unfold. Bhīṣma spoke of Dharmaraja, the sovereign soul whose merits never diminish, declaring that wherever he dwells, the land becomes virtuous, scholars and Brahmins are honoured, and the people grow gentle in thought and steadfast in service. He described a domain where truth is spoken without guile, charity flows with sincerity, conduct remains pure, the innocent is sheltered, the wicked restrained, prosperity rises through rightful means, kinship is cherished, goodwill spreads among all, and the glory of honest humanity shines unclouded.
There prevails the love of learning, the calm governing of senses, and the quest to earn the esteem of worthy men. Wealth arises from labour and discernment alone, never by crooked paths, and without effort, the influence of Dharmaraja seeds these qualities wherever he abides. In his presence, herds multiply, milk fills every household, and the fruits of the field surpass those of other realms. Thus, Bhīṣma hinted that the nature of men, the abundance of cattle, and the prosperity of the land would reveal the hidden presence of the sons of Pāndu. Beneath this counsel lay a gentle reminder to decipher the spiritual meaning safeguarded in ancient culture: the cow as the emblem of the four Vedas; milk as the four human aims of life; cream as the awakening of the spirit; the churning of curds as the shaping of character; butter as the fruit of endeavour; and its tasting as the enjoyment of earned merit. Through this subtle teaching, he urged them to read the signs of prosperity as silent messengers of Dharmaraja’s nearness and to seek the Pandavas accordingly.
Kripa then continued in harmony with Bhīṣma’s thought, advising that methods of search be fashioned to meet the urgency of the hour—methods that served many purposes at once, for delay could only undo what toil had accomplished. He warned that the period of concealment was nearing its end, and that silence in the face of danger was unwise. The Pandavas had completed their long exile, their vow of hidden living was almost fulfilled, and their hearts were stirred by indignation against the Kuru king. Though the rival was weaker, one must be vigilant, for the sons of Pandu were mighty in limb and valour; it was folly to disregard them merely to fatten one’s coffers. As master of the art of war, he urged the forming of sound strategy, the strengthening of armies, and the gathering of allies until no foe could break their ranks.
The Kuru prince, he said, should bind strong kingdoms to his cause and marshal weapons and warriors in abundance, for the Pandavas were men of oath, and their vow—once broken—was a declaration of war. The only shield against ruin was an honourable pact between Duryodhana and Dharmaraja; yet if the Pandavas refused peace, then suitable measures could be adopted. Setting aside conjecture, Kripa even imagined the Pandavas slain and declared that in such a case, the Kurus must display their might to all neighbouring kings. His hidden hope, however, was to dissolve the deadlock and reunite kindred blood, for the veteran of many wars sought the safety of the Kuru throne even as he spoke of battle.
Many voices rose in the assembly thereafter. Duryodhana, swollen with pride yet outwardly composed, listened with seeming patience and then addressed the court with sharp and subtle reasoning. They spoke of four masters of combat—Bhīmasena, Sālya, and the sons of Madhu and Salva in wrestling prowess—declaring that none outside their circle could rival them. One among them alone, he argued, could humble another, and thus, through this reasoning, he concluded that Bhīmasena must have struck down the arrogant chieftain who had oppressed a virtuous woman. For who other than Bhīmasena, disguised in the night as a celestial warrior, possessed the strength to destroy that man and his kinsmen?
The clues, he said, pointed unfailingly to the house of Virata, where the Pandavas must now be living in concealment. The Matsya king had long defied the Kurus; therefore, they should seize his outlying towns and drive away his herds. Dharmaraja would surely rise to defend them, thereby breaking the vow of concealment, and the Pandavas could then be banished anew for twelve years. Should this suspicion prove false, they would still return enriched with Virata’s wealth; in either case, profit waited at their door. If the assembly agreed, he urged that preparations begin at once.
Then King Susarma of Trigarta, having consulted with Karna and Dussasana, rose and declared that the fallen chieftain had once defeated him with the aid of neighbouring rulers, denying him victory in fair combat. Burdened by past humiliation, he begged leave to invade Virata’s kingdom. A cluster of villages lay between their realms, villages which the Matsya rulers had troubled repeatedly; now was the time to sweep them away, for their king was weakened by grief for his slain relative. Susarma vowed to crush Virata’s counsellors, allies, treasury, fortress, and soldiery—the seven portions of a kingdom—and to bring all spoils to Duryodhana. He would seize the herds completely, and when Virata resisted, he would uncover the Pandavas. Karna supported him, saying the Trigarta king’s proposal was sound.
Duryodhana read the mood of the assembly and commanded Dussasana to raise a fourfold army. The assault would come from two sides: the Trigartas first, and on the following day, the Kurus themselves. Dussasana bowed and accepted the order. Duryodhana then proclaimed his full design: Susarma would seize the cattle, drawing Virata into battle; while Virata’s strength was occupied, the Kurus would storm his capital. Thus, the Pandavas would be compelled to reveal themselves to protect the city, and their vow would be declared broken. The Trigarta forces would assemble at one appointed place, and the Kuru troops at another. Before any word reached Virāta’s spies, each commander must swiftly take position.
With this decision, the great page of history turned. Duryodhana argued little yet subdued all opposition through artful reasoning and veiled cunning. He gleaned the unspoken hints of seasoned warriors and twisted them into advantage. But though the plan was clever, it summoned ruin upon land and people alike, for reason unlit by wisdom is but a torch that burns the hand that holds it. Duryodhana stood in that assembly as a living proof that shrewdness without insight leads only to disaster.
