The address of Drupada’s emissary and the reply of the grandsire Bhishma awakened keen attention in the hall of the Kuru throne. The envoy’s manner was stern and piercing, a natural jewel of a Brahmin who speaks truth by breaking through softness. Such speech may displease shallow ears, yet to reflective minds it bears guidance. The Pandavas maintained a mute and dignified silence before the outrage done to Draupadi, the trials of forest exile, and the harsh life of concealment. They endured all as the fruit of their unwavering oath. The world knew this well, for every realm bore witness to their value-bound living and moral conduct, and it was unjust to afflict such men. Therefore, the envoy declared that Dhritarashtra should impartially grant them their rightful share of the kingdom and wealth, treating them on par with his own sons to the satisfaction of all realms.
This firm message, upheld by Bhishma, stirred the assembly with strange emotion. The grandsire continued that Yudhishthira could not refuse the pastime of dice and had been ensnared by deceit. Yet, bound by virtue, he accepted exile and concealment. Had he violated the oath and commanded Arjuna, none could have withstood his might, and the Pandavas would never have known such suffering.
At this point, Karna, displeased by the tenor of the hall, spoke in anger. He questioned why known facts were repeated. He declared that Shakuni, on behalf of Duryodhana, had played and won the kingdom in dice. Dharmaraja had lost and accepted defeat. According to Karṇa, one who goes to the forest and later returns to claim a share appears greedy, while no fault lies in the dice itself. Though the argument seemed fair on the surface, deeper reflection revealed that Dharmaraja’s stainless adherence to righteousness had won the applause of men and gods alike, leaving sages astonished at such unwavering commitment.
Karna’s comparison of chance with virtue offended right-minded listeners. His words were steeped in ego. Neither King Virata nor Drupada, with their armies, would be coerced by such tricks into yielding the Pandavas’ rightful share. Threats of that kind wounded the royal code. In his arrogance, Karna even mocked Bhīṣma, questioning his valour for speaking in favour of the adversary.
Bhīṣma replied with calm authority. In the fierce battle of the previous day, he said, Arjuna alone had prevailed, and now Karṇa sought victory in the assembly by crafty speech. When Arjuna had turned back the cowherds, Duryodhana had asked how many days remained in the period of concealment. Bhīṣma had then declared, in the presence of Karṇa, Kripa, Drona, and Ashwatthama, that the required time had already been fulfilled.
Seeing the hall aflame with argument and counterargument, Dhṛtarāṣṭra intervened. He restrained Bhīṣma and reproved Karṇa. Without affronting the envoy, he balanced the assembly and assured the emissary of his goodwill toward the Pandavas. He promised to consult ministers and kinsmen and to depute suitable representatives to them. The blind king affirmed that the Kuru line knew well of his affection for the sons of Pandu. Thus, with careful logic, he spoke in a way that silenced Karṇa while avoiding a direct commitment. Honouring Drupada’s envoy with jewels, gold, and fine cloth, he sent him back with mixed feelings but without cause for complaint, maintaining a delicate balance while planning the next move.
The envoy returned and reported everything that had unfolded in the Kuru Hall before retiring to his abode. Soon after, Dhṛtarāṣṭra summoned his sons, ministers, and kinsmen. He called Sanjaya, known for his wisdom and impartial conduct, and instructed him to go to Upaplavya. There he was to meet the Pandavas in the presence of Krishna. His task was to soothe their grief with gracious words, praising the end of their sorrowful exile and conveying the joy it brought their uncle, who sent greetings and blessings for their success.
Turning to his relatives and advisers, the king confessed that Duryodhana’s ignorance of governance and diplomacy had brought the crisis. The Pandavas, he admitted, were virtuous men and masters of war who had suffered without fault because of his son’s folly. They deserved happiness and harmony, united like water with milk. Yet they would hardly trust the Kurus now, believing them untruthful and unjust. Still, Dharmaraja’s command could not be denied. If pride drove the princes toward reckless action, the Gandiva of Arjuna and the Sudarśana of Kṛṣṇa would surely respond, for the universe itself seemed to stand with them.
The king shuddered when he thought of Bhima and his terrible mace. Who, he asked, could stand against him? Nakula and Sahadeva were no less capable than their elder brothers. Drupada was a great warrior and statesman; his sons were renowned for their strength. Satyaki was a terror in battle, and the Vṛṣṇis were proven heroes to whom fear was unknown. Even if all these were restrained, the righteous wrath of Dharmaraja himself could shake the world. The kings of the Pandya Kingdom and Kekaya Kingdom were famed and unbeaten, their allies gathering like a tempest ready to die for them.
Addressing Sanjaya before the entire court, Dhṛtarāṣṭra urged humility and sweetness. He was to meet Dharmarāja in the assembly, please his kinsmen and brothers, and speak in such a way that the thought of war would be uprooted from their minds and peace restored. Yet the king offered no concrete settlement or share of the kingdom. Instead, he relied on the craft of diplomacy, hoping that gentle words spoken by a neutral envoy might secure an advantage without committing.
Sanjaya mounted his chariot and journeyed to Upaplavya. On arrival, he first met Krsna and Arjuna, who received with honour and hospitality. He stayed the night, conferring with leading figures. In the morning, he entered Dharmaraja’s assembly, prostrated with devotion, and said it was his fortune to meet them. Their uncle, a pious and kindly king, knowing of their presence and the welfare of the brothers and Draupadī, had sent greetings and blessings.
Dharmaraja replied with courtesy that they lived comfortably by the king’s grace and were glad that Sanjaya had been sent. Yet beneath the gracious words lay the pain of being without a kingdom and the sorrow caused by the king’s indulgence of his sons’ ambitions. The realm knew well the blind king’s affection for his brother’s sons. Dharmaraja’s measured public speech thus revealed his inner diplomacy.
How Sanjaya would proceed to serve both peace and duty remained to be seen. The blind king’s careful assessment of friend and foe warned his sons to devise strategy. The mission was meant to measure the temper and strength of the Pandavas. In all these exchanges, refined culture and gracious speech illustrated a timeless truth: diplomacy is among the finest of arts.
