The son of Subala, wise in guile, continued his words to Duryodhana, the lord of the Kurus: “O prince, the sons of Pandu are your own kin; unite with them and rule this vast kingdom together. Peace shall dwell between your hearts, and glory shall encircle your crown like light upon the summit of a golden peak.” These words of Sakuni, though draped in counsel, sank like venom into the dark recesses of Duryodhana’s heart. Ensnared by the illusion of his uncle’s speech, he turned to Karna and Dussasana, saying: “Why torment me with these hollow counsels? I have no taste for righteousness, wealth, or the frail splendour of mortal fortune. My decision is firm—I shall cast away this life by fasting unto death. Restrain me not; each of you may go where you please.”
But they, bound by loyalty and deceit alike, bowed before him and replied, “O lord, we cannot forsake you; where you go, we shall go—even unto death.” When twilight spread its crimson veil over the earth, Duryodhana, son of Dhritarashtra, bathed, spread sacred grass, and sat upon it facing the dying sun. Having offered his oblations to the divine orb, he entered a solemn silence, his vow sealed within his heart. In that stillness, his mind grew tranquil, steady as a flame untouched by wind.
Then, in the shadowed depths of the earth where the demons once defeated by Indra had hidden their shame, tidings reached them of Duryodhana’s mortal vow. Lamenting their fading power, they sought the aid of their preceptor, the mighty Sukracharya. He performed a fierce ritual, and from the blazing pit of dark hymns rose a dread form—the demoness Kritya. To her, he spoke: “Bring to us the son of Dhritarashtra.” Swift as nightfall, she traversed the forest, seized Duryodhana, and bore him to the subterranean realms.
The hosts of demons rejoiced at his arrival and spoke with grave voices: “O valiant Duryodhana, pride of kings, thou art born to rekindle the splendour of Bharata’s race. Why dost thou choose the coward’s path of self-destruction? Such an act will stain thy name with eternal reproach. Thou art not fashioned for despair. Listen, and learn thy true birth. We, the daityas and danavas, once performed severe penances to the great Mahadeva—he whose third eye consumed Love’s god to ashes and who felled the triple cities of pride. Pleased by our devotion, he bestowed upon us thee, born of Parvati’s grace and shaped by Siva himself from the dust of diamonds. No weapon forged by gods or men may pierce thy frame; thy form is ever youthful and radiant. Even the women of heaven shall be drawn to thee by thy natural majesty and charm.”
They continued: “Know also that many from our kind have been born among men of the warrior caste to aid thee—heroes whose valour is unspeakable. Bhagadatta and others thou shalt meet in time. Behold, even Bhishma, Drona, and Kripa, though celestial by origin, carry within them the taint of demonic influence. Through their pride and wrath they shall turn upon themselves, neglecting duty and reverence alike. Thus, shall the weapons of the Pandavas be rendered powerless, and fortune will lean toward thee. Fear not Arjuna; we shall reveal the hidden cause of his strength. Krishna, who slew Narakasura, has placed his subtle essence within Arjuna’s friend Karna. Yet Indra, fearing for his son’s fate, deceived Karna to strip him of his divine armour—thus weakening him for the sake of the Pandavas. Hear us well: countless heroes bearing our power are born upon the earth. United, they shall make Arjuna tremble. Thou art destined to restore the Kuru throne. Let not grief enfeeble thee, for thou art our chosen vessel, the lamp of our vengeance.”
Thus speaking, they embraced Duryodhana, adorned him with precious gifts, and said, “Return not to us in misery, but in triumph.” Then Kritya bore him back to the forest and vanished. Awaking as from a dream, Duryodhana pondered deeply. “Is this illusion or truth?” he thought, but the fire of ambition once more kindled within his breast. Strengthened by the demon’s revelation and Karna’s friendship, he rose with renewed fury against the sons of Pandu.
When dawn broke, Karna approached him and spoke gently yet firmly: “O king, no man triumphs by fleeing from life. Death is the end of all, but glory belongs to those who fight while living. None praises the hand that slays itself. Rise therefore, and shine with courage; grief is not thy companion.” Embracing him, Karna continued, “Hear my vow upon this bow—in the fourteenth year of exile, I shall slay Arjuna in battle.” In ancient times, such oaths upon weapons were more sacred than life itself.
Thus, inspired by Karna’s promise and the demons’ counsel, Duryodhana ended his fast, summoned his ministers, and ordered preparations for his return. With renewed might, he set forth, his chariot drawn by steeds swift as waves, his elephants moving like dark clouds over the plain, his legions shining like fish in the flood of war. The vast army surged like an ocean under the moonlight, filling the sky with the gleam of fans and banners, so that it seemed a lake adorned with white swans and blooming lotuses.
So Duryodhana, with Sakuni, Karna, and Dussasana beside him, entered Hastinapura in royal splendour and seated himself upon his throne. But soon thereafter, the wise and aged Bhishma, heavy with foreboding, addressed him: “O prince, we had warned thee not to embark upon the errand of saving the cowherds…” —and thus began another turn in the wheel of destiny.
