Ugraśravā, seated amidst the sages in the sacred forest of Naimiṣāraṇya, continued his narration to Śaunaka and the assembled seers. When Arjuna, transcending the bounds of mortal power, performed deeds beyond human reach, and when the cruel humiliation of Duryodhana met with the unbounded mercy of Dharma’s son, Janamejaya was filled with astonishment.
A strange mix of wonder and scorn arose within him — wonder at the nobility of the Pāṇḍavas, and hatred toward the meanness of Duryodhana’s heart. The king said, “O venerable Vyāsa’s disciple, Vaisaṁpāyana, that prince of evil mind, who ever sought chances to harm the Pāṇḍavas, received his rightful punishment when he was vanquished and bound by the king of the Gandharvas.
Released thereafter by the very men he despised, how did he return to his city without the burning fire of shame consuming him? How could pride endure beneath such humiliation?” Thus spoke Janamejaya, pondering the mystery of that event in which cruelty and compassion, deceit and righteousness, sorrow and triumph, human frailty and divine might, were woven into one tapestry of fate.
“In this single episode,” said he, “lies a lesson for ages yet unborn. Therefore, expound it to me in full.” Then Vaisaṁpāyana said: When Duryodhana, weighed down by the intolerable burden of disgrace, departed the place of his defeat, he halted in the wilderness and ordered tents to be raised. There, upon a lonely bed, he lay tossing in anguish, his spirit consumed by grief. The stain of insult clung to him like a garment; his face grew pale as the moon eclipsed by Rāhu.
At length came Karṇa, bearing royal courtesy, and said, “O mighty Duryodhana, thou hast achieved what men could scarce attempt. None hath seen such a battle. Those Gandharvas were beings of celestial might, masters of illusion and shape, not creatures of mortal mould. To have stood against them is a glory rare even among the gods. Did I not see thy valor when hosts of foes fell before my arrows?
Though our ranks fled, thou didst remain unscathed, a lion among men. Who in this world hath shown such prowess?” Duryodhana, his heart bleeding beneath the praise, sighed and spoke with shame. “O sinless Karṇa, thou knowest not my misery. I and my brothers fought long against the Gandharvas; many perished on both sides. In single combat, I faced their lord Citraratha and was vanquished. Captured with my kin and women, I was borne away through the skies, mocked by fate.
My followers, wailing helplessly, fled to the Pāṇḍavas for aid. The sons of Pāṇḍu, moved by our plight, came forth. Dharmarāja first sought my release through gentle entreaty, but the proud Gandharvas refused. Then Bheema, Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva charged like storm-clouds of destruction. When defeat loomed over them, the Gandharvas took flight, bearing us captive aloft, but Arjuna’s arrows pierced their illusion, and they were forced to descend. Then appeared their lord before Arjuna, revealing himself as Citraratha, friend of Indra, and said, ‘O hero, we seized these men at the command of the king of heaven himself.’ Thereupon Arjuna pleaded for me, saying, ‘Release him; he is our kinsman.’
Thus, I was freed, not by my strength, but by their grace. Canst thou conceive my agony? I wish the earth had opened and swallowed me! Better death in battle than life in humiliation.” Overwhelmed, he wept aloud. “How shall I face Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Bhīṣma, or Droṇa? How shall I rule the kingdom or meet the eyes of my subjects? My defeat is my sin, my shame my punishment. I shall end my life by fasting; let Duhśāsana rule in my stead.” So spoke Duryodhana, maddened by despair. Duhśāsana, stricken with grief, fell at his brother’s feet and cried, “O king, thou alone art worthy of this realm! The earth herself would break, the seas dry up, and the sun and moon lose their light before another bears thy burden. Let not shame unman thee.”
His tears flowed unceasingly. Duryodhana wept in silence until Karṇa, ever cunning in counsel, said sternly, “O king of the Kurus, cast off this weakness. Grief is the food of foes. Self-destruction is the thought of cowards. Is this the valor of the race of Bharata? Defeat and victory are twin consorts of war — to feel insult at one is folly. The Pāṇḍavas are thy subjects; they dwell in thy realm, and it was their duty to rescue their king in peril. Think of their aid not as disgrace but as proof of loyalty. Their victory is thine; their strength, the arm of thy sovereignty.
Arise, therefore, and prepare for deeds yet greater.” Sakuni then added, with serpentlike words of guile, “Karna’s counsel is sound. Despair is poison to wisdom. Remember, O prince, all wealth was gained by my craft, not by thy sword. If thou wouldst perish now, it is an insult to my intellect. Wisdom is not in knowledge alone but in learning from the elders and tempering anger.
Forsake this fire of sorrow. The sons of Pāṇḍu have done thee service; repay them with generosity. Restore to them their rightful share, and win a glory unblemished.” Yet even as he spoke, in his heart the son of Subala wove new designs, plotting anew against the rising fortune of the Pāṇḍavas. And thus, in that hour of humiliation, when pride contended with wisdom, fate itself wrote another page in the immortal history of the Bharatas.
