Dharmaja, beholding the rough and rugged path before them, turned to Bheema and spoke with calm resolve. “This way, my brother, is hard to tread. The ground is unkind, the stones sharp, and the forests wild. Let Dhoumya and the other Brahmins return in the chariots; you, Sahadeva, and Draupadi too, may safely go back. I shall proceed with Nakula, guided by the sage Romasa, to complete the sacred pilgrimage, taking ablutions in all the holy waters before we return. Till then, take tender care of Draupadi.”
Bheema, his great chest heaving with emotion, replied: “How can we, O noble one, remain apart from you? Demons and spirits of darkness haunt these dense forests. Shall we, who have borne arms for you, withdraw even for a moment? The world praises your virtue, and the thought of Arjuna’s absence already weighs heavily upon our hearts. To be parted from you too is a sorrow beyond measure. If Draupadi or the twins tire, I shall bear them on my shoulders through the steep and hostile ways. The hills may rise, the paths may wound our feet, yet we shall press on together. Should the chariots fail upon this ground, let Indrasena and the warriors remain behind while we advance on foot.”
Then the sage Romasa lifted his voice and said, “Let us go forth by the strength of our penance towards the sacred heights of Gandhamadana. There we shall behold Arjuna, the mighty son of Indra, returning from the celestial realms, victorious in tasks beyond mortal power.”
Joy spread through all at these words, and their hearts glowed with hope. They moved onward until they came to the dominion of King Subahu, lord of the forest tribes. His land resounded with the cries of elephants and the neighing of horses, and vigilant warriors guarded his borders. Subahu received them with honours befitting kings, offering hospitality and safety. Leaving their chariots and attendants with him, the Pandavas journeyed northward on foot towards Gandhamadana.
As they walked, Dharmaja spoke again to Bheema: “Even the wielder of the thunderbolt, if opposed, might yield before your strength. In swiftness you equal the wind; in brilliance, the Sun. With eyes broad as lotus petals and arms of power, you stand foremost among archers. O steadfast one, my heart yearns to behold our brother Arjuna once more. His absence lengthens each day like a shadow stretching to the horizon. When shall we meet again?”
As they advanced, light broke through the caverns of mineral hills, shimmering like veils of gold and silver. The clear waters of the streams glowed like strings of pearls, and the frozen peaks shone like crystal domes where sunlight danced on every facet. However, as they climbed higher, fierce winds began to arise. Dust and pollen whirled into the air, veiling the sky in shifting colours. Trees were torn from their roots, branches crashed to the earth, and the mountain groaned under the storm.
The Pandavas formed three groups to withstand the tempest: Dhoumya, Dharmaja, and Sahadeva in one; Bheema and Draupadi together in another, armed with bow and mace; Romasa, Nakula, and the Brahmins in the third. The rain poured down with thunder and lightning tearing the heavens apart. Streams overflowed, uprooting trees and dragging them along in torrents of mud and stone. When the fury of the storm abated, the three parties reunited and resumed their way through treacherous slopes.
The path grew steeper, and sharp stones wounded their feet. Draupadi, overcome with weariness, sank upon the ground. Bheema lifted her gently, laid her upon a deer-skin, and fanned her with broad leaves, while Nakula and Sahadeva softly massaged her limbs. Dharmaja’s heart sank within him. “Alas,” he said, “I am the cause of her suffering. Her tender feet, once caressed by silken carpets, are now bruised by cruel rocks. The dust has reddened her eyes, once bright as lotus petals. She who dwelt on beds of down now lies upon unyielding stone. What will her father, King Drupada, think of us who brought her to such pain?”
Dhoumya and the Brahmins consoled him with words of wisdom. The gentle mountain breeze revived Draupadi, and she smiled faintly as Dharmaja spoke with kindness, urging Bheema to find a way for her to continue.
Bheema pondered for a moment, then invoked his son Ghatotkacha, the mighty offspring of Hidimba. The demon prince appeared in an instant, bowing before his father and elders, touching Draupadi’s feet in reverence. “Command me, O lord,” he said.
Bheema embraced him and replied, “Your mother Draupadi is weary and cannot climb these rugged paths. Bear her upon your shoulders as we journey.”
At once, Ghatotkacha lifted Draupadi, the Pandavas, and the sage Dhoumya with effortless strength. He summoned other demons to carry the Brahmins, while Romasa, by his ascetic power, traversed the sky-path. Thus, they reached the holy Badarivana, where Nara and Narayana had performed their penance. The air was sweet with honey and ripened fruits; the groves spread endless shades of green, and the Ganga flowed nearby in divine splendor. They bathed in its sacred waters, offered prayers, and visited the sanctified sites of Mynaka, Hiranyasringa, and Bindusara, dwelling in peace for six days.
One day, as Bheema and Draupadi wandered through the mountain slopes, they rested upon a natural stair of stone. Suddenly, from above, a wondrous lotus of a thousand petals fell beside them, diffusing a fragrance beyond earthly scent. Draupadi, astonished, said, “Never have I seen such a bloom. If others of its kind exist, dear Bheema, bring them to me.” She took the flower to show Dharmaja, and Bheema, smiling at her delight, set forth to find more.
Bearing his bow and quiver, he followed the wind’s direction, passing through caves encrusted with gems and gardens thick with plantain and mandara blossoms. He tasted the forest’s fruits and rejoiced in its scents. His strength was like a tempest—he lifted elephants and hurled them playfully upon one another, tamed lions and serpents, and strode through the jungle like a moving mountain. The beasts fled before his might; the birds mocked and mimicked him in jest, and he smiled, amused, as he pressed onward.
Thus began Bheema’s solitary venture—one that would open the gates of miracle and destiny for the Pandavas in days yet to unfold.
