When the Pandavas had been granted the forest of Khandava-prastha, Krishna urged Indra to ordain the raising of a peerless capital there. At his command, the celestial craftsman Vishvakarma descended to fashion upon earth a splendour mirroring Amaravati itself. The sage Vyasa and the priest Dhoumya chose the site and laid its plan according to the sacred science of angles and directions; with due rites, they fulfilled the canons of vastu for the age. Then did Vishvakarma set to his wondrous labour, and a city arose whose magnificence rivalled the fabled realms of the gods: the jewelled Alakāpuri of Kubera with its unearthly wealth, the radiant Amaravati of Indra with its divine glory, the crystal-streamed Svarudhvati of Varuna, and the hidden Bhogavati of the serpent-kings.
Indraprastha stood the equal of all these. Mighty palaces soared aloft, their golden pinnacles catching the sun so that the passing black clouds seemed mocked by their crimson gleam. Silver and gemstones strengthened every wall; marbles and moonstones adorned the courts, where waterfalls leapt like living crystal and flower-laden creepers wove a perpetual spring. Flags of rarest dye floated like the snows of Himalaya. The marketplace shone with heaps of gems in hues beyond counting, so that the very air glowed with their mingled light. Dancers and musicians moved through the streets in garments of the finest, almost weightless silk, studded with pearls, corals and gems; their beauty, their poise and their art seemed to rival nature itself. Scholars, the true jewels of the city, ceaselessly chanted the Vedic hymns, and the air rang day and night with the resonance of piety.
Around the royal dwellings lay a lake clear as crystal, where white, red and blue lotuses opened like stars upon a sky of water. Arches and gateways gleamed with lamps like constellations; their golden and silver carvings were set with sapphire, emerald and diamond, casting such a play of colour that the coats of passing horses seemed to change as they went. Beyond the city the groves breathed serenity: coconut, arecanut, palmyra, and mango trees offered rich foliage and pure air, while the breeze from the river Nandini carried cool delight through fruit-heavy orchards.
Thus, amidst Vedic chant, solemn music, and the dance of welcome, Dharmaraja Yudhishthira entered his new domain with his brothers—each a living emblem of the four aims of life, their rule a sacrifice for the welfare of Hastinapura. The people rejoiced, assured that a golden age had begun. The land breathed health: pure waters flowed, crops and cattle flourished, and no enemy dared raise his eyes against so righteous a king. Vassal rulers and allies alike moved in strict obedience; the duties of every station were observed without breach, and peace and order embraced all.
In this hour of tranquil prosperity, Krishna warned the Pandavas that the sage Narada would soon appear, and counsel them. True to the prophecy, the son of Brahma came, his ascetic radiance bright as the sun. After offering him high seat and homage, Yudhishthira received his blessing. Narada bade Draupadi withdraw and then spoke with grave candour: “You, O king, know every law of righteousness and are honoured by kings and allies. Yet you share but one wife among five brothers—an order against the practice of men and the tradition of the world. Let not Draupadi’s beauty become the seed of strife. Recall the fate of the demons Sunda and Upasunda, who for a woman’s sake destroyed each other.”
Yudhishthira, eager to learn, asked how this came to pass. Narada related: “In ancient times, of the race of Hiranyakashipu, there was a demon Nikumbha whose sons were Sunda and Upasunda. Resolute in austerity, they sought high favours from Brahma. At Vindhya, they stood amidst five fires, mastering the seasons, fasting in water and in flame, unmoved by heat or cold. The fervour of their penance troubled all worlds. The gods strove to shake their resolve and failed; at length Brahma himself, persuaded, came to grant them a boon. They asked for power to change form at will, to travel unbound, to know all arts of darkness and magic—yet not even Brahma could grant immortality. He gave all else, and they, intoxicated by might, set their ambition upon the conquest of the worlds.
“They celebrated a grand rite named Akala-Koumudi to delight their demon hosts, and their strength swelled beyond measure. Kingdoms of Garuda, Nagas, and Kinneras fell before them; kings and sages alike were harried, Vedic rites and sacred sacrifices were defiled. Their wrath at all that was holy became the herald of their doom.”
So spoke Narada, warning the Pandavas that even the greatest power, when ungoverned by virtue, carries the seed of its own destruction.
