Kunti, standing in the presence of Krishna, enquired with tender concern about the welfare of her sons and spoke of their virtues with restrained pride. With equal reverence, she sought news of her daughter-in-law Draupadi, her voice soft yet earnest, revealing an affection deeper than mere inquiry, for her heart leaned strongly toward that noble woman.
She declared without hesitation that her attachment to Draupadi surpassed even that which she bore for her sons. The service, humility, and reverence Draupadi had shown her were immeasurably precious, far exceeding filial duty, and her conduct was pure and sacred. Radiant in the glory of both her paternal and marital lineages, such a virtuous woman had been subjected to a cruel and infamous humiliation in the Kuru assembly, a memory that weighed heavily upon Kunti’s mind and plunged her into desolation.
She confessed that she could endure any suffering, but the sight of Panchali bearing such an unbearable insult shattered her strength. None in the world, she said, had endured hardships equal to those Draupadi had borne, and even now she carried her sorrow along with fearful apprehensions of what the future might unfold. Except for Vidura, none had raised a voice against that destructive outrage in the assembly, and his fearless opposition to unrighteousness stood as an example worthy of the world.
Recollecting all these sorrows before Krishna, Kunti, her mind burdened by painful memories, spoke again. She set aside the thirteen years of exile her sons endured and spoke instead of her own suffering, having lived for an equal span at the mercy of her brother-in-law’s son, dragged into an abyss of grief. She affirmed before Krishna that she had regarded Duryodhana and his brothers as her own sons, showing no distinction or partiality, calling the divine as witness to her impartial heart.
She prayed that if her words were true, she might behold her sons and Krishna himself returning unstained, crowned with success and joy. She acknowledged the futility of expecting Dhritarashtra to favor the Pandavas or of admonishing Duryodhana, and questioned the use of censuring the elders. She blamed her maternal family instead for giving her in marriage to a house of hardened hearts. At the birth of Pandu’s son it had been proclaimed from the heavens that his fame would fill the skies, that he would conquer the Kauravas, protect his brothers’ honor, and rule vast realms. She wondered whether even such a bodiless celestial voice could be faulted if destiny delayed its truth.
With wisdom, she placed her sorrow before Krishna without directly accusing those who had wronged her children, knowing her words would strike their mark. If righteousness yet lived in the world, she said, the voice of the heavens must surely prove true, and Krishna himself was the upholder of that virtue. She entrusted to him a clear message for those dear to her, beginning with the son of Dharma, questioning why a kshatriya should beg for wealth, for when valor and chivalry depart, the warrior becomes like fire without heat and loses the respect of men.
With skill, she urged that kingship gained by supplication would never command reverence, and that wealth so obtained would not endure, eventually passing into the hands of the truly heroic. She emboldened her son to abandon excessive meekness, to display courage, and to earn the people’s respect. To Bhima and Arjuna, she sent a sterner word, declaring that a kshatriya maiden marries and bears sons for the sake of courage and bold action, and that the hour had come to manifest splendor and majesty without delay.
She inspired them wisely, confident in their strength, believing they must prove their superiority on the battlefield and bring her the glory of being called the mother of heroes. Though aware of their fierce and even terrible prowess, she restrained her words, preparing them subtly for what lay ahead. Gentle with Dharmaraja, she was sharp and direct with Bhima and Arjuna, and to Madri’s sons she sent counsel that a warrior must live by the power of his arms, for submission deserved rebuke.
She urged the Pandavas to seek Draupadi’s counsel, knowing her to be their guiding force, and warned Sahadeva against softness in royal duty while advising Nakula to live in strength and vigor. Every word was suited precisely to the state of mind of each son, for as a mother she knew them completely. She affirmed that Bhima and Arjuna could not be restrained if angered, and after such humiliation, vengeance would naturally arise, yet the sons of Pandu would abide by Krishna’s command, trusting him to remove her accumulated grief.
Krishna consoled her with gentle assurance, praising her blessed qualities and the glory she brought to her husband’s lineage. He declared her piety and courage to be a source of inspiration and promised to dispel her worries swiftly. Her sons and daughter-in-law were safe and remembered her with devotion, unwilling to accept comforts not earned through righteousness, resolved to uproot their enemies and celebrate a kingdom’s triumph in which her heart would rejoice.
With Krishna’s words Kunti’s face bloomed. She addressed her nephew as slayer of demons, declaring him father, preceptor, guide, and divine refuge to Pandu’s sons. Whatever path he deemed just, they would follow without question, for those who sought refuge in him never came to harm. Not only the Pandavas, she said, but even the Kauravas and the worlds themselves were guided by his word, which stood as ultimate authority.
Krishna heard her with a smile, sought her permission, and departed with Kritavarma toward Duryodhana’s palace, adorned in anticipation of his arrival. The gatekeepers informed Suyodhana, who received him with outward humility. Seated upon his throne among Bhishma, Drona, Karna, Shakuni, and the other princes and vassal lords, Duryodhana welcomed Krishna with embraces and honors, offering him a splendid golden seat, which Krishna accepted with composure.
After worship was rendered to him and to Satyaki, all took their places, and Govinda conversed pleasantly with the assembly. Duryodhana spoke at length about the delicacies prepared in his kitchens, but Krishna declined to dine, explaining that boasting about hospitality lacked true courtesy. Such words displeased Duryodhana, who whispered to Karna that Krishna’s refusal revealed partiality and concealed enmity.
Pressed again, Krishna replied firmly that an envoy must not accept food, gifts, or garments before fulfilling his mission, for such restraint was the law of diplomacy. Duryodhana mocked this reasoning, urging him to eat and rest, but Krishna calmly explained that food offered with true affection or in dire necessity alone was acceptable, and neither condition existed there. He declared that those who harmed the Pandavas, his very life-breath, were his enemies, and food from such hands was deemed unfit by moral law.
Announcing his resolve to dine only at Vidura’s house, Krishna rose and departed despite invitations from the elders of the Kuru lineage. At Vidura’s dwelling, he was received with loving devotion, bathed auspiciously, and served simple, wholesome food in proper order, with Brahmins first, then himself and his companions. The meal was taken with joy and contentment, accompanied by gentle conversation.
Vidura offered his hospitality as sacred worship, which Krishna accepted with kindness, adorning himself with sandal paste, garlands, and silken garments while hymns were chanted and music filled the halls. After blessing the assembled scholars and artists, Krishna rested upon a couch, and Vidura, seated nearby, spoke anxiously of Duryodhana’s wicked pride, his reliance on Karna, and his confidence in war, thus revealing through faithful counsel the true state of affairs.
