Pandu, humble by nature and ever obedient to his elder brother Dhritarashtra, lent him support in wealth and power. Under Dhritarashtra’s reign, a hundred Ashvamedha sacrifices were performed, with boundless charities to Brahmins and scholars, so that his fame spread in all directions. Yet it was Pandu who shone in the hearts of citizens, vassal kings, courtiers, and men-at-arms alike, for all were confident that this prince would one day raise the Kuru lineage to the glory of Puru and Bharata. His charities enriched the learned, and their blessings returned to him in abundance.
Once Pandu journeyed to the southern forests of the Himalayas with his wives, Kunti and Madri. Sustained in his camp by Dhritarashtra’s provisions, he took to hunting, yet fortune turned against him. He saw a pair of deer in their mating, and losing five arrows, struck them down. As the male lay gasping, he spoke with a human voice: “I am Sage Kindama, with my wife transformed into these creatures. Desire is common to all beings. Though hunting is the Kshatriya’s duty, to slay those in union is sin, a breach of dharma known even to hunters. Born of Bharata’s line, how could you overlook this?”
Pandu replied, “Kings may tolerate enemies, yet not wild beasts; we slay at sight. The sages of old, even Agastya, offered animal flesh in sacrifice, deeming it no sin. Is it just to condemn me?” But the dying sage uttered his curse: “Because you struck us in love’s embrace, you too shall perish the moment you join your wife.”
Stricken with sorrow, Pandu reflected that none, be the king or hermit, escapes karma. Resolving to abandon power, he embraced hermitage, renounced comforts, and lived on fruits or fasted when none were found. With mind fixed on God beneath the shelter of trees, he curbed the senses, cast away wealth, and clothed himself in simple linen. To Kunti and Madri, he said, “Return to Hastinapura, tell Dhritarashtra, Satyavati, Bhishma, Vidura, and our elders that I dwell in a hermitage under a curse.” Yet the queens wept and refused to depart: “Where you abide, there we remain, even unto death.” So, Pandu lived with them, daily performing rites, sustaining himself with roots and fruits, giving liberally to Brahmins, and sending the remainder of his wealth to his brother.
In time he journeyed north with his queens, crossing Nagasaila, Chaitraratha, and the Gandhamadana where celestials reside, until he reached Indradyumna Lake and the slopes of Hamsakuta and Sathasrugna. There, beholding sages ascending heavenward, he asked their path. They answered, “This is the day when Rishis and ancestors attend Brahma. These are celestial ways; mortals may not tread them. And without children, no man ascends to higher worlds.”
Pandu grieved, for though he had discharged the debts of gods through sacrifice, of sages through tapas and chanting, and of men through charity, yet the debt to ancestors—redeemable only by sons—remained unpaid. He turned to Kunti: “No merit equals that of children. Without them, man is dead though alive. Think upon some way by which I may be a father.” At his urging, she revealed the boon once granted by Sage Durvasa: by summoning any deity, she might bear a child. With Pandu’s consent, she invoked Dharma himself, and thus Yudhishthira was born. Then by Vayu’s grace, she bore mighty Bhima. On the same day, Gandhari gave birth to Duryodhana and Yuyutsu, soon followed by ninety-eight others and a daughter, Dusshala. Later, invoking Indra, Kunti bore Arjuna.
Though rejoicing, Pandu’s heart was heavy for Madri, who longed for motherhood. Kunti, with generosity, taught her the secret of the boon, and Madri invoked the twin Ashvins, by whose grace she bore Nakula and Sahadeva. Thus, the five Pandavas are destined to shake the world and establish a new order for the good of all creation.
