In the palace of Hastinapura, the heavy heart of King Dhṛtarāṣṭra found a fleeting relief, for the women of the royal household rejoiced when the harm intended against the Pāṇḍavas was momentarily undone. In that moment of crisis, the wise queen Gāndhārī rose with firmness of mind and persuaded the king to act with prudence, thereby securing the release of the sons of Pāṇḍu. Draupadī, whose conduct was adorned with dignity, principles, and the code of virtue, won the admiration of all; her presence alone compelled even the hostile to acknowledge her worth.
Yet, among the Pāṇḍavas, none was more troubled than Bhīmasena. His fiery heart could not rest, for he feared that men would mock their glory, saying that kingdom and wealth were regained only through the courage of a woman. Such a stain, he thought, would dim their renown and overshadow their prowess. Burning with this torment, his eyes blazed like fire, and his body quivered as though a lion roared amidst timid deer. He declared that true honour rests upon three pillars—noble offspring, the pursuit of worthy tasks, and the knowledge of arms—while courage remains the mightiest weapon at all times. With his valour, he vowed he could conquer the earth itself. But Dharmaja, the eldest, with a single gesture calmed his wrath, and the brothers, along with Draupadī, returned to Indraprastha.
At Hastinapura, Duḥśāsana, recounting the matter before Duryodhana, warned that reconciliation with the Pāṇḍavas would only breed enmity. “Bṛhaspati has told Indra,” He said, “that favour shown after harm is but the seed of hatred. We have stirred the serpent and left it free. This is folly.” He painted before the prince the dread of facing Arjuna with his Gāṇḍīva, Bhīma with his mace, and the twins with sword and shield. The fear he sowed was greater than the danger itself, yet it shaped a cruel resolve: the Pāṇḍavas must once again be entrapped by dice, driven into exile, and removed from the eyes of men.
Duryodhana, delighted by this cunning counsel, persuaded his blind father to summon Yudhiṣṭhira. Bound by obedience to king and elder, Dharmaja, though heavy with sorrow, consented. With his brothers and Draupadī, he returned to Hastinapura and entered the accursed hall of dice. There, Śakuni, with smiling deceit, declared that wealth and kingdom granted by Dhṛtarāṣṭra were unfit for stake; instead, the loser must don deer-skin and rough linen, dwell in the forest for twelve years, and spend the thirteenth in concealment. If discovered, exile must begin anew. Such was the trap disguised in regal speech, and bound by dharma, Yudhiṣṭhira accepted.
Thus commenced the fatal game. By loaded dice and cunning hand, Śakuni ensured his victory. Dharmaja, enslaved by his yearning and clouded judgment, fell once more into ruin, forgetting the bitter lesson of the first defeat. None can escape the fruit of deeds—so it is decreed by heaven—and the sons of Pāṇḍu, stripped of kingdom and splendour, bowed before their elders, took leave of Vidura and Kṛpa, and prepared for exile.
Vidura, lamenting, said: “O sons of Pāṇḍu, your mother Kuntī cannot endure the rigours of the forest. Let her stay with me, for she is divine and venerable. You are the embodiment of dharma. Bhīma is strength itself, Arjuna master of arms, Nakula the guardian of justice, Sahadeva steadfast in truth. Draupadī is virtuous and devoted, Dhaumya wise and pious. Together you shine with human virtue and divine grace. By courage you conquered kings, by conduct you won sages, and by devotion you gained the favour of Indra, Kubera, and Nārāyaṇa. Be vigilant, and may the earth, the moon, the sun, and the winds bless you.”
So, saying, he blessed them, and the Pāṇḍavas, clothed in hermit robes, bereft of splendour, set forth. The people wept, saying, “O sons of Pāṇḍu, we shall see you again as kings.” Kuntī’s grief overflowed. “O Kṛṣṇa of Dvārakā,” she cried, “why do you not save them, these upholders of dharma, these sons radiant like the sun? Before Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and Kṛpa, dharma is trampled by deceit. Alas, my fortune is broken.” She turned to her youngest, “O Sahadeva, go with your brothers, that I may at least feel all my sons are together.” To Draupadī she spoke with tears: “O daughter of Drupada, you have ennobled two dynasties, for your birth honoured your father’s line, and your marriage glorifies the sons of Pāṇḍu. It is your destiny to serve the best of men.”
With disheveled hair and garments soaked with tears, Draupadī walked behind her lords. The people, struck with shame and dread, averted their eyes. Bhīma vowed aloud to crush Duryodhana and his kin with his mace; Arjuna swore that in the fourteenth year his arrows would slay Karṇa and the rest; Nakula pledged to destroy the gambler Śakuni; Sahadeva vowed to annihilate the usurpers of their wealth. One by one they bound themselves with oaths of vengeance.
As they departed, dire omens filled the sky: meteors fell, thunder roared without clouds, the earth trembled, and a sunless eclipse darkened the heavens. Nārada appeared and proclaimed that in the fourteenth year a great war would be waged, and in it the Pāṇḍavas would triumph. Hearing this, Dhṛtarāṣṭra trembled with fear of his son’s deeds.
On the road, each brother showed in act the fire within: Bhīma stretched his arms, eager for war; Arjuna cast sand, signifying arrows as countless as grains; Nakula smeared himself with dust, veiling his beauty lest it stir envy; Sahadeva, silent, walked with head bowed; Draupadī, her hair unbound, foreshadowed the fate of the Kaurava women; and Dhaumya, chanting hymns of Yama and Rudra, foretold the death that awaited the Kuru host.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra, in grief, confessed that enmity with the Pāṇḍavas could bring only ruin, for they were brave, broad-minded, and unconquerable. Sanjaya reminded him that he had rejected the counsel of Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and Vidura, choosing instead the snares of Karṇa and Śakuni. Even Vidura pleaded once more: “Call back the sons of Pāṇḍu. Restore their kingdom. What is won by deceit is never blessed.” But the blind king hardened his heart.
Thus, the Pāṇḍavas, who had ruled Indraprastha for twenty-three years, departed to the forest with Brahmins and ascetics in their train. Vyāsa’s disciple Vaiśampāyana, narrating to Janamejaya, declared that this treachery of Duryodhana and Śakuni was the seed of doom for the Kuru race and a calamity for all people, for persistence in unrighteousness can end only in devastation.
