The blazing radiance of Dharma Vidura entered Hastinapura, and he bowed before King Dhritarashtra, who welcomed him with warmth and affection. The king spoke with emotion, saying, “Vidura, you are as my very heartbeat. I know your noble quality of forgiveness, yet I must confess that I have not always walked rightly with you.” Vidura, humbly bowing, replied, “O King, it is my duty to counsel you when you or your son deviate from the path of righteousness. It is for your welfare that I speak, for enmity with the valiant sons of Pandu is neither wise nor beneficial.” Thereafter, as was his wont, Vidura assisted in the royal administration, devoting himself to the king’s governance.
But Duryodhana grew restless and suspicious. He and his companions—Karna and Shakuni—had once rejoiced when Vidura left the court; yet now, seeing him actively involved in state affairs, they fretted. Duryodhana, driven by fear of the Pandavas, whispered among his rogue allies that Vidura’s return was part of a scheme to restore the Pandavas to power. In his anxiety, he devised a plot to slay them by poisoned food. Shakuni, with his twisted cunning, argued that the Pandavas would never return as long as truth bound them to their exile. Karna, rash and reckless, urged invasion and annihilation of the Pandavas at once. Inflated with pride, Duryodhana rejoiced at such counsel and began assembling forces for this dark design.
But the sage Vyasa, perceiving the venomous intent, came to Dhritarashtra and spoke with grave authority: “Your son plots against the Pandavas, who, having been stripped of kingdom and wealth by his deceit, now endure exile with patience. This conspiracy is a heinous sin. When the sons of Pandu have completed their exile, they will return with righteous fire, and war shall be inevitable. If your son strikes them before the appointed time, his defeat is certain. While I, you, and Bhishma still live, can we allow such unrighteousness to take root?”
The blind king, torn by grief, lamented, “This gambling match, wrought by Duryodhana, was against the will of myself, Gandhari, Vidura, Kripa, and Drona. Yet, bound by blind love for my son, I cannot renounce him. The strongest bond of all is the bond of a parent to his child; all else—wealth, power, fame—fades before it. What solace is there in riches if the child be lost?”
To illustrate, Vyasa told the tale of Surabhi, the divine cow. Once, Surabhi came weeping before Indra, lamenting the suffering of her offspring. “O Lord of the heavens,” she cried, “the strong and weak bulls are yoked alike, yet men lash the weak for failing to match the mighty. My heart breaks at this cruelty.” Indra comforted her, saying, “All your children cannot share equal fortune.” But Surabhi wept, “How can I remain still while my children suffer?” Moved, Indra summoned clouds to rain upon the parched earth, bringing forth lush grass. Nourished, the weak grew strong, and Surabhi’s sorrow was eased. “So too, O King,” said Vyasa, “your affection for your sons is natural, but let that affection embrace also the sons of Pandu, who struggle in the wilderness. Show equal love to all, as Surabhi did.”
Dhritarashtra replied, “Great sage, counsel my son Duryodhana, for he heeds me not.” Vyasa answered, “Sage Maitreya, the revered, will come and impart wisdom upon him.” With this, Vyasa departed.
Soon after, Maitreya, master of law and righteousness, journeyed from the Pandavas’ hermitage at Kamyakavana to Hastinapura. Dhritarashtra received him with reverence and inquired of his travels. The sage spoke: “O King, I have seen the sons of Pandu in the forest, clad in coarse garments, hair matted with austerity, sustained by fruits and roots, yet radiant with divine grace. They abide faithfully by their vow, awaiting the end of exile.” Dhritarashtra, troubled by whispers that the Pandavas were preparing for war, cautiously asked, “Are they safe? Do they remember us?” The sage assured him, “They hold to their word as the sun to its course. Sages shower blessings upon them, and their conduct is bound by dharma. It is your son who has sown enmity out of selfishness.”
Turning to Duryodhana, Maitreya counselled: “Renounce this hatred. The Pandavas is mighty beyond measure—Bhima alone slew Jarasandha, a warrior of elephantine strength. He crushed Hidimba and Kirmira with ease. Arjuna is invincible with his Gandiva, and by their side stand Krishna and Drishtadyumna. To oppose them is folly. Seek peace, for by their virtue your dynasty shall endure.”
But Duryodhana, insolent and mocking, pressed his toe into the ground and slapped his thigh in contempt before the sage. Enraged, Maitreya cursed him: “Your thigh shall be shattered by Bhima’s mace in the great war.” Dhritarashtra, aghast, pleaded for mercy. The sage relented only in part: “If your son repents and reforms, the curse may yet be averted. Otherwise, fate shall not spare him.”
As he departed, Dhritarashtra begged to hear the tale of Kirmira, slain by Bhima in the forest. Vidura then recounted how the Pandavas, upon entering Kamyakavana, encountered the fearsome demon—brother to Baka and friend of Hidimba—who cast spells to paralyze victims and devour them at will. He roared and thundered, but Bhima challenged him alone. They fought with trees, stones, and raw strength, wrestling as titans. At last, Bhima seized him and dashed him to the earth until life left his body. Thus was the terror of Kamyakavana destroyed, and the hermits and dwellers rejoiced.
Yet back in Hastinapura, Duryodhana’s heart remained poisoned. Neither Vyasa’s wisdom, nor Vidura’s counsel, nor Maitreya’s curse could turn him from his ruinous path. Shakuni’s deceit and Karna’s reckless pride ever fed his arrogance. Thus, the great wheel of fate moved inexorably toward the war that would consume the Kuru race.
