Vyasa’s disciple Vaisampayana recounts how the Pandavas, bound by their sacred oath of concealment, entered the court of Virata and quietly took up their disguises. In a brief span, each established his own domain of service, pleasing the king and his attendants; yet each knew that what awaited them in the days ahead would test their individual resolve for the sake of their collective vow.
To live as strangers in the presence of their own kin, to hide fire beneath calm ash, was a trial fierce as a springing lion, sharp as a leaping tiger, and heavy as the tread of an untamed elephant. Many a time they inwardly cursed fate, enemies, and their own past follies; yet hope, duty, and steadfastness chained them to patience. Their state of mind was both strong and fragile, blessed and burdened. Dharmaraja bore the greatest weight, fear and trust wrestling within him, yet he endured with faith in his father’s boon and kept silent watch over his brothers.
As adviser to King Virāṭa, Dharmaraja untangled subtle knots of royal duty and righteous conduct. In time he became dear to all. In the king’s games of dice, he always won, and whatever objects he secured, he quietly placed in the hands of his brothers. Bhīma, under the guise of cook, found pretexts to give them food of many kinds. Arjuna, in his dancer’s role, shared the ornaments, silks, and gold bestowed upon him. Nakula freely offered whatever rewards he gained from training horses. Sahadeva brought them milk, curds, ghee, and cream. They widened this distribution to others in attendance so that no whisper of preference might arise and betray their secret.
Draupadi moved under their vigilance as eyelids guard the eye. Thus, an unseen web of protection bound them together. Even in that delicate environment their affection flowed to one another without restraint; this alone eased the weight of humiliation and servitude. Patience, humility, righteousness, alertness, and fair conduct kept them mingled with the crowd, unexposed and unremarked.
In the fifth month of their stay, wrestlers from distant realms arrived at Virata’s court, eager to prove mastery. Such contests were a profession: warriors travelled kingdom to kingdom, challenging champions and winning wealth and fame. At that time a grand spiritual festival, the famed Brahmo Sava, filled the kingdom with ceremony, performances, and displays of martial prowess. It was also a season ripe for hidden schemes and royal intrigue.
Among the visiting fighters stood one whose pride was as broad as his shoulders. Beating his sinews with the sound of thunder, he declared before the king, “O sovereign, across the corners of the earth have I conquered all contenders. None has withstood me even for a moment.” His harsh gestures and coarse boasting, though distasteful to many, silenced all by sheer ferocity. The king’s delight in the festival soured at this ill-tempered challenge.
Then Dharmaraja spoke calmly: “O lord of Matsya, I once saw at Hastinapur a wrestler fit to subdue this braggart. Your own cook, Vallala, has defeated champions from many lands. I know he will bring you honour.” Understanding the subtle hint, Virata summoned Bhīma. With humble demeanour, he stood before the king, yet the moment he beheld the assembled wrestlers, the warrior within him stirred.
The king pointed to the challenger and said, “Match him, and uphold the dignity of my throne.” Bhīma glanced at Dharmaraja, reading the silent signal. Bowing, he answered, “O King, in the court of Dharmaraja at Hastina, I often fought mighty wrestlers, performing feats that delighted the monarch. Now, with your blessing, I shall gladden you as well.”
With a roar like a lion and the tread of a tusker, Bhīma saluted the king in the wrestler’s manner and faced his opponent. Both men dusted their bodies, smeared earth upon their brows, and slapped their arms—echoing blows that sent a shiver through the spectators. They grappled for the neck, pushed and pulled with immense force. Bhīma, master of subtle holds, stalled the other’s steps, rolled his arms back, knotted limbs with expert craft, and pressed without intent to kill—only to conquer and uphold his king’s prestige. The challenger attempted a crushing lock meant to induce seizure, but failed. Finally, Bhīma pinned him beneath his feet, rendered him helpless, and forced his surrender. The king showered Vellala with rich gifts, which Bhīma immediately bestowed upon beggars.
In quieter times, when wrestlers were scarce, Virata sometimes set Bhīma against tigers and elephants for sport, and Vellala’s fame endeared him to the palace folk.
Thus, the Pandavas moved skilfully through their season of concealment. Soon the appointed year neared its completion. Yet fate placed another trial before them.
One day, Simha Bala—eldest of Sudeshna’s one hundred and four brothers—arrived. Proud of strength, fond of ornaments and fine garments, shallow in virtue, and ruled by unbridled desire, he came to greet his sister. There he beheld Draupadi standing near her. At that instant, his heart throbbed with fevered longing; all sense of decency fled. Her beauty ignited in him a blaze of lust, and his imagination soared in brazen folly. “If Manmatha had her as his ally,” he thought, “he would have subdued even Śiva. Indra himself would forsake Śacī for such radiance. The husband of this woman could contend with gods and rival their fortune. Perhaps Brahma gathered all worldly beauty and distilled it into this single form.”
Mesmerized, he wondered who her parents were, what blessed syllables formed her name, which fortunate man had wed her, and how he might claim her for himself. His mind clung to these thoughts, and soon his speech turned coarse, his glances lingering. Palace attendants noted his crude remarks and unseemly gestures.
Draupadi grew troubled. Sweat gathered on her brow; fear chilled her limbs. Why must fate send yet another humiliation to hinder the completion of their vow? Where would this peril lead? She trembled, unable to see a path of escape. Misreading her distress as encouragement, Keechaka’s wicked mind swelled with certainty.
At that moment, he stood gazing at her, his impropriety plain to Sudeshna and her attendants. They watched with alarm, awaiting the queen’s word, while Draupadi silently cursed her plight and sought some way through the dangerous snare tightening around her.
