Uttara Kumara, with youthful ardour and reverent trust, accepted the gentle condition laid upon him by Arjuna—that the secret of the battle should remain forever concealed, and that he alone should bear the renown of victory. Though astonished that such glory might rest upon his untested shoulders, he believed firmly that Arjuna’s wisdom moved always in harmony with righteousness and the protection of the realm. With folded hands, he pledged obedience, declaring that at the chosen hour they would inform the king as deemed fit.
Thereafter, Arjuna returned to the sacred tree beneath which their enterprise had begun. With deliberate care, he restored the divine bow Gandiva, the celestial armour, and every radiant weapon to their hidden sanctuary. He bowed before the sacred banner, the immortal conch, and the jewelled crown, beseeching them to remain concealed until destiny called them forth once more. Upon the chariot, he affixed the modest lion-seal of a charioteer, seated the prince in royal posture, bound upon himself the humble head-cloth of a driver, and quietly took up the reins.
In the heavens above, the celestials, the Siddhas, the sages, and the Gandharvas beheld this union of valour and humility. They rejoiced at Arjuna’s brilliance—his strength tempered by reverence for elders and teachers—and, showering unseen blessings, withdrew to their radiant abodes.
Arjuna then instructed the shepherds to hasten to the capital and proclaim the prince’s triumph, guarding well the hidden truth. What had begun as a secret known to one now dwelt silently within two, for Uttara had unknowingly entered the sacred circle of the Pandavas.
Meanwhile, King Virata returned in pride to his capital, his heart swelling at rumours of victory. Entering his palace amidst the Pandavas in disguise and assembled Brahmins, he received auspicious hymns, sacred rice, and the sprinkling of holy waters from joyous maidens. Yet his delight soon gave way to anxiety when he learned that northern warriors—Karna, Drona, Kripa, Ashwatthama, and the vast Kuru host—had seized the royal cattle, and that Uttara, accompanied only by Brihannala, had gone to recover them.
Stricken with fear, the king lamented before his ministers that his impetuous son had ventured alone into peril against warriors whom few on earth could withstand. He commanded reinforcements at once. Then Kankubhattu rose gently, reminding him that the southern invaders had already been subdued and assuring him that Uttara was not alone, for Brihannala stood beside him, whose valour surpassed even celestial powers. Yet the king, blinded by anxiety, dismissed the thought that a dance-teacher might conceal a universal hero, and ordered all uninjured soldiers to march without delay.
At that very hour, the shepherds arrived, breathless and radiant, proclaiming the prince’s victory and the safe return of the cattle. For a moment, the king stood transfixed, tears flowing unbidden as doubt and joy contended within him. At last, paternal pride prevailed. He commanded the city to be adorned with garlands, sandal paste, music, elephants, and sacred chants. The shepherds were rewarded with garments and gold.
In his exuberance, he turned to Kankubhattu and proposed a game of dice. The latter, with quiet gravity, warned that dice had once stripped a mighty king of kingdom, brothers, and queen—an oblique remembrance of Dharmaraja’s concealed identity. But Virata, intoxicated by triumph, exalted his son above the greatest warriors of earth.
Kankubhattu replied with restrained irony that indeed the Kuru champions had been subdued—yet by Brihannala’s unmatched strength, capable of overcoming even gods and demons. Enraged that his son’s glory be ascribed elsewhere, the king hurled the dice in fury at the disguised Dharmaraja. Blood flowed from the righteous brow, yet no anger stirred within him. Syrandri swiftly stanched the wound with her garment, explaining that the blood of the virtuous falling upon earth could bring drought upon the land; she acted only to preserve the kingdom’s welfare.
Soon the distant strains of music announced the prince’s arrival. Showered with flowers and fragrant sandal, Uttara entered amidst rejoicing maidens and exultant crowds. Those who knew the truth maintained silence, yet the prince, unable to suppress gratitude though bound by oath, declared before all that without Brihannala’s incomparable strength he could neither have survived nor triumphed.
When the royal guard announced their presence, Dharmaraja wisely counselled that Brihannala’s entry be delayed until the king’s turbulent emotions had subsided. The advice was heeded, and the prince was first embraced by his father in overflowing affection.
Thus by the calm discernment of the Pandavas each perilous moment was transformed. Knots of confusion were untied by patience; storms of pride were stilled by restraint; and through humility joined with wisdom, the hidden victory shone brighter than open conquest.
