Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling Arc 5 - Sambhava - Chapter 25 - The Rise and Retreat of Pāṇḍ

Vaiśampāyana continued:

When an auspicious day and hour had been selected by wise astrologers and Brāhmaṇas, King Pāṇḍu was duly united with Mādrī, the radiant princess of Madra. Vedic chants rose like incense, and the rites were completed with sacred fire and solemn vows.

As stars align for fated days,

The hymns rose high in holy praise.

Two lines were joined, two hearts made one—

Beneath the eye of moon and sun.

After the wedding, Pāṇḍu brought his new bride to the palace. There he dwelled for a ti, giving himself to the pleasures of youth and royal joy, surrounded by Kuntī and Mādrī, the two jewels of his house.

For thirty days, he reveled in love, in music, in the warmth of royal chambers. But duty stirred again within him—the fire of conquest and the vow of a Kṣatriya. The ti had co to spread the na of the Kurus across the four quarters of the earth.

Having taken blessings from Bhīṣma, and bidding farewell to Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Vidura, and the elders of his family, he departed from Hastināpura with a mighty host. Citizens lined the streets, chanting prayers and performing rites for his success.

With elephants tall and banners high,

With chariots rolling like thunder sky,

The lion of the Kurus took the field—

His arms the fire, his will the shield.

First, he subdued the wild tribes of Aśarna, bringing order to lands once ruled by robbers. Then he turned east toward Magadha, where Dhirga, a haughty king, had offended many rulers.

Pāṇḍu struck with lightning speed. He stord the capital, slew Dhirga in battle, and seized his vast treasury—gold, jewels, animals, and vehicles without count.

A storm he was in warrior’s form,

His arrows fell like monsoon storm.

To those who stood, he brought them down—

And placed upon the Kuru crown.

He moved next into Mithilā, bringing the Videhas under his banner. From there he swept into Kāśī, Sumbha, and Puṇḍra, his sword a fla and his will unshaken. His fa spread like fire across the lands.

Wherever he went, kings were vanquished, and their armies made vassals. None could withstand his might. Like a sacred conflagration fed by sacrifice, Pāṇḍu’s campaign beca an offering to the prestige of the Kuru line.

The world was shaken by his na,

And princes bowed to Kuru’s fla.

From forest dark to palace do—

He brought the Kuru glory ho.

Vaiśampāyana continued:

And when all the kings of the earth had been subdued by Pāṇḍu’s might, they looked upon him as the one unrivalled hero among mortals—just as the celestials revere Indra in heaven. His na, like a rising sun, outshone all others. Wherever he went, kings stood with folded hands, not in fear, but in awe.

Like thunder crowned in human form,

He quelled the land and cald the storm.

The wheel of dharma turned through him—

Its rim of gold, its hub of vim.

They offered him gifts: heaps of gold and silver, pearls, corals, gems, cloths of fine weave, blankets and hides, and cloaks of fur. Herds of kine, graceful horses, elephants, chariots, and even cals, asses, and buffaloes were brought before him. Goats and sheep, textiles and treasures—all were placed at the feet of the king of Hastināpura.

With his conquests complete, Pāṇḍu turned back toward his capital, his army heavy with wealth, his na echoing through the lands he had pacified. News of his return reached Hastināpura before he did, and joy burst forth like festival fire.

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The people spoke with pride:

“O see! The glory of Śāntanu, the tiger-king,

And of the just and mighty Bharata,

Once fading like embers in ash,

Now burns anew through Pāṇḍu, hero of the age!”

“He has restored what was taken, subdued those who defied, and made the earth bend to the na of Kuru once again!”

The whole city stirred with celebration. At its head was Bhīṣma, the grandsire of the race, who led the elders and citizens out to greet the returning monarch. But as they approached, they saw a procession without end—caravans of gold, lines of elephants, herds of animals, jeweled cars and banners rising like a moving forest.

The splendor of it seed to have no end.

The conch and drum, the trumpet’s cry—

Rose like storm against the sky.

And from the dust and clamor ca,

The tiger king, the Kuru fla.

When Pāṇḍu beheld Bhīṣma, he dismounted at once and approached with folded hands. He bowed low and touched his elder’s feet. Then, with reverence, he saluted each citizen, elder, and noble—offering them honor as was their due.

And Bhīṣma, moved beyond words, embraced him like a son who had fulfilled a sacred dream. His eyes brimd with tears—not of sorrow, but of joy and pride.

“My son,” he said, “you’ve crushed the strong,

And righted centuries of wrong.

The earth now knows her rightful lord—

The lion crowned, the Kuru sword.”

To the sound of conches, kettle drums, and joyful cries, Pāṇḍu entered Hastināpura. His victory was not just over foes, but over fate—and the hearts of the people were his throne.

Vaiśampāyana continued:

After his victorious return, Pāṇḍu, ever devoted to duty, did not hoard the wealth he had gathered through battle. At the command of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the elder brother and nominal head of the house, he offered the spoils of conquest to those to whom honor was due.

Not for himself did he claim the gold,

Nor hoard the pearls, nor wealth untold.

But bowed to law, and gave away—

As rivers flow at break of day.

First, he laid before Bhīṣma, the guardian of the Kurus, a mighty share—gold, gems, elephants, and ornants—won by the prowess of his arms. He then offered gifts to their grandmother, Satyavatī, the matriarch of the line, whose joy at her grandson’s return was bright as the rising moon.

To the wise Vidura, too, Pāṇḍu sent a portion of wealth, and to all his relatives, noble Kosala princes, and honored kin, he sent gifts of equal worth.

In every house, in every hall,

His na was sung, from wall to wall.

And all who knew the Kuru grace—

Beheld it shining in his face.

Ambālikā, mother of Pāṇḍu, upon embracing her victorious son—endowed with incomparable strength—felt joy as great as Indra’s queen Śacī might feel embracing her son Jayanta.

The riches he had earned were not left idle. With them, Dhṛtarāṣṭra—supported by Pāṇḍu’s offering—perford five great sacrifices. These mahā-yajñas were equal in rit to a hundred aśvadhas, the grand horse-sacrifices of ancient kings.

The sacred fires blazed day and night,

And Brāhmaṇas feasted in sacred light.

In hundreds, thousands, gifts were made—

Of kine and gold and robes arrayed.

The land resounded with mantras and benedictions, and the house of Kuru rose again—resplendent not only in arms, but in sacrifice and virtue. The fa of Pāṇḍu was now secured not just as a conqueror, but as one who honored elders, kin, and dharma.

Vaiśampāyana continued:

A little while after, O bull among kings, the great Pāṇḍu, having overco not only his enemies but also the foes within—sloth, indulgence, and attachnt—renounced his palace and chose the solitude of the forest.

Accompanied by his two queens—Kuntī and Mādrī—he left behind the luxuries of the capital, the ivory beds and marble halls, and took up the life of a wanderer, a seeker, a ruler turned recluse.

From royal court to forest deep,

He walked where silence went to sleep.

With bow in hand and heart made still,

He sought the heights of fate and will.

He made his ho in a beautiful and hilly region—on the southern slopes of the Himālayas, amidst groves of towering śāla trees. The air there was pure, the earth sacred, and the deer ran swift and unafraid.

There, he gave himself to the chase—not out of cruelty, but as an ascetic king, living by the bow, in tune with the wild.

The trees stood tall like sages mute,

The winds were hymns, the leaves were flutes.

He road like Indra’s elephant—

A soul unbound, a will unbent.

Pāṇḍu, radiant with strength and restraint, wandered like Airāvata, the celestial elephant, flanked by his two consorts—Kuntī and Mādrī—as though two graceful she-elephants walked by his side. Together they moved like a vision from a divine tale—distant from the world, yet crowned by their own dignity.

The forest dwellers, sages, hunters, and hermits, seeing him clad in shining armor, sword at his side, bow in hand, accompanied by two won of royal bearing, gazed with wonder. To them, he appeared not as a man, but as a god—a deity moving through the trees, ard in valor and wrapped in peace.

The prince who ruled, now ruled no more—

Yet ruled himself as none before.

The forest bowed, the birds sang low,

For fate had co with silent bow.

Vaiśampāyana continued:

Though Pāṇḍu had renounced his throne and retreated to the forest, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, who now ruled in his stead, ensured that his younger brother lacked for nothing. By his command, the people of the kingdom continued to supply Pāṇḍu with all objects of comfort and pleasure, sending him provisions, cloth, and goods—whatever he might need for his quiet life in the woods.

Though far from court and crown and hall,

The kingly care still touched him all.

For blood, though parted by the trees,

Still runs its path with unseen ease.

anwhile, Bhīṣma, son of the ocean-going Gaṅgā, ever watchful over the affairs of the Kuru house, heard of a maiden worthy of alliance. She was the daughter of King Devaka, youthful and graceful, born of a Śūdra wife—and though of mixed birth, she was known for her virtues and noble disposition.

Understanding the laws of dharma, and the destiny marked for each, Bhīṣma brought her to Hastināpura and gave her in marriage to Vidura, that son of wisdom and restraint.

Not by birth but worth was he—

A sage in court, from envy free.

And she, though born of lower line,

Now stood among the Kuru shrine.

From their union ca many sons, each wise, capable, and noble like their father. They did not rise to command the throne, nor seek the sword or the bow—but in knowledge, prudence, and moral strength, they carried forth Vidura’s legacy.

So in the house of dharma's guide,

A gentler strength began to bide.

While kings drew bows and sages road,

The voice of reason found its ho.