Chapter One: The Silent Shore

On a quiet, misty morning, the air was filled with the distant echoes of soldiers preparing for an unseen battle. The silent shore of Jannavi stood still, a witness to the rituals that marked the end of an era. As the flames devoured the three lifeless bodies, a sense of solemnity enveloped the land. It was a time for reflection and closure, as the sacred rites were entrusted to the ones left behind.

In the heart of this ancient tale lies the Mahabharata, an eternal epic penned by the sage Vedavyasa. Over the years, scholars like Haridas Siddhanta Bagish, Kaliprasanna Singh, and Rajshekhar Basu had translated it into Bengali. Now, drawing from these interpretations, a simplified version was crafted, solely for the joy of storytelling.

Following the grand Ashwamedha Yagna, King Dhritarashtra and Queen Gandhari, wearied by Bhima's harsh words, resolved to retreat to the forest. Despite their grief, they offered Yudhishthira wise counsel on ruling the kingdom. Before departing, they wished to perform one last rite for their fallen sons. Dhritarashtra approached the Pandavas with a humble request for a little wealth to honor their sons, grandsons, and friends.

Yudhishthira and Arjuna agreed without hesitation, but Bhima's anger flared. "Have all our sufferings during the exile, the thirteenth year of living in disguise, and the endless troubles been forgotten, Arjuna?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion. "Where was Dhritarashtra's affection then? And where were Drona and Kripa? What did Duryodhana gain from the dice game? Why didn't Dhritarashtra act like a father then? Let Dhritarashtra's wicked sons dwell in eternal hell. Why do they need any rites?"

Arjuna, sensing the tension, stepped forward. "Stop, Bhima," he said gently but firmly. "Don't speak any more hateful words. You are my elder, so it is not proper for me to say much to you. Good people remember not only bad behavior but also acknowledge a person's good qualities. Prime Minister Vidura, please inform King Dhritarashtra that my and Arjuna's treasury is open to him. He is the master of our wealth and lives. The pain Bhima suffered in the past still lingers. So, please do not be harsh with him. Yes, with the help of our combined resources, King Dhritarashtra can achieve his goals."

Upon hearing this from Vidura, Dhritarashtra felt a wave of gratitude. On the appointed day, he organized a grand ceremony to honor the departed souls of his sons and relatives. There were generous donations, meditation, and a feast for the Brahmins. After the rituals, Dhritarashtra stood before the people of Hastinapur, asking for forgiveness for past actions. "Oh people of Hastinapur," he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion, "Gandhari and I sincerely ask for your forgiveness for the wrongs done by our greedy and stubborn sons. You, King, have cared for us like a father and brother. King Duryodhana also never treated us unfairly. We trusted him like a father. Now, under King Yudhishthira's rule, we will also be happy."

"King, do not blame Karna, Duryodhana, or Shakuni for the destruction of the family. The cause of joy and sorrow is fate. Be at peace and fulfill your duties. May your sons attain eternal heaven." The people listened, their hearts touched by his sincerity, and Dhritarashtra felt a sense of relief wash over him.

On the full moon of Kartik, with rituals completed, Dhritarashtra prepared to leave for the forest with Gandhari. Kunti, Vidura, and Sanjaya expressed their wish to accompany the elderly king and queen. Despite the heartfelt pleas from Kripacharya, the Pandavas, the royal ladies, and the citizens, Dhritarashtra remained steadfast in his decision, ready to embrace the solitude of the forest with Gandhari by his side.

Chapter Two: The Journey to Solitude

With the full moon of Kartik casting a gentle glow over the land, Dhritarashtra began his solemn journey toward the forest. Beside him walked Gandhari, her steps steady and her heart resolute. Accompanying them were Kunti, Vidura, and Sanjaya, each sharing the weight of the decision that had been made. Behind them trailed the grieving residents of Hastinapur, their hearts heavy with sorrow and farewell.

After walking a considerable distance, Dhritarashtra halted. Turning toward Yudhishthira and the other Pandavas, he spoke with a voice filled with the wisdom of years. "My sons, it is time for you to return. Your path lies in the kingdom, not in the wilderness. Kunti, you too must stay behind."

But Kunti, holding Gandhari's hand with unwavering determination, shook her head. "I will follow Dhritarashtra," she declared, her voice firm and unyielding.

Yudhishthira's voice trembled with emotion as he pleaded, "Mother Kunti, Queen Mother, please return to the palace. You can find peace through charity, meditation, and penance at home. Why do you wish to go to the forest? What have we done wrong? Why are you leaving us like this? Who will protect me? Please, Mother, come back."

Beside him, the other Pandavas echoed his grief. "Oh no, what a disaster!" Bhima cried out, his powerful frame shaking with despair. "Mother, are we so bad? If you must go, take me with you. I cannot stay here without you for even a moment. Mother, please come back."

Kunti's eyes were filled with compassion as she looked at her sons. "You are all the children of King Pandu, and like gods in your own right," she said gently. "I granted you permission to fight to uphold your honor. During my husband's reign, I knew happiness. Now, I must follow his path. I will serve the wise Dhritarashtra and Queen Gandhari, and dedicate myself to meditation."

Turning to Draupadi, she continued, "Panchali, dear Panchali, do not be sad. Follow the path of righteousness with your husband and co-wives. Yudhishthira's son, follow the path of righteousness, not that of any person. Do not grieve, do not grieve."

Despite their tears and pleas, Kunti's resolve remained unshaken. With heavy hearts, the Pandavas and the grieving people of Hastinapur watched as she, along with Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and the others, continued their journey into the forest.

After traveling a long distance, they arrived at the hermitage of the sage Shatayupa. The former king of Kekaya welcomed them and initiated the old Kuru king, Gandhari, Kunti, and others into the hermitage life. Clad in matted hair, deer skin, and bark garments, Gandhari and Kunti embraced their new life with rigorous meditation.

One day, as the ascetic King Dhritarashtra sat in contemplation, the divine sage Narada appeared before him. "Do you feel deep peace, Dhritarashtra?" he inquired.

Dhritarashtra greeted the sage respectfully. "Greetings, divine sage," he replied. "I have left behind my kingdom, wealth, and relatives, seeking a better path in the afterlife. May your blessings fulfill my wish."

Narada smiled, his presence radiating warmth. "Many royal sages have meditated here and attained a good path. By the grace of the great sage Vyasa, you all will reach a good place. Queen Kunti will go to Indra's realm to be with her husband. With Queen Gandhari, you will travel in a divine chariot to Kubera's abode. From there, you can wander among the gods, celestial musicians, and demons as you wish. Vidura will merge with Yudhishthira, and Sanjaya will attain heaven. Your meditation will not be in vain."

After blessing King Dhritarashtra and the others, Narada departed as quietly as he had come. Meanwhile, in Hastinapur, the Pandavas found little joy without their elders. The absence of Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and Kunti weighed heavily on their hearts, and the people of the kingdom shared in their distress.

Determined to see their loved ones again, the Pandavas, along with Draupadi, Subhadra, Uttara, and other wives, decided to journey to Shatayupa's hermitage. Entrusting the kingdom to Yuyutsu, they set out with the Brahmins of the kingdom, led by the wise Kripacharya, hoping for solace and reunion.

As the morning sun began to rise, casting golden hues across the horizon, the Pandavas and their companions crossed the serene Yamuna River. Their journey led them to the ancient hermitage, where the air was filled with the scent of wildflowers and the gentle rustling of leaves. Yudhishthira's heart swelled with emotion as he spotted the familiar figures of their mother, Kunti, along with Dhritarashtra and Gandhari. Kunti was busy carrying pots of water from the river, her movements steady and graceful.

The five Pandavas rushed forward, their faces alight with joy. They eagerly took the water pots from Kunti's hands, their hearts filled with love and reverence. As they approached the hermitage, the residents came out to greet them, their eyes warm with welcome.

Yet, amidst this joyful reunion, Yudhishthira noticed an absence. "Where is Vidura?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. "I have seen everyone, but I have not seen him."

Dhritarashtra sighed deeply, a hint of sorrow in his eyes. "No one can see him," he replied. "Vidura is in deep meditation, lost in the elements. His body, so frail and thin, seems to have vanished from sight. He is somewhere among us, yet nowhere to be found."

Yudhishthira's heart ached with longing to see Vidura. He bowed his head, his thoughts consumed by memories of the wise man who had guided them through many trials.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Yudhishthira soon caught sight of Vidura in the distance. The once robust figure was now gaunt, with matted hair and a dust-covered body. Vidura stood like a shadow against the landscape, his eyes fixed on the hermitage before he began to move away.

Without hesitation, Yudhishthira sprinted after him, calling out, "Vidura! It is I, Yudhishthira, your dear Yudhishthira. Please, bless me with your presence!"

Vidura did not respond, his gaze unwavering as he continued to walk. Yudhishthira pursued him with determination, his feet pounding the earth as he drew closer.

Finally, Vidura halted beneath a large, ancient tree. He turned to face Yudhishthira, his eyes deep and penetrating. "Great Vidura," Yudhishthira pleaded, "do you not recognize me? I am the eldest Pandava, and I have come to see you. Won't you bless me?"

Vidura remained silent, his eyes never leaving Yudhishthira's face. In that moment, something extraordinary happened. Yudhishthira felt a surge of energy, as if Vidura's spirit was merging with his own. Strength, courage, and peace filled him, radiating from his very being like a brilliant light.

As Vidura's lifeless body gently fell to the ground, Yudhishthira knew that Vidura's essence had become a part of him. He prepared to perform the final rites, his heart heavy yet filled with a profound sense of peace.

Just then, a voice echoed from the sky, soft yet commanding. "Dear Yudhishthira, Vidura has chosen the path of a hermit. Do not cremate his body. Leave it as it lies and return."

Yudhishthira bowed to the unseen speaker, his heart accepting the divine command. He turned back towards the hermitage, a new light shining in his eyes.

Upon his return, Yudhishthira shared the miraculous events with Dhritarashtra and the others. The air buzzed with amazement as they listened.

Dhritarashtra spoke, his voice filled with reverence, "Vidura was like the wise teacher Brihaspati in our court. His wisdom was unparalleled. He was righteousness itself, a gift from the heavens due to a sage's curse. His insight surpassed even the divine and the demonic teachers. Yudhishthira, you are the embodiment of righteousness, just as Vidura was. The world is blessed to witness righteousness in human form."

Yudhishthira nodded, his heart warmed by Dhritarashtra's words. "In your presence, the darkness in my mind has lifted. I am grateful for your wisdom and guidance."

But Dhritarashtra was not finished. "No, Yudhishthira, I did not come here merely to speak of Vidura. I have come to share something unprecedented, something no sage, divine or otherwise, has dared to do. I have come to reveal the fruits of my meditation."

The group fell silent, anticipation hanging in the air as they awaited the unfolding of this new chapter in their lives.

Chapter Three: The Divine Revelation

Dhritarashtra's voice trembled with emotion as he turned to his son. "My son, tell me about the sorrow in your heart," he urged gently. "Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and Kunti should also share their wishes without hesitation."

Yudhishthira looked at the great sage, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and despair. "Great sage, you know everything," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You understand what is in my heart. You know all my pains. Father, I have no weariness in my devotion and meditation, but still, my heart is not at peace. The intense grief is troubling me and Gandhari. Show us the light of freedom, father. For the past sixteen years, we have been shedding tears, remembering our hundred sons who were killed. We are filled with sorrow for our family. Please ease our pain, father. Is it possible, through your meditation, to see them just once, just once?"

The sage nodded, understanding the depth of their grief. His eyes then turned to Kunti, whose silent presence spoke volumes. "Kunti, is there someone special you are thinking of, dear?" he asked softly. "Even in silence, your heart seems to want to say something. Tell me, daughter, don't hesitate."

Kunti's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she spoke, her voice filled with longing. "Lord, my heart longs for my eldest son, Karna, whom I received from the Sun God."

The sage's expression softened with compassion. "I understand your deep longing," he said. "That's why I have come, Kalyani. Do not mourn for those who died in the battle of Kurukshetra, Dhritarashtra. You are all part of the divine, the protectors, and the celestial beings. Gandhari, your husband Dhritarashtra is a part of the king of the celestial beings. Your son Duryodhana represents the Kali Yuga, Shakuni the Dvapara Yuga, and Dushasana and others are part of the demon clan. Kunti, your husband Pandu came from the heavenly realm. Your five sons are part of the divine beings, and Karna is another form of the Sun. Abhimanyu came as the Moon God. Dhrishtadyumna is a part of the Fire God. Shikhandi was born from a demon. Drona is a part of Brihaspati. Ashwatthama is of Rudra, and Bhishma is one of the eight Vasus. They came from the heavenly realm to fulfill their duties and have returned there after completing their tasks. What fate awaits these fallen divine beings and celestial spirits?"

Yudhishthira's voice was filled with reverence as he spoke. "Great Sage, you are like a god. What can't you do if you wish? Who else but you can ease our deep sorrow, Lord?"

The sage nodded solemnly. "Come with me to the Ganges," he invited. "Like waking from sleep, they will all rise again from the past. You will see them, touch them, and even talk to them. Tonight, you will have this divine vision."

Tears of gratitude filled Dhritarashtra's eyes. "Your infinite kindness, Great Sage. You are truly a god. You are our savior. We bow to you with all our hearts, Lord."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the land, all the elders and the people of Hastinapur followed the sage to the banks of the Ganges. The night descended, and after completing the evening rituals, everyone sat beside the sage, their hearts beating with anticipation. The sage reassured them with a gentle smile and then stepped into the Ganges, calling upon all the heroes who had fallen in the battle of Kurukshetra.

The waters of the Ganges began to swell, and from the depths arose the mighty sound of the Pandava army. Slowly, all their forms became clear. King Virata with his sons, the brave Shikhandi, the hundred Kauravas, Draupadi's five sons, Abhimanyu, Somadatta, Bhagadatta, Lakshmana, Dhrishtaketu, Karna, Ghatotkacha, Chekitana, and other great warriors appeared in their divine forms with their armies. They emerged with the same vehicles, weapons, clothes, and ornaments they had in life.

Seeing the powerful Pandava clan, celestial maidens and beings began to sing praises. The gods showered flowers in admiration. Dhritarashtra, his heart pounding with a mix of joy and sorrow, could hear the strange laughter, the joyful sound, the united celebration. "Who are they?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Who are these silent beings approaching? I hear the war drums of countless soldiers. I hear the sound of horses, yes, the sound of horses. Great Sage, tell me. Please tell me, who is gathering on this riverbank? My blind eyes keep me from this joy. I am so unfortunate, so very unfortunate."

The sage's voice was soothing as he replied, "Don't be sad, my son. To ease your sorrow, I have called all the great heroes from the other world to come here. If your eyes remain closed to them, their return will be in vain. I am giving you divine sight, my son, so you can see these heroes. I am also granting divine vision to the blessed Gandhari."

Chapter Four: The Reunion on the Riverbank

Under the serene glow of the moon, the great sage spoke words of comfort. "Thank you so much, great sage," Dhritarashtra said, his heart swelling with gratitude. "During the Kurukshetra war, there was intense hatred between the Kuru and Pandava clans. But now, as they rise from the depths of the afterlife, all that hatred and hostility is gone."

With the gift of divine sight, Dhritarashtra and Gandhari gazed lovingly at their sons, their eyes filled with warmth and forgiveness. The banks of the sacred Ganga were alive with astonishment and joy. Wives reunited with their husbands, and mothers embraced their sons, overwhelmed with excitement. The riverbank transformed into a grand celebration, where the echoes of laughter and tears of joy mingled with the night breeze.

The Pandavas, alongside their mother Kunti, joyfully reunited with Karna, Abhimanyu, and their five sons. Love, happiness, and contentment overflowed from their hearts. Draupadi, Subhadra, and the other Pandava wives were overjoyed to hold their lost sons again, showering them with kisses and tender care. The wives tended happily to their husbands, and the revived kings, free from past conflicts, embraced one another. That night was filled with friendship and celebration.

As the sun rose the next morning, the heroes embraced, and with their chariots, horses, and weapons, they disappeared into the Ganga, returning to their respective worlds. The long years of widowhood were left behind as the river carried them away.

Among the gathered, a woman stepped forward, her heart heavy with longing. "I had accepted my widowhood," she confessed, her voice a mere whisper, "but after this one night of reunion, I cannot bear it anymore. Please, great sage, allow me to immerse myself in the sacred waters of the Ganga and leave this life."

The sage's voice was gentle and reassuring. "I am Bhanuvati, my dear daughter," he said. "Do not grieve. Many women, like you, have been overcome with deep sorrow after such a reunion. Listen to me, dear ones. Those of you who wish to join your husbands, immerse yourselves in the waters of the Ganga now. Your wishes will be fulfilled."

Comforted by his words, the sons of Dhritarashtra, with Gandhari's permission, stepped into the Ganga one by one. Before the eyes of all, they left their human forms and, with subtle bodies, journeyed to join their husbands' worlds. After this poignant farewell, Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and Kunti returned to the hermitage. With Dhritarashtra's blessing, the Brahmins and the people of Hastinapur made their way back to their kingdom. The Pandavas, along with their wives, followed Dhritarashtra to the hermitage and settled there.

Standing before Dhritarashtra, the sage spoke again. "Please accept my deep respect, great sage," he said, his voice filled with reverence.

"With your blessings, all my needs are fulfilled today," Dhritarashtra replied, a serene smile on his face. "Have all your desires been satisfied, my son? Has your unbearable happiness been relieved? Are you feeling light and free now?"

"Yes, father," the sage responded, his heart at peace. "With your blessings, I am completely at ease now. I have no more sorrow in my heart. I feel clear, calm, and unique. I have no attachment or illusion anymore, father."

"Then allow Yudhishthira to return," Dhritarashtra advised. "Let him go back to Hastinapur with his brothers and family. He has been away from the kingdom for over a month. Now, let them leave, my son. Yudhishthira should go and take care of the people in Hastinapur."

"You are right, great sage," the sage agreed. "The Pandavas should return to Hastinapur now. Yudhishthira, my child, it is time for you to take on the duties of a king. Go and care for the people. May you be blessed. You are completely innocent. The duties you have performed for us are unmatched. Because of you, we have been freed from all sorrow and pain. May you have endless blessings, my son."

"Elder father," Yudhishthira pleaded, his voice tinged with reluctance, "if you are truly pleased with me, then why are you ordering me to leave? Why are you denying me the chance to serve you, my king?"

"Yudhishthira," Dhritarashtra reassured him, "wherever you are, there will always be energy and presence. King, seeing you gives me strength and vigor again, my child. But now it is time for my meditation. Your two mothers are also meditating intensely with me."

The sage nodded, understanding the gravity of Dhritarashtra's words. "They eat only dry leaves," Dhritarashtra continued. "They follow all the rules of a disciplined life. So, none of us will live much longer, my son. We wish to meditate deeply now. You should return to the kingdom, my son."

"Yudhishthira," a voice urged softly, "listen to what your elder father is saying."

And with those words, the weight of duty and destiny settled upon Yudhishthira's shoulders, as he prepared to return to Hastinapur, the echoes of the river Ganga and the blessings of his elders guiding his path.

Chapter Five: A Duty Beyond the Forest

Yudhishthira stood in the lush forest, the rustling leaves whispering secrets of old as he listened to his elder father’s somber words. "That is your duty," Dhritarashtra declared with a voice as steady as the ancient trees around them. "The responsibility of our family's rituals and ceremonies rests on you. Fulfill those duties, my son."

Yudhishthira's heart ached with yearning. "I do not wish to return to a kingdom where there are no loved ones, no mother, no father," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mother, please allow me. I will also meditate. I will leave the kingdom's responsibilities to Bhima and stay in this forest. Mother, please allow me."

Kunti, his mother, shook her head gently but firmly. "No, Yudhishthira," she replied, her eyes filled with both love and determination. "Your greatest duty is to ensure the well-being of Hastinapur. The life of a hermit is not for you, my son. Perform your royal duties, follow true righteousness. We have little time left in our lives. Your affection would disrupt our meditation. So, go to Hastinapur, Yudhishthira. Return."

The weight of their words settled heavily upon him, and Yudhishthira could not hold back his tears. Beside him, Nakula, Sahadeva, and Draupadi also pleaded with Kunti, their voices filled with emotion. But Kunti remained steadfast in her decision.

With heavy hearts, the five Pandavas bowed deeply to Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and Kunti. They embraced their wives, touching their heads as a sign of respect and farewell. Kunti wrapped her arms around her sons, offering them her blessing and permission to leave. Dhritarashtra, along with the women, prepared to return to Hastinapur with Yudhishthira and his brothers to begin ruling the kingdom once more.

Back in Hastinapur, the land flourished under Yudhishthira's just rule, becoming a place of happiness, prosperity, and righteousness. Nearly two years passed in this manner, a time of peace and growth.

One day, as the sun cast golden rays upon the kingdom, the sage Narada visited Yudhishthira. The king greeted him with deep respect, offering water and worship as was customary. "Honorable sage," Yudhishthira asked, his voice filled with curiosity and concern, "it has been a long time since you visited our kingdom. Why have you not come to bless us all this while? Are you well?"

Narada smiled gently, his eyes reflecting the wisdom of countless journeys. "I have been on a pilgrimage, King. That is why I could not learn about your well-being," he explained. "During my travels, did you see my elder father and two mothers, sage? How are they? I long to touch their feet."

"You can offer your respects to them from here, my son," Narada replied, his voice tinged with a hint of sorrow. "You will not meet them in the forest anymore."

A shadow crossed Yudhishthira's face. "Why, sage? Have they gone somewhere else?"

Narada's voice was gentle yet firm as he recounted the tale. "After you left their hermitage, your elder father and two mothers, along with Sanjaya, went from Kurukshetra to Gangadwara. There, they became completely silent and lived on air, engaging in intense meditation. Dhritarashtra became very thin. Gandhari survived only on water. Kunti Devi ate once a month, and Sanjaya ate every five days. With the help of other Brahmins and priests, they performed rituals day and night. The other sages there considered Dhritarashtra a sage because of his bright appearance despite his frail body."

"King, please tell me everything, sage. What happened to them after that?" Yudhishthira asked, his heart heavy with anticipation.

Narada continued, his voice weaving the tale like a tapestry. "After spending six months in one forest, they went to another. During that time, the intense summer heat made the forest dry due to lack of rain. They continued their tough meditation there. A terrible forest fire broke out. Driven by strong winds, the fire slowly spread throughout the forest. The trees and all the animals began to burn."

Yudhishthira's eyes widened with concern. "The fire, the fire, sage, what happened next?"

To escape the wildfire, Sanjay pleaded with Dhritarashtra. "Sanjay," Dhritarashtra said, his voice calm amidst the chaos, "you are still young. You have many years to live. You should leave now, my child, and find shelter elsewhere. You see, I am very weak from hunger and cannot move. I will stay here and leave this world through water, air, fire, or fasting. You should take Kunti Devi and go. I am at peace here with Gandhari."

But Sanjay, filled with loyalty and devotion, replied, "Forgive me, noble king, but I will not leave you. Let us all share the same fate." Even as the wildfire came closer, Sanjay refused to leave Dhritarashtra. But Dhritarashtra's command was final. In the end, Sanjay had to obey.

The three of them sat facing east and, through meditation, stopped their breath. As they went into deep meditation, their bodies became still like wood. The wildfire then consumed their bodies. After informing the sages by the Ganges of everything, Sanjay went to the Himalayas, carrying the tale of their devotion and sacrifice on his lips.

Chapter Six: The Flames of Destiny

Yudhishthira stood in the grand hall of Hastinapur, his heart heavy with the news that had just reached him. The messenger's words echoed in his mind like a mournful chant. "King, oh no, what a tragedy! Elder father, mother Gandhari, mother Kunti, what happened, divine sage? Why did they give up their lives in the fire?"

A wise sage, who had come to deliver the news, looked at Yudhishthira with kind eyes. "No, Yudhishthira," he said gently, "they did not die in vain. The priest had thrown the remains of Dhritarashtra's sacred fire into a lonely forest. That fire turned into the wildfire that consumed them. They have all attained the ultimate peace."

Yudhishthira's heart ached, but he knew the sage spoke the truth. "Now," the sage continued, "perform their last rites properly."

As the news spread, a terrible grief settled over Hastinapur. Draupadi and Subhadra cried out in sorrow, their voices mingling with the wails of the city. Nakula, Sahadeva, Bhima, and Arjuna stood together, their heads bowed in deep sadness. Yet, amidst the storm of emotions, Yudhishthira remained calm.

He knew the scriptures did not allow him to mourn for those who had attained such devotion. With great difficulty, he steadied himself and began the sacred rites. His voice was calm, his chants deep and resonant, as he honored the lives of those who had passed.

Behind him, the city was a chorus of grief, the cries of the people rising like a lament to the heavens. Yudhishthira felt the weight of their sorrow pressing down on him. Where could he go to escape this unbearable pain?

In his heart, he thought of Krishna, the friend who had always been there in times of trouble. Perhaps Krishna could offer him the comfort he so desperately needed. The idea of sending milk to Krishna in Dwarka crossed his mind, a small gesture of remembrance and hope.

But unknown to Yudhishthira, Dwarka too was heading towards a deep crisis. What would happen to Dwarka? What would become of Krishna?

These questions lingered, unanswered, as the city of Hastinapur mourned its loss. The answers awaited in the unfolding chapters of their lives.

The tale of Yudhishthira's sorrow and the fate of Dwarka would continue, each chapter revealing more of the intricate tapestry woven by destiny.