Chapter 1: The Night of Terror

The air was thick with tension as the ominous strains of music faded into the background. Mirchi presented a special feature, the Times of Puran, weaving tales from the ancient epic, the Mahabharata. The voice of concern rang out, "Arjuna, you must stop Ashwatthama's Brahmashira, or a terrible disaster will occur. Partha, if you cannot defeat that wicked son of Dronacharya in battle today, I will almost certainly give up my life here. My weapon never fails, and with its strike, Uttara's unborn child will be lost."

The Mahabharata, an eternal epic penned by the great sage Vedavyasa, had been translated into Bengali by scholars like Haridas Siddhanta Bagish, Kaliprasanna Sinha, and Rajshekhar Basu. Based on these translations, a simple version had been crafted, bringing the timeless story to life for readers everywhere.

With Duryodhana wounded and weary, he reluctantly granted Ashwatthama permission. Fueled by vengeance, Ashwatthama vowed to destroy the Pandavas and set off towards Lord Shiva with his five brothers. Lord Shiva himself appeared, lending his energy to Ashwatthama's malicious intent. Empowered by this divine force, Ashwatthama wielded a dreadful sword, and none had the strength to stop him now.

As the night unfolded, Ashwatthama, like the very god of death, wreaked havoc, slaying Dhrishtadyumna and the Panchala soldiers. The cursed night in the Panchala camp was filled with unspeakable fear. Yet, the five Pandavas were far from the chaos. At Krishna's wise counsel, Satyaki and the Pandavas spent that fateful night under the open sky beside the river, unaware of the terror that unfolded in their absence.

Despite their victory in the Kurukshetra war, the Pandavas were burdened by the loss of countless loved ones. Only Bhima seemed to find solace in their triumph. As dawn broke, Yudhishthira stood silently, gazing at the ceaseless flow of the river, lost in thought.

Suddenly, a charioteer appeared, racing towards them, clouds of dust rising in his wake. His eyes were wide with fear and urgency as he shouted, "King Yudhishthira! King Yudhishthira! My lord! My lord! Save me, my lord! Save me!"

Yudhishthira turned to him with concern. "Charioteer, what has happened to you? Why are you running like this? Why have you left your chariot and horses behind and come on foot? Is General Dhrishtadyumna safe?"

The charioteer, trembling, replied, "Great danger, my lord, great danger! Save me, my lord, save me!"

"Come, charioteer, come and sit here," Yudhishthira said soothingly. "You have nothing to fear. Look, here is the great warrior Satyaki, the mighty Arjuna, the strong Bhima, and the skilled archers, the two youngest Pandavas. Even our protector, the brave Krishna, is here. So, what are you afraid of? Charioteer, sit here without worry. Tell us why you are so scared."

The charioteer took a deep breath and began to speak. The five Pandavas listened intently as he recounted the horrors of the previous night. Ashwatthama, unable to find the Pandavas, had killed Draupadi's children. The news struck Yudhishthira like a bolt of lightning, and he fell to the ground, overwhelmed with sorrow. Hearing that only Shikhandi and a few others had tried to stop Ashwatthama filled the eldest Pandava with both anger and grief.

Yudhishthira cried out in pain for his lost children, "Oh, what a disaster has befallen us! Our brave sons, who faced the mighty Karna and Drona with smiles, have now met their end at Ashwatthama's hands. Just like wealthy merchants who cross the ocean only to drown in a river, this is what it feels like. We know our princely sons have gone to heaven, but what about Draupadi? What will happen to her? Thinking of Panchali makes me even more distressed."

Satyaki, seeing Yudhishthira's anguish, spoke softly, "Majesty, calm down. We look to you to ease our sorrow. If you are this overwhelmed with grief, the whole world will drown in sadness. Please, I urge you, be calm. Nakula, go to the city of Upaplavya. Brother, bring that unfortunate Panchali here. Let the other mothers come too, to see their last hope with their own eyes."

And so, the Pandavas prepared to face the new dawn, burdened with grief yet determined to find a way forward.

"As you command, elder brother, I will leave at once," Nakula replied with determination, setting off immediately for the city of Upaplavya. Meanwhile, Yudhishthira, accompanied by Arjuna, Bhima, Sahadeva, and Satyaki, made his way to the Pandava camp. There, the sight that met their eyes was heart-wrenching. The torn and bloodied bodies of their sons, grandsons, and other fallen warriors lay before them, silent and still. Overcome with sorrow, Yudhishthira nearly fainted.

Turning to Arjuna, his voice heavy with despair, Yudhishthira lamented, "Warriors win battles even when they seem lost, but we, we have won yet feel defeated. Is there any end to this terrible sorrow?"

Arjuna, with a comforting hand on Yudhishthira's shoulder, replied, "Majesty, do not grieve. Our sons have died heroically, as is the duty of a warrior. You know they have all gone to heaven. For a warrior, that is the greatest achievement. If wise people like you mourn like this, what will happen to ordinary, fearful, and helpless people? Majesty, rise. Majesty, rise. Do not grieve, have patience."

Under Yudhishthira's orders, Nakula soon returned with Draupadi and the other women. As they arrived at the camp at Kurukshetra, Draupadi's heart shattered at the sight of her five sons, her two brothers, and other loved ones lying lifeless. She wept until her strength gave way, and she fainted. When she regained consciousness, her cries filled the air once more.

Bhima stepped forward, his heart aching for the grieving Panchali. Gently, he helped her to her feet, his voice soothing as he tried to console her. "Panchali, calm your mind, dear one, calm it."

Through her tears, Draupadi looked at Yudhishthira and said, "King Yudhishthira, you have fulfilled your duty. You have sent your sons and relatives to the afterlife. Now, enjoy your kingdom in peace, King. Fortune is on your side now. You don't need any more sons, King. You don't need heroes like Shrut Sena, Shrutakarma, Satanika, or the lion-like warriors anymore. Your sons are all in heaven now."

Her voice turned fierce with determination. "Listen, King," she continued, "if you cannot kill that wicked son of Drona in battle today, I will give up my life right here. Pandavas, hear me, my vow is firm. You must kill Drona's son, or I will end my life here."

Bhima's resolve hardened at her words. "Do not mourn, Panchali. Even if that sinful Ashwatthama hides in the underworld, he will not escape my grasp."

"Brother Nakula, be my charioteer. I am going to kill Ashwatthama right now," Bhima declared, his voice filled with the thunder of his fury. With Nakula guiding the chariot, Bhima held his mighty mace high, his eyes blazing with anger and grief. The horses galloped as if they had wings, driven by Nakula's expert hand.

After Bhima's departure, Krishna turned to Yudhishthira. "King, Bhima has gone alone. Your dearest brother is heading into danger by himself, and you didn't go with him. What if something happens to him? Bhima has defeated many demons and monsters on his own before. In the battle of Kurukshetra, he saved us all. No matter how strong Ashwatthama is, he is no match for Bhima. That's why Ashwatthama sneaked into the camp at night like a thief, to avoid fighting Bhima and Arjuna. But, Govinda, today Ashwatthama won't escape from Bhima."

The words of Krishna lingered in the air as they watched Bhima vanish into the horizon, the weight of their shared loss heavy upon them all.

Chapter 2: The Fiery Conflict

The air was tense as Krishna's words hung over them like a shadow. "I know that's not true, King," Krishna began, his voice steady yet grave. "Your belief is not entirely correct. Did you know that Dronacharya gave his son, Ashwatthama, the Brahmashira weapon, which can burn the whole world? Even though Drona loved his son dearly, he understood that Ashwatthama, with his impulsive nature, might use the weapon for revenge, despite being told not to."

King Yudhishthira listened intently, his brow furrowed with concern. "After you went to the forest," Krishna continued, "Ashwatthama came to me in Dwarka."

Yudhishthira looked puzzled. "King, why did he come to you, Govinda? Did he have a special request?"

Krishna nodded. "Yes, King. He wanted to exchange the Brahmashira for my Sudarshan Chakra."

"Sudarshan? What are you saying, Govinda?" Yudhishthira exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What would Ashwatthama do with your Sudarshan Chakra?"

Krishna smiled, though his eyes remained serious. "He would become as powerful as me. I was willing to give him the Sudarshan in exchange for the Brahmashira, but even with both hands, Ashwatthama couldn't move the Sudarshan Chakra. What great warriors like Arjuna and Balarama couldn't imagine, that foolish Brahmin thought he could do easily."

"So, I'm telling you, King," Krishna continued, "Ashwatthama's anger is dangerous. Having the Brahmashira in his hands is a great threat to all living beings. We must protect Bhima from his wrath. Arjuna also knows how to use the Brahmashira. He has the right to it, but his discipline and self-control have kept him from seeking revenge. Arjuna understands the terrible impact this weapon could have on humanity, so he remains restrained. But while Arjuna is calm, Ashwatthama is aggressive. That's why Krishna is more worried about him."

With urgency in their hearts, Krishna, Arjuna, and Yudhishthira set off in Krishna's chariot towards Bhima. The landscape blurred past them until they spotted Bhima's chariot near the banks of the Ganges. There, in the peaceful setting of an ashram, Ashwatthama sat among a group of sages. I, Krishna Dwaipayana Vyasa, was also present, having given shelter to Ashwatthama, who had disguised himself in a garment of grass and covered himself with ghee to hide.

As soon as Bhima laid eyes on Ashwatthama, his warrior instincts kicked in. Bow and arrow at the ready, he rushed forward. Ashwatthama, seeing the formidable figures of Krishna, Arjuna, Yudhishthira, and Bhima approaching, turned pale with fear. In desperation, he picked up a simple blade of grass, glaring fiercely as he muttered, "Let the Pandavas be destroyed. Let Yudhishthira, Bhima, Arjuna, the five Pandavas, and their friend Krishna perish. Blade of grass, become a fiery weapon like the end of time."

"Arjuna, look!" Krishna shouted, pointing at the grass that was now transforming into a fiery Brahmastra weapon. "It will burn the entire world if not stopped. Use the divine weapon given by Drona now, Arjuna. Stop Ashwatthama's Brahmastra, or a terrible disaster will occur. I pray for the well-being of all creatures, including us, from Ashwatthama's weapon."

Arjuna, with a calm yet determined resolve, declared, "May Ashwatthama's weapon be stopped by my weapon. I bow to all the gods, sages, and elders as I release my Brahmastra."

Ashwatthama, realizing the gravity of his actions, was struck by the chaos he had unleashed. "Ashwatthama, what have you done?" Krishna scolded. "Your actions have set the world on fire. Can't you see? No great warrior before you has used such a weapon against humans. Why did you cause such a dangerous event?"

The wise sage Vyasa intervened, his voice carrying the weight of wisdom and authority. "I did not release my Brahmastra with any bad intentions. I used it to stop Ashwatthama's Brahmastra from causing harm to the world. May God protect humanity and creation. Withdraw your weapons now, or you will be responsible for the destruction of creation."

"Please don't be angry with me, great sage," Ashwatthama pleaded, his voice trembling with regret. "Forgive me, Vyasa. I will withdraw my Brahmastra as you command." Arjuna closed his eyes, chanting a sacred mantra. Gradually, the fire from Arjuna's Brahmastra faded away, and the weapon was calmed.

However, Ashwatthama, lacking the dedication, meditation, sacrifice, or patience of Arjuna, found himself unable to withdraw his weapon. He had never earned any divine weapon through hard work but had received them due to his father Drona's affection. And so, despite possessing the weapon, he could not control it.

Chapter 3: The Unseen Consequences

Ashwatthama stood with a heavy heart, his eyes downcast. "I... I have sinned, Lord," he admitted, his voice trembling. "I know I have sinned. I used the Brahmashira weapon out of fear of Bhima. I understand that without this weapon, the Pandavas cannot be defeated. Yet, after the unfair killing of Duryodhana in Kurukshetra, I don't think the Pandavas have any right to live."

A wise sage, standing nearby, regarded Ashwatthama with a mixture of pity and sternness. "Great sage," he began, "why do you want to endanger all of humanity because of your anger towards the Pandavas? Ashwatthama, Arjuna has withdrawn his weapon. Now you should also put down yours."

Ashwatthama shook his head, helplessness etched into his features. "I don't have the power to withdraw this weapon, Lord. I am helpless. Arjuna did not use his weapon to wish for your destruction. He did it to stop your weapon. You have no direct conflict with the Pandavas, Ashwatthama. You are their teacher's son, a friend of Arjuna. It is your duty to protect their kingdom."

The sage looked at him earnestly. "Ashwatthama, don't you want to save your own life?"

The young warrior nodded, his face pale with fear. "I, I know, Lord. For killing Dhrishtadyumna, the five sons of Draupadi, and using this Brahmashira weapon, the Pandavas might take my life. I am very scared for my life, great sage. Very scared for your life."

"There is only one way to be saved," the sage advised gently. "Give the jewel on your head to the Pandavas, Ashwatthama. In return, they will spare your life."

"Great sage, I must follow your command," Ashwatthama agreed, though his voice was filled with reluctance. "This jewel is more valuable than all the jewels collected by the Pandavas and Kauravas combined. Wearing it frees one from all fears. I will give this jewel to Yudhishthira. But Lord, I cannot withdraw my Brahmashira weapon; it is beyond my power. The Brahmashira must be directed at another target. But what target will you choose for your Brahmashira?"

The sage's eyes darkened with a grave decision. "I will aim this weapon at the womb of a pregnant Pandava woman."

"Oh, very well, do so," Ashwatthama replied, resigned. "I have aimed my Brahmashira at the womb of Abhimanyu's wife, Uttara. A devoted Brahmin had blessed Arjuna's daughter-in-law, Uttara, saying that when the Kuru dynasty ends, she will conceive, and the child in her womb will be invincible."

The sage cautioned him, "Do not be biased, Keshava. Of course, it will not matter. My weapon is infallible; it will destroy Uttara's womb. It is true that your weapon will cause the death of Uttara's unborn child, Parikshit. But know this, Ashwatthama, I will bring that child back to life. My words will not fail."

Ashwatthama's face was a mask of disbelief. "This time at least, all your biases will fail, Keshav. There will be no representative of the Pandavas left on this earth. No power in this world can counter my weapon, Krishna. No power can counter it."

The sage's eyes blazed with determination. "Do you want to see my power, Ashwatthama? Then watch, the dead child in Uttara's womb will come back to life. I will give him life. I will train that boy in weaponry under Kripacharya for 60 years to rule the Kuru kingdom."

"You are a coward, Ashwatha," the sage declared with a finality that echoed through the air. "By killing unarmed, sleeping warriors in the dead of night, your pot of sins is not yet full. Now you are ready to kill a child. You will surely have to suffer the consequences of this great sin. You will wander in a deserted land, afflicted and helpless, for three thousand years, wretch. This is the rightful punishment for a great sinner like you."

Ashwatthama's voice quivered with desperation. "I know that the words of Purushottam Krishna are infallible. Lord, O great sage, please have mercy on me. You, the immortal great yogi of all times, please give me shelter. Great sage, I will stay in your ashram. I will hide in this dense forest to protect myself from Krishna's mighty wrath."

With a sorrowful nod, Ashwatthama retreated into the forest, seeking refuge from the consequences of his actions. Meanwhile, the fiery Brahmashira weapon reached Uttara's womb, causing unbearable pain. Uttara, overwhelmed by the searing agony, rushed to Draupadi, tears streaming down her face.

"Mother, I can no longer bear this pain," she cried out, her voice choked with distress. "Please save me, Mother. Please give me peace. My, my womb, will there be any harm to my womb, Mother?"

Draupadi, holding her close, felt a deep sorrow for the young woman. "A woman without a husband, without fortune, what else does she have to live for if she loses the joy of her only child? Mother, please save me. Mother, save me!"

Uttara's cries pierced the air, her voice filled with desperation. "Fire! Is there any fire here, Uttara? Then, where is this heat coming from?"

Chapter 4: The Jewel of Ashwatthama

Uttara's cries echoed through the air, filled with a desperation that seemed to shake the very earth. Draupadi held her close, trying to soothe her fears. "Ashwatthama! That wicked Ashwatthama must have done something terrible," she murmured, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. "You mustn't be impatient, Uttara. Nothing will happen to your child. He will be completely safe. Madhav will keep him safe. He is coming. Be calm, Uttara. Be calm."

As if in answer to her words, Krishna returned to the Pandava camp in Kurukshetra, accompanied by Yudhishthira, Bhima, and Arjuna. With divine grace, he saved the child in Uttara's womb, easing her burning pain. The relief washed over her like a gentle wave, and she sighed deeply, her fears slowly dissipating.

Bhima stepped forward, holding a radiant jewel in his hand. "Panchali," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of triumph and tenderness, "look, I have brought this great jewel from Ashwatthama's forehead for you. This is the jewel you desired. It adorned the forehead of the wicked Ashwatthama. Now he is without it. There is no other jewel like this in the world. It is unique. Take it, Panchali, hold this jewel and find healing from the sorrow of your child."

Draupadi accepted the jewel with trembling hands, her heart swelling with gratitude and sorrow. "You have honored my sorrow, Rikudhara," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "You have understood the depth of my grief. You have protected me. Bhima has protected the mother without a child."

She remembered the time when Krishna was preparing to go to Hastinapur for peace talks. "You told him that you had no husband, son, or brother," Bhima reminded her. "In the war, I have fulfilled my vow. I have drunk the blood of Dushasana. I have defeated the wicked Duryodhana. I have also conquered Ashwatthama. But because he is a Brahmin and the son of a teacher, I did not take his life. However, I have taken away his power, fame, and honor. And this jewel is all I have. Today, I give it to you. Panchali, accept this jewel. I want to give it to someone who truly deserves it."

Turning to Yudhishthira, Bhima continued, "King Yudhishthira, you are now the emperor of the entire world. All people, animals, and creatures are your subjects. Wear this jewel on your head, King."

At Draupadi's request, Yudhishthira placed Ashwatthama's jewel on his head. It gleamed brilliantly, adding extraordinary beauty to the king's crown.

Krishna, seeing the confusion in Yudhishthira's eyes, explained, "Ashwatthama could not commit these killings on his own. By seeking the fierce form of Lord Shiva, he was able to destroy the mighty sons of the Pandavas and the brave warriors like Shikhandi. The destruction of the Panchalas and the Upapandavas was destined. Therefore, we should not mourn for them. Instead, we should find greater joy in the downfall of a great sinner like Ashwatthama."

With Krishna's comforting words, a sense of peace returned to the Pandava camp. The news of the death of the hundred sons and their relatives, including grandsons, reached the palace of Hastinapur. There, Dhritarashtra sat silently, shedding tears for the loss of his kin. His heart was heavy with grief and worry for the future.

Sanjaya, wise and steadfast, approached Dhritarashtra. In a calm voice, he said, "Your Majesty, do not grieve in vain. There is no one left alive to ease your sorrow. In this great war, eighteen divisions of the army have perished. The world is now empty of heroes. Look at this silent, still world, Your Majesty. It is a hundred times more sorrowful than you. Warriors from all corners of the earth who joined Duryodhana's army are all dead. Begin the funeral rites for all those fallen elders, sons, and grandsons, Your Majesty."

Dhritarashtra, his voice choked with emotion, replied, "I am very unlucky. My son, Surid, and all the elders have been killed. I have to wander like a beggar to survive. Sanjay, what is the point of living in such a friendless world? Sanjay, why didn't I die? What am I going to do with this life now, Sanjay? Can you tell me? I have no kingdom, no son, no sight. I have nothing, nothing at all."

As the weight of their losses settled upon them, the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the dawn of a new era.

Chapter 5: The Weight of Regret

The chamber was dim, filled with the heavy silence that follows deep loss. Dhritarashtra, the once-proud king, lay on the cold stone floor, his spirit as broken as his kingdom. Sanjay stood beside him, his heart aching for the king's sorrow. The echoes of past counsel reverberated in the room, as if the voices of wise men long gone were whispering in the shadows.

"King Vidur, Sage Vyasa, Sage Parashurama, Sage Maitreya, and even the divine sage Narada," Sanjay began softly, trying to reach the king through the fog of despair. "All these great souls gave you wise words over time. They offered much good advice, but you didn't pay attention. If you had, this day would not have come."

Dhritarashtra's voice trembled as he replied, "I know, Sanjay, I know I am not very wise. I ignored Krishna's advice. Krishna had told me to make peace with Yudhishthira, but I didn't listen, Sanjay, I didn't. I am to blame for this misfortune. Alas, I have lost everyone—Duryodhana, Guru Drona, Karna, Dushasana—and now I am like a broken tree, uprooted and alone. Sanjay, what bad luck I have, Sanjay."

Sanjay sighed, a gentle reminder in his voice. "I haven't committed any sins in this life to deserve such terrible consequences. Maybe sins from past lives have brought me deep sorrow in this one. In this life, you can't remember any wrongdoing, King. I am telling you, when your son Duryodhana became arrogant, you didn't listen to any wise advice. You didn't appoint good people to help you because of your desire for wealth and luxury. You ran the kingdom with only your own judgment. You trusted wicked people like Shakuni, Dushasana, Karna, and Chitrasena, and brought this bad luck upon yourself, King."

"You are right, Sanjay," Dhritarashtra admitted, the weight of realization settling heavily on him. "If you live justly in the beginning, you won't have regrets later. I ignored this principle and only worked for my son's happiness. I didn't fulfill any other duties. By joining with my son, I fueled the fire of greed against Yudhishthira. Now, that fire has burned our family like insects."

As Dhritarashtra poured out his sorrow, Vidur entered the chamber, his presence a beacon of calm in the storm of grief. Seeing the king sprawled on the ground, Vidur approached with gentle authority. "What is this, King? Why are you lying on the ground like this? Please, get up. Control yourself. You are wise, intelligent, and knowledgeable about the scriptures. You know that whoever is born must also die, don't you, King? Everything in creation is under the control of time. Time does not favor anyone; it draws everyone in. So, why are you mourning, King, why?"

"I know everything, Vidura," Dhritarashtra replied, his voice a whisper of defeat. "But I have a hundred sons, my Duryodhana. King, all wealth eventually fades, progress can fall, and meetings end in separation. People come from an unseen place and return to it again. They are not truly yours, nor are you theirs, King. Grief, fear, anger—these disturb only the foolish. They cannot affect the wise, King. Be patient. After the war, many responsibilities await you."

"I understand, Vidura. But I no longer have the strength to save myself."

Vidur leaned closer, his voice firm yet comforting. "King, if you have firm faith in the scriptures, then what is there to worry about? Your brave relatives and friends who died in battle will reach heaven because they achieved the highest honor in war. This is a great joy, King. Why do you grieve? Does mourning bring back the dead? If not, then why waste time in vain sorrow? Your loved ones will be happy in a better place, King. Think of this and be joyful. Overcome your sadness."

"Vidura, if I knew how, I would have ended my sorrow by now, brother. But I am helpless, Vidura, I am helpless."

"You are not helpless, King, no," Vidur insisted, his voice a steady anchor. "You have the means to end your sorrow. Not dwelling on sadness is the only way to overcome it. Thoughts that lead nowhere only bring more sorrow. Rise, King. This grief does not suit you. A mind burdened with sorrow, dissatisfaction, and restlessness cannot perform its duties, King. A wise person uses reason to overcome mental pain and medicine to heal physical pain. Get up, King, do not delay."

"Get up. How much more must I endure, Vidura, can you tell me? How much more?" Dhritarashtra's voice cracked, the question hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

Vidur placed a reassuring hand on the king's shoulder, his words a gentle command. "Rise, King. We must face the new dawn together."

Chapter 6: The Burden of Destiny

The room was thick with the scent of incense, its smoke curling like soft whispers around the figures of King Dhritarashtra and Vidura. The king sat heavily upon his throne, his heart burdened with sorrow, as Vidura's words echoed in the silent chamber.

"King," Vidura began, his voice steady and calm, "a person experiences the results of their own actions. What they have not done does not affect them. You are facing the results of your own deeds, King. Whether from this life, a past life, or even before that, you are reaping what you have sown. Do not be so restless, King. Do not blame fate. At the root of all this is you, King, it is you."

As Vidura spoke, Dhritarashtra felt the heavy shadow of grief slowly lift from his face. He composed himself, taking a deep breath, and sat back down in his place. Holding back his overwhelming sorrow and tears, he spoke to Vidura, his voice now calm, "Your wisdom and comfort have given me some peace, Vidura. I had never thought about the mystery of life and death as you explained it. When the body is gone, what remains, Vidura? Tell me how one can find relief from this unbearable sorrow."

Vidura nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. "The human body is not permanent. Wise people think of the body like a house. Just as a house can get destroyed, so can the body, Your Majesty. But the soul inside the body is eternal. It doesn't get destroyed or change. It is everlasting. Know this soul to be the truth, Your Majesty. Just like people can leave one house and move to another, the soul leaves one body and takes shelter in another. The body that the soul leaves behind dies, Your Majesty. So, instead of grieving for the body, focus on the soul, O King. This knowledge of the soul will save you from sorrow."

"If people can gain this knowledge of the soul whenever they want, then why do they have so much happiness and sadness, Vidura?" Dhritarashtra asked, his brow furrowed in thought.

Vidura replied, "Greed, Your Majesty. Greed is a natural trait of humans. It always deceives them, and overwhelming greed controls them, Your Majesty. Because of these two reasons, they get trapped in deeper bonds. Their habits do not let them be free, Your Majesty. Only in the cremation ground do all people lie equally on the same earth. Those who witness the cremation ground can free themselves from all impurities and sins, Your Majesty. There is no other way to find peace except through self-control, Your Majesty. None."

Dhritarashtra sighed deeply, his heart heavy with regret. "I curse this human life. I even curse having children in human life. All sorrow begins with children. Compared to the grief of losing a child, any other sorrow in the world seems very small. No knowledge from Vidura can completely erase this grief. This sorrow slowly burns a person's heart and destroys them. It takes away their sense of right and wrong. Those who haven't experienced this sorrow won't understand its impact, Vidura. They won't understand anything, nothing at all."

Just then, a soft voice interrupted their conversation. It was the sage Vyasa, who had arrived quietly, his presence bringing a sense of calm to the room. "Dhritarashtra, son, the sage Vyasa has arrived."

Dhritarashtra looked up, his eyes weary but grateful. "Sage, come in. I have no physical or mental strength left to welcome you today, Sage. Today, I am completely exhausted."

Vidura, ever the voice of reason, questioned softly, "Even after receiving all the wisdom, why are you still so full of sorrow, Dhritarashtra? Why isn't your grief going away? The downfall of the Kauravas was inevitable, King. Neither Vidura, nor I, nor other sages, not even Lord Krishna could stop it. What was destined to happen has happened. Since you couldn't take action when there was time, there is no other way but to accept this destiny."

With a resigned sigh, Dhritarashtra nodded. "Destiny has truly spoken, Sage. I have no power to overcome this unchangeable destiny. Listen, Dhritarashtra, your son Duryodhana was born as a part of the age of Kali to bring destruction to the world."

Vyasa's words were gentle but firm, like a balm to Dhritarashtra's wounded heart. "This proud son with an impatient and restless nature was born from Gandhari's womb, making it very difficult. His uncle Shakuni, friend Karna, brother Dushasana, and other brothers were all born together for this purpose of destruction. So, what was destined has happened."

"You are right, wise sage. I am guilty of causing my son's death. Just as a king is, so are his loved ones and subjects. So, in your family and kingdom, these troubles have grown and shown themselves, Dhritarashtra. Do not grieve, for what was meant to happen has happened. The Pandavas are not at fault at all; they are completely innocent."

And so, in the quiet of the chamber, surrounded by the wisdom of Vidura and Vyasa, Dhritarashtra began to understand the weight of destiny and the role he had played in its unfolding.

Chapter 7: The Weight of Fate

In the aftermath of the great war, the air was heavy with the echoes of battles fought and lives lost. The solemn chamber where King Dhritarashtra sat was filled with an uneasy silence, broken only by the wise words of Vidura and Vyasa. It was here that the king, burdened by grief and guilt, began to comprehend the intricate web of destiny in which he was entangled.

During Yudhishthira's grand sacrifice, the sage Narada had foretold a dark prophecy: if the Pandavas and Kauravas met on the battlefield, the Kauravas would not survive. Despite Yudhishthira's earnest efforts to prevent the war, fate had already cast its dice. Vidura's voice was gentle yet firm as he spoke, "Let go of your sorrow, my son. If Yudhishthira hears of your grief, he might faint from sadness. The terrible war has ended, and the weight of the Pandavas' sorrow is even greater than yours."

Vidura paused, allowing his words to sink in. "Think of their pain," he continued softly, "and keep living, King. This will make your duty, penance, and honor shine."

With a deep breath, Vidura urged, "Get up, get up, King. Rise with Queen Kunti, Gandhari, and the royal women, and go to Kurukshetra. You must perform the last rites for the departed, Dhritarashtra. Prepare yourself, King, and do not delay. Go, go to Kurukshetra."

The room was filled with a quiet resolve as the king nodded, understanding the path he must take. He rose slowly, his heart heavy but his spirit determined.

Meanwhile, in Hastinapur, Krishna had already set things in motion. Hearing of the royal family's impending journey, he led the five Pandavas and Draupadi to the city. Sanjay, ever loyal, was sent ahead to ensure all was prepared.

As Dhritarashtra arrived in Hastinapur, his heart was filled with a mix of anticipation and dread. Despite his grief, one thought burned brighter than the rest. "Bring me Bhima," he commanded, his voice trembling with emotion.

When Bhima stood before him, the king's sorrow transformed into a fierce, uncontrollable rage. Years of pent-up anger and loss surged through him, and he poured it all onto Bhima, the warrior who had slain his sons. Yet, even in his fury, there was a glimmer of understanding—a recognition of the cruel hand of fate that had touched them all.

The air was thick with the weight of unspoken words and shared pain, as the king and the warrior faced each other, bound by a destiny neither could escape.