By your grace, O radiant scion of the Bharatas, the darkness that once veiled the hearts of men has been dispelled. The full moon of ancient tales, glowing with the light of the Vedas, has brought joy to gentle minds, just as lotuses blossom in moonlight. Through the lamp of history, which tears away the veil of delusion, the very womb of the world has been illuminated, revealing its truths for all to see. Consider the Mahabharata as a mighty tree, whose seed is the summary chapter. Its roots are the stories of Pauloma and Astika; its sturdy trunk is the section on origins, while the Sabha Parva forms a great knot at its heart. The Aranyaka Parva shapes its form, filled with the essence of the Virata and Udyoga Parvas. Its vast branch is the Bhishma Parva, and the Drona Parva its leaves. The Karna Parva adorns the tree with flowers, and the Shalya Parva fills the air with fragrance. The Stri Parva serves as its resting place, while the Shanti Parva is the tree’s abundant fruit. The Ashvamedhika, Amshasana, and Ashramavasika Parvas provide shelter, and the Mausala Parva is its summary. Worthy twice-born men serve this tree, which stands as a support for all great poets—like an inexhaustible cloud nourishing all beings. This is the great tree of Bharata. Before its story is told, let Ganesha, remover of obstacles, be remembered, for his aid is needed in writing this poem. Having spoken thus, Brahma, the blessed creator of the worlds, departed to his own abode, accompanied by hosts of sages and gods. Then Vyasa, son of Satyavati, remembered Heramba—Ganesha. At the very moment he was remembered, the Lord of Ganas, who fulfills the thoughts of his devotees, appeared before Vyasa. Vyasa worshipped Ganesha and, once seated, addressed him: “O sinless leader of the Ganas, be the scribe of this Bharata, as I recite it and as it forms in my mind.” Ganesha replied, “I shall be your scribe if my pen does not pause for even a moment while writing.” Vyasa, in turn, said, “Write nothing without first understanding.” With the sacred syllable “Om,” Ganesha agreed and became the scribe. Thus, the sage Vyasa, out of hidden curiosity, composed intricate knots in the text, in keeping with the condition he had set. There are eight thousand and eight hundred more verses; I know them, Shuka knows them, and Sanjaya may or may not know them. Even now, those knots of verses remain firm, deep, and subtle in meaning, difficult to unravel. Even Ganesha, though all-knowing, would pause in thought over these knots, and during those moments, Vyasa composed many other verses. Now, I shall describe the branches, flowers, and fruits of that tree—sweet, pure, nourishing, and unbreakable even by the immortals. Vyasa first taught this index chapter, which accounts for all the parvas, to his son Shuka. Thereafter, he gave it to other worthy disciples. He also compiled another version of sixty hundred thousand verses, with thirty hundred thousand established among the gods, fifteen thousand among the Pitris, and fourteen thousand among Rakshasas and Yakshas. For humans, one hundred thousand verses were established. Narada recited the poem to the gods; Asita-Devala to the ancestors; and Shuka to the Gandharvas, Yakshas, and Rakshasas. The sage Vaishampayana recited it to King Parikshit, also known as Janamejaya, and in this world, Vaishampayana, the righteous disciple of Vyasa and foremost knower of the Vedas, became the reciter. Hear now as I recount the one hundred thousand verses I have spoken. Duryodhana is the great tree of wrath, with Karna as its trunk, Shakuni as its branches, Dushasana as its abundant flowers and fruits, and King Dhritarashtra, lacking discernment, as its root. In contrast, Yudhishthira is the great tree of righteousness, with Arjuna as its trunk, Bhimasena as its branches, the sons of Madri as its flowers and fruits, and Krishna, along with Brahma and the Brahmanas, as its root. Pandu, having conquered many lands through valor and prowess in battle, chose to dwell with his people in the forest, devoted to hunting. Yet, due to the hardship of killing a deer during a chase, he encountered a great calamity. From their very birth, the sons of Pritha (Kunti) followed the proper path and discipline. With her mother’s consent and following the secret teaching of righteousness, Kunti invoked Dharma, Vayu, and Indra, desiring sons. In the same way, Madri, by invocation, summoned the Ashvins. Thus, all the sons of Pandu were born to Kunti and Madri through sacred mantras, raised together with ascetics and protected by their mothers. In pure and sacred forests, within the great hermitages of the noble, all the mighty sons of Pandu were born. Yet, because of a sage’s curse, when Pandu united with Madri, he died on the holy mountain Shatasringa. The sages themselves brought the children—ascetic, handsome, with matted hair and observing celibacy—to the sons of Dhritarashtra. They declared, “These are your sons, brothers, disciples, and friends—the Pandavas,” and then vanished from sight. When the Kauravas saw the Pandavas, introduced by the sages, all the respected citizens and townsfolk rejoiced greatly, their voices rising in delight. Yet, among them, some said, “These are his,” while others doubted, “They are not his.” Some wondered, “How can these be his, since Pandu has long been dead?” Thus, the arrival of the Pandavas inspired both joy and wonder among the people.