In the quiet depths of the forest, the sage Kindama, his heart heavy with sorrow, spoke to Pandu, who had unknowingly slain him. “I have always dwelled in these woods, seeking peace and harming none. Yet you have wronged me, and though I am innocent, I shall return harm to you. One who, overcome by desire and delusion, inflicts cruelty upon another, will meet his end while engaged in the very act of passion that led him astray. Know me as Kindama, a sage purified by austerity. Ashamed to be seen by humans, I took the form of a deer to unite with my mate in the forest’s secrecy. With other deer I roamed these dense woods, but your act is not the sin of slaying a Brahmin, for you did not know my true form. Still, by killing me—one who had become a deer and was lost in desire—you too, O unwise one, shall reap a similar fate. When you are united with your beloved, deluded by passion, you will come to the same end and journey to the realm of the departed. At the close of your life, as you leave this world with your beloved by your side, you will reach the city of Yama, the lord of the dead—a place difficult for all beings to cross. Yet, O best of the wise, your wife’s devotion will cause her to follow you even there. As you brought me from happiness into suffering, so too, when you find happiness, suffering will come upon you.” Having spoken these words, the sage, overwhelmed by sorrow, breathed his last. Pandu, stricken with grief at the curse and the sage’s death, perished in that very moment. As Pandu lay lifeless, his wife and companions approached him, mourning as if he were their own kin. Grief and sorrow filled their hearts. “Even those born into noble families,” they lamented, “may fall into misfortune through their own actions, when their minds are unprepared and ensnared by desire. My father, ever devoted to righteousness from childhood, has met his end because of desire. It was in the house of that king, whose mind was ruled by longing, that the sage Krishna Dvaipayana, master of restraint, begot me. Now, amid this calamity, my mind too has become base, abandoned by the gods, as I chase after this deer. Therefore, I resolve to seek liberation, for bondage is a great affliction. I will follow the excellent and imperishable conduct of my father. I will devote myself to intense austerity, living for a day beneath each tree. As a sage, shaven-headed, I will wander for alms among these hermitages, covered in dust, dwelling in empty huts. I will live at the root of a tree, having abandoned all that is dear or not dear, neither grieving nor rejoicing, remaining the same in blame and praise. Without hope, without bowing to others, free from dualities and possessions, I will neither mock nor frown at anyone. Always serene, devoted to the welfare of all beings, I will harm no creature, whether moving or unmoving, of all four kinds. I will be impartial among all living beings, as one is with one’s own children, begging for alms at one time only, from ten or fifteen households. If alms are not available, I will go without food, eating little when little is received, never seeking more before what I have is finished. Even if lacking, I may, out of necessity, beg from up to seven more households, but in gain or loss, I will remain even-minded. If one arm were being cut by a carpenter and the other smeared with sandalwood paste, I would not think either misfortune or good fortune. I will neither desire to live nor wish to die, neither clinging to life nor hating death. All actions performed for prosperity, I will abandon completely, remaining as steady as the blink of an eye. In such unstable conditions, having given up all actions of the senses, having renounced both righteousness and wealth, my soul will be thoroughly cleansed of all stain. Freed from all sins, having crossed beyond all snares, not under anyone’s control, I will become like the wind, free in its own nature. By living always in this manner, following such a path, I will sustain my body, fearless, having set out on this way. I will not follow a pitiable path, grieving over my lost strength, nor stray from my own duty, even if I lack vigor. Whoever, whether honored or dishonored, seeks a livelihood with a mind attached to desire, looking upon others with the gaze of a dog, walks the path of dogs.” Having spoken these words, deeply afflicted with sorrow and sighing heavily, the king looked upon Kunti and Madri and addressed them: “Kausalya, Vidura the minister, the king and his relatives, noble Satyavati, Bhishma, and the royal priests, as well as the great-souled Brahmanas, drinkers of soma, steadfast in their vows, and the elders of the city who dwell under our protection—all must be respectfully informed that Pandu has departed to the forest.” Hearing her husband’s words, his soul set on renunciation, Kunti, together with Madri, replied in agreement: “There are other hermitages, O best of the Bharatas, where we may dwell. Let it be considered how we, your lawful wives, may practice great austerity together with you. By attaining the great fruit of righteousness, even to the release of the body, you alone will be our lord, and there is no doubt, even in heaven. Having restrained our senses, devoted to our husband’s world, abandoning all pleasures of desire, we two will perform great austerity. O wise king, if you abandon us, then today itself we both shall give up our lives—of this there is no doubt. If this is indeed your firm resolve, in accordance with righteousness, then I shall follow the same path as my father, unwavering.