Then, having renounced all worldly attachments, the noble son of the Kuru line—Pandu—set out from his kingdom, accompanied by his wives. His attendants, unable to bear the sorrow of his departure, followed him for a time. When the king spoke his final, customary words of farewell, filled with grief, the attendants broke down, wailing in distress and crying, “Alas!” Hot tears streamed from their eyes as they parted from their beloved king. Leaving him behind in the forest, they hurried back to Nagapura, carrying with them all the wealth and treasures that had belonged to Pandu. Upon arriving in the city, the attendants presented themselves before King Dhritarashtra. They reported all that had befallen the great-souled Pandu in the wilderness and delivered to the king the various treasures they had brought. Hearing their account of everything that had occurred in the vast forest, Dhritarashtra, the best among men, was overcome by grief, mourning only for his brother Pandu. So deep was his sorrow that he found no joy in beds, seats, or any of the pleasures of royal life. His mind remained fixed, day and night, on thoughts of his brother’s fate. Meanwhile, Pandu, now living as an ascetic, sustained himself on roots and fruits. With his wives by his side, he journeyed to the mountain of a hundred peaks. He reached the region of Citraratha, passed beyond Kalakuta, crossed the mighty Himavat, and pressed onward to Gandhamadana. There, in those sacred and remote places, Pandu was protected by great beings—Siddhas, perfected ones, and eminent sages. Whether the land was level or rugged, he dwelled among them, finding shelter and guidance. In time, Pandu arrived at the famed Indradyumna Lake and, passing beyond Hamsakuta, reached Shata-shringa. There, at that holy site, he engaged in intense austerities. His dedication was such that he became pleasing to the assemblies of Siddhas and Charanas, who witnessed his supreme effort. Attentive, humble, and self-controlled, Pandu mastered his senses and strove by his own prowess to attain the heights of heaven. Among the sages, Pandu was cherished: to some, he became as a brother; to others, a dear friend; and certain sages cared for him as they would their own son. Through constant and flawless austerity, Pandu’s spiritual stature grew, and he became like a Brahmarshi, a sage of the highest order. On the night of the new moon, the sages, steadfast in their vows, gathered together, intent on beholding Brahma, the Self-born. Seeing them preparing to depart, Pandu approached and respectfully inquired, “Where are you going, O best of speakers? Please tell me.” The sages replied, “A great assembly is to be held in Brahma’s world, attended by gods, sages, and ancestors. We go there, wishing to see the Self-born Lord.” Inspired, Pandu rose suddenly, eager to join the great sages and cross into the realm of heaven, setting his face northward from Shata-shringa. He prepared to journey with his wives. The ascetics, seeing his resolve, spoke to him: “We ascend higher and higher, northward, over the king of mountains. On these beautiful heights, we have seen many wondrous and difficult regions, filled with hundreds of flying palaces and resounding with celestial song and melody. There are playgrounds of the gods, Gandharvas, and Apsaras, and the gardens of Kubera, spread across level and uneven ground alike. Great river valleys, dense mountain caves, and regions perpetually covered in snow—devoid of trees, beasts, and birds—await us. In some places are vast deserts and impassable strongholds, where not even a bird can cross, much less any other creature. Only the wind, perfected beings, and eminent sages may pass through these regions. How, O prince, will your wives traverse this king of mountains?” Hearing this, Pandu was troubled, especially by the words that for the childless, no gateway to heaven was recognized. He confessed his torment: “Because I am childless, I am deeply concerned about attaining heaven. Therefore, together with my wife, I will undertake fierce austerity, ready even to give up my life. Perhaps, even without offspring, I may reach heaven through severe deeds. O king, with divine sight, behold a faultless child, a lineage destined by fate; O tiger among men, bring it about through right action. The wise, undisturbed, obtain untainted fruit; seeing such a result, you, too, should make every effort.” Reflecting on the ascetic’s words, Pandu became absorbed in thought. He remembered the curse of the deer, which prevented him from performing the rites necessary for progeny, and pondered deeply on his predicament. At this time, the son of the river—the wise Vidura—heard of the maiden born to Parashara, the daughter of King Devaka, endowed with beauty and youth. Choosing her, the foremost among the Bharatas arranged her marriage to Vidura, the learned one. In time, Vidura, the joy of the Kurus, begot sons in her, children of good conduct and virtue, reflecting his own qualities. Meanwhile, O Janamejaya, to Gandhari were born a hundred sons, and to Dhritarashtra, by a Vaishya woman, was born one more son, surpassing even the hundred. To Pandu, through Kunti and Madri, were born five mighty sons, equal to the gods themselves, ensuring the continuation of the lineage. Questions arise: How did Gandhari come to bear a hundred sons, and in what span of time? What was the highest lifespan among them? How did Dhritarashtra’s son by the Vaishya woman come to be? How did Gandhari, the virtuous wife, obtain a suitable husband, and how did Dhritarashtra behave toward her, she who acted with such devotion? Most wondrous of all, how did the great-souled Pandu, despite his curse, obtain sons from the gods? How were these five mighty sons born from the gods themselves? O wise one, tell all this in detail, for you possess the fruits of great austerity.