When Bhimasena was fifteen, Vibhatsu—known as Arjuna—was fourteen, and the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva, were thirteen, the brothers journeyed to Hastinapura. There, they lived among the sons of Dhritarashtra for thirteen years. During this time, after spending six months in the house of lac, Bhima’s son Ghatotkacha was born. Later, the Pandavas stayed six months in the town of Ekachakra and a year in the house of a Panchala. After five more years among the Kauravas, they made Indraprastha their home for twenty-three years. But fate would have them lose everything in a game of dice, after which they endured twelve years in exile and one more year in concealment. Having returned, they ruled the earth, bounded by the sea, for thirty-six years, always devoted to Krishna. After these years, in just six months, they established Parikshit as king and then set out on their destined path. Thus, Yudhishthira’s life spanned one hundred and eight years. Know, O radiant one, that Keshava—Krishna—was three months older than Arjuna, and Sankarshana—Balarama—was three months older than Krishna. Pandu, the fifth and most radiant, rejoiced greatly with his two wives, Kunti and Madri, accompanied by the sage Kashyapa, as he gazed upon his sons on the mountain. When the forest was in full bloom, during the springtime of Madhu and Madhava, the fourteenth year of Pandu’s exile was completed. On the very same lunar mansion in which wise Partha—Arjuna—was born, during the auspicious Uttaraphalguni ceremony, Kunti, preoccupied with serving food to the brahmanas together with the family priest, forgot her duty of vigilance. In that season, Pandu, relying on his own strength, beheld his five handsome sons in the beautiful mountain forest. Once, during the blossoming season of Madhu and Madhava, the king wandered in the forest with his wife in a place that enchanted all beings. The forest was adorned with palasha, tilaka, mango, champaka, paribhadra, and many other trees, all abundant with fruit and flowers. Pools filled with blooming lotuses sparkled, and the beauty of Pandu’s forest stirred love in his heart. As he wandered joyfully, like a god, Madri followed him alone, clad in beautiful garments. Seeing her, youthful and lightly dressed, desire arose in him in that secluded place, flaring up like fire. Alone with her in secret, the king, his eyes like lotuses, was overpowered by longing and could not restrain himself. Then, in the eighteenth year, during the proper season, Pandu, his mind seized by passion, summoned the illustrious Madri, adorned for union. There, in that secluded spot, the king seized Madri by force, though she struggled and tried her best to resist him. Overcome by desire, Pandu forgot the curse that forbade him from such union and, compelled by force, united with Madri. Swayed by passion and disregarding the fear of the curse, driven by fate, he moved toward the end of his life, O Kauravya. His mind, overpowered and deluded by fate, lost all discernment; his senses and awareness were overcome. Thus, Pandu, the most righteous, united with his wife Madri and was seized by the law of time. Madri, embracing the king whose senses had departed, cried out again and again in deep sorrow. Soon, Kunti, together with her sons, and the two sons of Madri, all came to where the king lay. Then, O King, Madri, distressed, spoke to Kunti: “You alone should go from here; let the children remain here.” Hearing these words, Kunti left the children and, crying out, “I am lost!” suddenly departed. Seeing Pandu and Madri lying on the ground, Kunti, seized by grief, lamented in anguish: “Though I always protected you, O steadfast hero, how did you, knowing the curse, transgress it while dwelling in the forest? Surely, Madri, it was your duty to protect the king; how then, in solitude, were you tempted and led the king astray? How, finding you alone, did he, always afflicted, feel joy while thinking of the curse? Blessed are you, O daughter of Bahlika, and more fortunate than I, for you beheld the face of the delighted king. Though I, O lady, tried again and again to restrain him as he lamented, his self was not restrained, truly, by the will of fate.” Hearing these words, Kunti, consumed by the fire of grief, suddenly fell to the ground like a tree with its roots cut. Motionless, she did not stir, overcome by faintness. At that moment, after bathing and donning great garments, Madri adorned Pandu, who lay on a splendid bed, and then raised Kunti, whose senses were overcome by sorrow. Calling, “Noble lady, come,” Madri brought Kunti forward. Kunti, rising again, fell at the king’s feet. There lay Pandu, his limbs anointed with red sandal, clad in fine yellow garments, his face smiling as if still speaking. Out of delusion, Kunti embraced him, her senses bewildered, and lamented; Madri, too, embraced the king and wept.