As the time came to honor the departed King Pandu, the sacred fires—vivid and blazing—were led forth by priests clad in spotless white garments. These flames, invoked through ancient rites, shone brilliantly at the head of the procession, adorned with all the proper offerings. Behind them, thousands from every class—Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas, and Shudras—followed in a vast, grieving throng. The air was heavy with sorrow, and tears streamed down the faces of all, for their beloved king was gone. Voices rose in lamentation: “Having abandoned us and left us in unending sorrow, making us as orphans, where will our king go now?” The grief was not limited to the common people; all the Pandavas, the mighty Bhishma, and the wise Vidura cried out in despair. Bahlika, Somadatta, and King Bhurishrava, too, could not contain their sorrow. Embracing one another for comfort, thousands made their way together to the beautiful and auspicious banks of the Ganga, nestled in a delightful forest. There, the truthful ones set down the palanquin bearing the lion-like King Pandu, whose deeds were beyond reproach, with his devoted wife beside him. They bathed his body in the finest fragrances, anointed him with pure kalika oil, and gently rubbed him with divine sandalwood paste. Water from golden vessels was sprinkled over him, and his body was covered with white sandal paste, a sign of purity. Next, they wrapped him in local white garments, after perfuming him with black aloe and fragrant tung resin. Thus adorned, the king seemed almost alive, radiant like a young tiger at rest on his luxurious bed. The priests and officiants, together with the family purohitas, performed all the rites prescribed by the Vedas for the horse-sacrifice fire, chanting the sacred mantras. When the funeral rites were completed to the priests’ satisfaction, the king, beautifully adorned and with Madri by his side, was anointed with clarified butter. They built the funeral pyre with fragrant sandalwood blended with tall lotus stalks, sarala pine, deodar, guggul resin, and lac. Green sandalwood, haribera, usira roots, and other aromatic substances were added, and the pyre was lit according to sacred custom. As the flames rose and the two bodies were consumed, Kausalya, overwhelmed by grief and confusion, collapsed to the ground, crying out, “Alas, my son!” Seeing her stricken, the people of the city and countryside, devoted to the king and full of compassion, wept openly, their hearts broken. At Kunti’s anguished cries, not only humans but even animals seemed to join in the wailing. Bhishma, son of Shantanu, the wise Vidura, and all the Kauravas mourned deeply, their spirits weighed down by sorrow. Then, Bhishma, Vidura, the king, the Pandavas, and all the women of the Kuru clan performed the water-rite for the departed king. The Pandavas wept, as did Bhishma, Vidura, and all their kinsmen, pouring their grief into the ritual. When the water-rites were complete, the people, seeing the Pandavas so worn by mourning, gently restrained them, seeking to offer solace. That night, as the Pandavas lay on the ground with their relatives, so too did the townsfolk, brahmins, and others, sharing in the sorrow and exhaustion. For twelve nights, the city itself seemed joyless and restless, as if bereft of its prince, and all hearts remained heavy. When this period ended, Vidura, Bhishma, Vyasa, and the king, together with their kin, offered the funeral oblation for Pandu, preparing nectar fit for the ancestors. With the help of the family priest, they performed all the rites according to tradition. Thousands of Kurus and eminent brahmins were fed, and streams of jewels and choice villages were given to the foremost of the twice-born as charity. When the purificatory rites were finished, the Pandavas, the best of the Bharatas, were brought back, and all entered the city of Varanavata. Yet the townspeople and villagers continued to lament the loss of that bull among the Bharatas, mourning him as one grieves for a lost relative. At the close of the funeral rites, seeing the people overwhelmed by grief and confusion, the sage Vyasa approached his mother. He spoke gravely: “The days of happiness have passed; now harsh times have come. Each day brings greater hardship, and the earth has lost her youth. A dreadful age approaches, filled with faults, where righteousness and ritual will be forgotten. Because of the misfortune of the Kurus, the earth will not endure. Go now, devote yourself to yoga and dwell in the forest in austerity, lest you witness the terrible destruction of this family and your own suffering.” His mother agreed and went to speak with her daughter-in-law. “Ambika,” she said, “it is said that because of your grandson’s misrule, the Bharatas and their allies, as well as the townsfolk, will perish—so we have heard. Therefore, if you agree, let us take Kausalya, who is tormented with grief for her son, and go to the forest. May this be for the best.” Thus addressed by Ambika, the virtuous Satyavati took leave of Bhishma and, together with her daughters-in-law, departed for the forest, O descendant of Bharata. There, performing severe austerities, those royal ladies renounced their bodies and attained the blessed state they sought. Meanwhile, having fulfilled all the rites prescribed by the Vedas, the Pandavas grew up, enjoying the pleasures of their father’s house. Alongside the sons of Dhritarashtra, they played joyfully and excelled in all the games of childhood. In running, target-hitting, eating, and playfully dragging each other in the sand, Bhimasena always overpowered the sons of Dhritarashtra. Out of sheer delight, he would seize his playmates, grasping their heads, and make them join the Pandavas in their games, his strength and spirit shining even in these simple contests.