When the omens of misfortune began to shadow the Kurus, Satyavati, matriarch of the great house, spoke with a heavy heart. “Because of the ill fate that has befallen the Kurus, the earth itself will not endure,” she declared. “Let us withdraw from these coming calamities. Take up the path of yoga, and let us dwell in the forest, devoted to austerity.” She urged her companions, “Do not remain to witness the terrible destruction that will consume this family—nor your own. Let us depart.” With resolve, Satyavati entered her chambers and spoke gently to her daughter-in-law, Ambika. “Ambika,” she said, “it is foretold that because of your grandson’s misrule, the Bharatas and their allies, and even the people of the towns, will perish. Such is the rumor that has reached us.” She continued, “Therefore, if you agree, let us take Kausalya, who grieves deeply for her son, and go to the forest. May this be for your welfare.” Ambika listened and agreed. Having made their decision, the virtuous Satyavati, after bidding farewell to Bhishma, left for the forest with her daughters-in-law. There, those noble ladies performed severe austerities. In the solitude of the woods, they gave up their bodies and attained the blessed state they sought, leaving behind the turmoil of the world. Meanwhile, the Pandavas, having completed the rites prescribed in the Vedas, grew up in their father’s house, enjoying the pleasures of youth. Together with the sons of Dhritarashtra, they played joyfully and excelled in all their childhood games, their brilliance shining through. In contests of running, target-hitting, eating, and even dragging in the sand, Bhimasena, with his immense strength, would always overpower the sons of Dhritarashtra. Out of sheer delight, he would seize those who were playing, grasp their heads, and make them join the Pandava side. Among all those mighty princes, Bhima alone could easily subdue a hundred and one of them. He would grab them by their hair, strike them forcefully, and drag them across the ground as they cried out, their knees and heads scraped. Sometimes, he played with ten boys at once, holding them with his arms, submerging himself in water, and releasing them as if lifeless. When some climbed trees in search of fruit, Bhima would shake the trees with a mighty blow, causing them to tremble. The trees would whirl from his strikes, the fruits would fall, and the princes would slip from the branches. Some brothers fell with broken heads and shoulders, others with broken hips and faces, all overwhelmed by Bhima’s strength. In wrestling, running, or any contest, none of the princes could surpass Bhima, though they competed with all their might. Thus, Bhima, competing with the sons of Dhritarashtra, behaved roughly—not out of malice, but simply out of childishness. But Duryodhana, the powerful son of Dhritarashtra, observing Bhima’s renowned strength, began to harbor evil intentions. Watching his own unrighteous conduct and many wicked acts, blinded by greed for power, dark thoughts arose in his mind. “This Vrikodara, Kunti’s son, is the foremost among the strong. Let him, the middle son of Kunti, be subdued by deceit,” he resolved. “He is vigorous, courageous, endowed with great valor, and alone competes with us all. Let us throw him, while he sleeps, into the Ganga in the palace garden. Then we shall seize Yudhishthira, the eldest and best. By binding him, I will rule the earth.” Thus, Duryodhana made his wicked resolve, always watching Bhima, the great-souled one. For the sake of water sports, Duryodhana had splendid and varied pavilions built of cloth and wool. They were filled with every pleasure and adorned with tall banners. He arranged many different kinds of houses there. He organized what was called a water festival, choosing a spot on the riverbank at the edge of the region. After their play, all the princes, dressed in clean garments and adorned, enjoyed delicious food together. At the end of the day, exhausted from their enjoyment, the foremost of the Kurus chose to rest in the pleasure houses. Bhima, having exerted himself more than the others, carried the princes who had come for the water games. For rest, he lay down at that very spot on the bank, finding a cool place to sleep, calmed and overcome by weariness. There, Bhima lay motionless on the ground, as if dead. Duryodhana quietly bound him with creeper ropes. While Bhima slept on the bank, Duryodhana cast him into the water of the Ganga. But when the son of Kunti awoke, he broke all his bonds with his great strength. Rising up, Bhima freed himself, but did not realize who had done this to him. Again overcome by sleep, he lay down there itself. When half the night had passed, the Kurus and Pandavas awoke, but Duryodhana, seeing Bhima unharmed, became despondent. Undeterred, Duryodhana tried again. While Bhima slept, he had furious snakes with sharp fangs and deadly venom bite him at all his joints. The fangs of those venomous snakes struck even his vital parts, but Bhima’s firm and broad frame was impenetrable—they could not pierce his skin. Awakening, Bhima struck down all those snakes and, with his own hand, killed their beloved leader. On another day, burning with anger and intent on killing, Duryodhana, after consulting with Karna and following the advice of Shakuni, the son of Subala, devised another plot. At Bhima’s meal, he mixed in deadly poison—Kālakūṭa, sharp and terrifying.