In the aftermath of the terrible fire at Varanavata, the people were filled with grief and confusion. They lamented how even those who were devoted to righteousness and well-versed in dharma failed to uphold it, swayed instead by the lure of wealth. Fate, it seemed, was the only refuge for the virtuous, for even the great ones did not protect those who clung to truth and righteousness. Amidst this despair, some suggested sending a message to Dhritarashtra, the king: “Let him know his wish is fulfilled—the Pandavas have perished in the fire.” As the flames were being cleared away in search of the Pandavas, the townspeople made a grim discovery. They found the charred remains of a Nishada woman and her five innocent sons, burned in the blaze. The people mourned, believing Kunti—the devoted Vrishni lady—had been consumed by the fire along with her sons. Unbeknownst to them, the secret tunnel dug by the clever miner remained hidden, covered with earth, and none noticed it as they searched the ruins. Believing the worst, the townspeople sent word to Dhritarashtra that the Pandavas, together with the minister Purochana, had been burned to death in the fire. When King Dhritarashtra received this dreadful news, he outwardly lamented the destruction of Pandu’s sons, expressing deep sorrow. Yet, within his heart, he felt a cold satisfaction, masking his true feelings with outward displays of grief—like a pond that is cool beneath the surface but scorched by the summer heat. He mourned aloud, “Today, Pandu, my illustrious brother, is gone; and now these heroic sons, together with their mother, have perished in the flames. Let men go swiftly to Varanavata and honor these heroes and Kunti, the royal lady. For all who died there, let their friends perform splendid funeral rites.” He continued, “My great-souled kin, enhancers of our lineage, have been consumed. Now, let whatever can be done for the good of the Pandavas and Kunti be done in every way, sparing no wealth.” All the Kauravas, together with Bhishma, gathered and journeyed with Dhritarashtra and his sons toward the Ganga. Clad in single garments, joyless and without adornment, they went to perform the water-rite for the great-souled Pandavas. Surrounded by his kinsmen, Dhritarashtra, son of Ambika, performed the water-rite for the sons of Pandu. Overwhelmed by grief, all wept bitterly, crying out, “Alas, Yudhishthira, son of Kuru! Alas, Bhima!” Others lamented, “Alas, Phalguna!” and still others, “Alas, the twins!” The people, grieving for Kunti, performed the water-rite for her as well. The townsfolk mourned deeply, but Vidura grieved only a little, for he knew the truth of what had transpired. Vidura, wise and discerning, understood the deceitful scheme that had been devised by Dhritarashtra. Though he showed sorrow outwardly and joined the afflicted relatives in their grief, his mind was elsewhere, wondering how far the sons of Pritha had gone—absorbed in the thought that the Pandavas were still alive. Bhishma, too, was deeply distressed upon hearing that the sons of Pandu and their mother had died. He wept and lamented, “Alas, Yudhishthira! Alas, Bhima! Alas, Dhananjaya! Alas, the twins! Alas, Pritha, you have gone to heaven with your sons in a single night. There, together with their mother, all the princes remain; yet, I cannot believe that Bhimasena and Dhananjaya could have been overcome. Those two, swift and mighty in spirit, could shatter even Mount Mandara. I do not see defeat for Pritha and her sons.” He pondered, “In every way, it is unnatural if they have truly met their end. Was not Yudhishthira declared by the Brahmins to be the king of righteousness? And on earth, was not Dhananjaya to be the foremost among chariot-warriors, a speaker of truth, devoted to righteousness, and marked by auspicious signs? How has Yudhishthira, who always treated others as he would himself be treated, come under the power of time? How has Kunti, together with her sons, come under fate’s sway, though long protected like a tree cared for until it bears fruit?” He continued, “Just as a tree might be broken by a powerful wind, so too has King Yudhishthira, once consecrated as crown prince and bringer of glory to his father, been brought low. By his own truth and righteousness, by his father’s virtue, and by his mother’s suffering in exile, he bore much sorrow. Now, immersed in time, condemned by death, and rendered fruitless, Kunti too has become a sharer in sorrow through her exile in the forest.” “Because of her longing for sons, Kunti did not follow her husband in death; though born in a noble house, she enjoyed her husband’s affection only briefly. Today, she has been burned with her sons, her desires unfulfilled. Even hearing that Bhima is dead, my mind cannot accept it. My thoughts are troubled, my heart torn apart.” Bhishma’s mind returned to Bhima: “Broad-shouldered, with beautiful arms, youthful, like the peak of Meru—hearing that Bhima is dead, I cannot believe it. He was generous, a mighty warrior, skilled with weapons, swift-handed, and expert in attack and marksmanship, masterful in chariot-driving. A far-shooter, unshaken, courageous, master of mighty weapons, undaunted in spirit, best among men, and foremost of all archers—how could such heroes truly perish?” Thus, the kingdom was plunged into mourning, but beneath the surface, doubts and truths lingered, known only to the wisest among them.