Again and again, Bhima, using his powerful arms as oars, led his family through vast distances, taking hidden paths out of fear of the Dhartarashtras who pursued them. With great effort and unwavering devotion, he carried his gentle and illustrious mother, Kunti, on his back, navigating obstacles and difficult terrain. Eventually, Bhima and his family reached a part of the forest where roots, fruit, and water were scarce, and fierce birds and beasts roamed. Dusk had fallen, and the atmosphere grew dreadful and terrifying, with savage creatures stirring as darkness enveloped all directions and winds swept in with the coming stormy season. The ground was strewn with fallen leaves and fruits, dense thickets and shrubs crowded with trees, most broken, bent, or tangled. Fatigue and thirst weighed heavily upon the Kauravas, and they could not proceed any further, overwhelmed also by the increasing pull of sleep. There, in the heart of that great forest, they all lay down without comfort, having hastily traveled twenty-four yojanas through the night. Exhausted by thirst, Kunti spoke. Standing among her five sons, the mother of the Pandavas said, “I am tormented by thirst, helpless in this vast forest.” She confessed she could not take even a single step further and would lie down at the foot of a tree, ready to accept whatever fate the Dhartarashtras might bring. Turning to Bhima, she said, “Listen, Bhima, to my words: by your strength, the Kauravas could not stand against you. Why do you fear, son of Pritha? I have no other chariot here on earth but you, Bhimasena. Do not be afraid of the Dhartarashtras. Do not wish to sleep here, leaving me.” Thus, seated on Bhima’s back, her mind afflicted, Kunti wept in the silence of the night and was overcome by sleep. Hearing his mother’s words, spoken out of affection, Bhimasena’s heart was moved with compassion, and he set out once more. Bhima entered the vast, deserted, dreadful forest and found a banyan tree with broad shade, delightful to behold. There, he set his family down and said, “O bull among the Bharatas, I will search for water here; meanwhile, rest beneath this tree.” He listened to the sweet calls of sarasa birds, dwellers in water, and surmised that a large water source must be nearby. Permitted to go by his elder brother, Bhima followed the sound of the water birds. He soon found a lake adorned with clusters of lotuses, and there he drank deeply and bathed, refreshed. For the sake of his brothers, Bhima gathered water in his upper garment, binding it with many lotus leaves, and hurried back, his heart overwhelmed by grief and sorrow, sighing like a serpent. Returning, he found his mother asleep, and his brothers, their vigor dispelled by exhaustion, lying beneath a tree in the dreadful, fierce forest, on a cool spot. He saw them sprawled, breathing deeply, mighty in strength, faces turned upward, bodies large—like five Indras, O king. Seeing them thus, terrified by the unknown trees, ever-present ghosts and rakshasas, the wind-born son, Bhima, greatly afflicted by sorrow, lamented. Grief overwhelmed Vrikodara, and he cried out, “What could be more distressing than this that I must witness? Today I see my brothers lying asleep on the ground, so unfortunate. Those who once, in Varanavata, rested on splendid beds, did not succumb to sleep then; today they lie asleep upon the earth. Kunti, the sister of Vasudeva, crusher of enemy hosts, daughter of king Kuntiraja, honored for all her virtues—the wife of Pandu, of wondrous valor, daughter-in-law of Vichitravirya, and likewise my own mother, radiant as a lotus—so delicate, accustomed to luxurious beds, now I see her lying here on the earth, unaccustomed to such hardship. She who bore these sons from Dharma, Indra, and Vayu, now exhausted, lies on the ground, though she once rested in palaces. What greater sorrow could I possibly witness than this, that today I see the tiger-like men lying asleep upon the earth?” He continued, “He who deserves kingship in all three worlds, ever steadfast in righteousness, O king, now lies exhausted on the ground like an ordinary man—how can this be? This Arjuna, dark as a rain cloud, peerless among men, lies on the ground like a commoner; what could be more sorrowful than this? These two, equal to the Ashvins among the gods in beauty and splendor, today lie asleep upon the earth like ordinary men.” Bhima reflected, “One whose relatives are not hostile, who does not bring disgrace upon his lineage, lives happily in the world, like a solitary tree in a village. A single tree in a village, bearing leaves and fruit, becomes a shrine, honored by travelers even though it has no kin. Those whose many relatives are valiant and devoted to righteousness live happily in the world and remain free from affliction. Strong, prosperous, and beloved by friends and kin, they live relying upon one another, like trees born in the forest. But we, by Dhritarashtra—an evil-minded, foolish son, greedy for the kingdom, surrounded by wicked counselors—by one corrupt, unrighteous, whose mind is fixed only on selfish gain, we have been exiled, not burned, thanks to the wisdom and valor of the charioteer.” Thus, Bhima lamented in the night, grieving for his family and their misfortune, yet grateful for their survival, owing to the wisdom and courage of their protector.