As the tale unfolds, the radiant Sun himself spoke, his pride stirred: “Today, if I were to depart unfulfilled, I would bear great shame; surely all the gods would speak of me.” He warned Kunti, “If you do not unite with me, I shall curse both the brahmin who gave you the mantra and you, Kunti, with the harshest of curses.” Yet, he offered reassurance: “Your maidenhood will remain untouched, O beautiful-faced one, and none shall know of this union. A son, equal to me in splendor, will be born to you.” Having spoken, the Sun united with the deeply modest Kunti, whose mind was troubled and anxious. Afterwards, he granted her the boon she desired and departed. Kunti, now bearing the Sun’s child, concealed her pregnancy in secret chambers; only her trusted nurse and a close companion were aware—her mother and all others knew nothing. In the quiet of her home, Kunti gave birth to a son of surpassing charm, adorned from birth with radiant armor and earrings, shining like a second Sun or a youthful god. Overcome with shame, she placed the newborn in the nurse’s hands and lamented her fate. The nurse, seeing Kunti’s distress, tried to comfort her: “Why do you worry, O slender-armed one? I am here.” But Kunti, torn by sorrow, placed her son in a box and spoke with a heavy heart: “What am I to do, tormented for my son? I must abandon you, beloved as my own life. Unfortunate as I am, I give you up, you who bear every auspicious mark.” With trembling lips, she prayed: “May the Goddess—formless and with form, supreme Lady Ambika—protect you. May World-Mother Katyayani, granter of wishes, nourish you with her milk. When will I again behold your lotus face, so dear to me? Abandoning you, O son of the Sun, in the lonely forest, I am as wicked as a wanton woman.” She mourned her misfortune: “In a previous birth, I did not worship the Mother of the three worlds, nor did I meditate on the blissful lotus feet of the auspicious Devi. Therefore, O son, I am always unfortunate; abandoning you again in the forest, I will perform penance, ever remembering the sin I have knowingly committed.” Having spoken thus, Kunti entrusted the box with her infant son to the nurse, fearful of being discovered. Soon after, she bathed and remained quietly in her father’s house, while the box was set adrift and eventually found by Adhiratha, a charioteer. His wife, Radha, who longed for a child, joyfully accepted the infant. Thus, Karna, strong and heroic, grew up in the house of the charioteer. Time passed, and the maiden Kunti was wedded to the noble Pandu at her svayamvara, while Madri, the auspicious daughter of the king of Madra, also became Pandu’s wife. One day, as Pandu delighted in hunting in the forest, he mistakenly slew a sage who was enjoying himself in the woods, thinking him a deer. The enraged sage cursed Pandu: “If you unite with a woman, then surely death will come to you.” Stricken by this curse, Pandu abandoned his kingdom and, filled with sorrow, withdrew to the forest. His two wives, Kunti and Madri, devotedly accompanied him, intent on serving him and upholding dharma, joined by noble sages. They made their home on the banks of the Ganga, dwelling in the hermitages of sages, listening to scriptures and performing severe austerities. One day, during a discourse, Pandu heard a sage declare: “For one without a son, there is no passage to heaven, O subduer of foes. By any means possible, one should ensure the birth of a son.” The sage explained the various ways a son may be obtained: by one’s own portion, by a maiden, as a field-born, a foundling, from a vessel, raised by the husband, born out of wedlock, purchased, found in the forest, or given by another. Each successive type, he said, is considered inferior to the one before. Hearing this, Pandu turned to Kunti, his lotus-eyed wife, and urged her: “Quickly, produce a son by approaching a sage engaged in austerity. By my command, there is no fault in you. Long ago, Vasistha begot a son named Saudasa upon a queen, as I have heard.” Kunti replied, “I possess a mantra that grants desires, given to me by Durvasa, which always brings success, O lord. Whichever god I invoke with this mantra, he will surely come to me when called.” By her husband’s command and upholding the highest dharma, Kunti invoked the mantra and bore her first son, Yudhishthira. From Vayu, she bore Bhima; from Indra, Arjuna. Thus, over the years, three mighty sons were born to Kunti. Madri then pleaded with Pandu: “Grant me a son, O noble one; what should I do, O great king? Remove my sorrow, lord.” Moved by compassion, Kunti gave Madri the mantra, and with Pandu’s consent, Madri invoked it once, remembering the twin Ashvins. Thus, Nakula and Sahadeva, the sons of the king of Madra, were born to her. In this way, the five Pandavas, born of the gods and conceived in the field, were born year after year in that forest, O best of twice-born. One day, Pandu saw Madri alone in the hermitage. Overcome by desire and unaware of his impending doom, he embraced her, despite her repeated pleas of “No, no, no.” In that moment, the curse took effect and Pandu fell lifeless to the ground, just as a vine falls from a tree when its support is cut. Madri, still young, collapsed and wept bitterly. Kunti returned, weeping, with the children, and the great sages, hearing the commotion, also gathered. Pandu had died. The sages, steadfast in their vows, performed the funeral rites and cremated him on the banks of the holy Ganga. Madri, determined to follow her husband in death, entrusted her two sons to Kunti, upholding righteousness and the truth of devoted wives. Thus, the story of Kunti, Madri, Pandu, and their sons unfolded, marked by sorrow, sacrifice, and unwavering devotion to dharma.