By your grace, O steadfast one, we survived our time in the house of Virata, living humbly and serving the powerful Matsya king. If you had not been our queen, how could we have escaped calamity? I myself became the cook in Virata’s palace, after having slain the Magadha. How strange it was that Brihannala, the victorious Arjuna, took up the role of a dance teacher for a child, the mighty son of Vasava disguising himself as a woman. The very hands that once shone with the Gandiva bow now glittered with bangles—what sorrow could be greater than to assume such a form? When I saw the braid upon my head and kohl in my eyes, my heart burned with indignation; I longed to seize my sword and end this humiliation, for otherwise, there was no happiness for me. Without even seeking the king’s permission, I set fire in the house, and thus the evil-minded Purocana, who wished to burn us, was himself consumed by flames. In the same way, all the Kichakas were slain, without consulting the king—yet the sons of Dhritarashtra and their wives were not destroyed in such a manner. O king, your apparent folly freed us from the Gandharvas; even Duryodhana and his companions, though our enemies, were taken captive. But now you wish to give away wealth for Duryodhana’s sake? O king, I will not agree, no matter how much you urge me. Having spoken thus, Bhima departed, accompanied by three others. The righteous Yudhishthira, however, gave abundant wealth to Dhritarashtra. He performed the funeral rites for the sons as tradition required, and Dhritarashtra, son of Ambika, distributed gifts to the Brahmins. When all the funeral rites were complete, the king, along with Gandhari, Kunti, and Vidura, quickly left for the forest. Sanjaya recognized them as they departed, and though her sons tried to hold her back, Kunti, the daughter of Shurasena, went as well. Bhimasena and the other Kauravas wept in sorrow. Turning away from the banks of the Ganga, they all returned to Hastinapura. Meanwhile, those who had gone to the banks of the Jahnavi, to the sacred hermitage of Shatayupa, built a hut of grass and practiced austerities with deep concentration. Six years passed for them in this way. When the ascetics eventually departed, Yudhishthira, feeling the pain of separation, spoke: “In a dream, I saw my mother Kunti, frail and living in the forest. My heart longs to see her and my father as well. If you all agree, let us go and visit Vidura, the great soul, and Sanjaya, the wise one. This is my wish.” All the brothers, along with Subhadra, Draupadi, the noble princess of Virata, and the citizens of the city, gathered together. Eager for a reunion, the Pandavas traveled with all their people to the hermitage of Shatayupa, where they found everyone assembled. But Vidura was not among them. Yudhishthira asked, “Where is Vidura, the wise one?” The son of Ambika replied, “He wanders, detached from all, indifferent and without possessions. Dwelling in solitude, he meditates inwardly upon the eternal.” On the second day, as Yudhishthira walked through the forest toward the Ganga, he saw Vidura, emaciated yet steadfast in his austerities. The king bowed and greeted him, but Vidura stood motionless, like a statue. In that moment, a wondrous radiance emerged from Vidura’s face and merged into Yudhishthira’s, for they shared the same essence of Dharma. Then Vidura, the charioteer, gave up his life. Yudhishthira grieved deeply and prepared to perform the funeral rites. But as he listened, a bodiless voice spoke: “He is detached and not fit for burning; go as you wish, O king.” Hearing this, all the brothers bathed in the pure waters of the Ganga and went to report everything to Dhritarashtra. The Pandavas remained in the hermitage with the citizens. There, the son of Satyavati, Vyasa, and the sage Narada also arrived, along with other great sages. Kunti then spoke to Vyasa, who was present and radiant: “O Krishna, Karna is my son. I saw him just after his birth. My heart suffers greatly; please, show him to me, O possessor of austerity. You are able, O blessed one; fulfill my desire, O lord.” Gandhari also spoke: “Duryodhana went to battle, but I did not see him, O sage. Show me my son, together with his younger brothers.” Subhadra said, “Abhimanyu, the great hero, is dearer to me than life itself. I wish to see him, O all-knowing one; show him to me today, O possessor of austerity.” Hearing these heartfelt pleas, Vyasa, the son of Satyavati, performed breath control and entered deep meditation upon the eternal Goddess. At twilight, the eminent sage stood at the banks of the Ganges. He summoned all those present, with Yudhishthira at their head, and praised the Mother of the Universe, having bathed in the sacred river. He extolled Her as Nature itself, as the delight of Spirit, as both with attributes and beyond attributes, as the Goddess of gods, as the very form of Brahman dwelling in the jeweled isle. “When neither Creator, nor Vishnu, nor Shiva, nor Indra, nor the lord of waters, nor Kubera, nor Yama, nor Fire existed—then, O Goddess, You alone were; I bow to Her. When there was neither water, nor wind, nor earth, nor sky, nor their qualities, nor senses, nor mind, nor intellect, nor even the brilliant moon—then, O Goddess, You alone were; I bow to Her.” He continued, “Having gathered this world of living beings in Your mind, and withdrawn the subtle body with its qualities into absorption, You remain for the duration of a cycle, acting by Your own will; none, not even those who have attained discernment, know You.” Thus, in that sacred gathering, Vyasa invoked the presence of the departed, and the hearts of the bereaved found solace in the grace and mystery of the Divine Mother.