The city, bustling with joyful and prosperous people, echoed with music and praise, as if renewed under the reign of the new king. Yet, within their homes, some righteous souls sat in quiet sorrow, wondering where Sudarśana, the prince, had vanished. They pondered the fate of Manoramā, supremely virtuous, who had fled with her son after her father was slain in battle by a greedy rival seeking the throne. While these noble and even-minded citizens reflected on these events, grief weighed heavily upon them, for they now lived under the rule of Shatrujit. Meanwhile, Yudhājit, having installed his grandson as king and entrusted the kingdom to his ministers, returned to his own city. But when he learned that Sudarśana was staying in the hermitage of the sages, Yudhājit quickly set out for Mount Chitrakūṭa, intent on killing the young prince. He placed the valiant king of the Niṣādas at the head of his army and swiftly marched toward Durdarśa, the lord of Śṛṅgaverapura. News of this reached Manoramā, and she was struck with deep distress, fearing for her young son as the army drew near. Overwhelmed by grief, her eyes brimming with tears, she turned to the sage and cried, “What shall I do? Where can I go, now that Yudhājit has arrived?” She lamented, “My father was slain by him, and he has made his grandson king. Now, he comes here with his forces, intent on killing my son. O master, I once heard that the Pāṇḍavas, together with Pāñcālī, stayed in the hermitage of the sages during their exile in the forest. The five brothers, sons of Pāṇḍu, went hunting, while Draupadī remained in the auspicious hermitage.” She recalled the names of those revered sages who dwelled there: Dhaumya, Atri, Gālava, Paila, Jāvāli, Gautama, Bhṛgu, Cyavana, Kaṇva, Jatu, Kratu, Vītihotra, Sumantu, Yajñadatta, Vatsala, Rāśāsana, Kahoḍa, Yavakrī, Yajñakṛt, and Kratu, along with others beginning with Bhāradvāja, all learned in the Vedas. In that sacred place, Yājñasenī—Draupadī—beautiful in every limb, stayed with her maidservants, fearless among the sages. Meanwhile, the five heroic Pāṇḍavas, armed with bows and arrows, roamed from forest to forest hunting, tormenting their foes. At that time, Jayadratha, the illustrious lord of Sindhu, accompanied by his army, arrived near the hermitage, having heard the sound of sacred recitation. Hearing the Vedic chants of the pure-minded sages, the king hastily descended from his chariot, eager for a meeting. Accompanied by two attendants, he entered the hermitage and beheld the sages absorbed in their practice. With hands joined in reverence, Jayadratha stood before the master and entered the hermitage, filled with sages. The women and wives of the sages approached, curious to see the king, and asked, “Who is this?” Among them, the beautiful Yājñasenī appeared, and Jayadratha, seeing her, was struck by her divine beauty. He asked Dhaumya, “Who is this dark-skinned, lovely-faced woman? Whose wife is she, whose daughter, and what is her name? She is as radiant as Shachi among mortals. Standing amidst the grove like a clove creeper, she shines among the women as Rambha does. Tell me truly, O fortunate one, whose beloved is this youthful woman? She appears as a royal wife, not a sage’s spouse.” Dhaumya answered, “She is Draupadī, beloved wife of the Pandavas, blessed with auspicious marks, O king of Sindhu. The Panchali resides here in this noble hermitage.” Jayadratha asked, “Where have the five renowned Pandavas gone now? Do those mighty heroes dwell here in the forest, free from sorrow?” Dhaumya replied, “The five Pandavas have gone hunting, riding in their chariots. They will return at midday, bringing game, O king.” Upon hearing this, Jayadratha arose and approached Draupadī, speaking to her, “Are you well, O beautiful one? Where have your husbands gone? Eleven years have passed in the forest, it is said.” Draupadī replied, “May you be blessed, prince. Rest near the hermitage, for the Pandavas will return shortly.” But as she spoke, the king, overcome by desire, seized Draupadī, disregarding the eminent sages. Indeed, the wise say one should never place trust in anyone, for those who do suffer—as shown by the example of Bali. Bali, the illustrious son of Virocana, steadfast in truth, performer of sacrifices, generous, a refuge, and esteemed by the virtuous, never acted unrighteously anywhere. Grandson of Prahlada, he performed ninety-nine sacrifices with proper gifts. Always of sattvic nature, even yogis worshipped Vishnu, who, though changeless, acts for the fulfillment of the gods’ purposes. From Kaśyapa was born Viṣṇu, who took the deceptive form of the dwarf Vāmana and seized the kingdom and earth, along with its oceans, by trickery. At that time, Bali, son of Virocana, was a king who spoke truthfully, yet Viṣṇu acted deceitfully for Indra’s sake, as I have heard. Thus, Manoramā’s recollection of Draupadī’s ordeal echoed the dangers of misplaced trust, as she herself now faced peril, seeking guidance and refuge amidst the looming threat.